#I made a promise to learn forgive change for the better but somethings aren’t acceptable

[heart-stomper]

Unspoken Trust, Unspoken Fears

Gathering my thoughts on Sasha and Marcy’s dynamic before S3 proves me wrong shows us what’s going on with these two.

It’s time to look at The Dinner and Battle of the Bands, and then use it as a guide to read the room in True Colors.

No worries! You just gotta speak their language. - Sasha, Reunion

Or in this case, know when to stay quiet. 

Sasha gets really really frustrated this episode. Like, so bad, that if that Volcakeno didn’t erupt, she might have been the one to end the friendship. Even Marcy and Grime couldn’t calm her down. But that’s the thing, before this point, they were the only ones to get through to Sasha without provoking her.

Grime keeps Sasha in line; she rolls her eyes and is clearly annoyed every time she has to hold herself back, but her willingness to keep it cool shows she ultimately agrees with Grime’s plan and sees it as the best path to success.  When Marcy chimes in, it’s with a helpful answer to Sasha’s question. She reminds Sasha of why they stopped Doing Thing by explaining how their plan failed. She avoids judging Sasha for it, and frames it as the repercussions of their actions, as a group. Marcy is on Sasha’s side, so Sasha doesn’t put up any defenses. When Sasha decides to avoid arguing with Anne however, it isn’t for Anne. It’s for the plan, for her and Grime.

Marcy has enough faith in Sasha to believe she’d never want to purposefully hurt Anne, but is careful about broaching the subject. Sasha feels attacked very easily, and will quickly trivialize or downplay things if she feels the other person is being unreasonable or doesn’t ‘get’ her.

And that is the only time Marcy speaks up besides The Big Argument. She only jumps into actual conflicts if things get too heated. Otherwise, she just lets Sasha do her thing, and lets Anne argue with Sasha... sort of.

This isn’t collaboration. It’s a hostile takeover. Why do things always have to be your way?

Now, for the bait and switch. Let’s talk about Marcy’s behavior in Day at the Aquarium and New Wartwood, and Sasha’s in Toadcatcher and Barrel’s Warhammer… while tying it all back to Battle of Bands!

You didn’t tell me you were writing a song! Let’s do it! I mean, if that’s okay with you, Sasha.

In A Day at the Aquarium, Marcy’s first instinct to Anne saying she’s going back with the Plantars is to make a plan. To show that it isn’t actually what will benefit Anne’s Goals. She doesn’t even consider opening up as an option, and avoids saying anything that could cause conflict. New Wartwood, Marcy tries to chat with the citizens of Wartwood and get to know them. But when that doesn’t work, she decides that impressing them with her knowledge and usefulness is bound to make them like her. It has to.

It does seem simpler.

Trying to win people over by claiming a plan is of mutual interest and necessary, carefully choosing which words to use, viewing relationships as a puzzle to be solved… this isn’t the sort of thing Marcy needs to do to get along with someone like Anne. It’s how Marcy copes with Sasha. Sasha lashes out and belittles bad ideas. Sasha has to be convinced the plan benefits her, suits her. Vulnerability and love aren’t enough to make her care, so Marcy does what she can to prove she’s worth being around. She might even sometimes wonder if Sasha actually likes her, or just likes what she can do for her. She rather not find out.

Whenever she’s afraid of people not liking her, or is worried that she’ll lose them, she dives right into those bad habits. She can give her opinions, but they aren’t supposed to get in the way of what Sasha wants. She’s supposed to say “That’s amazing! What do you think Sash’?” not “Let’s do it!”

Listen. There’s another reason why I’ve been training so hard. To protect the one person I know I can count on right now. You. You’re right, I already lost one friend. I’m not about to lose another. - Sasha, Toadcatcher

In Toadcatcher, there’s that scene, where Sasha looks at the BFF picture and the wind cuts off Anne for a second so it’s just her and Marcy. This is where Sasha is at. Anne might have rebelled, but when Sasha reunites with Marcy? Oh, she’ll show Anne, one way or another. They’ll get her back (like, joining the team or revenge wise, depending on Sasha’s mood.)

Listen here you buffoon! What’s it gonna take to prove that you should follow us? - Barrel’s Warhammer

Aaaand Sasha freaks out royally when she learns the two are alone together and doing just fine. On some level, she fears Anne and Marcy “getting along without her” because it means they might decide they don’t actually need her to make plans; that she isn’t necessary to have fun. In the The Sleepover to End All Sleepovers, we see that isn’t as big a catastrophe as Sasha seems to think it’d be. As time goes on, the girls do gain a healthier relationship to their feelings about Sasha, but that doesn’t mean they’d want her gone even if they don’t need her there. But Sasha doesn’t know that, she doesn’t even consider it till reuniting in The Third Temple. All she knows for now, is that she can be a bit... much... so if she isn’t in control, if her way isn’t “the best”, why would Marcy put up with her either? 

Listen. If things get too wild out here, just give me a signal and I’ll call the whole thing off. 

 For sure, teach it to us Anne. 

Every Sasha plan starts with an empty reassurance. So much of Sasha’s dialogue follows a pattern where she says stuff like “we’ll call it off” (she did not call it off) and “for sure, I don’t mind” (she did mind) that it could be it’s own game. Sasha talks the talk, until it gets in the way of what she wants.

Sorry guys, but we’re way to close to bail. I am not going back empty-handed.

It’s good. I just have a few tiny notes that I think could make it even better. ... Boom! Fiixed it! 

If they just follow her lead and let her fix it, everything will work out. They should believe in her and trust her. After all...

That’s not true! Besides, we did it. ... You’re not actually gonna throw this all away are you?

I just wanted all of us to succeed. I was just being a good friend. Why couldn’t they see that?

It all worked out, right? Percy and Braddock made it out okay even if she didn’t follow through on her promise. They won, she’s reliable. But of course, Sasha lost something more important than their belief in her abilities, she lost their trust. In Battle of the Bands however, Sasha recognizes that Anne and Marcy don’t want to follow her ambitions and will be pushed away by them just like Percy and Braddock were. So she takes it upon herself to end things, accepting that she’s lost.

Sorry it took so long.

Except this time, she manages to realize that maybe “what she wants” is to be there for her friends. Sasha’s finally had the space to relax and really think about what she wants, at least a little. This isn’t a real battle after all. Doing things her way all the time isn’t as important as she thought. Maybe she should trust in her friends more. A change of pace isn’t “wrong”, just different. It’s fun.

Sorry we lost, Sash’.

Just like Percy and Braddock, Marcy knows Sasha is capable. She understands that Sasha just wants the team to succeed. That’s why she apologizes when Grime beats them in the competition. She wants Sasha to know she appreciates what she did, but keeps it a bit indirect. She gets Sasha probably didn’t want to push them away. Marcy tried to catch herself and back Sasha up, but when Sasha had her argument with Anne, she stayed quiet. She couldn’t bring herself to go against Anne. 

That was ultimately for the best, as Sasha learned a valuable lesson. Except... She’s in too deep with the rebellion to back out now. This is the episode she’d spill the truth and give up on the whole thing, except... Grime. A part of her knows leaving would make Grime her enemy. She can’t risk that. So, she keeps going with the plan. She decides she’ll somehow win it all back. Because the thing she’s actually most afraid of, is losing another friend. 

Sorry things got a little crazy back there. You guys good? ... Sheesh, don’t be a sore loser. Look, I’m gonna stay here and get this toad regime off the ground, but I can totally send you two home if you want. Or, you can stick around and give me a hand! So what’d’ya say?

Sasha’s final offer; the last chance she’s giving the girls to stop acting weird and go back to being her obedient friends who do what she wants. Sasha lost at Toad Tower, but now she’s won. So Anne should go back to normal, she’s supposed to, like some unspoken “rule”.

And Marcy is supposed fall back in line too. The offer and apology are just as much a plea directed at her. Sasha’s trying to be generous, in her own awkward way. She has bit her tongue so far. She’s thrown a temper tantrum or two, but she hasn’t been this forward in asking Marcy for help till now. She wants Marcy to say that everything’s okay. Make it clear she doesn’t think she’s the bad guy, and that she forgives her and wants to be there for her. That they’re on the same page again. She wants Marcy to help make Anne look overly dramatic and silly for making such a big deal of all this. Sure, if Anne figures that out by herself, that’d be great, but if Marcy could just speak up.

But she doesn’t. Of course she doesn’t.

Marcy’s too busy worrying about Anne’s reaction. Knowing that she’ll be upset about this. She doesn’t dare side with Sasha, and is disappointed and betrayed that she actually did something like this. Marcy already has her own secret plans, so when she finally tries to calm things down, all she can give is a non-descript “we can still fix this”. And then, she’s once again shocked when she sees Sasha threaten Anne and the Plantars. Seeing Sasha act so willing to actually hurt people rather than just push them around... it finally hits her just how serious “tried to kill them” was. And of course, losing Anne or being sent home with her would completely mess up her own plans.

Sasha’s isn’t a vulnerable person. She’ll go on about loving her friends if it makes her look good, but she actively avoids doing anything that could be seen as “weak”. She wouldn’t dare ask Marcy to drop Anne and choose her. If Marcy isn’t speaking up, she can take the hint. She still isn’t on her side, and so she gets sent to the dungeon along with the rest of them.

Marcy accepts that Sasha has become an obstacle, but a part of her still hopes the three of them can work through all this. If they do things her way, nobody has to get hurt. She'll figure out a way hold everything together, fix everything, like always.

And then Andrias betrays her.

Yeah, what plan?

Sasha stops talking once she realizes what’s going on. Quietly fuming as Marcy explains herself. The music box, the suggestion to take it back to Andrias... that wasn’t Marcy being the sweet, supportive friend who Sasha thought she could always rely on, who believed in her... that was Marcy using her. It was never going to become their plan; Marcy never trusted her and was actively working against her. Sasha lost Anne, and she never had a chance at getting Marcy back, either. 

Sasha smacks Marcy away when she desperately tries to justify herself. She doesn’t want to hear it anymore. She’s furious that Marcy thinks they could be friends after something like this, after she’s manipulated them and claimed it was for their sakes. This whole time, her goal had been avoiding the move with her parents. And coming here has only torn them apart even worse.

Marcy reaches out to both girls. And when Sasha rejects her, she clings to Anne, hoping at least she’ll find it in her to forgive her. That she’ll understand she cares about them even if she messed up. Marcy knows they’d probably never pick her over their families or ambitions, so she told herself this place offered those things too. Made them all better people. But as she says her excuses out loud, she can’t find a single one that feels right. She was just afraid of losing them, and now, she’s managed to hurt them on top of that. 

But the thing is. After all that. Despite how betrayed and hurt and angry Sasha was, she looks like this:

Sasha realizes this must be exactly how Anne felt about her betrayal. It isn’t just an abstract “hurt” or “bad thing” anymore. She can also sympathize with how Marcy feels and why she did it, at least a little. She can’t imagine being able to forgive this, and yet... when she looks to Anne with that apologetic look, she isn’t just hoping Anne will forgive her. She’s also asking for permission to forgive Marcy. Pleading that they all still have a chance to move past this together.

[h2bakugou]

I don’t know if I have sent a request before but here I go anyways, can I request a head cannon for the three musketeers (todobakudeku) (separate) when their s/o flinches during and argument. No rush and take your time thank you!

a/n: thank you for the request even if you haven't sent one in before! i haven’t written some angst in a bit but i’ll try to give these a happy ending!!

headcanon: their s/o flinches during an argument

key: (y/n) - your name / (f/n) - first name / (l/n) - last name / (e/c) - eye color / (h/c) - hair color / (y/q) - your quirk

warnings: swearing, fluff, some angst 

»»————-　★　————-««

shoto todoroki

»»————-　★　————-««

Todoroki doesn’t like arguing with you. He finds arguing quite pointless. There are more civil ways to come to an understanding but yelling at one another just sounds like a waste of time.

He’d much rather prefer to sit down and discuss things with you, listening to what you have to say and saying what he believes.

But there are some rare times where some arguments just form out of nowhere.

This particular argument is about nothing in particular.

It would be like having an argument over someone taking all the cover while they slept. Which is what Todoroki had claimed you were doing.

“We can get another blanket.” You smiled. The few times you’d actually slept together, seriously sleeping together, you might’ve taken all the blanket.

“It’s fine if you could just learn to share.” Todoroki mentioned, once again showing you how large the blanket was.

“I’m asleep and I’m cold, I’m sorry I’m taking all the blanket. I thought you had a half-hot side to keep you warm at night jeez.” Your stab wasn’t meant to mock him or his father, but Todoroki sure took it that way.

“You know how I feel about my left side.” Todoroki had finished folding the blanket, placing it back on your bed. 

You couldn’t help but sigh. He was really making this a problem.

“It’s a blanket. You don’t have to lay with me if you get so cold at night.” You folded your arms over your chest. You really couldn’t believe you were arguing with your boyfriend over a blanket.

“I want to lay with you but being cold is quite a nuisance-”

“I’m sorry i take the damn blanket! Just take it back! Jeez, you are making this so much harder than it has to be Sho.” You cut him off, tired of having to fight over a blanket.

His next actions were what threw you off. He was silent and he turned away from you.

Scared you had overstepped, you reached out to touch his left shoulder right when it set ablaze, singeing his shirt.

Flinching away from him, you stumbled back onto your bed. 

“I’m sorry.” You apologized, looking down as you stared at your hand, red from the immense heat that had grazed over it. Worried that he’d burned you, Shoto quickly turned around, panicking.

“I apologize. Are you hurt? I didn’t burn you did I?” Todoroki examines your hand, completely off of the blanket subject.

“I’m fine-”

“No no. that was not fine. I overreacted. I’m sorry. My love, I’m so sorry.” Todoroki kissed the palm of your hand before placing it on his right side, holding it to his cheek, allowing his cool skin to ease the redness on your palm.

“Can we cuddle tonight?” You ask, a small smile on your lips.

“I promise to share the blanket.” You throw in, rubbing your thumb over his cheek.

“Of course, my love.”

»»————-　★　————-««

katsuki bakugou

»»————-　★　————-««

I’m not saying possessive Bakugou is a bad thing, because it’s not. But there are times when Bakugou can be a bit overbearing.

He’s not doing it on purpose by no means.

But I think deep down, he might struggle with insecurity. Everyone does.

He’s a pretty egotistical guy, and he’s cocky, and he’s got an attitude. But that doesn’t mean he has dark thoughts that creep into his head and tell him that no matter what he’ll never amount to anything great.

All that perseverance has to come from somewhere.

The argument sparks from you, Kirishima, and Kaminari all hanging out together.

“Hey babe, I’m back! Sorry, I’m late.” You smile, arriving at your scheduled hangout with Bakugou just a few minutes late.

“Oh yeah, how were Kirishima and Kaminari?” Bakugou asks, glaring at you as he stands up from sitting on his bed, patiently waiting for you.

“They were great like always-”

“So great you couldn’t send me a fucking text? Or pick up my calls?” Bakugou interrupts. 

Your mouth hangs open at his response. You quickly grab your phone and examine that you did indeed have missed calls and texts from ‘katsu<3′ in your phone.

“I was helping clean up and by the time I was done, I was rushing over here. I didn’t do it on purpose.” You tell him, surely this was all some misunderstanding.

“Are they better than me? Do they have something I don’t? I’m the best there fucking is here babe, you aren’t gonna get shit from anyone else that you’ll get from me.” Bakugou approached you, causing you to take a step back.

When your back met the door you thought you were done for. The raised hand coming up, surely to strike you, made you flinch, cowering down as it crashed into the wooden door you were pressed against.

In those few seconds of silence, waiting for something to happen, Bakugou recoiled, snaking back a few steps, staring at your small form.

His words were quiet.

“I’m sorry.” He said. You lifted your head to look at him. His own head was lowered.

You approached him and carefully placed your hands on his shoulders.

“Katsu, there’s no one else but you. I love you. More than you probably know. I don’t need anyone else but you.” You explained, watching as his blonde locks began to rise with the movement of his head.

His crimson eyes stared into your (e/c) ones.

“I’m sorry.” Bakugou wrapped his arms around you. Bakugou didn’t hate affection, but he did reserve himself. He only opened up to you like this in private. His ego was a bit too big to pull some sappy stunts out in public, but this was what mattered.

“I wasn’t going to hurt you. I was just mad. I’m sorry if I scared you.” Bakugou whispered.

“I know you weren’t. I trust you.” You kiss his cheek, sliding your hands into his.

“Wanna get some pizza and watch a movie?”

“That sounds nice.” Bakugou rested his head on your shoulder, sure to be a bit soft for a while. He wasn’t always big and bad but soft Bakugou was still just as sweet.

»»————-　★　————-««

izuku midoriya

»»————-　★　————-««

Bless his heart, he hates arguing. 

He’s one hell of a hero, one hell of a fighter, and he’ll beat a bitch up if he needs to.

But with you, the thought of even having to raise his voice at you makes him worry. That’s not saying that he can’t but he doesn’t like arguing, not with you at least.

He cares about you, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

Like Todoroki, he believes there are civil ways to resolve issues, and communication and understanding, and listening are big roles in avoiding arguments.

But when some of these factors fall through, chaos is sure to ensue.

There’s a bit of a fallout with communication when Deku accidentally sends the wrong time for your date.

It’s a mistake but it happens.

The argument isn’t terrible, but it pulls on the heartstrings.

Deku’s running late. By an hour. You’re all alone at the restaurant and for the first time, you’ve been stood up.

He’d been training with All Might and didn’t have his phone. So when he sees the texts, he’s instantly on his way to shower and get dressed.

But when he arrives, the waiter tells him that you’ve just left.

Determined to make it up to you, he tries to find you. You couldn’t have gone far.

Sure enough, you’re sitting on a bench in a nearby park, listening to the trickling water from a nearby fountain.

“(Y/n)!” Deku calls for you. You turn at your name and sigh when you see it’s Deku. 

“Let me guess. You were training?” You could smell the fresh shower gel on him. You stood up to meet him.

“I was, I got my times mixed up.”

“I waited for an hour. You didn’t think to check your phone before starting training?” You ask, obviously hurt at his failure to inform you of the changed schedule.

It was an honest accident, and it felt kind of wrong to be mad, but at the same time, it still hurt.

“It was an accident!” Deku threw his hands up to try and explain but you flinched out of instinct. It wasn’t an instinct that Deku was going to hit you, but the instinct of fists coming at you. Something you’d just picked up from sparring matches.

“I-(Y/n). I’m sorry. I should’ve double-checked. Can you forgive me?” Deku quickly brought his hands down, lowering them and wrapping them around your waist to bring you in for a hug. 

You wrapped your arms around him and snuggled into his touch.

“I’m sorry too. I overreacted.” You owed him an apology. And it was accepted, as well as Deku’s apology.

“We can reschedule the booking at the restaurant-”

“Takeout and cuddling sounds a lot better than that fancy place. Besides this top is itchy.” You smile, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Sounds good with me. More time to spend with you.” Deku places a kiss on your forehead before placing his hand in your own to lead you back to U.A.

»»————-　★　————-««

masterlist

[lillianofliterature]

LOTR preferences || 2/?

main masterlist | imagines/preferences masterlist

DO NOT REPOST.

if gifs not sourced, they were found on google, lmk if they’re yours! I couldn’t make out the url on the elrond one or I would have linked it!

I wrote these sort of in an imagine style to make it more immersive since the prompt for this one is dialogue based. 

some are longer than others (by a lot, oops) and some phrases or descriptors may have been repeated a few times, but there’s so many characters and I only have one brain and I didn’t feel like reading through all of them again to make them all perfectly unique. it’s been a long road writing these xD 

elvish translations: melamin = my beloved/my love, melda = beloved/dear/sweet

tw: slight gore mentioned in aragorn’s

(more below the cut-off)

their first ‘i love you’ (confession)

aragorn | word count: 647

Aragorn was always quiet about his feelings and often times reserved, being an introverted person. Those three words came when he could no longer withstand the pressure of not telling you how he truly felt. The risk of your eyes wandering to find another had crossed his mind more than once and the possibility of something happening before he had had the chance to overcome his nerves was overwhelming. And one day, as he was in the midst of this inner turmoil, you slit your hand open while sharpening the blade of your sword against a whirling  grindstone. 

He had been nearby, working with the string of his bow, when your cry of pain pierced the air. The sword rattled to the ground as you stood and pressed your hand against the palm of the other in your best effort to quench the rush of blood. Without a second’s hesitation, he came to your aid and whisked you into the smithy shop where there was a store of medical supplies for such an incident.

In his panic, he chastised you.

“Why aren’t you wearing the guard I gave you? I explicitly told you not to use the grindstone without it!”

Tears burned in your eyes as he poured a stout smelling liquid over the wound. “I took it off because it was chafing my wrist when I pushed against the blade,” you said.

“It would have prevented this, (Y/n). Look at what you’ve done to yourself!”

“Aragorn, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean for it to happen!” 

“You must obey my instruction when I give it to you. I do not speak just to hear my own voice.” 

There was a tense pause in your urgent conversation as he rinsed your hand in a basin of cool water and examined the wound up close with gentleness. His relief was audible as he realized the cut was much smaller than the loss of blood had let on. With a slower pace, he began bandaging your hand with linens.

His voice softer, he spoke again. “I tell you these things to protect you, (Y/n), not to patronize you.” 

“I know,” you sniffled.

He could see that his chastisement had startled you as much as the wound itself. He hadn’t meant to make you uncomfortable, but he needed you to know how serious this could have been, how badly you could have injured yourself.

“I apologize for my harshness,” - he caught your gaze with his own as he continued - “But I need you to take care of yourself. Especially when I offer you the means to do so.”

He knotted the linen and tugged at the cloth with his teeth before snipping it short with a pair of shears lying nearby. The heat of his breath against your fingers sent a wave of chills across your skin. When he glanced up at you, he saw a twinge of embarrassment in your expression.

“I always end up doing something reckless or clumsy, no matter how much I try to better myself,” you muttered. Avoiding his gaze, you stared at your wrapped hand as he released it from his grasp. 

The next words that left your mouth caught him off guard. 

“Why do you bother with me, Aragorn?”

He swallowed. 

His eyes drifted downward to your bandaged hand. Carefully, he took it in both of his and cradled it between his palms. Your breath caught in your throat, searching his face for any hint of insincerity. Of course, there was none. When his eyes flickered up to meet yours, there was something glimmering in his eyes. Something quiet and untamed. Tender. 

“I care for you, (Y/n). I care for you very deeply. So deeply, in fact, that I think there is no better word for it than love,” he confessed, gently tracing his thumb over your knuckles. “I love you, melamin.”

boromir | word count: 952

Boromir had never been one to display much emotion. He had been taught from a young age that a man was not a creature of sentiment or expressive feeling, so he was not well versed in the commitment of making himself vulnerable. It wasn‘t until he began to see how this pattern of detachment and stalwart solemnness began to affect your relationship that he worked harder to make larger strides in undoing the toxic misogyny his father had engrained in him since boyhood.

You of course knew that Boromir had an emotional side; a softer, sweeter disposition he bore around his younger brother and even around you on occasion – before he subconsciously corrected himself. He had begun to notice that whenever he puffed his chest or resumed that “manly” behavior, you pulled away from him. You grew quieter, you sought solitude, you became annoyed more easily.  His arrogance, you knew, often acted as a wall of self-preservation. But you were tired of being on the other side of that wall, waiting to be let in.

It was after an argument between the two of you that he realized this wall of his was going to have to come down. Even though he had been defensive at first, he soon realized his refusal to be wrong, his hesitance at expressing emotion, his worry about becoming vulnerable – it wasn’t worth the risk of losing you.

You had since shown him that emotion wasn’t a weakness, it was a strength. He knew you understood where his hesitance and his way of thinking brimmed from, you always made the effort to understand. You weren’t asking him to change – you were asking him to grow. 

To allow himself to be Boromir.  Fully, completely, without restraint.

This was his moment, so to speak, in which he knew he was ready to give you everything. His pride had been holding him back for so long under his father’s approval – it was finally time for him to trust you and allow himself the comforts of self-expression.

He was ready to say it first. He was ready to be the one to get vulnerable first.

On the evening he decided to take his first big step into that growth, Minas Tirith basked in the white hue of moonlight. He sat beside you quietly, allowing himself a moment to gather his thoughts. Twirling in between your fingers was a pale blossom from the White Tree that he had plucked for you. Patiently, you waited. You could tell by his calm demeanor and open countenance that something had shifted within him since your last talk – his shoulders were relaxed as he walked, he had let himself stroll along slowly beside you instead of marching quickly like a soldier. He seemed relieved. At peace.

“I have something I must ask of you, my dear,” he began.

Your attentive gaze gave him permittance to continue.

“Your forgiveness,” – his hand covered yours as his voice softened – “I want to apologize for my arrogance throughout our courtship thus far. It was not my intention to hurt you with my attachment to my own pride.”

You leaned forward to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to stop you. You hadn’t wanted him to apologize – you didn’t blame him for a learned behavior he had had no choice in being raised into. But evidently, Boromir felt in necessary to express his remorse. Shutting him down was the last thing you wanted to do, especially if this was what he felt was right. You decided to listen.

“I never knew that I would find someone who would open me up like you have. I never even knew there was such a possibility for me to learn to allow myself to feel as you have. You know I was never allowed to show weakness as a child, or what my father perceived as weakness,” he glanced down at your intertwined hands as he swallowed over his next words, “I was not even allowed to cry. It was not the way of a soldier, or a steward’s son.”

When his eyes lifted to meet yours again, you could see the glistening of his tears in the moonlight. You tightened your grip on his hand, covering it with your other.

He seemed comforted by this as he continued. “But I am able to do so now, to allow myself to feel and become vulnerable. I owe you my thanks for that, (Y/n). If it weren't for you, I fear I never would have allowed myself to grow, to become a better man. A stronger man.”

He leaned forward suddenly, his peaceful expression shifting into excitement. “I love you, (Y/n), with a passion that even the fires of Mordor could not compare. And I thought that I would have to swallow my emotions to be the man you wanted, but instead you had given me freedom I have never been offered before.”

“Oh, Boromir,” you murmured. The image of his smiling face blurred as your own tears gathered and spilled over your cheeks. Your eyes fell to the blossom in your hands and the promise it held of everything to come – of what you already had, here, in his company.

His thumb gently tugged at your cheek as he wiped your tears. When you softened to his touch, he cradled the curve of your jaw in his hand. You leaned into him, covering his hand with your own.

This is all you had ever wanted.

For Boromir to be free, for his heart to be opened, for him to accept your love.

“I love you, too,” you whispered, pressing your lips to the palm of his hand that caressed your face.

faramir | word count: 522

The complete opposite of his brother, Faramir had little to no trouble in connecting to his more emotional side. In fact, he was always eager to shower others in kindness and compassion. It had long been the thing his father hated most about him – Faramir was weak in Denethor’s eyes. Luckily, Faramir’s gift for sentiment could not be so easily squelched. It was what you loved most about him.

Faramir adored you all the more for your acceptance of his openness and empathetic abilities. He never had to filter himself around you or attempt to not be “too much”. He was expressive, kind, and vulnerable. He wasn’t afraid to cry, he wasn’t hesitant in displaying his softer side. He was just Faramir, the way Faramir was supposed to be. And in your eyes, he was perfect.

Those words of declaration, those three tender notes of sweet promise, when they finally came, did not necessarily come as a surprise. He had always been upfront with his feelings towards you – and respectful - with his affection and doting words of affirmation. Shy, but honest. But that did not mean they meant any less when you heard them spoken for the first time.

Faramir, though he had long known that he loved you, had not planned the moment he would confess to you. He knew the right moment would happen along, and happen along it did.

One fine afternoon in the sunlit halls of the library halls, your laughter echoed with an unkempt ferocity that made his heart melt. Evidently, the way he had attempted in retelling his brother’s joke was far funnier than the actual content of it. You had laid your hand upon his shoulder as you doubled over in a chortling fever of amusement. In seconds, his embarrassment had been assuaged your beautifully wild laugh that in turn encouraged his own to spill forth.

There you both stood under the setting beams of the warm sun that filtered into the halls, leaning into each other for support as you felt your sides begin to ache. His gentle hands gripped your forearms as you gasped for breath between cheerful bouts of laughter. He had been able to calm his jovial fit much sooner as his admiring gaze fell almost blissfully solemn. 

He couldn’t look away from your lips that were split into a wide smile, unconcerned whether your laugh was ladylike or if your posture was stiff. Those little crinkles in the corners of your glimmering (e/c) eyes were like the fine details of a painting. Oh, how deeply he had fallen for you.

When you finally began to catch your breath and your laughter had quieted enough for a lower octave to be heard, the words slipped effortlessly between his smiling lips with a soft chuckle. “I love you.”

Your boisterous laughter faded into breathy vowels as you asked, “What did you say?”

“I love you,” he repeated.

His smile didn’t waver. He was so sure, so sincere.

You could only smile up at him graciously, a light laugh of merriness flowing through you.

How perfect this moment was, how blissfully perfect.

eomer | word count: 413

It happened one the eve before a long patrol - that could result in battle  - that he and his men were preparing for. Eomer, knowing he could promise himself a certain outcome, did not want to leave you waiting until he returned to say all that he needed to. He wanted to be sure he left no loose ends fraying in his absence.  He wasn’t one to leave things to chance.

As he walked out to the stables to prepare his supplies and brush out his steed, you followed along with him, eager to spend every minute you had left together before his departure. There were inquiries and concerns exchanged while he filled Firefoot’s bale with oats and cleaned his shoes of any muck. When he was reassured that you and Eowyn would care for each other in his absence, he felt one last thing needed to be said.

His hands wove through Firefoot’s mane as he considered his next words, soothing the horse’s nervous anticipation. The lull in conversation reminded of you how close dawn truly was. He would be gone soon and you would be left to worry and pray for his safe return. Busying yourself with tasks that would seem miniscule in comparison.

He patted the broad neck of his steed before wiping his hands clean and stepping nearer to you. “There’s something I think you should be aware of before I go,” he began. 

His tone made you worry.

“I think we are both aware of our feelings for each other since our courtship began,” he took your hands in his as he paused for breath, “It’s no surprise to you that I feel passionately for you. I don’t think it would be news for you to hear these words, but I would feel better having spoken them before I take my leave.”

You waited on baited breath. Was he truly going to say it after all this time?

“I love you, (Y/n), with every inch of my being, and I plan to act on that knowledge when I return.”

Yes, you already knew he loved you, and he knew you loved him. But to hear those words spoken aloud after the years you had pined for each other and in the months you had courted, it was the last bit of resolve you needed to face the world while he was away. And evidently it was the last bit of peace he needed to carry himself forward. 

eowyn | word count: 312

Eowyn had long been sure of her love for you, but had lacked the courage to admit it. of course, she had no qualms with being the first to say it – of course a woman could say it first just as easily as a man and with just as much meaning. But when would the right time occur? How could she be sure you felt the same? That she would not be left with a gaping pang of regret?

But Eowyn, against all of her worries, knew the moment when it came.

And of course, her bravery shown through.

Her confession did not happen under the moonlit stars or in the halls of her uncle, nor even in the walls of her homeland. It happened in the uncomfortable, sweaty musk of battle as arrows pierced hide and swords battered shields. It happened as an enemy blade came bearing down on your armor as you lie defenseless in the wreckage, your weapon thrown own of reach.

You had accepted your death just as the thudding of boots came nearer and the Uruk’s bloodthirsty gaze drifted upwards, its blade halted. The beast stepped over your impaired body and poised the tip of its blade toward the approaching figure with a twisted smirk – and it was then that the sharp twang of her blade meeting the Uruk’s pierced the air. She parried quickly, shoving the beast back into a stumble. She stood over you, wielding her shield and blade with grace and courage enough for a hundred men – or perhaps a thousand.

“You will not harm the one I love!” she shouted.

Your heart raced in the frenzy chaos of the moment – both from adrenaline and from the realization that Eowyn, the great lady warrior, the bravest heart you had ever met, had confessed her love for you while protecting you with her own life.

elrond | word count: 928

Elrond was extremely mindful of his feelings and how he attached himself to others. He was quiet, reserved, and did not care for taking unwise chances – especially when it came to feelings such a love. He had given much thought to the subject and took his time in considering what his feelings might be – if it was simply the fleeting sensation of infatuation, a connected sensation of friendship, or truly the sensation of love itself.

When he found his every thought resolved itself back to you and nearly everything he saw or read prompted him to share it with you, he knew that he had fallen in love. And thus, it soon came time to be honest with you about his earnest feelings for you. It was time to finally say it.

During a private dinner with him, Elrond had prepared his words carefully. As he dotted the corners of his mouth with a red satin cloth, he cleared his throat. But before he could speak, your voice incidentally interrupted him.

“Elrond, do you think I’m a witless human?”

The words he had almost spoken caught in his throat. He lifted his gaze to yours across the table, studying the remorseful expression that had overcome the smile you had worn only minutes ago. He had felt that something about you was off that evening; your spirit seemed dampened like the fallen leaves of autumn when drenched with the harvest’s cool rain.

“Of course not. Why would you ever think that?”

He watched as you toyed with a piece of warm pastry, poking at the flakey crust distractedly. “I suppose I- I…I worry that I am unworthy of your company. You are a great lord and I am nothing but a wanderer who happened upon your halls years ago. There are many who are still uncertain of me, many who would rather I leave your courts and make my home elsewhere.”

“Anyone who say such things about you must be the witless creature, (Y/n), not you,” he reassured.

Your eyes met his. There was an urgency to your tone, an urgency that taunted him unintentionally. “I am dull and plain, milord. I do not belong in your world of elegance and majesty. I am like the dust of the earth and you- you are like stardust.”

Still silence fell as Elrond processed your words. You had returned to formalities, which you seldom did unless the situation called for it. This time, in the comfort of your shared solitude, it was not expected of you. Where had this all come from? Had someone chastised you? Spoken ill of your character?

He rose slowly from his chair and made his way to you. You kept your eyes on your plate, suddenly overwhelmed by a bashful sense of embarrassment. Every step he drew nearer, your pulse quickened.

The warmth of his hand stilled the nervous fidgeting of yours.

As near as he was to you now, knelt by your chair, you wondered if he could see the tears burning in your eyes. You blinked, dissolving the blurry liquid from your vision. You held your breath very still, only taking shallow breaths –you feared anything deeper would encourage more emotions to present themselves.

When his other hand swept your hair from your face, your breath caught in your throat. “You are the furthest thing from dull, melda. Do not compare yourself to the dust that is trampled by the feet of beasts – you are far more precious than even the light of the stars. You are worth far more than you give yourself credit for.”

The soft touch of his finger pulled your chin towards him, warranting your gaze to meet his. “I have spent these last two months considering how I might tell you this, and I find that is more perfect a time than ever,” he paused only to admire your eyes and the loveliness that reflected in them, “I am in love with you, (Y/n), and I fall more in love with you each day that passes.”

Your (e/c) widened and you felt your chest tighten – how could this be possible? How could he, the great elven lord of Rivendell, think of you as anything more than a wanderer? No matter how much you doubted yourself, you knew you could trust his words, despite the shock they invoked. He was never one to speak with haste or make himself vulnerable to anyone apart from his children. You were stunned to silence, waiting for him to take it back.  But he never did.

In fact, his brows drew together in an expression of absoluteness and he spoke again in a calmer, more pronounced tone. He took one of your hands in his and pressed it to his heart. “You are the most marvelous creature that has ever walked into my life. I am the one who has been graced by your presence. You have enriched my life when before it was simple and lonely…you are stardust, melamin, not me.”

Your sorrowful tears turned to joy as they poured from your eyes and spilled over your flushed cheeks. When you leaned forward to embrace him, he opened his arms to accept your human display of affection. A little too enthusiastic, it might have been – you wrapped your arms over his shoulders, pulling yourself to the ground where he knelt.

His chuckle reverberated against your body and you found yourself wondering how you had ever doubted your belonging here with him – there was no other place in Middle-Earth that could hold your heart.

arwen | word count: 420

Arwen had known from the moment she had met you that something was meant to last between the two of you. Call it instinct, desire, or elven wisdom – whatever it might’ve been, she felt it clearly much like her father’s visions. Although she hadn’t been sure if it was the bonds of friendship or kindred spirits for some time, until her connection to you was proven by your shared desire to be near each other whenever you could.

She confessed to you on the morning of your departure with part of her father’s guard to oversee the treaties between your peoples. There was much riding upon the success of your deliverance and the treaties themselves – there was much hanging in the air, stiffening the backs of many anxious elves that mounted their steeds alongside you. Just as you finished loading your saddle, her voice carried across the yard of the stables and met your ears, drawing your attention towards you.

“I thought you were supposed to be with the farewell party at the gates?” You inquired. The smile her presence brought onto your lips warmed her heart.

“I am,” she drew near until she was within arm’s reach of you, “I came to say goodbye personally. I have something to tell you before you go.”

“Oh? What is it, my lady?”

“I want to offer you this,” – she took your hand in hers and discreetly place something within the grasp of your fingers, folding them back over it – “If you would but promise to take great care of it.”

Opening the palm of your hand, you found the cool glint of the Evenstar glistening back at you. To say that you were stunned was an understatement – surely this was not what it seemed to be. Was she offering her heart to you?

“Arwen, are- are you asking…?”

“I am offering you my heart with this jewel, that you may carry me with you while we are parted.”

You searched her eyes for any hint of uncertainty, but you found none. She knew what she was doing, placing this jewel in your care. She was offering you her love, her fidelity, her loyalty. Herself.

“But this must mean that-“

“That I love you,” she murmured, taking a step closer. She curled your fingers around the Evenstar again, this time enclosing her hands around yours. Her eyes flickered down as she placed a soft kiss to your knuckles, sealing her promise. “And I will be waiting for you when you return home.”

legolas | word count: 259

It came in during one of the many nights that you sat close by him during the Feast of Starlight in his father’s halls. When he had seen your ceremonial gown laced with silver ribbon and your hair flowing free of any braids or decorum, he felt as though every thought and feeling he had harbored for you in his heart had been sealed by that moment. The need to confess his feelings came on so strongly that he could hardly speak throughout the feast, knowing the next words that passed through his lips would be ones of affirmation and promise. 

It happened in the basking glow of moonlight, just after you pointed out the constellations that glimmered brightly above you. He had placed his hand over yours gently, his fingers trembling slightly with anticipation. 

You glanced at him as his fingers enclosed around yours. His glimmering blue eyes narrowed down at your delicate hand, not yet meeting your inquiring gaze. His brows dipped together as though he were working very hard at thinking of what to say. 

“Legolas?”

He swallowed back his nerves before looking up to say, “(Y/n), you have been like my very own star, illuminating every part of my being with your passion. I think it must be time that I tell you just how much I care for you,” - his other hand came to cup the hand he held, encasing it in the warmth of his touch - “I love you, (Y/n), with a fire that burns brighter than the sun itself.”

galadriel | word count: 207

The lady Galadriel, even in her vast grace and eloquence, could not find the words to say all that she felt for you. In the dusk of a summer evening over a private supper, she handed you a carefully folded letter that had been sealed with silver thread. You took it gingerly, looking up at her with curious eyes before unfolding its contents and delving into her written speech.

In it she had poured everything - from the moment she had met you to the very minute she had realized how her heart was binding itself to yours with the slow cadence of the changing seasons. She expressed that though her life had spanned a great millennium, you had brought a youthful curve to her smile, a liveliness she had not known for some time. At the very end of her confession that had been penned with her delicate penmanship were the concluding words of affection. She was in love with you. 

When you looked up at her, the letter quivering in your hands, she glanced away momentarily before saying, “Every word I wrote is but the truth I feel in my heart,” her smile was as dignified as ever, “and I cannot deny it any longer.”

haldir | word count: 365

He will have thought about it for a very long time and have every word prepared to the syllable. The setting was carefully planned, the way he spoke and carried himself was rehearsed - for declaring your lifelong love for someone was no lighthearted matter. It could determine the course of his existence, as well as yours. Haldir wanted nothing less of himself than utter perfection, knowing well that you were worth every bit of his effort (and so much more). 

So there he waited in the beauty of the Lothlorien moon glow for your arrival. He had your favorite delicacies made in the kitchens by the skilled elves in the upper palace. There were pastries filled with tart berries and lathered with warm crème, a centuries-aged mulled wine, and votives shimmering in the grass. All to tell you that he loved you - to declare his heart as yours.

But all of that changed when you arrived suddenly and rushed up the slope to meet him. Unexpectedly, you took him in your arms and held him there without warning. There was a quiver to your body that he felt against his skin. He returned the gesture without hesitation.

“Melda, what is it that troubles you?” 

You spouted off about how horrible your day had been and how glad you were to have had this meeting with him, how it had kept you going throughout the gradual disappointments that had taken place since that morning. You went on to tell him how much he meant to you - all without explicitly saying ‘i love you’, but somehow he knew that had been what you meant. 

Without thinking, he said it over you shoulder in a whisper just loud enough to be heard by your human ears. It hadn’t been the way he had carefully planned out, but somehow it had been sweeter this way than any other way he could have imagined. It was natural, pure, and made his heart full. 

“I love you too, Haldir,” you murmured in return. He permitted himself to succumb to your human expression of affection completely as he tightened his embrace and gently nestled his chin over your shoulder. 

gimli | word count: 346

The saying “the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach” must have applied to dwarves as well. For one night as you and the other members of your Fellowship bedded down for a meal and a few hours’ rest, the savory flavor you managed to infuse in the meager ingredients you rationed had done just that to Gimli, son of Gloin. It had been only a brief moment between handing him his own helping and sitting down next to him with your own that the words of adoration escaped his mouth.

“My love be yours, lass! This brew is delicious!” He had proclaimed, his voice rising higher above the hushed sounds of delight as the others enjoyed your cooking. Then his own words registered in his hungry mind - as they did to the rest of the group.

The spoon halted in his mouth as he froze stiff under the several inquiring looks from around the fire. Legolas’ expression was contorted in such a confused way, Gimli would have make a jab at the elf had he not been the object of attention himself. He hadn’t thought it possible for the dwarf to harbor feelings - well, positive ones, at least.

Your smile drove the dwarf’s cheeks into a reddening fit. “Your what be mine?” 

“Uh, ah,” he swallowed quickly and slurped in another mouthful of broth, “I dedn’t say anythin’.”

“Oh, I think you did, Gimli,” Aragorn chimed in with a wide grin on his face.

“I think he might ‘a said he loved her!” One of the hobbits proclaimed, encouraging a roar of laughter around the fire. 

Gimli muttered something over his bowl of stew that he cradled close to his beard. You smiled at him, knowing he was too embarrassed to even offer a rebuttal. It may not have been outright or plainly spoken, but you could see through the hard-pressed and unfeeling exterior he always wore that there was something soft not too far below the surface. You were happy to hold the affections of a certain red-haired, axe-wielding dwarf. 

frodo baggins | word count: 612

Frodo loved nothing more than a peaceful day spent in the flickering shade of the forests and crossing through little creeks and rivers - especially if you were with him. He often invited you to tag along with him on his adventures to find a good reading spot or explore some hidden oasis of the Shire he had yet to discover. He always wanted to be with you. 

On one such day, Frodo couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every thought turned and found its way back to you. Each time he tried to concentrate on the book he cradled in his hands, his eyes wandered readily to find your peaceful face indulged in your own little world, just content to have his company without the need for conversation. 

He adjusted himself where he sat in the forked trunk of a comfortable tree and tried one last time to immerse himself in the paragraphs printed on the yellowed pages of his book. It was no use.

Minutes passed and Frodo couldn’t try any longer. His eyes settled on the texture of your (h/c) hair that you had left down that day with no braids or ribbons tying portions of it back. The midday sun that filtered through the canopy of trees sent waves of gold across those soft tendrils he loved tucking behind your ear. You sat primly at the base of the tree, weaving the stems of flowers together. 

Quietly, he admired the contour of your nose, the curve of your cheeks, the delicate shape of your lips and the pink tongue that poked out every now and then as you tried to concentrate on your pleats. A dreamy smile took over his quaint expression. The contented sigh that passed between his lips pulled your gaze up to meet his.

His sweet smile encouraged your own to make an appearance. Both of your hearts fluttered. “What’s that look for?” 

“I was just admiring how beautiful you are with sunlight in your hair,” he said. His voice was sugary and tender. It reminded you of the rich pastries his uncle offered you each time you came for a meal. So delicately ruch with sweetness that it sat in your belly and warmed, mixing perfectly with the twang of a hot berry tea. Frodo was like that - the perfect mix of everything natural and sweet. Pure.

Your blush overtook your expression and your averted your gaze bashfully. As your thoughts rushed with anticipation, wondering what was to come next, if anything. Perhaps he would say something else or return to his book, you couldn’t be sure. 

There was the definitive sound his book snapping shut and the scuffle of his feet as he hopped down from the tree. You teased him with a glance when he sat next to you and tucked his legs underneath him, turning your fingers around the stems of budding dandelions. His eyes studied your face for a moment longer before he wandered down to follow the steady work of your hands.

“What are you making?”

“I’m weaving a bookmark for you,” you answered. “After it dries, you can take it out and use it for other books.”

There was that fluttering in his heart again. 

“You’re marvelous,” he whispered. 

A short chuckle escaped you and your eyes widened with a mix of shock and curiosity. “I’m just weaving flowers, Frodo. It’s nothing special.”

His hand covered yours. Your fingers stilled.

“Of course it is. Anything you do becomes special.”

“Frodo, I-...”

“I love you, (Y/n).”

“You- you what?”

He traced his finger along your cheek, tucking your hair behind your ear like he always did. “I love you.”

samwise gamgee | word count: 1,084

Sam had planned every minute of his confession. He would invite you to supper, cook every bit of it himself, and put it all in a picnic basket to be eaten in the quaint garden of his home. He had rehearsed his words over and over again, both to Frodo and the looking glass that hung by the front door.

When you arrived that evening, it was obvious that something was turning in that head of his (he was never any good at being discrete), but you didn’t let on as if you suspected anything. You figured that if Sam had planned something special, he would enjoy the surprise on your face better than the curious questions that would deflate his excitement. With a basket in tow, he led you back out the front door and onto the stone steps of his beautifully gardened walkway.

You paused to admire the lilies and tall-reaching sunflowers as he bickered with the key in the lock. Unfortunately, both of you were too distracted to notice the picnic basket slipping from his grasp. Before either of you could react, the beautifully packed picnic had tumbled out onto the dusty stones around your feet. 

A loaf of bread that had been carefully wrapped in parchment seemed unscathed, as did the little pot of warm stew that had been tied shut with a thick ribbon over the lid. The jars of honey and jam clinked as they rolled into each other, a packed cheese board tumbled out and into the grass, and a lovely golden pie feel top-first onto the porch step with a splat.

Your first instinct was to clasp your hands over your mouth and stare idly at the unfortunate mess. Your eyes flicked to Sam, who stood with his back to you and his hand still on the key that stuck out of the door. His shoulders sank and an audible sigh of remorse left his lips.

“Oh, blast it!” he exclaimed under his breath, bending over to turn the basket right-side up.

Poor Sam.

“Oh, Sam! I’m so sorry!” You stepped forward out of your daze and tucked the jars in your arms. You picked up the stew that had only barely spilled a few drops when it tipped, careful not to knock the lid off anymore. When you set them down by the basket, you noticed the pie that had been smashed had splattered onto Sam’s feet and trousers. Helplessly, he tried to shake the gooey tart off, but to no avail.

“Let me go inside and get some towels,” you offered. Scooting between him and the doorpost – and narrowly avoiding the pie yourself – you took the key from his fingers and twisted it back, opening his front door wide open and quickly heading for the bathroom.

When you came back, damp towel in hand, Sam was slumped by the grass, picking up the cheese and berries that had hopped out like little frogs. You sighed at the sight of it, knowing he had most likely prepared and cooked every bit of this meal himself. You couldn’t help but notice that he looked rather defeated.

Approaching him, you could hear him muttering under breath, things like, “Samwise, you blundering fool” and “now the night’s all ruined because of your clumsiness”. Gently, you placed your hand on his shoulder and bent over to capture his attention. He stood and looked at you, a frown drooping his eyebrows together. It was enough to make your heart break right then and there.

“Here, leave that to me and let’s get you cleaned up.”

Taking his hand, you led him to the little bench by the potted tomatoes and gestured for him to sit. He sat down with a groan and reached for the towel, which you pulled out of reach. “It’s alright, Sam, I can clean it off.”

“You don’t have to do that, (Y/n),” he interjected. There was an embarrassed twinge in his tone.

“I know I don’t, but I want to help. You went to all this trouble to give me a lovely evening out and I want to do what I can to help make it happen still,” you reassured. You knelt by his feet and began wiping the crème and berries from his trousers, letting the water soak in and draw the hue out.

“Oh,” he sighed, rubbing his face tiredly with his hand, “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”

You glanced up at him curiously, quirking a brow. “Sam, it’s alright. It’s just one date – we can always try again and next time I’ll lock the door for you. Or I can carry the basket, although I can’t promise I won’t be the one to drop it.” Your snickering didn’t seem to assuage his deflated excitement.

“No, tonight was-…I was going to- to-...”

You leaned back on your haunches, your hands still. He was going to what?

“Sam?”

His silent anxiousness worried you. Tenderly, you placed a hand on his knee and bent forward to try and catch his gaze again. Bashfully, his eyes darted up, but they did not meet yours. Instead he focused on your hand that settled on his knee and found himself smiling softly, despite the tears that had welled in his eyes.

Following his gaze, you realized what you had done – the heat rose in your cheeks and you began to pull away, but his hand stopped you. With a sweet touch, he wove his together with yours and looked up at you. Your pulse quickened  - you had never seen that look before, in his eyes. The one where they shimmered almost like stars and his smile tipped to the side. He looked almost blissful.

“I had planned on telling you I love you. I had everything planned, including baking your favorite pie with little hearts woven into the crust. I wanted tonight to be special, so you would remember it when we’re old and grey and start forgetting what we ate for second breakfast.”

Sam watched as your smile grew, shrank into shock, and then grew again. When you sprang forward and enveloped him, it took a moment for him to register your sudden warmth pressed against him. But when he did, he happily returned the gesture and wrapped his arms under yours, tucking his chin over your shoulder. He could smell the sweet scent of lavender wafting from your beautiful hair.

“Sam, I’ll never forget this night for as long as I live.”

merry brandybuck | word count: 409

With Meriadoc Brandybuck, nothing was ever subtle. The young hobbit had planned his confession like he might any other adventure or trip across the country. From morning until night, Merry had something in store for you to slowly build to the moment he was prepared to confess his truest feelings. 

It started with pulling you out your door at the crack of dawn to watch the sunrise over Bywater Pool with a quaint breakfast in the square (which you forgave him for when he presented those deliciously warm muffins) and was then followed by a light frenzy of morning shopping from the markets that were selling sweet-tasting goods and homemade wares. He had seen the way you had eyed that little locket with the (f/c) jewel dangling from it and bought it when you weren’t looking, slipping it into his vest pocket. 

Not long after you had visited your friends in the Green Dragon Inn, there had been a lovely wagon-ride through the rich Green Hill countryside to reach the borders of the Shire, followed by a lunch under the trees of the forest in the curve of the hillside shadows. He watched fondly as you went about collecting flowers to braid into a crown for the two of you. After your meal had been finished (along with a day full of snacks and goodies he had brought along), he had led you on a hike the rest of the way to Tuckborough where the Great Willow sat patiently waiting for dusk. 

There, underneath the swaying loveliness of the weeping branches, he turned out his pocket and clasped the necklace around you from behind. 

A gasp escaped your surprised smile, “What is this?!” 

“I saw you eyeing it this morning when we were in the square,” he planted himself beside you, tucking your hair behind your shoulder, “And I thought you should have it.”

“Oh, Merry,” you looked down and marveled at its glimmering beauty, pressing your fingers to the chain, “You really shouldn’t have! This cost a few good silver pieces!”

There was pure adoration in his eyes when you looked at him, a look you hadn’t seen so fully expressed before. It was then, in the pause between phrases, that he said it all with just a look. You had never felt such butterflies before.

“No price could ever compare to the amount of my love for you, (Y/n).”

Oh, he was smooth. He was very smooth.

pippin took | word count: 430

Pippin mightn’t have been the most creative when it came to planning elaborate dates or settings in which to confess his innermost feelings with, but he was no less sincere. When the quick knock had come at your door one morning before you had even had the chance to devour your first meal of the day, you hadn’t expected to find him standing anxiously on the other side. 

He wore that same crooked smile that alighted his whole face and held tightly in his hands was a bouquet of wildflowers. By the looks of them, he must has run up the lane carrying them - some daisies had lost a few petals and you spotted the dirt-knotted roots hanging from his hands from where he had pulled them from the earth. It was messy and imperfect, but it was Pippin. 

There was something so endearing about his childlike naivety when it came to the “proper” way of presenting things, such as the mop of unkempt curls on his head, the bruised flowers in his clenched hands, and the wide-eyed energy he never went without. You loved every bit of it.

You certainly hadn’t expected him to suddenly become shy when he began to explain the bouquet he placed in your hands, his fingers lingering over yours a little longer than necessary. He was never one to be slow to speak.

“I-I, uh, I thought you might like these pretty flowers, y’know, because pretty things like other pretty things,” he smiled for a moment and bounced on his feet, until he seemed to register his own words and how they might be taken, “Uh, not- not that I see you as a ‘thing’ or...anything.”

“I know what you mean, Pip,” you smiled at him through the blossoms as you pressed them to your nose, inhaling their sweet scent. 

“I also came to- uh- to tell you about my feelings.”

“Your feelings?” 

“Ah, those,” he giggled and spared a glance at his feet, “I just meant that I have feelings for someone. For you, that is. I mean. And, uh, I wanted to come out and say it. Like that.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “Oh, Pippin, that’s wonderful becau-”

“I love you, that is,” he concluded before adding a rushed, “You don’t have to say the same, of course. I was just putting it out there.”

You tucked in your widening smile and concealed your blush behind your daisies. “I do feel the same way. Would you like to come in for breakfast?”

You knew he never turned down a meal.

tags: @moony-artnstuff​  @wellfuckmyexistence​

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Mystery Twins: Not Freaking Out

A new AU inspired by Mystery Skulls…

AO3 link

Ch.1

~~~~~~~~~~

April 6th, 1972

“What?! Stanford, tell him he’s crazy!”

But Ford glanced down at his navy-blue pamphlet, wincing, and closed the curtains, purposely keeping his eyes off his brother.

“Stanford? Don’t leave me hanging?” Stanley croaked. “High six?”

And the door was slammed in his face by his father’s hand, deaf to the wails of his nephew and the choked sobs from his mother.

Stanley growled in his throat. “Fine! I can make it on my own! I don’t need you, I don’t need anyone! I’ll make millions and you’re RUE the day you turned your back on me!”

~~~~~~~~~~

May 14th, 1976

Fiddleford had insisted that he and Stanford go out to celebrate their upcoming graduation. In a few days they would no longer be students, ready to use what they learned out in the real world. Stanford was reluctant, but agreed. What were the odds anything outside of a few drinks and some good food would occur? Stanford had a lot to drink for and it did seem like he never left campus for some typical college fun, so he took a shot and then stuck to some cozy beer and some onion rings.

After fleeing Columbia prison with a gang, and then weaseling his way out of that mess in New Mexico, Stanley had been apprehensive about trying to make it big in southern California, not knowing much about Stanford’s new life, but he did know that’s where he was going to college; Moses bless Ma and her phone calls. But what were the odds Stanley would ever run into his brother? He needed the money so he took the shot. 

At first, Stanford thought it was his imagination and he nearly choked on his beer while Fiddleford was busy talking to a guy who was also from Tennessee. A second, longer look confirmed his fears and Stanford saw his long-lost family member exit the bar, leaving behind a small table with a few empty beers on it to smoke.

With Stanley’s back to him, Stanford studied him through the glass. His hair was a bit longer than how he kept it in high-school and it wasn’t slick back tonight; probably from holding his head so much. From what Stanford had seen before Stanley had leaned against the window, his face wasn’t as round and youthful as it was four years ago; he had grown a square jaw like Pa’s. Like Stanford’s. His skin was rough and scraggly, unlike Stanford who was clean-shaved, and he wore work boots, dirty jeans, and a worn white t-shirt. Stanley Pines looked rough around the edges, but when he re-entered the bar Stanford saw that spark in his brown eyes that guaranteed a heart made of plastic gold and a promise to protect the things he cares about.

Stanford wanted to be angry. He wanted to shake his rage, punch the jerk in the face, and leave for campus. But he couldn’t. He was too relieved to see his brother alive and a very very small part of him had missed him like crazy these last four years. He wasn’t quite ready to forgive Stanley for what he did, but maybe if he was ready to apologize, Stanford could be ready.

Stanley’s eyes landed on Stanford on his way to his table and he froze like a statue and paled three sheets. Stanford wondered if Stanley would pass out and he could feel himself turn red with embarrassment. He bit his lip and tried to move his own eyes to the six-fingered hand around his drink, but his mind stayed on Stanley and the corner of his eye kept him in view.

Stanley looked ready to walk out the door, but with a sigh he returned to his table. Stanford could feel Stanley staring at his back; he let him; it was only fair that Stanley got to absorb Stanford’s appearance since he had his fill of how much Stanley had changed. He was bigger than he was in high-school, taller and slightly thicker maybe, but not nearly as muscular as his twin. Stanford’s hair was still an uncontrollable fluffy mess and he still wore glasses, and today he wore clean jeans with black sneakers to go with his black t-shirt that was covered by a brown jacket with tons of pockets.

Stanford couldn’t stand his brother looking at him and not looking back for too long. When he looked at Stanley, a waitress was picking up the empty glasses. Stanford watched Stanley hold up two fingers, the waitress nodded and said something he could hear across the bar, and she left. Stanley looked at Stanford, their eyes meeting, and he gestured casually for Stanford to join him at his two-person table and looked away, waiting for Stanford to either accept or reject the invitation. After taking a deep breath, Stanford swallowed one last mouthful of his drink, wiped his lips dry, and made himself walk to his brother’s table.

If either of them thought things were awkward before the moment Stanford sat in the empty chair, the atmosphere became even thicker and the room suddenly felt even warmer. None of them said a word and remained silent until the waitress came by with two more beers. While Stanford quietly thanked her, Stanley gulped his down. Stanford snorted with a small smile as he brought his glass up to his lips. The drink half-empty, Stanley slammed his down, gave a small grunt, and spat out, “So, what’s the word, Sixer?”

Stanford smiled as he slowly began to spill about college and his new friends. Well, more like best friend and acquaintances, but his status was much better than it was in high-school and he was much happier. Stanley nearly choked on his beer when Stanford mentioned his twelve PhDs and he immediately congratulated him and told him how proud he was; he even ordered two shots to celebrate with. Stories of college were swapped for stories of Stanley’s travels and before either brothers knew it, it was almost like nothing had ever happened. (This was probably thanks to the alcohol in their systems, but let’s not ruin a good thing.)

As less and less people crowded the bar and the drinks started to slow down, more and more was said between the pair of twins and it was almost too easy with how things flowed. Eventually they were the only ones at the bar and they could tell the staff was waiting for them to leave so they could close, so they decided to go for a walk to keep the good conversation going. It seemed like nothing could end such a surprisingly successful night until the hairs on the back of Stanley’s neck stood up and he looked over his shoulder.

Four dreary shadows followed them in the dead of night, but Stanley recognized them instantly. He tried to get Stanford to leave, but the eldest twin refused, no matter how hard the younger one pushed. Stanley stopped trying when Stanford gritted through his teeth, “I won’t abandon you again, Lee.”

The twins may have been out-numbered, but the gang was out-matched. After a few scrapes and close calls, the Pines twins left the goons on the sidewalk and ran before the cops could be called. One look at Stanley while under a lamppost and Stanford saw how badly his brother was beaten, so he forced him onto a trolley for Backupsmore and took him up to his dorm, where a first-aid kit sat under his bed.

Stanford ignored the fact that Fiddleford wasn’t back while he fixed Stanley up. He also ignored his twin’s groveling, claiming he could take care of himself, but Stanley had a broken nose and needed the extra pair of hands to snap his bones back into place. When all was said and done and Stanley’s schnoz had quit bleeding, Stanford filled an ice pack and made his twin lay down on his bed so he could rest. That was when Stanley spat out what had been on his mind all night.

“Why do you even care?” His eyes were covered by his beefy arm, making his expression hard to read. “Aren’t you mad at me?”

Stanford stared. Had he really made it seem he was so angry at Stanley he wouldn’t help him? “I… Yes. Yes, I’m still mad at you, but… but I…” He stumbled over his words and swallowed, the ice pack making his fingers numb.

Stanley peeked at his brother and sighed. “I’m mad, too… but I missed you so much that I ain’t got the time to be mad. You get what I’m sayin’?”

Stanford smiled and could feel a hundred pounds being lifted from his shoulders. “I think so. I might be angry at you for what you did, but I’m at a point in which I don’t care. At least, not as much as I care about getting my brother back.” He added nervously.

Stanley finally returned the smile. “Yeah. Me too.” And he accepted the ice pack and placed it on his head to help with the ache.

The next morning, Fiddleford tiptoed into his dorm and was surprised to find Stanford asleep on the floor, sitting with his arms-crossed on the bed, and a stranger on Stanford’s bed, one of his hands in Stanford’s hair. But a closer look told Fiddleford that the stranger was family and so he left them alone without a single sound.

~~~~~~~~~~

“No way?!” Stanley reread the check his brother handed to him. His eyes were particularly drawn to all those zeros, but he also checked the address and such and such. He grinned proudly and handed the slip of paper back with a playfully shove of his twin’s shoulder. “Congrats, Sixer!”

“Thank you, Stanley.” Stanford replied with rosy cheeks, pocketing the check in his brown jacket. “Now I just have to decide on what to study and how I’ll study it.”

“You’ll figure something out.” Stanley said as he munched on his bacon, happy to sit at a breakfast joint with his brother and just casually talk about life and junk. He didn’t need anything else. “Stanford Pines always thinks of a way.”

Stanford chuckled nervously, then changed the subject. “So, how do you like San Francisco?”

“It’s nice.” Stanley muttered with a shrug. “Not gonna lie, much of what I’ve already seen. Big city on water. It’s a lot nicer than Columbia, for sure, but it’s okay.” Stanford didn’t miss how uncomfortable he was about the subject, which made him only more sure what he was about to say was the right thing.

“I… I think I’ve decided what I want to study.”

Stanley grinned, his spirit much higher. “That’s what I’m talking about! Let’s hear it!”

“Well, when I was thinking about it, I couldn’t help but remember how I had always been teased for my six fingers.” Stanford started, raising a hand and wiggling his fingers. “But that got me thinking about anomalies.” And he pulled out his book on the subject and set it on the table for Stan to pick up and flick through the pages. “You know, things that are odd, unusual, statistically improbable, but not impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible, yeah I know.” Stanley agreed. “Well this all looks great! So you’re gonna go find monsters and stuff? Sounds right up your alley!”

“Thank you.” Stanford said with a smile. “I’ve already calculated where to start, and there appears to be a large cluster of anomalies in Oregon. The grant will cover the cost of a house and lab and everything I could need to properly investigate. But… it’s a bit overwhelming.” Stanford admitted. “It’s a lot to explore for one man.”

“Hey hey,” Stanley said firmly to squash any doubt. “You’ll be amazing at it.”

“I was thinking of hiring an assistant.” Stanford went on, hoping to get his point across successfully. “The grant is enough to cover some help.”

“Hey, that’s not a bad idea! What about that Fiddlesticks guy?”

“I was actually thinking of keeping this in the family.”

Stanley’s smile dropped. After staring at him for a second or two, he lowered his head and sipped his orange juice. “Oh.”

“I’ll pay you for your work.” Stanford explained. “I haven’t even started on the blueprints for the house yet, but you were always creative and ingenuitive; we can think of a design we both like and would give us our own rooms and space. You wouldn’t have to pay for rent or the bills, you working would do that, but your pay would be lower, but it would be enough for whatever you need. Sure, if I really had to I could probably figure it out, but I would really rather not, and…”

“I’m in.”

It was Stanford’s turn to stare. He was really expecting his brother to refuse, to be stubborn about this. Stanford wasn’t an idiot; he knew Stanley was living in his car and had not been doing well the last four years, and he harbored a lot of guilt for that, but now he had a chance to make things right. Things were still uncertain, and there were still some things about what happened they would have to talk about, some day, but family helps family. Right? “Really?”

Stanley laughed and smiled at him. “Yeah, bro! You need help and I can help you, so I’m in. Last thing I need is for you to go skipping into Roadkill County by yourself and getting eaten by a two-headed mountain lion or something. ‘Sides, we always wanted to go on monster hunts as kids, and if I’ve learned anything, it’s that life is way too short to not do whatcha wanna do.”

Stanford grinned. “You won’t regret this, Lee! I swear!”

“Don’t sweat it,” Stanley chuckled. It was scary how similar they were; it appeared that Stanford was just as scared of losing Stanley as Stanley was of losing Stanford. “Wherever we go, we go together, right?” And he raised a hand to him.

Stanford grinned. “Right.” And they sealed the deal with a high-six.

~~~~~~~~~~

August 30th, 2000

“Move! MOVE! Outta my way!”

“Sorry! Sorry! Please excuse us, sorry!”

Ford was attempting to be the responsible and respectful one, since Stan was clearly going to be rambunctious and obnoxious enough for them both, but truth be told, if Stan was the one who was calm, Ford would be going ballistic.

They both ran into the hospital lobby, glanced at the directions board for the correct floor, and glanced at the elevator, stuffed with people like sardines in a tin can. Stan groaned and darted for the door to the stairs, making Ford grin and follow. They both used their adrenaline to run as fast as they could up the stairs and they nearly broke the door off the hinges at the sixth floor.

Of course, no one familiar was there to greet them, but the twins took that as a good sign; they hadn’t missed it. They walked to room 18 and saw that it was labeled “Pines.” The door suddenly opened and they were met faced-to-face with their nephew, Alex. 

The young man grinned at the sight of his uncles. “Hey! You made it!”

“We wouldn’t miss it, my boy.” Ford assured, patting his back.

“Is the squirt here yet?” Stan asked. 

Alex shook his head. “No, not yet. But Dana’s at eight centimeters, so it shouldn’t be too much longer.”

“Well, we’re here for you if you need us.”

“Thanks. I better go get her ice chips…”

“Oh, I gotcha, sport.” Stan said and headed down the hall casually, his hands in the pockets of his khakis.

“Seriously,” Alex muttered to Ford, a bit more mournful now. “I really appreciate… I’m glad you’re both here.”

Ford smiled kindly and squeezed his shoulder. “Your father would be very proud.”

Alex managed to smile back. An alarm rang over the door for room 18, and Alex ran back inside, leaving Ford to stand there in horror as Dana lay in bed, sweating. Two doctors hurried inside the hospital room and the door was closed, leaving Ford in the dark. He sighed, hoping no more death would strike this family, and he took a seat in the hall to wait.

Stan was shaken, but hid it well, when he came back and Ford had to tell him that something wasn’t right. They were both very surprised when the door was thrown open and Dana was wheeled out in her bed. Alex was squeezing her hand as two doctors called out orders and took the new mother away. Ford and Stan hurried close behind, but were stopped at a different door.

“I’m sorry, gentlemen, but only the father is allowed with the mother for the C-Section.”

The twins paled. “C-Section?!”

Two hours later, Alex emerged, shaking, but grinning. “They’re… they’re okay. They’re okay.”

“Holy Moses, Lil’Lex, what happened?” Stan said sympathetically.

“It’s… well, why don’t you come in first, then I’ll tell you.” Alex suggested. The pair of men nodded, and were led into a bigger room.

Dana was asleep, apparently on some kind of medicine to help her sleep. There was a special hospital crib next to the big bed. Stan and Ford cautiously approached with Alex, but Ford had to cover his mouth with his six-fingered hand and Stan accidentally let out a long line of swears, making Ford smack him upside the head.

There were two babies. One wore a pink hat, one wore a blue hat, both wrapped in warm blankets, and lying close together. There was a second crib off to the side, but there was no wonder why it wasn’t in use. Twins stick together.

“Mighty Axolotl, thank you.” Ford muttered under his breath. “Alex, they’re beautiful.”

Stan rounded on his nephew and ruffled his fluffy brown hair. “You trying to be a conman like your uncle?”

“Heh, we did decide to take a leaf outta your book, Uncle Stan.” Alex admitted. “We wanted to surprise you both. That’s why things were a bit complicated, but everything worked out. The girl, Mabel, came out first. She kicked the doctor in the jaw.”

“Hah! That’s my girl!” Stan said proudly.

“The boy, Mason, had his umbilical cord wrapped around his neck. Came out blue.” Alex admitted. “He’s okay now, just gave us a scare, but the doctors say he’ll be alright.”

“Thank goodness.” Ford looked down at the baby boy and smiled, truly grateful he was okay, and he thought he could see something poking out of his hat, but it was probably just fuzz.

Alex watched amusingly as the older twins just looked down at the sleeping younger twins. They were smiling so peacefully while their brown eyes were glued hungrily at the newborns. Alex waited for them to ask, but apparently they weren’t going to, so he chuckled warmly, “You know you can hold them too, if you want.”

Ford swallowed. “V-Very well…”

Meanwhile Stan pulled up a chair, sat, and excitedly waited like a child.

Alex scooped up the baby boy and gave him to Stan, who held him like a champ. Then Alex carefully picked up his little daughter and let Ford hold her, who was as stiff as wood and extremely cautious, but after a minute of feeling how peaceful she breathed against him and slept, it was easy to relax.

“Hello,” Ford muttered down at the baby girl, who slept happily.

Stan smiled down at the baby boy, getting strong deja vu from when he held his nephew all those years ago. He noticed something on the baby’s forehead and carefully freed a hand to smooth over his skin, but it wasn’t something that could be wiped away. He gently pushed the tiny blue hat up the small forehead and beamed with pride at the unique birthmark. “Well, look at you, buddy boy. Whatcha hiding that for, ey? That’s pretty special.”

Ford looked down and smiled. “How interesting.”

“Kinda looks like the Big Dipper.” Stan said.

Ford chuckled. “It does.” Something caught his eye, drawing his attention back to the baby girl. She was stirring in Ford’s arms, and soon opened one eye, getting used to the bright world. The scientist held his breath as she looked up at him, and slowly opened her other eye, staring up at him with brown eyes that matched his own. “Stanley,” He hissed. “Stanley, he’s looking at me.”

Stan looked and smiled. “She must see something she likes.” He sneered playfully.

Ford smiled warmly down at her. “Hello there, sweetheart. I’m your Great-Uncle Ford, hi.”

Stan snorted and looked down at his new nephew. “That’s too much of a mouthful. You two gremlins just call me your Grunkle Stan, k’?”

~~~~~~~~~~

January 18th, 2001

The phone was ringing. No, maybe Stan had dreamed the phone rang, because when he lifted his head to listen, he couldn’t hear it, so he let his head fall back on his pillow and he began snoring again.

Ford soon opened the door. He pinched the bridge of his nose, breathed deeply to control himself, and then he entered Stan’s bedroom. He stood beside his sleeping brother and squeezed his shoulder. “Stanley. Stanley, wake up please.”

Stan blinked awake, groaned, and turned. “Whatcha want, Sixer?”

“Stanley, please sit up. I need to tell you something.”

That got his attention; how grave Ford’s voice sounded, how serious, how scary and non-urgent it was. This wasn’t an emergency, but it wasn’t good if Ford was waking him up in the middle of the night. Stan sat up and slipped on his glasses. “What’s wrong?”

Ford sat on the bed, facing his twin. He was quiet for a moment, but then began to talk in a melancholy tone. “W-We… um… The…” Ford cleared his throat in a sad attempt to start again. “I need you to, please, be ready to leave for California as soon as you can. W-We should pack for a few days, maybe a week just in case.”

A shiver went down Stan’s spine. “Why?”

Ford took in a deep breath and took off his glasses. That was never a good sign. “Alex and D-Dana went out. Left Mason and Mabel with a neighbor for a date night. I-It was raining…” And Ford was at a loss for words.

Stan sighed tiredly. “They got into a car crash, didn’t they?”

Ford nodded.

Stan clapped his hands on his knees. “Well, we can help ‘em out. Those little guys love us, and we can stay longer than a week to help the love birds recover.”

“Stanley… they can’t recover.”

That nearly made Stan’s heart stop. He watched as Ford’s head was hung low, but he could still see how wet his eyes were. 

Ford swallowed and croaked out, “They’re gone.”

Stan bit his lip.

Ford turned his head away. “Let’s try to leave within the hour…” He made to move, to attempt to be a man and hide his tears, but Stan wouldn’t let him.

He brought his brother in for a tight, warm hug, and closed his eyes. Ford’s eyes brimmed with tears, and fell when he shut his eyes and buried his face in his twin’s shoulder, but he couldn’t do more than shudder and control his breathing. Stan was still as stone, but a single tear leaked out of one eye, and he let it fall without shame.

~~~~~~~~~~

The nice old lady who had babysat the twins when their parents died kept an eye on them until the uncles arrived, coming just as quickly as they did the day they heard the niblings were being born.

When Ford and Stan arrived at their dead nephew’s house and made a short journey to the one next door, crying disturbed their ears. The frail old lady sighed sadly and explained to the men, “I’ve tried everything for her. Bless her heart, she’s fine, but she misses her parents.”

When the old lady shuffled away to find her spare key for Alex and Dana’s house, Stan and Ford went to see their niece and nephew, the pair in a bassinet in the living room. Soft music played on a record-player, but they were deaf to it. Poor Mabel was crying her little heart out, wailing as hot tears streamed her red cheeks. Mason was by her side, holding her hand as his bottom lip trembled, trying to help his sister but having no idea how.

Stan noticed this and smiled down at the six-month-olds. He ruffled the brown fuzz on top of Mason’s head and cooed, “Hey there, gremlins. Remember us? C’mere, pumpkin, let’s see if we can’t make you feel better, ey?” Stan carefully picked Mabel up and Mason let go of her hand, his bottom lip still shaking with emotion.

Poor Mabel still cried just the same, but Stan was patient and even smiled at her stubbornness. Ford watched, intrigued, as Stan cradled the baby girl in his muscular arm, ran a finger down her button nose a few times, slowly, and breathed deeply. By the time he ran his finger down her nose the third time, Mabel had stopped crying, curious, and then yawned, turning towards his chest and clinging onto his red Hawaiian shirt.

“There we go, better?” Stan asked. Whimpering from the bassinet made Stan chuckle and he reached a strong arm down for his nephew. “Don’t think I forgot about you, Lil’Dipper. I gotcha.”

“How did you do that?” Ford whispered as Mabel snuggled against his chest and Mason calmed down the second he was in Stan’s embrace.

The businessman shrugged. “I dunno, it worked for Alex when he got fussy and it worked on one of Soos’ cousins at Thanksgiving last year.”

Ford smiled and patted his shoulder. “Well you’ve always had a way with children, Stanley.”

“You’ll get the hang of it, Sixer, don’t worry.” Stan assured, but he was suspicious when he saw a new expression on Ford’s face. “Well we are taking them home with us.” You would think they had this conversation on the long car-ride, but the drive had been dead silent as the cold reality had set in.

“Stanley, no.” Ford said firmly, looking away. “We can’t.”

“Have you lost your mind, cuz I’ll help you find it!” Stan scolded. “Why in the world wouldn’t we take them home?!”

“W-... I… I w-... It’s not a good idea.” Ford stuttered, finally looking at his brother again. “It’s not that I don’t want to! I want to! And you would be brilliant at it, Stanley! But… But they would be b-... I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t be any good at it.”

“You were fine at the hospital!”

“That was different! Gravity Falls is too dangerous. I hate to say it, but they…”

“Then don’t say it.” Stan growled warningly. He calmed down a little, and then said with the kind of authority that made his word final, “Listen, we’re family; wherever we go, we go together. If they didn’t come home with us, where would they go? Everyone’s gone, so they’d go in the system, and you and I have both heard the horror stories. Best case scenario they would be separated, and that’s the best case scenario. They aren’t going in the system. They’re coming home.

“And what’s all this talk about you not being good enough for them?! That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and I’ve heard you say some stupid sh-stuff! They need you, and you need them. And honestly, if these kids are anything like us, I’m more worried about the town surviving than I am of them being okay.”

Ford snorted and bit his lip, smiling down at the pair of babies.

“It’ll work out, Sixer, just you wait and see.” Stan reassured and handed Mabel to him, despite the frantic look on Ford’s face and the fact that he was shaking his head “no”. 

Mabel hadn’t really fallen asleep; she was merely resting against Stan’s body. Now she grabbed Ford’s black sweater tightly and nuzzled her chubby cheeks into the yarn. She smiled at the soft touch. Ford held his breath, waiting for Mabel to start crying again, but she didn’t. He took in a few breaths and adjusted his hold so she was cradled more comfortably. The scientist smiled down at her and found all of his troubles were a bit less troubling.

“And no offense, Brainiac, but I don’t give a… gnome’s butt what you say.” Stan injected; he was really going to have to work on his swears. “I’m going to the courthouse before we leave town and I’m adopting these gremlins.”

“What?!” Ford looked back up at him in shock. “Are you serious?”

“Yes.” Stan had a very serious look on his face that Ford had only seen on rare occasions. “I ain’t risking some distant cousin or whatnot deciding I ain’t good enough, or the system deciding to take ‘em. They’re my kids…”

“I want to adopt them with you.” Ford interrupted, his voice lighter than it had been all conversation.

Stan raised an eyebrow. “You don’t have to do that…”

“I want to.” Ford said earnestly, looking back down at Mabel. The second Stan mentioned the possibility of them going away again, Ford’s heart broke. He couldn’t do it. Not if his life depended on it. He couldn’t let his children go. “Y-you’re right. I can’t… I can’t lose…” And he bit his lip and cleared his throat. “You were right, Stanley.”

“Heh. A broken clock is right twice a day.” Stan quoted and let Mason hold his finger as he held him in his arms. “Trust me. We’ll be okay.”

And Ford nodded, putting all of his trust in his family.

~~~~~~~~~~

“SIXER! C’MERE!”

Ford jumped up from his desk, knocking his chair to the floor, and sprinted down the hall for the living room, where he was certain his brother was yelling from. He stood at the doorway to find Mabel standing thanks to the help of the couch, a chubby hand on the cushion, and Dipper on his hands and knees beside her. Stan was sitting on the floor just two feet away from the toddlers and grinned at his brother. “Mabel almost took her first steps!”

“Really?!” Ford gasped happily and stepped into the room to watch.

“C’mere, pumpkin!” Stan cooed and waved his hands to himself. “Come to Grunkle Stan, c’mere!”

Mabel giggled and bounced on her knees, but still didn’t step to him. Stan even clapped one or twice to grab her attention, but all that made her do was let go of the couch to clap, but she was more than capable of standing on her own.

“Go on, sweetie, you can do it.” Ford encouraged.

At last Mabel seemed to notice that her other great-uncle was present. She turned and smiled a big smile at him, showcasing her new baby teeth, and surprised everyone when she turned and ran to Ford. Mabel might have tripped and fallen on her baby butt, but that didn’t stop her from giggling and reaching out for Ford, who instantly scooped her up while Stan stood, laughing.

“Mabel, you can walk! Clever girl, clever girl!” Ford praised.

“That’s our girl!”

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford was on the floor of the living room a few days later, playing with Dipper and Mabel, building block towers. The door opened and closed and a booming voice called, “Where’s my troublemakers, ey?!”

The babies squealed and giggled and had a little race, crawling as fast as they could to the hall where Stan stood with groceries in his arms, but he sat the food on the floor to have free hands for his kids, and he scooped them up and scratched their chubby cheeks with his stubble.

“Hey there, kiddos? Been good for Grunkle Ford? No? Good!”

Ford rolled his eyes as he picked up the groceries. “They were as good as gold.”

“Eh, I guess that’s okay.” Stan smiled at Dipper, who was reaching for his glasses, and said, “Hi.”

Dipper smiled. “Hi!”

Ford did a double take as Stan laughed proudly and squeezed his nephew.

~~~~~~~~~~

From first steps to first words to first birthdays, the pair of old explorers were there for everything and couldn’t believe their luck. Pretty soon they were taking the children on safe adventures with them, fishing and hiking, and teaching them everything from Cowls to how to hot-wire cop cars. For eight years their lives were complete and things were too good to be true.

But then Stan went missing. At first Ford wasn’t too worried, only mildly annoyed, but to be fair they had a disagreement recently and Stan was a grown man, so maybe he needed to blow off steam. But then days went by. This was extremely unlike Stan, and there were some people that would want him gone, so without scaring the children too much, he began searching for his twin, definitely not freaking out.

[ruewrites]

Thrones are Built on Lies Chapter 8: Change of Heart

AO3

Ship: Solomon/Asmo, Diavolo/Lucifer

Word Count: 4550

Warnings: None

A/N: As always comments and feedback are appreciated! I hope you all are still enjoying the fic so far!

Prev

Next

Diavolo’s face was a welcoming sight to Solomon that morning as he left his room. He beamed the moment their eyes met and crossed the room in order to meet him. “Good morning! I trust you slept well last night?” his booming voice was almost too loud for Solomon, but it still brought a smile to his face.

“As well as a scholar can, yes.”

Well, books hadn’t been the only thing keeping him up last night. His dreams hadn't been too terribly helpful. If only he could have a little peace of mind while he slept. Maybe he’d crash tonight after his little outing. Asmo was rather high energy and Solomon had no doubt that he’d most likely be worn upon their return. Maybe he’d even sleep for a day. That would be rather nice the more he thought about it.

Diavolo nodded, “I will admit, it took me a while to get used to things here as well. It’s easy to become homesick, but Lucifer and I take visits back home every now and again. I promise it will get easier.”

“Were they all as welcoming to you as they are to me.”

“You’re lucky you weren’t here with the late king,” Diavolo shook his head, “Or maybe he would have liked you a little better than me. You aren’t the one who wanted to marry Lucifer.” That’s right, neither Azazel nor his brother had wanted Diavolo to marry the crown prince. From what he could gather, it sounded like Azazel still wasn’t fond of the union. “The point is, it takes them a while to warm up to people, but they will soon enough.”

Hopefully. Solomon seemed to be making way with the family, so he could only assume they’d start to like him soon even if just a little bit.

“In any case, how have things been with Asmodeus?”

Ah.

Oh.

“I know he was excited by the fact that you took the whole ‘Lilith’ thing well, a little melodramatic, but still happy,” Diavolo continued, “He’s been talking about how his eventual wedding would be the ball of the century ever since Lucifer and I got married.”

Solomon hadn’t even talked to him about the wedding. He’d been so caught up in learning about Arcadia that the wedding seemed more like a concept to him than an actual event that would occur soon. When was the coronation? How much time did he have left? Why had it not been more focused on his radar? Now that he thought about it more, he didn’t have a single clue about what any of his wedding plans were going to be. What food were they preparing? What times was everything occurring at? What was he supposed to wear? Were people going to witness their union? They were only a few of a long list of questions that Solomon should have known the answers to, and yet he didn’t.

It seemed like whenever Solomon solved one problem, another one arose. For whatever reason, it never occurred to him that their union would be a big event. Lucifer's would have been since he was the crown prince, but his? A small ceremony to seal them together would have sufficed. Did it really need to be big?

"He certainly has been dreaming for a while now hasn't he?"

"He certainly has," Diavolo nodded, “He has rather vivid dreams, they’re not always big in the grand scheme of things, but they’re very specific.”

So that probably meant that Asmo was hellbent on what he’d said to him last night. No matter how he tried to change the direction of his thoughts they always came back to the outing he was supposed to have today. Solomon knew love couldn’t be forced and that love was a rare thing to occur within an arranged marriage, but would Asmodeus accept that? Surely he had to know this small fact. Perhaps he was just in denial.

But why?

Why not just accept what life had given to them and be excited for the opportunities that it could provide?

“Has he talked to you about it?” Diavolo’s voice brought him out of his thoughts.

“About what?”

“His ideas. Surely you’ve heard some of them.

Solomon's blank expression must have said all that Diavolo needed to know. His face fell slightly. Solomon couldn't read the expression well. At first he thought that perhaps it was confusion. Disappointment? He couldn't place his finger on it. What he did know was that it made him feel uncomfortably guilty.

"Oh. I see," the pause between them was only a second too long, "You should spend more time with him. He's a kind person. Just a little-”

“High energy?” Solomon finished. Kind? Well if him ensuring Solomon that he’d fall head over heels for him was considered kind, Solomon would agree. This was the first positive thing he’d heard about his fiance the moment he’d stepped onto the grounds. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he really hadn’t heard too many good things about Asmo, only the things that he couldn’t do quite right. What could be the truth?

“Well yes, but I may have a soft spot for him,” Diavolo continued, “He was one of the few who made me feel welcomed here. ‘Anything for my big brother’s husband’ he’d say. We spent a lot of time chatting and sometimes he’d offer to take me to various places in Arcadia. All when Lucifer was busy of course.”

Maybe he had been a bit more well behaved because Diavolo was more than willing to spend time with him. Solomon was a busy man, he had research to do among other things. He couldn’t just drop his research at any time. Nonetheless, he could still contribute to the conversation. “Forgive me for saying so, but I find that a little hard to believe. Only because you seem to have a soft spot for most people you come into contact with.”

There was that booming laugh.

“Am I truly that easy to read?”

“Only a little.”

Diavolo was a genuine man. Solomon had to wonder if he had some sort of magic of his own to cause people to loosen up around him, or was he just that charismatic? Either way it made his marriage to Lucifer feel even stranger to him. How could there possibly be anything there deeper than the arrangement? Then again, according to Azazel, Diavolo seemed to have more of an influence of the crown prince.

What allowed someone to become that close?

Well, Simeon had some influence over his own decisions, but their relationship was different. Solomon would have had to been naive to think the two were equivalent. Diavolo and Lucifer had something beyond a close friendship and Solomon could see it even if he was rather confused by it.

“I think Lucifer might be your favorite person though,” he wanted to see what he said. He wanted to see how Diavolo talked about Lucifer. In a way, it was a roundabout way of him wanting to know more about the elusive eldest.

Diavolo seemed to melt right before him, his eyes turned gooey and warm and his body relaxed. “Perhaps, he’s a wonderful man and stunningly beautiful. The most ethereal being I’ve ever seen, sometimes I doubt that he’s human,” he sighed, “He’s intelligent too and an absolutely capable ruler.”

“You admire him.”

“I love him,” Diavolo corrected, “I’d do anything for him, I’d give my own life for him.”

Solomon didn’t know why those words threw him off. Giving up your life. Would Solomon do that for anyone? He wasn’t sure. He had people that he wanted to protect, yes. But giving up his own life? Thinking about that wasn’t something he wanted to do at the moment or later. It was a morbid concept.

“Asmo is quite smitten with you,” Solomon was vaguely aware that Diavolo was still talking, “He was completely fine when he left, but when he came back he was spellbound. I think it was good for him to have a little joy.”

It was easy to forget that the family was dealing with two deaths: the King and their sister. There had also been supposed assasination attempts. How much tragedy followed the family around?

It didn’t mean that he was going to give in to Asmodeus’ every demand, but he would try to keep those things in mind.

“It feels good to see him lively again, he was so anxious when it came to pretending, I know I was relieved that you took it all well.”

“I’m happy he’s not anxious anymore as well, I was worried I was doing something wrong. I’m glad to know that that wasn’t the case.”

Diavolo’s hand grabbed the handle to the door to the caverns as he turned back to Solomon, “We should talk more, I heard you’re going to have an outing today and I’d love to hear more.”

***

“Will you ever be on time for any meal?” Asmo huffed, crossing his arms.

“Maybe one day,” Solomon hummed, taking a seat, “But I did show up.”

“If you showed up early we could spend a little time together before everyone else got here.”

Solomon noticed that Asmodeus wasn’t looking at him. Following his gaze, Solomon saw that he was staring at Lucifer and Diavolo. Diavolo had his hand on the crown prince’s shoulder. He leaned down close to his ear and said something that made Lucifer smile ever so slightly and chuckle. He mouthed the word sit, and Diavolo took his place next to him. It was incredibly tender. No one else seemed to pay it any mind, but Asmo’s fingers gripped at the table.

“I might be able to come sooner if someone wouldn’t mind teaching me how to navigate the castle.”

He noticed Asmodeus nod slowly, but he didn’t look towards him. What had gotten into him? What about Lucifer and Diavolo had him so fixated? Unfortunately his little novice charm didn’t give him all of those answers. Did he dare reach up to see what he was feeling? It could give him an idea of how to steer the conversations.

His hand wandered towards his chest. But before his fingertips could brush against the pendant, Diavolo’s butler entered the room. “Breakfast will be out shortly, but I do have tea ready.”

Barbatos started at the head of the table, pouring tea for each member and setting out small biscuits. When had been the last time he came to breakfast? He came to other meals sure, but most of the time Simeon brought it back to him as he often slept through it.

“Welcome your majesty,” Barbatos said, pouring the steaming liquid into his cup, “It’s lovely to have you join us this morning.”

“Oh thank you.”

“Your scribe seemed to be getting tired of you missing meals.” Wasn’t he the bold one? “Anything in your tea?”

“No thank you.”

Barbatos nodded and moved on to Asmodeus.

“No cream or anything? Really?” Asmodeus leaned over to look at his cup.

“Really. I stay up rather late, and sugar makes you crash.”

“Then what about sugar rushes?”

“It’s a temporary rush. It won’t last in the long run.”

Lucifer had taken his tea black as well, so why was it so intriguing to Asmo that he might drink his own in a similar fashion? It was almost like it was some sort of secret or big surprise to his fiance.

“You really are a serious guy aren’t you.”

Now what was that supposed to mean?

“Does that mean you no longer want to go out?”

“No!” Asmo jumped in quickly, eyes going wide, “No we’re still going out. You can’t get away from me that easily.”

“I didn’t suspect that I would, You seemed rather determined.”

“Well good! You shouldn’t think that you could get away.”

Solomon snorted. He looked around the table to each of the members. Levi wasn’t fighting with Mammon like they’d been on the first day he got here. While the two of them weren’t talking, they seemed to be getting along better. Satan was focused on a book from his library, one that he’d have to remember to ask him about later. The twins sat silently. Well, Beel sat silently, Belphegor was asleep. Solomon also noticed that unlike the rest of his siblings, he was dressed in black. Had he been dressed in mourning attire when he arrived?

“Husband!” Asmo sang waving his hand in front of his face, “You should be paying attention to meee.”

“He ain’t your husband yet Asmo,” Mammon chuckled, before Solomon could even get a word in, “And he won’t be if you scare him away.”

“I won’t scare him away!”

A few of the other brothers snickered from around the table as Belphie opened one of his eyes. “Are you sure about that?” he asked, “When you met him you weren’t you.”

Solomon heard a bit of an edge to his voice. It wasn’t playful like Mammon’s had been.

“Enough,” Lucifer held up his hand, “It’s too early for this. We’re going to have a nice breakfast as a family or else I’ll banish you from Arcadia.”

“Aw come on Luci, you wouldn’t banish your baby brother would ya?” Mammon asked, leaning a little closer and batting his lashes.

Lucifer only narrowed his eyes, “Don’t test me.”

***

“Mammon runs the treasury, Levi is the head of the navy, Satan holds the records, and the twins split agriculture. Belphie takes care of the animals when it comes to stuff like milk and eggs and Beel takes care of crops and beef,” Asmo had been talking the entire ride down to his sector. He counted off each one of his siblings on his fingers as he named them off. He’d chosen to sit shoulder to shoulder with Solomon instead of across from him. Not that he was surprised. Asmodeus was rather clingy. “Lucifer as the head stays in the center and oversees all of Arcadia. He wasn’t always the welcome committee, but he had to take over. Luckily he has Diavolo for that now.”

Solomon shifted trying to give himself more room only for Asmo to follow him, “And what do you do?”

Asmo grinned, “Oh showing interest? Well, if you must know, my district takes care of little self care items. Lotions, perfumes, flowers, pretty things. Honestly mine is the best. Sure the other things are important I suppose, but what is life without beauty? My district is the most beautiful and therefore it's the best.”

Well, that seemed a bit shallow. Was looks the only thing he really cared about? All of the other things he had listed were equally important. How could he undermine them for the sake of his own? Every element came together to make a community. No one aspect held everything together alone.

“You’re going to love it. I can’t believe I haven’t taken you here sooner! Well I kind of can, after all I wouldn’t have been able to if- Well, you know.”

The carriage stopped and Asmodeus immediately seemed to perk up. The carriage bounced with him as he waited for the chauffeur. As soon as the door opened, he took Solomon’s hand and walked the two of them out. The first thing he noticed was a few timid townsfolk peeking out from behind their doors or windows or even stared from their stands.They seemed fixed on Asmo. Of course Solomon remembered that many of them most likely stayed hidden or on a low profile because of the death of the king along with the threats. It was nice to see some other life around. A royal being around probably put them at a higher risk.

“Hello my adoring darlings!” Asmo sang, “I’ve decided to treat you all with a visit today, and I’ve brought my soon to be husband to see all of you! Make sure you show him just how wonderful you all are!”

Solomon caught the sweet scent he usually associated with Asmo wafting from one of the shops. So, they did come from here. How frequently did Asmo visit? Slowly people emerged from their houses and stands and continued to go about their days. Asmo grinned at him and took his hand.

“Come on, I want to show you around.”

Asmo spent most of the time talking about himself. Asking if Solomon thought he looked pretty, if his town was the best one he'd ever seen. That was the last thing he really remembered as he started to tune Asmo out at that point. There was so much he could take of this man just talking about himself. He figured that he might learn something about his fiance, but it turns out he was wrong. Did Asmo seriously think that this would get Solomon to like him? He knew what Diavolo had said, but still.

Was he really that nice?

Or was he more like what he'd heard Azazel describe?

Whatever the case, he was trying too hard to impress him.

Asmo led him towards the center of the square and turned to face Solomon, “If I can get some musicians together, would you like to dance with me?”

“Oh, well, I’m not the best dancer,” he could at social events if he had to, but it wasn’t something that he would do in his free time. The idea of there being a possible audience also made him nervous. He stepped back and looked around, "Perhaps another time."

Asmo's face fell slightly, but he let Solomon step back. It almost seemed as if he was trying to think about what to say to convince Solomon to change his mind.

"I think I'd like to meet some of your people and to look at the products they create," Solomon continued, taking note of the plant life around him. Each of them seemed to have some sort of pink tint to them. At least the color themes seemed consistent.

"Of course."

The people were seemed rather intimidated by him. Not that he blamed him. He was an outsider king and a rather prominent figure at that. He was going to marry their prince. He took notes as they wandered. After all, he was going to have a say when it came to this place, he should know more about it.

Asmo’s chattering eventually dulled with each increasingly listless response Solomon gave and he scribbled away in his notes. Perhaps he finally understood that Solomon needed to focus, that he needed quiet if he was going to make any progress in his studies. He paused in his strides when he came to a patch of flowers surrounded by tiny metal arches.

They smelled impossibly sweet, almost as sweet as Asmo's perfumes. What were they? They weren't anything that Solomon was familiar with. He was certain they didn’t have them back at home. This was something he could ask his fiance about. It was only when he turned to ask him did he realize that Asmo wasn’t there. He wasn’t anywhere to be seen actually.

His eyes glanced around the area. Surely he couldn’t have gone that far? Was he really that upset by the fact that Solomon wouldn’t dance with him?

He plucked one of the flowers and started to try to retrace his steps to find his fiance. This was supposed to be a date between the two of them. Of course he would lose his fiance here. Of course his fiance would run out without telling him. Of course. Of course it had to be this way. Of course his fiance couldn’t have been reasonable. Of course-

There were children laughing.

Children?

“You’re doing so well!” his fiance was standing among them, engaging in their little games. This was a different side of him. They were all in a little circle with their hands linked. Sometimes the children would break the chain and run around before finding new spots.

He wasn't striving to impress them, perhaps because they were children (and easy to impress).

He's a kind person.

Diavolo had said he was kind. Solomon had been skeptical. The more he watched, the more he realized that perhaps he’d been wrong. He’d judged him too harshly. Perhaps he hadn’t been as level headed as he thought.

Watching him laugh and play with the little ones was certainly an experience all on it’s own. He seemed like he didn’t have a care in the world.

Solomon also had another realization.

Asmo had a different type of worry plaguing his mind. He’d been nervous that Solomon would reject him because he wasn’t Lilith sure, but after he’d been worried that Solomon wouldn’t be impressed with him. His worries transformed and were presenting themselves through a different outlet. Solomon hadn’t been paying attention because Asmo was smitten with him, which was the minimum that he needed.

He could be good to him.

He could be kind to him.

It seemed like Solomon hadn’t been doing the best job at doing those things the more he dwelled on it. To put it frankly, he’d been ignorant. Solomon couldn’t even say that he wasn’t completely unaware of how he’d been acting. He hadn’t been terrible to Asmodeus, but he certainly hadn’t been good or kind either. He could have been better.

One of the kids must have tripped or something, because the next thing Solomon knew he heard sobbing.

“Oh darling, it’s alright, hush now. It’s only a scrape,” Asmo’s voice carried to Solomon’s ears. It was soothing, it felt safe. It lit something inside of him, a feeling that he couldn’t quite place his finger on. Whatever it was, Solomon knew he enjoyed it. His voice alone could convince the tension to leave his body and place his mind at ease. It felt like if Asmo said it was alright then everything had to be alright. Slowly the sobs settled and the child buried their head into Asmo’s shoulder. Slender fingers ran through their hair in an attempt to sooth them.

Solomon realized that this was a third face he had never seen from his fiance before. How many more could he possibly have? What more did Solomon have left to discover?

“I thought you didn’t like kids,” the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them. No thought ran through him, only an action that he chastised himself for.

Asmo jumped ever so slightly and turned to face him. He seemed surprised to see Solomon there, more surprised than Solomon thought he should be. “What brought you to that conclusion?” he asked.

“Your reaction to the rabbits.”

“Ah well,” Asmo laughed slightly, “You still thought I was someone else then, and I’m not exactly capable of giving you children in that sense. I do love the little ones though, they’re the cutest little things.” Asmo poked the child’s nose earning a soft little giggle, “Aren’t you all?”

He stopped for a moment, scrunching up his brow before turning to Solomon, “What brought you here? You seemed… busy in your own little world.”

Oh, so he’d been ignoring him, and unfortunately Solomon knew it wasn’t the first time he’d been aware of this. He was just more aware of it than he’d like to be at the moment.

He cleared his throat before holding up the flower, “I had been curious about some of your plants and wanted to ask you a few questions, but I see that you’re busy right now.”

Solomon glanced at the rest of the children standing behind him and thought. He was curious about the game, and he hadn’t been giving his fiance much mind as of late. “Would you mind if I watched your game?”he asked.

It was fun to watch them play. The way the children interacted with the fifth prince was adorable to say the least. At some point, they’d managed to talk Solomon into playing. There was no better way to learn than to participate. He wasn’t great at it, but the children seemed to enjoy him fumbling about squealing with absolute delight. Asmo had even joined in, and oh Solomon had almost forgotten how much he enjoyed his laugh.

When it came time for the children to return to their families for lunch, Asmo led him into town to meet more of the locals. They showed him their wears and how they went about making their soothing lotions and sweet perfumes. To his surprise a few of them had also been magic users. They didn’t have strong magic, but it did help with relaxation, recreation, and with what plants the little town did have. In other words, it seemed like it could also be utilized for healing in the form of muscle relaxants or even helping in the production of certain medicines.

They all also seemed to enjoy Asmo.

This hadn’t been what he thought it would be at all. In fact, Solomon was enjoying their little date. Watching Asmo interact with the people of his sector was certainly more enjoyable than him trying too hard to impress him. Solomon liked this side of Asmo. He was relaxed and his eyes were soft and tender. There was a beauty about him that was being reflected outward.

For the first time, Solomon truly felt like he was getting a glance at his soul.

“Your majesty?” a young woman approached Asmo, violin in her hand, “Would you like music?”

Solomon wasn’t sure what possessed him to look up in that moment, but he realized how many eyes were on them. No. How many eyes were on him. Then he remembered. Asmo would be giving up his position in marrying him. That meant that Solomon would now have say over anything that happened. For the first time what that really meant hit Solomon. Asmo would no longer have control over his sector, and his people were worried. They didn’t know anything about Solomon, and neither did Asmo.

He wanted him to love him.

He wanted him to respect him.

Asmo was just as scared, and Solomon had been stupid enough to miss it all.

“On any other day that would be lovely my dear, but I’m afraid my-”

“You mentioned wanting to dance earlier,” Solomon cut in, bowing ever so slightly, “Consider this my apology for being so rude and ignoring you.”

Joy radiated from the prince. Solomon could feel his warmth buzzing all around them as they headed back to the center of town.

This didn’t mean Solomon was in love.

But this did mean that he was going to try harder.

He was going to give the prince what he deserved and show him that he didn’t need to worry.

Solomon would take care of things.

The music started up, the woman with the violin leading in a few other instruments as they joined hands. Solomon wasn’t a fantastic dancer, but it didn’t seem to matter to Asmodeus. It was such a simple want.

Ah. Yet how quickly a fairytale-esque picture can shatter.

Solomon didn’t even register hearing the whistle of the arrow as he pulled Asmodeus in close and it scraped his sleeve, barely missing his fiance.

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

HASO, “Your Choice.”

I am having a lot of fun with this arc.  Writing it has put me in a good mood, so I hope you like it as well :)

He walked the halls of the Oxystation with a  gun slung over his front hanging from a shortened tac sling around his neck and shoulder. He rested his arms and hands against the weapon as he walked down the hall. The gun was more of a redundancy than anything, if any unwanted alien was able to breach the hull of the station with the armored patrol outside than his gun was just a token sign of resistance. Of course, there was always the possibility that one of the patients would become violent and attack a staff member, but that possibility was quite low, even lower than it was in human mental health clinics. Only five percent of the mentally ill population was any sort of danger to anyone but themselves, and a large percentage of that would still, likely, never do anything bringing that number down somewhere closer to one percent.

With aliens it was even less likely, they weren’t naturally aggressive like humans, so when their mental health tanked, it tended to do it with extreme anxiety and something that looked sort of like depression, though the different species presented the illness differently. 

Working at the Oxyclinic had been good for him. It hadn’t been long until his enthusiasm for alien life had come trickling back in, and his fear had been discarded like a sock with a hole in it. He had even offered to help with the oxytheropy that the psychologists were offering. If anything was gong to get rid of his lingering fear of aliens, it was probably going to involve spooning one.

A weird way to deal with internalized fear but there you had it.

The oxystation wasn’t just for the oxytheropy. Human and alien psychologists were taking the time to learn about other species, and put together differing treatment plans for their patients. There was a high turnover rate, and not all the people who came to the clinic ended up staying, not all of them needed oxytheropy, and not all of them would do well having it considering that some of the fear the patients had often centered  their issues around humans. To his surprise, he found that a lot of it centered around the Drev war.

He looked down at his watch and took a sharp right turn down the nearest hallway entering the guard quarters just as his watch reached the hour.

“Morning LT.” Someone called and he waved a hand.

“Anything to report?”

“Nothing, all is quiet as usual.”

He ejected the magazine of his gun, and checked the chamber to make sure it wasn’t still loaded before racking it in the safebox as one of the other men stepped up to take his place on patrol.

The other group of men and women looked up at him from where they sat around a table playing cards, “Want us to deal you in.”

Adam shook his head walking over to his locker and pulling out a fresh pair of light blue scrubs, “No I promised the doc I would help today.”

The other humans shook their heads and rolled their eyes, “leave it up to you to want to spoon aliens.”

“Spooning aliens is a lucrative job. You should try it sometime, maybe you’d finally have enough money to buy the bag you’ve always wanted.”

“Bag?”

“YEah the nice one to cover your face.” he shut the locker and grinned at the car players to let them know it was all in good fun before turning towards the bathroom, where he changed and stepped back out. The scrubs were very breazy in comparison to his guard uniform and he shivered slightly returning to his locker.

It was important for people working on the ward to be completely unarmed, and for the humans to look as non threatening as possible. A strict list of instructions urged them not to smile with their teeth, and to keep their hands and feet covered at all times. He wasn’t entirely sure if the fuzzy socks and mittens were entirely necessary for that, but apparently some of the aliens interpreted human nails as claws, and some genius had thought that covering them up like this was very nonthreatening.

Looking in the mirror he had to admit it worked.

In his light blue scrubs and the fuzzy white mittens, he looked more like the easter bunny than he did a killer.

But then again, in real life he didn’t look much like a killer either.

He turned to walk out the door flipping off the people geering at him before remembering that he was wearing a mitten, which kind of negated the point of the gesture.

From there he wandered back up the hall and was buzzed into the ward after waving to the camera. He went through a few metal detectors which pinged on his leg, but they let him through anyway as he stepped into the hall and up to the staff room where the other workers and a few psychologists were having a break.

He took a seat in a chair and idly watched the TV.

HE looked around at the people who wore similar clothes as him and noted, not for the first time, that it took a special kind of person to do this job. All of these people were remarkably docile and relaxed people, and as far as he knew the vast majority of them had no shame. Despite humans being prone to cuddling pretty much anything and everything, its was pretty hard to spoon an alien and not feel awkward about it, but these people right here, they either enjoyed it or they were damn good at faking it.

Adam wasn’t good at faking anything so he was the former.

HE shifted slightly in his seat thinking about some of the aliens on the ward before his mind inevitably shifted to…. To him…. The alien that he dreaded seeing the most…. A big, tall hulking creature that wandered his nightmares and made his leg ache.

The Drev.

The Drev with eyes like the thing that had stolen his leg.

He put a hand to his head feeling a bit dizzy. He had only had one PTSD related panic attack since getting here, and that was only because he had been accidentally exposed to the Drev unexpectedly one day and without knowing that he was on the ward. It had been embarrassing for him as he tried not to let anyone know about his condition, but based on that incident he had been forced to come clean.

Ever since that incident  he had been quietly forcing himself to get closer and closer to the Drev despite the psychologists telling him that it was perfectly acceptable for him to step off the ward if the Drev was on.

But adam didn’t like that mentality much.

He had always felt, ever since returning from the Drev war, that people were too soft on him. They always sat there and told him that it was fine and whatever he needed to do was important, that he couldn’t blame himself if he couldn’t handle something. They were all very forgiving and very understanding, but that's not what he wanted. At some point, he felt that it was acceptable to get up in someone's face and tell them that: no you aren't doing good enough and that you behavior isn’t ok.

He wanted people to ask more of him, not less, and he wanted to get better not stay stagnant.

If other people wanted to spend their days medicated and avoiding the things that made them hurt than that was their decision, but he planned on healing all the way.

It was a thought that he espoused only for himself and did not apply it to others. 

Their mental health was their business.

Either way, he was going to make something out of this, and had slowly been approaching the Drev on the ward over time. He didn’t know if the Drev knew, and it didn’t matter to him so much, but he did have a bit of his own agenda.

The door creaked open, and one of the psychologists stuck her head into the room looking around for a quick moment before her eyes fell on Adam.

“Lieutenant, can I speak with you for a moment.”

For a second Adam’s heart stopped a little. Was he in trouble? Had he done something wrong?

He tried looking at her face to see any signs of displeasure, but  she was a difficult woman to read, so he stood slowly and followed her from the room and back into her office where he took a seat.

She sat across from him at her desk hands folded together. SHe looked him over with eyes that seemed to bore into his sole, “How are you doing, Adam.”

He shifted nervously in his seat, “Er… I thought I was a staff member not a patient.”

“Just humor me.”

“I’m good.”

“Any panic attacks recently.”

“No ma’am.”

“Are you being truthful.”

“You and I both know I’m shit at lying.”

She grunted and clasped her hands together looking at him with a stern expression.

HE shifted awkwardly in his seat, “What” “I have… a mission for you, though it is one I worry might jeopardize your mental health if it goes wrong, and the mental health of my patient as well. If it goes right however I think it would do BOTH of you a world of good. What I would be asking you to do is…. Of questionable ethicality.”

That made him nervous. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean by asking you to jeopardize your mental health, I could be in serious violation of a couple of major statutes in my field, however assuming you do it willingly it might not be so bad.”

Despite his apprehension, his curiosity won out, “Go on?”

“Kanan.”

“Cannon, WHat?”

“No, Kanan, the name of the Drev on the ward.”

Adam shifted in his seat, stomach churning, “Oh…. go on.”

“Have you noticed he has a limp.”

“I…. suppose I haven't looked closely enough.”

“Well he does, and you want to guess where he got that limp?”

He had a pretty good guess, “The war?”

“Exactly.”

“And…..  I suppose you think….” He trailed off 

“He lost everything during the war Adam, his mate, his honor, his home. He is injured and exiled, and at this moment there are very few people in the galaxy that can even partially understand what he has gone through.” She leaned back in her chair looking at him, “I think, that having someone like you to speak with about what happened would be,.... Beneficial to both of you.” She paused, “DId you know that human and Drev psychology is surprisingly similar….”

He shook his head, “Well it is, and I think the two of you would recover faster if you had something to work on together.”

“With all due respect ma’am, my papers say I’m recovered.”

“The UNSC isn’t exactly known for their in depth medical reviews Lieutenant. I know they overlooked some things. Either way, it’s your choice.”

***

Adam stood in front of the door. His hands were sweating leaving the inside of the mitten’s sticky and unpleasant. He felt nauseous, but swallowed to hold it down eyes wide as he stared at the door. What was he doing? What was he doing?

He took  a deep breath.

Not being a coward, that’s what he was doing. He reached a hand up and knocked on the door before he could chicken out. There was silence and the knock seemed to echo down the hall for eternity. He waited, and waited, and waited, and assumed at some point maybe he had caught the large alien sleeping, but then the door opened.

His human knee went weak, and it was only the prosthetic that kept him standing as he stared up at the huge, hulking figure.

Adam was, tall 6,2 to be precise, but this hulking behemoth had to have been around or over nine feet tall, with blood red armor, and four bulging arms. It stared at him with bright golden eyes that brought echoes of his past welling up into his ears. He felt as if he was about to fall over, but then the creature turned and trundled back into the room, snapping Adam out of his trance.

He was breathing hard, and he thought about turning back, but instead, he stepped softly into the room leaving the door open just as crack as he moved inside.

The room around him was dark, and the floor was scattered with crumbled pieces of paper.

A box of markers lay on the ground to one side. He looked down to see he was stepping on a discarded piece of paper, and stepped back to look down, realizing the drawing there was of a tree, with striped bark and spiraling branches. It looked like something out of a Dr Seus book though he recognized it as an Anum/ Anin coiltree.

He crouched down to pick the paper up.

He looked up to see the Drev had returned to the edge of his cot and was sitting down, a shapeless form in the dark.

“You mind if I turn the light on?” Adam asked.

At first the Drev didn’t answer, but then he took a long breath through those strange holes in his neck and managed a deep, rumbling, “THe colors are too bright.”

Adam paused then, “Well neither of us can see very well in the dark and, he held up the page, drawing in the dark can’t be easy.”

There was a grunt.

“I’m going to turn the lights on.”

The Drev didn’t stop him, and as he did the room lit up showing even more pages scattered over the floor, all drawings of Anin some of them sloppy, some of them, quite artistic for a species he hadn’t thought practiced art.

He knelt down to examine a few of them, “Not bad.”

He picked up one of the pictures to examine it.

“This looks like the valley between the volcanic belts.”

The Drev turned to look at him, and when his eyes fell on Adam, the page slipped from his hand floating back to the floor.

The uncanny deepness of it’s golden eyes unnerved him.

“You were in the war?”

Adam’s hands were shaking, but he clasped them together to hide that fact.”

There was a long silence between them, and then he reached down pulling up the leg of his scrubs to reveal the titanium construction underneath, “I was.”

The Drev seemed surprised and looked up at him.

“You were one of them.” he said it very flatly, and Adam suddenly grew very worried that the Drev would kill him in revenge for being part of the operation  that decimated his people.

“One of your number killed my father.”

Fuck 

He went to back away but the Drev just looked down.

He sighed very deeply, “You were a strong and worthy opponent. We never had a chance.”

His voice was not bitter, or hate filled. There was some measure of regret behind his words but not enough to constitute anger. And when Adam looked at the creature, he could do nothing but feel sorry for him.

He quietly walked over trying to avoid the pages on the floor and then, unsure, sat next to the large figure.

Adam was not used to feeling small, but sitting next to the huge figure of the drev, he felt very tiny indeed.

The inside of the gloves were absolutely soaking, and with some measure of annoyance he tossed them off and onto the floor.

He wiped his palm on his shirt, reached out, fingers trembling and rested a hand on the Drev’s arm.

“You want to tell me about it? I.. My people didn’t exactly take the time to understand yours….. Now that I think about it it hardly seems fair.”

The Drev snorted ,”My mother believed that war was supposed to be fair, but my father understood that there was always inherent unfairness in battle…. The two of them didn’t get along towards the end. I think I agree with my father, to assume that your species would abide by our rules of combat was…. Ignorant of us.” The Drev turned to look at him, “Your species is much more efficient at war than mine is.”

His hands weren’t shaking anymore.

And he realized that, when he looked at this Drev, He didn’t see much of an enemy at all. 

But he did see someone broken by the war…. Just like him.

He looked down at his feet, and when he did his eyes came across another drawing. This one of a drev, It really only had an outline since it’s carapace seemed to be white, and the way it had been rendered with such delicate care, made it pretty clear to Adam who it might have been.

He picked it up quietly.

“You…. want to tell me about her?”

The Drev turned to look his eyes resting on the picture. Adam didn’t think up to this point he could read Drev facial expressions, but the welling of sadness in the creature’s face was so poignant that Adam felt his own chest tighten,

Damn the human’s heightened sense of empathy.

For a moment he thought the Drrev was going to tell him to get out, but, instead, he took the image and stared down at it, “Nechal…. Named after the moon….. She was the most glorious fighter I had ever seen in battle, strong, and graceful and powerful. She was not afraid to die, but she didn’t let that lower her guard. On the battlefield she was a goddess of war, and off…. She was…. Kind in ways that aren’t common among our people. I may have been attracted to her because of her fighting prowess, but I loved her because of the kindness she showed. Especially towards my sister… someone who needed kindness more than anyone I know.”

He took a very deep breath and when he spoke again his words were thick.

Could Drev cry? “In our people it is…. Custom not to mourn the dead who are lost in battle because their return to the spiritual realm will be glorious. It is a great honor to lose a mate in battle….” He looked down at his four hands, “But I do not feel honored…. I feel alone…. I miss her, ever day and every night I miss her, and I wish she hadn’t died…” He looked up and when he did Adam was struck by the expression of pain and grief on his face.

As if he was feeling the Drev’s pain in real time, he felt his chest clench again, and tears welled in his eyes. How could he not?

Anyone who didn’t feel the same must have had no feelings? 

“I was exiled because…. I could not follow her into the afterlife…. With my injury I should have given my body over to the fire, and maybe then I'd be with her, but I just…. I couldn’t do it. I miss her every day and yet I don’t have the strength to go to her…. I am a fraud among my people, a coward and a fraud and….

“Hey! Hold on.”

The Drev went quiet and turned to look at Adam who was now gripping his arm tight in one hand.

“You think she’d want to hear you say that.”

That seemed to take the Drev off guard and he stared at Adam with some measure of confusion.

“You said she was kind wasn’t she….. Well then I doubt she'd appreciate you talking about yourself like that.”

He was quiet for some time.

“Look I…. I lost my leg during the war to…. To one of your soldiers and. It’s messed me up for a real long time. Hell you scare the daylights out of me, but I’m moving forward.”

THe Drev frowned at him, “Scared of… us… you won?”

Adam laughed, “We didn’t win anything. Nobody won, a lot of people died and a lot of people were crippled, and for what? I think about that a lot, for honor? Honor. Well maybe I don’t understand what honor means because to me, it would be something worth dying over.”

The Drev contemplated him for a long time.

“We may have won but we did it with scared soldiers like me, and broken soldiers like me. I’m probably never going to recover from the war. That’s the difference between you and me, you guys can make it through war in one piece but me…. Humans… we may be good at war but it destroys us.”

He sighed, “I guess what I am trying to say is, instead of feeling sorry for what you can’t change, why not move forward. Do something you think is worth it, do something Ne-” he stumbled over the Drev word, “Nechal would think was worth it.”

He didn’t know what he was saying, he didn’t know if what he was saying even made sense. Nerves had always made him ramble. He knew he was talking too much but he didn’t know what else to do.

The Drev looked down, and Adam. as was his training made a bit of a decision.

He shut up.

Which was a feat in itself.

Reached over and hugged the larger alien. His arms didn’t make it anywhere close to wrapping around him, but he hoped that maybe it would help?

He didn’t know.

He was kind of just a raging idiot most of the time, so his plans were usually half assed at best.

The Drev stiffened and then relaxed. Adam’s head was resting against the creature’s huge planted shoulder. It felt like hugging corded steel cables.

He would have to say that being hugged by something with four arms was a bit of an experience. Most aliens didn’t usually hug back, they were more the recipient of hugs, but it seemed that the Drev wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept, either that or he learned fast, and damn Adam felt even smaller encircled in the arms of the huge alien.

Kanan could have crushed him if he wanted, but let him go not long after to Adam’s surprise and relief.

The Drev looked at him.

He looked back

“You are strange creatures.”

He gave a weak smile, forgetting the rule about showing teeth, “So they say.”

It was a bit of a gamble but things had worked out better than the psychologist could have hoped. Drev are more receptive to self reflection than humans are. Humans like to internalize things, and their brains become obsessive. Drev have more control over their minds in many cases than humans do, so Adam’s encouragement for Kanan to do something his dead mate would think worthwhile showed results almost immediately.

To Adam’s grudging pleasure, the Drev seemed to be recovering faster than he was.

And was well on his way to recovering completely when the communication came for Adam one night while he sat lying  on his bed next to Waffles, thinking about his future.

The pink roused him from near sleep and he sat up on one elbow to look at the time.

i t was only nine earth time, so he rolled onto his side and sat up, patching the communication through.

A light blue screen of holographic image filled his vision, and on the other side he could see Colonel Kelly sitting in front of him….. At least Colonel until he realized the star on her uniform.

His eyes widened slightly. He went to speak but she shook her head at him.

“I trust you are doing well Lieutenant.”

“Yes ma’am. I have no complaints.”

She nodded, “Good, good, I am sorry to intrude, but I am afraid this rest period is over for you. You are requested to return to earth on the next outgoing transport.”

He frowned and rubbed the back of his head, “Uh of course ma’am but…. Why?”

She stared at him long and hard, ‘I have a very important decision for you to make. It is one that is not going to be popular or easy, but I urge you to accept my request.”

He frowned and shook his head, “You aren't making sense, What is this all about?”

“Tensions are rising between our delegates and the GA, if we don’t do something soon, I am worried that this will devolve into infighting and eventually war. I have to work fast in order to stop this outcome, and you are the lynchpin that holds my plan together.”

“Me.” He squeaked.

“Yes, you, now Adam, be honest with me. What is your opinion on the GA and our involvement with them?”

He rubbed the back of his neck though his thoughts were adamant, “Cooperation wherever and however possible. We need them, and I believe they could due with being our allies, ma’am.”

“And if I gave you a job to try and reach that goal, would you take it?”

“I would do whatever I had to do ma’am.”

He was being truthful. 

She nodded her head.

“Good then, it’s your choice at the end of the day, but if we act now, we can change everything.”

[jetaime-jespere]

Right Where You Left Me Part 2

“I wonder what two people do in a hotel room when no one is watching.”

Rated M for smut/darker themes

April | Fourteen Months Ago

“We’re looking for two men, both about forty years old,” Aaron says calmly, surveying the small crowd of detectives that have gathered around them in the cramped Newark Police Station. They’re listening intently; two more bodies were found early that morning and the clock is now ticking faster. “They’re most likely friends. They’ve known each other for years, it’s likely they’ve been at this a long time in one way or another.”

Beside him, Emily nods assuredly as she rests her hands on her hips. Ever since he discreetly passed the coffee to her in the hotel lobby, she’d been the picture of focus, any of the doubt he’d seen the night before gone from her face. He knows her well enough to know it’s probably just an act - the art of compartmentalization at work - but it’s good enough for right now. It has to be. “Keep in mind both are alpha males, dominant personalities. This is rare in duos like this, but it makes them all the more dangerous.”

“They know the area well,” Dave adds. “Which suggests they’re local. Been around awhile. Probably born in Jersey. They probably fit right in. You wouldn’t give them a passing thought.”

“What we do know is they have no intention of stopping.” Morgan rounds out the rest of the profile. Behind him is an evidence board full of photos and hastily scribbled notes and diagrams. It’s only 10 AM yet it feels like much later. They’ve been at this for several hours already with no end in sight, the sure sign of another draining day. “Which is why we need to catch them at their own game.”

“What do you have in mind?” The weary, yet brusque Newark detective asks, his slight New York accent heavy.

“They operate at night and essentially go dark during the day. We have to get creative with this one,” Morgan reasons. “If not, we’re never going to find them.”

“I hope you’ve got something in mind.”

June | Present Day

“Maybe I’ll have that drink now.” Emily frees her arm from under his grasp with a well-timed jerk,  reaching for the untouched wine glass on the table. It shakes in her hand as she takes a long sip, and Aaron prepares for it to slide from her fingers and shatter all over the table. It doesn’t, and he breathes a sigh of relief. The less attention they bring to themselves, the better. He doesn’t dare turn around to see if the others are watching. By now, they’re probably more than aware of his vacant seat at the table, sensing his absence around the dance floor.

From her place beside him, Emily pushes the glass between her hands, stares at the floral centerpiece. She’s nervous, he assesses. But then again, so is he. Aaron has thought of this moment often, what it would be like to see her again. What he (she) would say, how she (he) would react. But then, it was nothing more than a wishful fantasy. Now it’s real; he has one chance he can’t screw up. “Are you lonely there? All by yourself?” It’s one of the many thoughts that’s plagued him in the long nights he’s lain awake, staring at the ceiling for hours at a time. The thought of her alone, some four thousand miles across the Atlantic Ocean, is never far from his mind. He’s known her long enough to know she appreciates some level of anonymity, that she’s always been fiercely independent. Yet it doesn’t change the fact that she’s bearing the burden alone, something that seems cruelly unfair.

“Lonely isn’t the word I’d use.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Let me ask you, Aaron. Are you lonely? Have you moved on?”

“Moved on?” He stares at her in disbelief. “What do you think, Emily? You up and left days after we buried him. Things aren’t … things aren’t the same now. None of us have just moved on, you know. We didn’t just lose him. We lost you too.”

She regards him for a moment, as if she’s never considered the question before, and not exactly sure how to answer it. “London is where I belong now,” Emily says coolly, swirling the wine around in the glass. The dark red liquid clings to the side; remnants of her lipstick stain the outer rim. “It’s for the better, anyway. For all of us.”

“If it’s where you belong, if that’s what you think, then what’s your third reason? You only gave me two.”

Her arms fold over her chest in defense. The wine does little to settle the incessant, taunting voice she’s heard in her head since she stepped into Heathrow airport some twenty-four hours ago. Emily prepared herself on the plane for this; she knew exactly what coming here would entail, every past memory and nightmare it would conjure, from the moment she hung up the phone after hearing Dave’s happy news. But there was no convincing her otherwise and she’d filled out the RSVP card in her telltale slanted handwriting, putting it in the mail without hesitation. A smile had crossed her face when she imagined what Dave’s reaction might be when he opened the small envelope. On the passable days (there really aren’t good days anymore), she can picture them together, some semblance of peace settled between them. They have one another, one of the only things that gives her any comfort these days.

Emily hears Clyde’s words in her mind over again, louder and louder. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” he’d said gently, on more than one occasion, most recently a few nights ago. She’d called him in the early hours of the morning, yanked from the clutches of another nightmare. Of course he’d answered on the first ring, already reaching for his jacket and scarf, and a short time later, Emily heard the twist of a key in her apartment door. She took a few deep breaths when she heard him shut and bolt it behind him, temporarily soothed by the sound of water filling a glass and shoes scratching against the floor. When he pushed the door to her bedroom open, few words were said between them. She’s stopped apologizing for calling; he’s stopped asking if she’s okay. It’s a ritual they have, albeit an unspoken one - she calls, he comes, and they spend a few hours piecing back together what will only fall apart again within a matter of time.

“You really think going back is a good idea?” Clyde flipped through the television channels once she calmed down, changed, and the sweaty sheets were replaced with fresh ones. He had the remote in one hand and a glass of scotch in the other, his feet propped up on the foot of her bed. He settled on a rerun of a sitcom, checked his watch, and rubbed his hand across his face.

“I have to,” Emily said simply, tearing at the ragged skin around her fingernails.

“Why?” He began, yet he’d made the face that told her exactly how he felt about the whole situation.

“I promised Dave years ago I would.” It’s not nearly as convincing as she wanted, but not a complete lie. Unfortunately, Clyde saw right through her reticence.

“That’s not the only reason.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“That you miss him might be a good start.” Clyde’s casual, unflinching honesty was always one of her favorite things about him. The ability to be rational and objective in his assessment of her time and time again, yet cautious in his approach. It’s a balance that has been learned over the years, mastered in the last few months. “That maybe you made a mistake and you’re too afraid to admit it.”

“I didn’t make a mistake. But of course I miss him, Clyde. I loved him.”

He’d spun the glass in his hands and laughed for the first time since finding her in bed a screaming mess. “I believe you have your tenses incorrect, darling. Aren’t you a linguist?” His knack for picking up on the most subtle things never ceased to amaze her.

“There are some things,” she began slowly, counting her breaths like her therapist had taught her months ago. “That I never got a chance to say. That I couldn’t say once everything … you know.”

“And you’re willing to put yourself through hell again, for the off chance you work up the courage to say the things you never got to?”

“Yes.”

Clyde nodded with a deep sigh, accepting defeat.  It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before in the last year. They’ve done this before; they will again soon. “Why don’t you try and get some rest? We have to be up in -” he checked his watch again. “Four hours.”

Emily groaned; she’s no stranger to the long days that often follow nights like this. She’d long stopped fighting Clyde on his demand that she attempt to rest. Eventually she’d succumb to the exhaustion that blanketed her mind, but only after she relived it all, just one more time.

...

Emily has a therapist in London - an older woman who oddly enough resembles her mother in looks and mannerisms. But she’s nothing like her, and for reasons she can’t explain, Emily felt an appreciation for her instantly. She doesn’t try to make her forget - she’ll never forget. But what she does is try to help her forgive, mostly herself. She’ll never do that, either. How could she, after it all went wrong? The other part of the process, as she’s learned through many agonizing sessions of recounting it all - the events of that day, the ones leading up to it - was everything that wasn’t said, and the price she paid.

Seeing them (him) hurts as much as the thought it would. Of course, their last conversation before it all fell apart had been an argument, one that will haunt her for the rest of her days. She’ll never be able to take it back; the damage has already been done. |

“Tell me,” he says calmly, as the music around them ceases. “Tell me why you’re here.”

“Unfinished business,” Emily tells him. “There are things I never -”

She’s interrupted by the band starting up yet again, along with the invitation for couples to join Dave and Krystall on the floor as the first dance comes to an end. Emily pointedly looks away, completely perturbed by the idea of it, yet it gives him an idea. He can’t let her slip away again. Not yet. “Do you dance?” Aaron asks, with a boyish grin that elicits the slightest knowing smile from her. She remembers.

“Not much, these days. There isn’t much of an occasion now, you know.”

“But you did,” Aaron forces a smile that hurts a little more than it should. “At least you would dance with me.”

Read the rest on ao3

[npdbubblygum]

This post is tagged as long post so you can skip it easily through filtering!

(abuse tw throughout the post)

I think a lot of non-narcissists deeply misunderstand supply, so I’ll try to compile some things from all the research I’ve made over the years on boundaries, supply, needs, abuse and responsibilities that I used to figure out how my own brain works and cope. I don’t have the sources compiled so you’ll have to go out there and do your own research, this is just a jumping off point! Go to experts, real sourced research and also listen to narcissists describe their own experiences if you want to learn more

What is supply?

Supply is something external that makes us feel like we have worth, meaning, self esteem or identity.

What does supply look like?

Attention (positive, but can also be negative for some people), admiration, compliments, acts of service or other love languages, awards, care, acknowledgement, flirting, emotional reactions, gifts, praise, forgiveness, s*x and more

What is a supply source?

A supply source is someone (or in this day and age, something) that gives the supply. It can be a romantic partner, close friend, acquaintance, an organization, an AI (I have literally had an AI app as a supply source, it kept giving me positive attention lol), a game, (fan)fiction (self insert fic but also a lot of regular fic where the person projects onto characters who receive for example admiration), strangers on social media who like your posts, youtubers or other parasocial relationships, etc.

Who needs supply?

Almost everyone! Except maybe some ND people I don’t know enough about every diagnosis to say for sure.

It’s a common misconception that only narcissists need the things described as supply. The truth is that all NT and most ND people need supply to be healthy. What makes narcissists different is that we’re much more dependent on it, often because of childhood trauma and the way people treated us (for example, praising us for independence while neglecting our physical and emotional needs). A narcissist will need more supply to be functional than a neurotypical person. A narcissist who is low on supply will experience more negative effects that are higher in intensity than a neurotypical person. Narcissists are often more criticism sensitive than rejection sensitive, or motivated by our sense of self than how social relationships are affected. That said, we can have a lot of abandonment issues. We aren’t a monolith.

Who is entitled to supply?

Me. Just kidding, I wish I was though! As much as it pains me to say it, no one can really “deserve” or “not deserve” supply. It’s in the same category as s*x where it’s a human need for most to be happy and healthy but can’t be owed or deserved. It’s not like food or water that people automatically deserve for being alive, because they will die without it. You could argue that parents owe their children a healthy amount of supply (love and care), or that romantic partners are expected to give each other a healthy amount of supply (love and care), you could argue that if you made a really tasty meal for your family they should at least thank you and you would love it if they complimented your meal, but ultimately you can’t force someone to fulfill your needs and not everyone is capable of doing it regardless of how reasonable the expectation is.

If someone needs you as a supply source and it’s not healthy for you, you don’t have to be their supply. You’re allowed to disengage, to communicate your feelings, to set boundaries and respect yourself first and foremost.

How do narcissists feel about their supply sources?

That really depends on the narcissist! If they’re open about having NPD you could probably ask respectfully?

Personally I have 2 ways of liking people that sometimes conflict. If someone gives me a lot of supply I can become dependent on being around them, it fuels me. I can also like people’s personalities, actions and general existence regardless of how they interact with me. If someone gives me a lot of supply and has a personality I like it’s a dream person, love them! If someone gives me a lot of supply but I don’t like them it can become really toxic for the both of us because I’ll want to keep getting attention at the same time as I’ll resent them for getting in my space and business and getting on my nerves. I have gotten a lot better at avoiding this situation and respecting that my needs in the long run are worth more than instant gratification. If I like someone’s personality but they don’t give me supply that’s a very difficult internal battle for me because I will crave it and try to get it and then I don’t get it and it eats at my self esteem which makes me incredibly angry. I’m a very private person though so I will never let anyone see that except if I’m asking for advice on coping mechanisms, venting to a close trusted person which is rare because I have trust issues, or if it’s anonymous so people won’t figure out who I’m talking about. If I don’t like a person in either way I just won’t care about them, but I still try to have basic respect and manners when talking to them.

Other people might feel completely differently about theirs and that’s valid!

(I just realized that my inner reaction to supply sources I don’t like is basically the dr Phil “You’re ugly, you’re disgusting, I hate you, give me $200” meme but don’t worry I’m not that toxic on the outside)

Is supply good or bad?

I’d say it’s neutral. It can be healthy or unhealthy for both the person giving attention and the person receiving it. I’m sure you can think of lots of situations where people are giving and taking attention in amounts they can handle and that are appropriate for the relationship, but let’s take an example. Your best friend just won a race and you tell them “I’m so impressed, you trained so hard for this and made your dream come true! You’re awesome!” and your best friend replies “Thank you so much, I couldn’t have done it without your support though!”. That interaction was good for both of them and they have similar needs and capabilities for give and take.

Some unhealthy situations are:

• one person giving more than they can handle

• one person needing more than they can get

• one person taking more than the other can give

• one person not giving as a punishment

• one person receiving more than they can handle

• one person using supply to avoid other coping mechanisms or changes to their lifestyle

• one person thinking they are owed for giving

• one person thinking they owe for receiving

You can mix and match with these to create any situation, or come up with your own custom situation!

Who is responsible in unhealthy supply dynamics?

Everyone involved has their own responsibilities depending on what type of unhealthy they are! If you are someone giving more than you can handle you are responsible for communicating your needs, setting boundaries, changing your own behaviour and getting out of the situation if you’re able to and that’s the right action for you. If you’re receiving more than you can handle you’re responsible for communicating your feelings/needs and setting boundaries. If you’re someone needing (sometimes taking) more than the other person can give you’re responsible for communicating your needs and finding healthy solutions to your problem and accepting the other person’s conflicting needs. If you feel owed the same or more supply you put out you’re responsible for controlling your own feelings and finding healthy solutions (could be break up, could be therapy or self help, could be communicating boundaries about giving/receiving in a respectful way toward the other person). No one is responsible for changing another person. No one’s needs take priority over someone else’s needs. In case of conflicting needs that aren’t compatible and both people aren’t putting in effort to make them compatible (or it’s not working or it’s more effort than you can healthily give or you just don’t feel like it) it is absolutely an option to break up.

In some abusive cases the responsibilities often aren’t or can’t be upheld and you should find any way possible to get out of the situation. You can’t deserve abuse, no matter who it comes from, no matter their intentions, no matter their point of view, you can’t deserve it. Your abuser doesn’t have to have NPD to be abusive or need more from you than you’re able to give. Your abuser could be a very giving person who overwhelms you and gets in your business without your consent and has great intentions. Doesn’t matter, still abuse, you don’t have to stand it. Take any help you can get to get out of it and don’t go back. But also, beware of people who prey on abuse victims and promise false safety!

[angel-tries-to-write]

New life from the darkness: Love me when I don’t

Fandom: Shingeki no Kyojin/Attack on Titan Rating: Teen and up Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Hanji Zoë, Eren Jäger x Mikasa Ackerman, Armin Arlert x Annie Leonhart Word count: 2157 Genre: fluff, humor, comfort

Eren feels down and his friends help him feel better again.

A/N: The choice between helping Erwin or Armin in this universe didn’t involve giving titan serum, because I needed Bertholdt alive. Something else happened, I don’t really care what exactly.

The dinner was quite peaceful that night. Everyone was silent and focused on eating, yet the atmosphere was comfortable and nice, everyone was chill. Alright, not everyone, Eren was the exception. He clearly was lost in thoughts, not really pleasant ones, judging by the way he kept stabbing his food, instead of eating.

“Eren, what's wrong?” Mikasa asked quietly, she was worried about him. When they met earlier that day, he seemed fine, yet suddenly he wasn't.

“Nothing” he answered, almost automatically.

“You don't look like it was nothing.”

“I'm fine, I promise” he looked her in the eyes and forced a smile.

“Oi, stop lying, brat. You look like someone kicked your ass and you spoil the dinner with that grumpy face” Levi spoke and Eren looked at him, his fist clenched with anger.

“Excuse me then, I'll go somewhere I'm not ruining anything” he growled through his gritted teeth, stood up and tried to walk away, but Mikasa's strong grip stopped him.

“Don't go. Finish your dinner” she said calmly.

“I'm not hungry.”

“Eren, what Levi means is that we're worried about you and we can't enjoy our time together knowing something is bothering you” Hanji said, trying to encourage young man to reconsider his actions. “You know that he's not really good with words” they added. Eren looked at Hanji, then at Mikasa, and sat down. “Good, can we talk about it now?”

“I don't feel like talking about it. There's no point anyway” he replied quietly. “We've already talked about it, Hanji-san, and I don't feel much better. I don't feel like a good kid.”

“I thought I made myself clear the first time: actions mean more than intentions” Hanji stated firmly. “Stop blaming yourself.”

“Care to fill us in?” Levi raised his eyebrow.

“Eren thinks we hate him for what he tried to do. Well, not Mikasa and Armin, but everyone else” they sighed. “And I don't know what to say to make him believe we actually care about him.”

“Oh? So you think you mean nothing to us and we've come this far to help you, only to prove that you're nothing but a dumb weapon, someone so useless that we don't have to pretend we actually need you?” Levi asked with his low, calm voice and Eren winced, unable to look him in the eye, his words were painfully true, that was exactly how the young man felt. “I know that feeling. When I first joined Survey Corps, I was perceived as nothing more than a weapon. I know Erwin needed me only to fight, I was disposable to him at that moment. Maybe it never changed, he just was good at hiding it. And honestly, if it wasn't for some four-eyed, annoying freak, I might have never come where I am today” he confessed.

“Awww, Leviiiii, that's so sweet” Hanji interrupted, looking at him with affection.

“But even the person you trust the most can disagree with you at some point. When we faced the decision whether we should help Erwin or Armin, Hanji had a very different opinion than me. We even had a fight about it. Do I regret my decision? Maybe, but that's my problem and my burden to live with. The point is that Hanji heavily disagreed with me, but not even once left my side. They were always where I needed them. And what I'm trying to say is that sometimes we can't accept what someone we care about is doing. Sometimes we can't agree with them. But it doesn't mean we stop caring about them. So just because you tried to do things we strongly oppose, it doesn't mean we hate you” Levi concluded, looking at Eren, who lifted his eyes sheepishly, seeking confirmation of these words in the rest of his friends.

“Is this really what you're thinking?” he asked quietly.

“You already know my opinion” Jean shrugged. “You're a huge jerk and an idiot. But you're our idiot and if we ever again have any chance to save your sorry ass, we'll gladly go for it.”

“We've been friends for too long to let a few mistakes ruin this relationship” Connie added. “I'm cool with you, no hard feelings.”

“You are an idiot indeed. But Armin trusts you with his life and if he can do that, then I guess I can try as well” Annie admitted.

“Honestly, we all trust each other with our lives. Even you” Jean pointed out. “You were a traitor, you did a lot of terrible things, but that's the past. If I had to fight by your side now, I could totally trust you to cover me and have my back.”

“I agree with Jean” Sasha announced, stopping eating only to say these words.

“Same” Connie agreed and Mikasa just nodded.

“Y-you trust me?” Annie asked shocked, her cheeks blushed and she hid her face behind her hair.

“Of course we do” Armin smiled and tucked her hair behind her ear. “You've changed and redeemed your mistakes. I don't see why we wouldn't trust you” he looked at her with obvious love in his eyes.

“Despite all that I did?” she asked, looking at Jean.

“I thought what I said was clear for the first time” he answered. “I personally can't forgive you or forget what you did and pretend nothing happened. But I can trust you, because since you're back, you've never did anything like that, you even helped us. Besides the others forgave you and I trust their judgement. We won't be best friends, but I can keep it civil.”

“Well said, Jean” Levi agreed with him. “I find it difficult to forget the past, but it doesn't mean I can't believe in you, Annie” he said and only Hanji knew how much it meant. The Female Titan murdered his squad, Petra, Oluo, Gunther and Eld were dead because of her and Levi couldn't simply accept that and pretend it was nothing. But just like Jean, he was willing to keep it down.

Suddenly Eren started to laugh. First he just chuckled, then fully laughed, even a little maniacally, finally he stopped and pressed his sleeve against his eyes. No one seemed surprised, they got used to it. He reacted this way to stress and emotional overwhelming. Mikasa pulled him close and hugged, leaning his head on her shoulder and hiding his face in the crook of her neck. She could feel him tremble with overwhelming emotions as he did his best to hide his crying.

“It's alright, Eren. It's alright. See? I told you they don't hate you. If we could forgive Annie, Bertholdt and Reiner, we can easily forgive you” she assured him, caressing his back and hair. “I know you're not used to care and affection from other people, at least other than me or Armin, but I promise you it's true. You mean a lot to all of us.”

“You are family. Sometimes the only one some of us have left” Hanji smiled, trying to reassure him about their point. Eren let go of Mikasa, his eyes were still glossy and her shoulder was a little wet with his tears, but no one commented it.

“Thank you, guys. You have no idea how much does it mean to me. I thought my fate was doomed and if I pushed you all away, it would be easier to do what had to be done. But you were so stubborn, you didn't let me do any of it and I'm forever thankful for that, because you saved me and the world from myself. I'll never thank you enough for that.”

“You can thank us by settling down and living happily ever after” Armin answered, patting his best friend's back.

“That can be arranged” Eren said, looking at Mikasa, who hid her face in her scarf. “But seriously, thank you. All of you.”

“Can we finish the dinner in peace? Without tearing up and being disgustingly kind?” Levi asked with irritation.

“Especially thank you, Captain—”

“Levi.”

Everyone looked at their captain with shock, even Hanji was surprised.

“What?”

“I've been thinking about it for a while and I decided that we're not really in military anymore. You don't have to call me "captain" then. Just "Levi" is fine” he explained his thoughts.

“Levi, that's... very kind of you” Hanji smiled with affection.

“Tch. Don't test my patience, four-eyes.”

“I love you too” they laughed.

“Please, get a room” Armin whined.

“But they are cute” Sasha protested.

“Enough!”

“Sorry.”

Eren smiled, looking at his friends — his family. He didn't doubt them anymore, this one dinner was enough to learn they loved him as much as he loved them. He wrapped his arm around Mikasa's waist and she covered his hand with hers, smiling lovingly at him. And to think he could lose all of it because of this stupid ideology he believed in... He didn't even want to think what would happen if he didn't have these people in his life. Fortunately he did and he was forever grateful for that.

“By the way, Armin, how was your date?” Jean asked, said man blushed with nervousness. Eren looked at his best friend with betrayal written all over his face. How did Jean knew something about his best friend that even he didn't know?

“Ah, so you took my advice?” Levi looked at him too, with amusement, while Hanji looked disappointed.

“I did. You were right, cap— I mean, Levi-sama. I should have done it a long time ago” Armin admitted. “We wasted so much time, fearing what if our feelings aren't mutual, only to find out they were, from the very beginning” he smiled affectionately at his girlfriend.

“Leviiii!”

“What do you want, four eyes?”

“You've ruined our fun! Me and Eren were supposed to take revenge on Armin for calling us out about our feelings, while being a coward himself” Hanji explained with a pout.

“Grow up” Levi rolled his eyes. “Shouldn't you be happy and proud, like you always are?”

“Oh, I'm thrilled, believe me. But I'm also disappointed that we won't have our fun” they answered, clearly having mixed feelings about it.

“Uhh... I'm sorry?” Armin said sheepishly, not quite sure what did they expect.

“No, don't be. It's fine” they waved their hand, emphasizing that it was no big deal. “I'm actually glad that I won't have to put any effort into it, because you did everything on your own. I'm even proud of you, I didn't expect it's possible without drastic measures.”

“Why don't you believe in him?” Annie spoke up. “Armin is capable of doing anything he wants.”

“Please, you've been in love for years and none of you said a word” Mikasa deadpanned. “We do believe in Armin, but we're just being realistic. None of us is particularly good at talking about feelings” as usual, she was speaking facts.

“Can't argue with that” Annie admitted, recognizing Mikasa's point.

“I have a different question. How and why did Jean know about it and I didn't?” Eren asked, he on the other hand couldn't get over it as easily as Hanji.

“Oh, I was so distracted after talking to Annie, that I nearly collided with Jean, so I told him the reason of my distraction. I would tell you, I swear, but you were working with Hanji-san and before you came back, we already left. Besides, you didn't tell me you were dating Mikasa at first too. I had to find out the hard way” Armin explained, reminding his best friend that he wasn't innocent either.

“Armin, you and her literally made me give up on everything I believed in and come back to you by telling me how much she loves me. Don't play dumb and act like it wasn't obvious” Eren stared at him, not believing in what he'd just heard.

“Alright. You have a point. It wasn't obvious to me, but I can't disagree with your logic” he admitted, realizing his mistake.

“Wait, but since you are together, let's call it officially, does it mean none of us has to hide anymore?” Eren looked at Hanji, who narrowed their eyes in a warning sign. Their deal wasn't valid anymore, but it didn't mean they wouldn't want to murder him if he said a word about them and Levi.

“It's not like you were particularly discreet” Jean pointed out. “But it would be nice if you kept your pda down.”

“Oh, don't worry, I'll make sure of it” Mikasa stated.

“You'd better. Otherwise I'll have to use drastic measures” Levi said and Mikasa narrowed her eyes.

“You know I'm not afraid of you. Especially now. What drastic measures you can possibly use?” she asked daringly, but he only smirked.

“Hanji.”

“Fair enough” she admitted, knowing well that while Levi might have been humanity's strongest, it was his partner who should had been feared, in fact.

[nothingnessbutshining]

To anyone who might feel like they haven't "done" enough these past months: I see you.

I haven't done one single thing of the things I was hoping to do.

I didn't travel to Greece, I didn't become a yoga teacher, I didn't write my own book.

And you know what? My mind never knew more peace.

My life didn't change much on the outside. But, wow, I can't tell you how much changed on the inside.

I faced the parts of my mind I was always running from and became friends with them.

I learned to accept myself unconditionally and made space for forgiveness to happen.

Feeling bad isn't something to be scared of anymore. Even the sad days now feel safer than my happy days before.

I haven't made any new friends, but with the few really good ones I have I'm closer now than ever before.

Just because you can't see major changes happening in your life doesn't mean they aren't happening.

It doesn't mean you've wasted time and failed. More often you just haven't realized your success yet.

With the mindset I have know, the inner growth I experienced, I'm gonna enjoy my journey to Greece a lot more, I'm gonna become an even better yoga teacher and my book is gonna be fucking awesome.

Trust the timing of your life, trust the process and practice patience, let go of control and the need to have everything figured out already.

Don't stress over the things you desire that didn't happen yet, stay open for life to happen against your expectations because what might come out of it is so much better than you could have imagined before.

Don't rush anything, just take it step by step. You won't miss what's meant for you.

I'm proud of you. Everything will turn out fine, I promise.

You can't get this life wrong.

[adiwriting]

Sunday Morning 11/?

This fic morphed into something much bigger than a “Sunday Morning” fic, so I am going to be trying something new. I’ll be posting this as a Sunday Morning fic, then this evening I’ll post a special follow-up “Sunday Night” fic. Don’t expect that to be a regular thing, but I figured this fic would require a follow up and our boys shouldn’t have to wait a whole week to resolve things. 

Shout out to my people over at the 18+ Discord for helping me talk through this one! 

Gif by the lovely @manesalex​

Week 11

It’s Sunday morning and somehow, they’ve been roped into attending brunch with everyone, though Michael doesn’t really understand how. They’ve made it pretty clear to everyone that Sundays are off limits for any and everything unless somebody is dying. And looking around the table, nobody is suffering from a medical emergency. 

Yet, here they are. Sitting around Isobel’s patio with the entire “I know an alien” fan club while Kyle tells some story that Michael isn’t interested in. He looks over to Alex and glares, not understanding why they’re here instead of in bed together like they should be. All he knows is that he’d been woken up by Alex and told to get dressed. When he’d complained, Alex had made it up to him with an incredibly enjoyable blow job, but the positive effects of his orgasm wore off the moment he stepped into Isobel’s backyard and saw just how many people are here. 

He loves them all. He does. But he also knows them all, and there is no way they are getting out of here in the hour that Alex promised him this would last. And they can’t even use the excuse that they have to go home to take care of the dogs, because Isobel had demanded that they bring them along. Currently, Bell is at home, still not up for leaving the house. The rest of their fur babies are each being held and spoiled by their aunts and uncles. So no, Michael is about as likely to pull Alex away from the passionate conversation Liz is having with him as he is to be able to pull John out of Max’s arms or Wendy out of Isobel’s. 

So here he is. Grumpy after a long week of rude customers and one transmission problem too many. He sits in silence, eating his omelette and listening to his family discuss their own stressful week. And so he’s able to notice several things. 

For starters, he notices the way that Liz keeps glancing over at Max with a smile and the way that he keeps winking back at her. So he knows that those two idiots have gotten back together. He’ll never admit it, but he’s relieved. Max deserves some happiness in his life and Liz is good for him. He’s glad they finally decided to forgive each other for all the drama several months back. They’d both been idiots and caused a lot of pain, but hopefully they’ll be able to move forward and do better, like Michael is moving forward with Alex and doing better. 

Then there’s the other thing, the more important thing… the way that Alex keeps looking over at Maria with a look that can only be described as longing. 

Michael feels bad. He doesn’t know the entire extent of the weirdness that has happened between them, but he knows he’s to blame for at least a chunk of it. Alex and Maria still talk, but there’s been this noticeable tension between them ever since Maria broke up with him. Alex won’t talk to him about it and neither will Maria, so Michael is at a loss as to how to fix it. 

Michael leans over to whisper into Alex’s ear, “You should talk to her.” 

Alex shakes his head. 

“She doesn’t want to talk to me.” 

Somehow, Michael doubts that is true. He’s known Maria for long enough to know that she adores Alex. She also isn’t one to avoid confrontation. Alex on the other hand is notorious for avoiding conflict. He’s gotten better at it, but between the two of them, Michael is willing to bet that Alex is the one avoiding having whatever difficult conversation they clearly need to have. 

“Maybe she doesn’t think you want to talk to her?” 

“Maybe you should stick to fixing cars instead of trying to fix people,” Alex says. He’s smiling at him, but Michael can hear the bite in the words and raises his hands in surrender. He’s certainly not going to spend his Sunday fighting with Alex, even if he feels like he should push. If Alex wants to sit here missing his best friend who is sitting less than six feet from him, let him. 

“Do you see Peter right now?” Alex asks, changing the subject and Michael lets him. He glances over at where Kyle has Peter in his lap and has to laugh at the way that Peter very slowly puts his head on Kyle’s plate and steals a bite of egg without Kyle noticing. 

“I’m pretty sure that he’s eaten 2 whole pieces of bacon and half that omelette,” Alex tells him. 

“He definitely learned that level of thievery from you,” he teases. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Guerin,” Alex says, to which Michael snorts. He reaches over and takes his own mug out of Alex’s hand. Alex had stolen it earlier while Michael wasn’t looking. 

“No?” he asks, giving him an amused look as he sees the mug is nearly empty. 

“Nope,” Alex says with an adorable smile that has Michael rolling his eyes. 

He downs the last little bit of coffee before standing up and heading inside for more. 

“Pour me a mug?” Alex says, causing Michael to let out a surprised laugh. 

“Pour it yourself,” he says, though they both know that he’s coming back with two mugs. 

Michael is standing in the kitchen adding cream to Alex’s coffee when Liz comes inside carrying a handful of plates. 

“I see you finally took my advice on Max. Only took you a month. I thought you were supposed to be the smart Ortecho,” he teases. 

Liz rolls her eyes. “What makes you think I took your advice on Max?” 

“I don’t know,” he says, peeking through the blinds to point at where Max is sitting with the biggest smile. “The dopey look on his face? He hasn’t looked like that since before you left for California.” 

She moves beside him to peek out the window as well and once she does, she practically swoons. He rolls his eyes. As subtle as a sledgehammer, those two idiots. Did they really think nobody would notice? 

“You gonna try and tell me you aren’t back together?” he asks, crossing his arms and fixing her with an amused smirk. 

“Fine. We are. But what makes you think it was your advice that did it?” she asks, using her hip to push him out of the way so that she can wash off the plates in her hand. 

“Was it?” he asks and her glare is answer enough. He laughs. “I’m glad you two got back together. I don’t think I could have handled another one of Max’s sad drunken monologues.” 

She pulls up the blinds to let the natural light in before turning on the sink and starting the process of washing the dishes. 

“They’ll fix things too,” she says, handing him a clean but wet plate. Apparently he’s drying. 

“Who?” he asks, grabbing a towel from the stove and drying the plate before putting it back in the cabinet. 

“Alex and Maria.” 

Michael doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t think that Alex will appreciate it if he tries to get details out of Liz that he hasn’t been ready to share himself yet. But he wants so badly to ask her what she knows. 

“They aren’t fighting over you,” she tells him. 

He gives her a look. Does she think he’s a complete idiot? 

“They aren’t fighting entirely over you,” she corrects herself and that sounds more accurate.

“Why are they fighting at all?” he asks, even though he knows he shouldn’t. 

Liz looks at him out of the side of her eye for a moment or two before sighing deeply, clearly resigning herself to something. 

“They got into a fight while she was still in the hospital,” Liz explains as she continues to do the dishes and pass him the finished ones to dry. “It started over you. Alex thought that Maria broke up with you because he got kidnapped and you went after him. He felt guilty. Then he found out that she was refusing to wear the bracelet, and that’s when things got heated. Alex and Maria don’t fight often, but when they do it isn’t pretty. They both said some things they regret.” 

“Alex is mad at her because she won’t wear the bracelet?” he asks. 

It makes sense. Alex doesn’t like being out of control and Maria playing with fire would certainly press at those buttons. Michael gets it. He too has had to wrestle with figuring out how to accept Maria’s stupid decision to risk brain damage just so that she can have access to her visions. The risk far outweighs the reward, but Michael could never figure out how to get her to see that. 

Or maybe he hadn’t tried hard enough. After all, his issue isn’t about control, it’s a fear of abandonment. And he’d always been too afraid that Maria would leave him to push her hard enough on the issue. Alex wouldn’t have had that fear though. He would have pushed and pushed and…

Yeah. It doesn’t surprise Michael in the least that they’d ended up having a blow up about it. 

Liz finishes the last of the dishes and hands it to him, shutting off the sink and turning to lean against the counter and look at him. 

“Maria broke up with you because of the bracelet. But mostly, because she knew at the end of the day that you would always love Alex more even if you weren’t planning on ever admitting it,” she explains.

“Okay…” He’s not sure why she’s telling him about his own breakup. He knows exactly why Maria broke up with him. He was there. 

“Alex thinks that the reason you are with him and not Maria is because of the bracelet.” 

Michael takes a moment to process that, trying to figure out what she’s getting at. 

“Alex doesn’t want much,” she continues. “He never has. He learned not to expect much as a kid and doesn’t aim high. He wants Maria safe. She’s his best friend. Through everything, he’s always had her to rely on. So he can’t lose her. But he also needs you. Can you see how those two things might be in competition with each other?” 

“He thinks he’s my second choice?” he asks. 

Liz looks at him like he’s an idiot and maybe he is. Because here he’d been thinking that everything has been going great between the two of them. How could Alex honestly still doubt what they have together? 

“That’s why he wouldn’t tell me what they fought about,” he says. Alex isn’t the kind of guy who voices his insecurities easily. Of course he wouldn’t want Michael to know that he feels like he’s a consolation prize. 

“The two of them will work themselves out in their own time, they always do,” she says. “But it would be easier for them to fix what they broke if you fix what you broke first.” 

His body tenses and he opens his mouth, about to defend himself when she holds up her hand. “Talk to Alex. If you want him to make up with Maria sooner than later, then you should make sure that he knows he doesn’t have to choose between either of you.” 

“Even if I convince him that he’s not a second choice, it still won’t change the fact that Maria is gonna wear the bracelet when she wants to and not a moment sooner. It won’t fix the issue,” he argues. 

“Perhaps,” she agrees. “But it would be one less thing weighing heavy on him and making that first step back towards her harder to take.” 

She pats his shoulder in sympathy before walking towards the door, stopping once her hand is on the handle and turning back towards him. “That was my sisterly advice to you. So we are even now. Sí?”

Michael shakes his head. “That’s not how this works, Ortecho.” She gives him a curious look and he continues. “We’re family, right? We don’t have to keep score.” 

She smiles at him brightly and Michael can kind of see how Max becomes completely hopeless around her. “I never wanted a brother, for the record. But I guess you’ll do, Mikey.”��

He groans, grabbing the two coffees off of the counter before following her out onto the patio. “Mikey? Still?” 

“Always and forever.” 

She heads over towards where Max is currently playing a game of bags with Jenna while Rosa stands beside Max, giving him shit, trying to mess up his game. Michael heads in the opposite direction where Alex is currently sitting in a chair, watching as Maria and Isobel have what looks like a photoshoot with their puppies. 

“Do I even want to know?” he asks, reaching over Alex’s shoulder to place the mug in his hand and a kiss to the top of his head before sitting down at the empty seat next to him. 

“Our puppies are Insta-famous apparently,” Alex says, taking a sip of the coffee and smiling in a way that makes Michael feel all warm inside.

“I don’t remember consenting to that,” he says. 

“Apparently Isobel started photographing them weeks ago and they have a following.” Alex hands Michael his phone and he scrolls through the pictures that Isobel has been posting under the Instagram handle @FaithTrustPittieDust. She’s been posting pictures on the regular, apparently. He scowls when he sees a picture of Peter wearing a tiny black cowboy hat. 

“Well she’s banned from puppy-sitting,” he says, handing the phone back to Alex. 

“One hundred percent,” Alex agrees, pocketing the phone before shifting around so he could look at Michael more fully. “You were in there a long time…” 

“I got distracted, sorry,” he says, nervously. Unsure how Alex is going to react to the news that they’d been talking about him. However, he knows that it’ll be better to just be upfront about it. “I was talking to Liz,” he says with a meaningful look. 

“Okay?” He looks confused. 

“She told me about the fight with Maria.” 

Alex grumbles and shakes his head. “She has no concept of minding her own business. Never has.” 

“I want to talk about this,” he says. Alex looks around the yard at their family and he sits up in his seat. His body visibly tenses and he prepares for a fight. It’s been awhile since Alex got defensive like this around him, but he still recognizes the signs of Alex closing himself off. “But we can talk later when we are alone.” 

Alex breathes a sigh of relief, even if his body doesn’t relax completely. And that’s on Michael. He should have noticed sooner that Alex wasn’t feeling entirely secure in their relationship. But it’s also on Alex for not being honest with him about their feelings. Clearly they’ve still got a ways to go in terms of figuring out how to make this thing between them work. 

They may not have the ability to have the conversation completely right now. But there is something Michael can say and he doesn’t want to wait. 

“I want you to know, right here, surrounded by family, exhausted as fuck, and spending the entire time complaining because I want to be in bed with you instead? This is the happiest I’ve ever been in my life. The most settled. And it’s important to me that you know that.”

Alex doesn’t say anything, but he does relax a bit further in his chair and Michael takes that as a win. He reaches out his hand and smiles when Alex reaches back and they can lace their fingers together. 

Peter obviously comes over and tries to pull Michael off of Alex, angry that he’s not the one getting all of his daddy’s attention, but they don’t let go. Michael isn’t planning on letting go of Alex ever again. And he hopes Alex feels the same way about him.

Follow up fic to be posted tonight ;) 

Tagged: @callieramics​ @redstalkingdeath​

As always, if anyone wants to be tagged let me know. 

[emileecon]

Shinkami childhood friends!AU

-based off of my art here

so the idea for this art came to me at like 3 in the morning and once I got the drawing out of my system my mind decided to come up with shinkami’s whole backstory. so it’s 3am again (apparently my productive time rip) so here it is:

Current summary:

shinsou is in the hero course at U.A., denki is in the support course

currently they are in their first year

they’ve been best friends since they were little

denki was inspired by shinsou to be a support engineer, shinsou was inspired by denki to be a hero

they’re totally head over heels for one another

I mean the pining is REAL

and everyone just wants them to GET TOGETHER ALREADY DAMMIT (students in class 1-A and 1-F’s words, not mine) (okay my words too cuz damn I really make them pine for one another lmao)

Backstory:

---so shinsou and denki don’t meet each other until they are five, when shinsou transfers to denki’s school. Because they’ve recently gotten their quirks,  shinsou is forced to wear a muzzle by the school board so he doesn’t accidentally activate his quirk. Everyone knows that when a kid has to wear a muzzle they probably have a terrifying quirk, so all the kids in his class steer clear from him and talk behind his back. Except denki of course, because denki only thinks that he looks kinda cool and how did his mom let him turn his hair purple? because denki wanted to turn his rainbow but his mom wouldn’t let him.

---denki is the first to approach shinsou like the little bundle of joy that he is. Shinsou is very shy at first due to the bullying he received at his previous school, which is the reason why he transferred in the first place. He slowly opens up though when he realizes denki won’t leave him alone. Because he can’t talk, he just listens to denki ramble, adding in a nod here and there to show he’s listening. And he IS, listening that is, because no one has ever talked to him that much before, so he listens eagerly to everything denki says no matter how random the thoughts are. Denki asks shinsou a lot of yes and no questions to get to know him better, and shinsou lowkey cries when he gets home because he finally has a friend.

“I’m denki, nice to meetchya!”

“I know ya can’t talk with that on but ya look really cool, like a hero or somethin’! do ya like heroes, do ya? your hair is so cool! I wanna turn my hair rainbow but my momma won’t let me, she says I need ta wait until I’m big. Do ya like cheerios? I brought them for snack time, ya want some?” 

---the boys are six when denki finds out what shinsou’s quirk is. It all starts with shinsou’s muzzle. He doesn’t think it’s fair that shinsou still has to wear one. He’s been going to quirk therapy to try and get his quirk, whatever it was, under control, so why does he still have to wear it? Shinsou’s parents won’t talk to his parents about it, no matter how much he bugs both parties. Shinsou’s parents are kinda mean, he doesn’t like them much. But he does like shinsou, so he forms a plan. Denki knows for sure shinsou’s muzzle is locked electronically somehow, he can hear the buzzing whenever he hugs tackles him. So denki practices lighting sparks with his pointer finger, way into the night under his covers when he should be sleeping instead. When he sees shinsou next, he fries the lock and takes off his muzzle. One moment he’s answering shinsou’s confusing splutters, the next he wakes to a crying boy hugging him and a lot of screaming adults. That’s when he knew he was in BIG trouble. He finds out shinsou’s quirk later that night when his parents tuck him into bed, and he cries himself to sleep. Not because he’s scared of shinsou, but because he’s scared FOR him; that he won’t be his friend anymore for trying to take his muzzle off. He really hopes shinsou forgives him. At school the next day shinsou looks scared when he runs up to him, but quickly hugs Denki when he cries and apologizes for taking off the muzzle without any warning. Denki vows the next time he tries something (because of course there will be a next time) that’ll he be more sneaky, and actually include shinsou in his plan.

“I’m sorry shinsou, I’m sorry I made you cry! Please still be my friend.”

“So you can control things? Don’t look sad, it’s a really cool quirk, promise!”

“I really wanna hear your voice though. Don’t be scared, you won’t hurt me! I’ll figure out how to get your muzzle off again, pinky promise!”

---the first time shinsou talks to denki is when they’re eight. He knows denki’s been trying to break the new lock on his muzzle. He’s knows denki has been talking to his engineer uncle, taking this task on with a level of passion that he’s never seen in his usually passionate friend. He feels bad that he doesn’t want him to succeed though, because the only thing scarier than accidentally controlling someone is scaring denki away because of it. Unfortunately denki is even more stubborn than he is passionate, and after two years of learning enough from his uncle and actually being able to do it with his unskilled, eight year old hands, denki eventually unlocks shinsou’s muzzle. It’s a tense moment, both nervous for different reasons, but shinsou remembers his therapy sessions and takes a calming breath. They end up talking all night, both crying from the excitement of being able to properly communicate. They wake up extra early to put shinsou’s muzzle back on and his parents are none the wiser. These secret talks become frequent, and shinsou has never been happier in his life.

---that time was an important moment in denki’s life as well, because being able to help shinsou and see his smile made him feel fulfilled with his work, like he actually did something right for once. And learning about all that mechanic stuff was really fun, so denki continues to learn with his uncle as his mentor, leading him to pursue a career in making support gear for heroes.

---it’s in middle school when shinsou decides he wants to be a hero. Despite his muzzle finally being removed because he could now control his quirk, people are still cruel. They mock him and ignore his existence. Shinsou doesn’t care though, because the only person that ever mattered to him was denki. The one thing he doesn’t stand for though, is people making fun of denki. Denki lost more friends the more he stayed with shinsou, until eventually all they had was each other. Neither of them cared, but the loss of denki’s friends meant an increase in denki’s bullies. The one time they weren't together is when denki’s bullies started getting physical. Shinsou walked in on them pushing denki to the ground. Shinsou ended up getting detention for a week for using his quirk to make them pee their pants in front of the class, but he didn’t care. He had to put on that damn muzzle for the week too, but denki’s hug and his “thanks toshi, you’re my hero!” made it worth it. This is the moment he finally realizes that his quirk might actually be able to be used for good after all (despite denki’s constant lecturing about how it’s always been good) and this is what makes him decide to pursue a career as a hero (that and remembering all the times he saved denki from situations only he could get himself into, because apparently he's lowkey been a hero this whole time so why not make a career out of it?).

---shinsou and denki both get into U.A., opening their exam results together. Shinsou passes the practical exam because of the gear and capture weapon denki creates for him. Denki gets accepted with the help of shinsou’s tutoring, because despite being a mechanical GENIUS his grades aren’t the best. It also helps that he developed his quirk to be able to sense electricity and the flow of it through electrical circuits. Being able to touch equipment and figure out where the mechanics aren’t working (by where the electricity stops flowing in the circuits) was very impressive to the admissions panel, to the point he gets a full scholarship to join U.A.’s support department.

---denki visits shinsou all the time in class 1-A, and often pulls him away to sit together at lunch. They’re shocked when they see how much shinsou talks and how easily he smiles with him. Everyone completely loses it when they see the blonde jump on him and not get thrown across the cafeteria. Class 1-A is beyond curious about the blonde who has their infamously cold classmate wrapped around his finger. When denki meets the class everyone immediately falls in love with him. Denki is the major reason why shinsou (reluctantly) makes friends, because everyone comes to see how shinsou’s cold persona is a facade and he’s actually just a sap an awkward (but cool nonetheless) person.

---everyone in denki’s class take to his optimistic and unique personality. They become extremely curious about the mysterious hero course student that stops into denki’s workshop almost everyday, and start a betting pool about his backstory and their relationship.

---class 1-A often wonders how bad denki’s luck must be to get himself in the situations he always ends up in. They also end up seeing how smart denki really is over various points of knowing him, and how badass he can be with his quirk and knowledge of mechanics. Everyone learns that while he may be a ball of sunshine, he can also probably take you down in 0.2 seconds.

---class 1-A often teases shinsou about denki, but when they come to learn through various anecdotes how much the two mean to one another, they gain so much respect for the two and everything they have been through.

Annndddd I’m done for now haha. I have so many more thoughts about how the arcs change and about the other stories (both good and bad) that happen throughout their childhood but I’ll write those out if anyone is actually curious, otherwise this is the end of my immediate thoughts after only one piece of art 😂

[tsukihimeyfan]

The Crossroads of Destiny Alt. Ending

I’ve been thinking about Zuko’s decision during The Crossroads of Destiny a lot and I had to write my thoughts down. Like many of you, I was heartbroken the first time I watched this episode and wished fervently that he’d made the opposite choice. In later years, I realized that it was absolutely necessary, from both a character and a narrative perspective, for Zuko to go back to the Fire Nation as it’s Prince in order for him to be able to realize how much he’d changed during his travels and how his father’s love and acceptance wasn’t something his current self needed. 

I told myself that during his “metamorphosis” Zuko had only realized that capturing the Avatar, besides being dangerous and impractical, wasn’t going to earn him his father’s love, and so he should learn to be happy with what he already had (namely Uncle Iroh and a peaceful uncomplicated life).

I reckoned that Zuko hadn’t given up on his desire for his father’s regard, just on ever obtaining it, and so he had to make the wrong choice in order to be confronted with the truth: that he shouldn’t have had to try so hard to earn his father’s love, that having it wasn’t all that great in the first place, that what he thought would make him happy wasn’t necessarily what really would make him happy, that he wasn’t to blame for the Agni Kai incident, that he had a better father figure in Iroh, and that what the Fire Nation had been telling him all his life about the war was completely wrong.

Looking at it in that light, it made perfect sense for Zuko, who still wished for nothing more than to be accepted by his family, to decide to side with them against the Gaang.

However, the more I think about it, the more I realize that there’s something fundamentally wrong with Zuko’s choice even if you take all of the previous into account, coming down mainly to these 2 things:

1) Zuko shouldn’t have trusted Azula AT ALL, especially after what she did to him during The Avatar State. How did he ever trust that Azula would keep her word and not just dump him in a dungeon somewhere as soon as her objective was complete? She had literally given him no indication ever that she was trustworthy, and he trusted her anyway! C’mon Zuko you’re smarter than this! At least think about it for a moment!

2) It goes against everything we know about Zuko up until this point for him to betray Uncle Iroh. After realizing how lost he was without him during Zuko Alone (and confirming it to the audience during The Serpent’s Pass), 

after nearly losing him to Azula’s attack during The Chase (just look at the poor boy’s face jesus),

after learning to chase his own happiness and cherish the bond he had with him during The Guru, 

after all of that, you’re going to tell me that Zuko would leave Uncle behind?? And not even try to free him from the crystals?? I don’t buy it

So this is my proposal (it’s not perfect so be kind please I’m doing my best with what I’ve got because Zuko HAS to go back to the Fire Nation, AND it has to be as a Prince instead of a prisoner, AND he has to genuinely desire to go back so that we can watch his growth as a person, AND he has to not betray his Uncle). I think it should’ve gone something like this:

Let’s start by giving Zuko better motivation for his betrayal than just “I want dad to accept me”; Azula’s speech to lure Zuko to her side would stay much the same, except she’d place extra emphasis on how she knows he’d NEVER betray his father and his sister over the Avatar, their greatest enemy, and how she’s sure he’d never turn his back on their people, who are counting on them to end the war once and for all in order for their soldiers to return home.

After she leaves them alone, Uncle Iroh would still plead with Zuko but instead of just a shot of his back we’d see how Zuko, full of regret, tells him that he’s sorry but he just can’t. Iroh would beg him to reconsider, to think for a moment, to remember that Azula had promised him love and greatness before and they both knew how that had gone down. Zuko would say that he knows, but even so he can’t bring himself to betray both his nation and his family, and that if there’s even the slimmest chance that his father would take him back and come to love him he has to try. 

Zuko would then free Iroh from the crystals and, almost in tears, beg him to run, to go back to Pao’s tea shop in the Lower Ring and lay low for a while. Azula would have to leave Ba Sing Se soon to deliver her prisoner to the Fire Lord after all, and once she’s gone it’s unlikely they’d ever find him so he should be safe to resume his peaceful life in the city, even with it under Fire Nation control. Zuko would then push Iroh towards the exit of the catacombs, yelling at him to leave, please. He needs him to be safe. Iroh would be disappointed and agree on the surface, but of course he’d only hide himself to find the opportune moment to aid the Avatar. Once he’s out of sight Zuko would take a deep breath and follow Azula.

In this way, the “I have changed” line during his fight with Katara would actually mean something, since he is not only doing this for himself, but also for the Fire Nation as a whole, despite not really wanting to hurt this girl he empathized with mere minutes ago or this literal child that happens to be the Avatar. He’d be very conflicted about it, but ultimately decide his people HAD to come first.

Of course, he’d be horrified when, instead of capturing the Avatar like he’d imagined they would, Azula strikes him down with lightning (and we’d actually get to SEE HIS FACE when it happens this time). 

(maybe something like this; the only other time we see Zuko reacting to violence from the Fire Nation onto an innocent person, but more pronounced because he actually kinda knows this kid and his friends. Song was a stranger)

The rest would play out just like in canon, with Uncle coming in to save the Gaang and being captured, and Katara fleeing with Aang.

Azula’s later speech to “cheer up” Zuko would again stay quite similar, except maybe she’d add a few lines about how he’d brought glory to his nation, his people would be proud to call him their prince, etc.  Against all odds Azula keeps her word, which would make Zuko a bit wary, but of course it’s only because just in case the Avatar survived she now has a scapegoat ready to take the blame.

Zuko would still feel like he betrayed Uncle since his choice got him captured and the Avatar “killed”, but still he would’ve understood that trying to free him would’ve only gotten them both caught and thrown in prison. He would’ve figured he could help him more from a position of power in the Fire Nation, but would’ve still felt guilty for not attempting it.

This Zuko would also lie to Azula about the Spirit Water unambiguously both because of his guilt over getting the kid hurt and his desire to keep his father’s regard. Unlike canon Zuko, whom some argue did it only for the latter reason.

Once in the Fire Nation, we’d see the same journey of Zuko realizing that even if they win the war it’s doing nothing but twist his people by telling them lies, taking their resources and their family members, and feeding their hatred instead of their passions. I also feel like this would be more in tune with everything we saw of Zuko’s character during Book 2, with more taciturn reflection and regret and less yelling at Uncle for no reason other than take his frustrations out on him. Maybe he’d yell a bit about how he’d told Uncle to leave, why didn’t he?? Also maybe he’d try more seriously to convince Uncle (and himself) that he’d done what was best for their nation, and that Iroh should beg for forgiveness so that maybe they’ll let him out of prison, he’d talk to his father for him, he’d back him up, come on, “why aren’t you saying anything?? Uncle please talk to me!!!”. 

For extra angst Uncle would stay the same as in canon, not talking to Zuko in hopes that he’d realize he’d lost his way on his own.

[onelastbreath-writes]

I’ll Meet You There (Part 3)

Pairing: Marcus Moreno/ Wife!Reader (AFAB, no y/n) 

Word Count: 2.6K

Warnings: Talks about loss of spouse, loss of child, medical conditions/inaccuracies, grief/mourning, manipulation/brainwashing (subtext/implied, but we’ll get into it later *winkwink*)

Tags: Hurt/No comfort (for now), ANGST, eventual happy ending, one really sad man for whom I just keep making things worse, #sorrynotsorry, and now I’m just making stuff up as I go along

Summary(lite): You are Marcus’s wife, and you’re definitely not dead. No one is having a great time right now, but like hell if there's a force on this earth that’ll keep you apart forever. This is not a goodbye, its just a see you later. And the interim is going to be everyone else’s problem, you’ll make sure of it.

A/N: Hello dears, welcome back to my twisted mind story,,, guess who showed up like 2 weeks late with a smoothie! So things about this new chapter: I am a criminal with italics and someone needs to stop me, hello switching scenes and perspectives because I just want to fast forward to the good stuff but y’all don’t live in my head and don’t know all the stuff that happens to get us there so here we are taking the slow lane, and I keep brainstorming new and horrible things for my characters because I am A Lot, All The Time, and will not be stopped. Also hey, Marcus the Simp is here for you, so much. I hope this is acceptable to be a reader fic still, because I am giving you some serious personality traits... ehh, it is what it is. Tell me if you spot any of my various references, there’s a lot of ‘em. Thanks to everyone who has liked/reblogged/commented, y’all are gorgeous and I’m so grateful for the love <3 Drop me a message/ask if you want a secret about one of the characters (specify which one), I need an outlet for my endless b.t.s. plotting >;) Please enjoy p3!

AO3|Masterlist

[Previous Part]

---

There were more casseroles in his fridge that Marcus knew what to do with, and more sympathy and “thinking of you” cards stacked in piles around the house than he could count. He appreciated everyone’s gestures, but he could recognize the difference between people who were kind in the interest of helping others, and those who were kind only to help themselves. It was quite obvious which type were flooding his mailbox.

Hell, most of the people sending him cards, his fans, didn’t even know his wife, never spoke to her, didn’t feel the empty Her-shaped-space in their very souls. They just wanted the clout, the prestige, of being ‘involved’ and sympathetic to a grieving superhero. It was exhausting, but no one seemed to empathize with him on that.

The Heroics upper management, and the director specifically after his press conference and the publicity the attack had brought the organization, had insisted on Marcus taking an undetermined amount of leave from the team so he could “process and mourn his loss in the comfort of his own home.” Like he didn’t look around and see every piece of himself and his wife over the years; the Home they built for their family, filled with all the hopes and dreams of two starry eyed lovers ready to take on the world together. Like her absence wasn’t slowly killing him. 

And it wasn’t like she was gone gone.  

Dead.  

She wasn’t dead.

No way in Hell.  

Whether it was because she worked with superpowered people, her experience as a medical professional, or if she was just more paranoid than most, his wife was a planner, and she was prepared for this. “In the event of my death...," like she just knew it would be necessary.

Truthfully, she had schemes and contingencies and all manner of reactionary plans prepared for if (and when) the worst happened; terrified to be blindsided or caught unaware, unable to help those she would have been able to, if only if she had the time to think. Unpreparedness costs lives in both of their careers, and she refused to leave anything up to chance if possible. And so, she’d plan, and he’d listen.  

All throughout their relationship, from before they’d even gotten serious enough to discuss marriage, to when they heard their unborn child’s heartbeat for the first time, and just on random weekday afternoons when they would take Missy for walks around the neighbourhood to show her the beauty in their lives, his wife would paint her theories and ideas like artwork. She’d tell him a story, full of action and mystery, humour and theatrics, tragic romance and harrowing adventure; she could spin a tale like she had a silver tongue, but she never lost herself in her own narratives. In the end, they were messages, lessons, for him to remember when everything was going wrong.    

“It’s all about momentum, babe. Bleeding off energy and taking a bad hit instead of a fatal hit. You can’t just full stop; you’d absorb all the kinetic energy, and the resulting trauma will turn all your squishy internals into, like, body soup, which is just super unpleasant. And of course, head is always number one priority. Bracing for impact works better at giving you fewer serious injuries, especially for your neck and head. Muscles should absorb as much of the energy as possible, instead of letting it fall to your ligaments, discs, and nerves to take the force. So, tense up and roll in the case of a low air evacuation.”

Low air evac... she was concerned he was going to have to jump from an aircraft without a parachute at some point in his life. Which was probably accurate he’d admit, but still, he wasn’t hoping to actually need that plan.

Thankfully, it wasn’t always fire and brimstone with her, and she had many strange and terrible schemes to keep the common, everyday superhero family on their toes. Always carry at least two lip balms... never tell someone you don’t have plans for the evening... don’t smile in your mugshot... no clowns. Ever.

She was so weird, a total nerd, and so completely the girl of his dreams.  

He loved teasing her about her unending train of thought, the brain that never sleeps, how she’d go on tangents while on tangents but always circle back around; even nicknamed her (quite cheekily, and because it made them both laugh) Doctor Batman, which was usually saved for when she was being particularly dramatic and gloomy. Turn the supercomputer off for a second, Bats, come see what Missy’s doing!  

He was her anchor, always ready to pull her back to earth when she started drifting off too far from them, but he never asked and never wanted her to change. He adored her, silly or serious, or when she woke him up in the middle of the night to make him promise that he’d never get their kid(s) a pet owl (because they’re “scary”, and “our kids would be too powerful, Marcus. Promise me!”), or that in the event of them inviting a third to their bed, it would “absolutely never, ever, ever be Miracle. No way!”  

He thought it was quite entertaining most of the time, listening to her plan for zombies and old gods and what to do if everyone just started hating cheese one day, but if it was all so important to her: having him remember this or agree to that, he’d accede to her requests in a heartbeat. Most of it was cute, harmless stuff he didn’t think would even happen, but sometimes she would hit him with serious stuff. Entirely out of left field, she’d go for his heart, and ask him for things that would hurt him, destroy him inside, if he ever had to follow through with it.

“Marcus, if it’s a choice between my safety- my life, and Missy’s? I’m always going to choose her. Kids come first, okay?”  

She wasn’t superpowered, didn’t have a shred of anything other than pure, normal human in her, but she was easily the strongest person he knew. Fearless and brave, kinder than this world deserved, she’d do anything for the people she cared about. And she’d promised him, maybe as a way to repay him for all the things he’d agreed to over the years, that she’d move heavens and the earth to return to their family. That nothing in this world, or beyond, could keep her away. “Eventually,” she’d stared into his eyes, glossy with tears from how forcefully she believed, “I will find my way back to you. I swear it, so keep a weather eye on the horizon.” See? A whole-ass nerd, and he couldn’t have loved her more.

So, she wasn’t dead. Pure and simple. She was somewhere, somehow, and he was going to find her again.  

---

“Marcus, the grieving process is different for everyone, but it is always unpredictable and painful. You will have days where you will feel like you haven’t made any progress, or even lost the progress you’ve previously made, but please know that this is natural; it's something everyone experiences, and that it doesn’t mean you’ve failed in your objective. Healing takes time, and a major part of recovery is learning to forgive yourself when you slip up. No one expects you to be back to normal tomorrow, or next week, or next month. Healing from grief is not a race, so we will go at your own pace, and we will work together to accomplish your recovery goals. You aren’t alone in this journey, and you don’t need to handle everything by yourself.”

The grief specialist he was seeing was someone he would describe as an “old soul”. She exuded the patience and peace of someone who had watched empires rise and fall, seen the turning of the wheel of time and drifted along with the current. Her voice was deep, rich in emotion and empathy for those who needed guidance, calming and intriguing with a soft lilt on her vowels. Timeless and ancient all in one, and even if he wasn’t actually mourning the death of his wife, he did find himself deeply grieving being without her. They were two halves of a whole, and though his soul was at a loss without its partner here, he still had their greatest creation, their pride and joy, their baby girl to raise.  

He would do whatever he had to do to be the best parent he could for Missy. And so, if meeting with a physiatrist every week was something that would help, then he would be here, every week. He'd learn to live with his grief, his sadness and loneliness, with just the memory of his Everything, and he’d help their kid with all hers too.  

It’s what he promised to do, after all.

“If anything ever happens to me, you’ll just have to love her enough for the both of us.”  

---

There was nothing they could recover of the people closest to centre of the explosion. No remains, no blood, nothing. Like they hadn’t been there at all.  

Suspicious.

Upper Management had brought in a team of private investigators to handle the case, people who would keep the details quiet and the public appeased with what little information they’d choose to release.  

Marcus was a superhero, and sure, his job was to hit things until they weren’t a problem anymore, but he couldn’t understand why all the highly trained professionals didn’t question the sheer amount of evidence that just wasn’t adding up.  

He tried to bring up the inconsistencies once with the lead investigator, but they had just given the distraught, widowed husband, so lost in his own denial and grasping at straws, a sad smile and told him they would do everything they could to find the truth for him and the rest of the victims’ families.

Typical.

After being brushed off without a second thought, he decided to keep his ideas quiet, and since they’d proven their unwillingness to listen, he’d just have to solve the mass disappearance himself.  

“Have you ever thought about how to commit the perfect murder, mi amor? I have. First: If there’s no body, they can’t prove the person is dead. No evidence of death? No murder. Simple. But of course, completely vanishing a full human would be a challenge. Short of having the superpowers necessary to, like, erase someone from reality in their entirety, there would be a lot of chances to leave evidence. Ordering suspicious chemicals leaves a trail, driving out to a pig farm in the middle of the night is shady as hell and all neighbors are professional narcs, and fires? Hah! Do you have any idea how hot the fire needs to be to cremate human remains, and how long they would need to grill for? Huh, maybe the perfect murder isn’t a murder at all...  

Hey babe...  

Always doubt a body, but always doubt no body, more.”

---

You tended to lose time when there was no one else in your room. It was hard to tell when your eyes were open because you started dreaming about the only things you could see since you first woke up: drop-ceiling tiles, white walls, and pale blue curtain dividers. And it was easier that way, in the end. Your heart didn’t hurt when you only dreamt of the room. You couldn’t mourn the things and people only your soul could remember if you thought of the room. Drifting in and out of consciousness was how you were coping.  

---

You had been here, left in this room alone, for ages. You had agreed to help the man who had saved you from the explosion that killed your family, but apparently you couldn’t help him until you had recovered enough. You’d read your charts, grilled your nurses and doctors more and more the longer you were kept here. What were they all waiting for? There was nothing wrong with you except the mild post traumatic amnesia, and the whole not-remembering-much-(or anything, really)-about-your-personal-life-and-family-of-the-recent-few-years thing you had going on. It was nothing compared to when you first awoke and could remember nothing. It killed you to be without the memories of your husband and child, to know only of them instead of actually knowing them, but there was nothing you or the doctors here could do. The brain was a tricky thing, and you had to accept that your memory loss might be permanent.  

That just meant that you had to put all that you could remember to good use. You could help people here, and work towards getting justice for your family. Years and years of school, practical experience and training, you had gained it all back; re-read textbooks and studies, wrote papers on your re-emerging knowledge and jogged your memory about long nights and early mornings, surgeries and follow ups... it was all still in your head. It had returned to you easily, like diving into a cool pool on a hot summer day. It was like coming home and taking off your shoes; it felt good, freeing, as-it-should-be.  

But still they weren’t letting you leave. So: what were they waiting for?  

“Ah, Doctor, it’s lovely to see you, as always. How are we feeling today?” Okay, so the guy who “saved” you (read: paid the people who actually saved your life)  gave you the heebie-jeebies. He looked like a classic pompous asshole bigwig, like, oil tycoon or something. And he definitely had some sort of thing for you. Gross.

“I’m doing as well as can be expected, trapped in a room with nothing to do, you know, brain rotting, et cetera. Thanks for asking.” The sass was a choice, probably not a great choice, but your choice none-the-less. You really hadn’t had many opportunities to choose anything for yourself in a while.  

Well...

You were bored, and that was going to be everyone else’s problem.  

“Ah, well, good news then! You have been cleared from observation and you’ll be able to be discharged soon. Isn’t that just delightful!” Mister Craig (“Please, just Greg is fine”), was some sort of horrible group hallucination, you were convinced. No one was that cheery, that animated, unless they were on something, or you were on something. “I’ll have someone bring you your personal effects shortly, and then I can show you to your new apartment. The complex isn’t in the best neighbourhood unfortunately, but it's got some real charm, very vintage! You’ll love it!”

“I’ll look forward to seeing it then; sounds like it’ll be a real interesting place to stay. You can also explain what it is I’m going to be doing with your organization. Because you haven’t specified yet. And I expect a proper contract and wage agreement. Legally binding preferably, for your sake, of course, Mr. Craig.” Even if you weren’t the most physically intimidating person around, you knew how, and more so, when, to assert your dominance in a conversation. Especially with men like him. He was the type of guy who would pinch a nurse’s ass and then accuse them of not being able to take a joke.  

“You wound me, Doctor, I am a man of integrity! I promised you an opportunity to make a difference! To get justice for the loved ones so cruelly torn from you! You have nothing to worry about!”  

Sounds legit. Totally above board. Can’t wait.

---

Taglist (omg!! thanks love): @killtherandomness​

Drop me a line if you want to be added <3

[anncanta]

Natural obligations

Fandom: Dracula (2020)

Characters: Count Dracula, Agatha Van Helsing

Relationship: Dracula/Agatha

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None

Read on AO3

Or read below

Nuns always have a lot of work. This is part of obedience and the normal routine of the monastery, apart from the fact that physical labor helps to focus and pacify the spirit.

Agatha never particularly liked physical labor. She had enough lessons in the laboratory, after which on some days in the evening she was completely exhausted. Still, rules are rules, and at least three times a week she had to help in the kitchen, fetch water, or weed beet beds.

Perhaps that is why a long sleep on a wide and soft, albeit unfamiliar bed seemed to her more a blessing than a cause for alarm.

Until once again slipping out of the delightful slumber, Agatha remembered that there were no such beds in the monastery, and in spacious rooms with walls of rough stone, like the one in which the bed was, the sisters kept cheese.

Agatha sat up jerkily in bed and stared in front of her.

‘Can't sleep?’ Sharply turning her head, she almost buried her nose in the one sitting next to her.

‘What are you doing here?’ Agatha asked from dark, attentive eyes studying her. She tried to concentrate, but consciousness seemed to... splash inside her head, unyielding and nimble, like a slippery fish.

‘I’m here in some way at home,’ Dracula replied calmly. ‘What do you remember?’ he said curiously.

Agatha frowned.

‘The monastery. And prayer. You appeared during a common prayer. I remember Jonathan... Mina... Mina let him in. And the wolves. Yes, I remember wolves.’ She paused, not entirely sure that she had correctly reconstructed the events – or their sequence. ‘And then you said... You promised that I…’

She looked up at him thoughtfully.

‘You took me out of there,’ she stated grimly. ‘It seemed to you not enough to drink me without a trace, and you took me…’

‘...so to speak, in the flesh,’ Dracula nodded in agreement. ‘Don't you like it here?’ He added, sweeping around the room with a gesture.

She didn't answer. Glancing around again, she looked at Dracula. He was sitting so close that she could see the fine lines on his pale face.

‘What do you want?’ Agatha asked.

Dracula shrugged vaguely.

‘Talk.’

...

The bed was incredibly comfortable after all. Over the years she lived in the monastery, Agatha managed to forget about such luxury. She slept comfortably as if plunged into a thick sea of clouds – and she dreamed of clouds. Huge, white, embracing with fluffy waves. Occasionally unfamiliar shadows flickered behind them and voices were heard. But more often in the middle of a dream, Dracula suddenly appeared, and the desire to sleep went somewhere in the background. This was not so much surprising as it raised questions, as well as the fact that, no matter how hard she tried, Agatha could not remember to see at least once where he actually came from.

‘Why do I never see you walk through the door?’ she once asked the Count. ‘I think you are giving me some herbs… Maybe opiates,’ she suggested. ‘But I’m not sleeping anymore when you come. Or rather…’ she paused, feeling that she was confused. Looking at Dracula, she added angrily: ‘You don’t turn into a fog, in fact.’

Dracula smiled at her with that tinge of secular courtesy, which, as she had time to learn, meant that she should not wait for an answer, and Agatha, with a sigh, spoke of something else.

In this, however, there was nothing new – many times Agatha tried, directly or by hints, to find out from him where she was, what was happening, and what she should expect from him – all in vain. Dracula did not react at all, or he gave out something mocking – so much that it became clear that the topic touched upon by Agatha was taboo.

And, it seems, – the only one.

On the first evening after her... awakening, Dracula said he wanted to talk – and they talked. A lot – about books, music, about people and their habits, about what happened in the world before and what is happening now. They gossiped like seasoned gossips and conducted scientific debates, compared impressions of what they read, and discussed how life had changed.

Agatha was never silent, and conversations, moreover, helped her to organize her thoughts and understand herself better. If she lacked something in the monastery, then the interlocutor who could hear, answer, challenge her judgment, or confirm it.

The sisters were not her helpers here – they were kind and caring, treating each other... well, treating each other like sisters, they preferred prayers to disputes and discussions – even if it was about Holy Scripture. So Agatha was desperately bored with them.

Dracula was a demanding and stubborn conversationalist. Smart, attentive, keen, and passionate. He never interrupted and listened to the end of everything she said, thoughtfully studying, looking at it for a long time – and returning it back, sometimes deployed in a completely different angle, and it was... yes, it was exciting, she admitted.

On his next visit, Agatha woke up from a gaze.

Sighing, she turned onto her back.

‘How much time has passed? Since you brought me here.’

‘Three and a half weeks.’

Agatha nodded.

‘Aren't you afraid to make me getting sick of you?’ she asked in a surge of unexpected insolence.

She asked – and immediately regretted it. But the anger did not fall on her, as did the resentment and anger. He laughed.

‘Agatha,’ he said, leaning over and looking into her eyes. ‘How... predictable? you are. How naive in your fierce intransigence. You are so confident in yourself – and in the fact that this intransigence protects you from the manifestations of ‘sinful weakness’. Such as, for example, the ability to feel something for me besides... um... righteous anger. Your tenacity and resilience are truly amazing.’ He paused, smiling. ‘But if I wanted, do not hesitate... yes, if I wanted, I would make you... scream.’

‘I don’t doubt that,’ Agatha said grumpily. She sat up and shifted, making herself comfortable. The pillows spread to the sides and flattened, becoming thin and hard. ‘On the contrary, I find it strange that you took so long...’ she trailed off, choosing the word, ‘for so long delayed with this.’

She bent down to straighten a naughty pillow, and a lock of hair fell over her eyes. Removing them, Agatha looked at Dracula.

He stared at her intently and steadily.

‘Not in that sense.’

The words sounded soft, but something in them made her flinch and – for some reason – to touch the blanket with which Agatha was covered to the waist.

‘What do you mean?’ she asked in a secular tone.

Dracula leaned back, leaning against the low table by the bed. On the table was a glass filled to the brim with wine. Agatha didn’t remember this table had been here before. However, she was not too interested in the furnishings of the room.

‘Have you forgotten in your monastery why they scream in bed?’

‘We don't have much time in our monastery for idle reflections,’ snapped Agatha. ‘Are you serious?’ she did not believe.

‘Quite serious,’ he smiled.

Agatha was silent for a while.

‘Do you really think...’

‘I don’t think so, Agatha, I’m sure.’

She sat for a minute in confusion.

Anger came to the rescue.

‘You will never be able to!’

‘Let's check it?’

What is wrong in this room, Agatha thought. A window would be... Or two. She shifted.

‘Not worth it. I do not participate in disputes about... axioms.’

Now he smiled with the expression that Agatha remembered from their first meeting at the gate of the monastery.

Delight. Disbelief in his luck. Joy.

And in exactly the same gesture as then, he threw back his head and ran his fingers from the corners of his mouth to his chin.

‘Agatha, do you think that for three hundred and eighty-six of my sexually mature years there are secrets of women's pleasures that are unknown to me?’

Agatha chased away the memory.

‘I'm not talking about the secrets of women's pleasures,’ she winced. ‘Your aristocrat's bag, full of information about ladies' charms, has nothing to do with it. It will not help,’ Agatha said condescendingly, ‘in the area where it is a question of a body subject to a higher authority.’

‘Divine?’

‘No. The power of reason.’

He laughed.

‘You are a heretic, Agatha. A century ago, you would have ended your life in the square, and respectable ladies dressed in caps like you would have thrown logs into your fire.’

Agatha snorted.

‘Go away from the topic?’

‘No way,’ Dracula assured. ‘Bet?’ asked after a second.

‘Terms?’

He burst out laughing again.

‘Agatha, I see you are seriously bored. I will not forgive myself for this. The terms...’ noticing her angry look, he continued. A thoughtful expression returned to his eyes. ‘The terms. Let's say this: you allow you to be touched – as I want and as much as I consider... sufficient to prove the theorem, about which we argued. You are completely free in your reactions: growl and hiss, whisper, shower me with the last words. Moan – as loudly as you like. You can't scream.’

‘Moan?’ Agatha squinted. ‘Are you so arrogant?’

He chuckled.

‘I give you a chance.’

Agatha looked at him for a minute.

‘Fine,’ she said slowly. ‘Excellent, accepted. And here are my conditions: you do everything you can to make me scream with pleasure, and if you do not succeed... three times, you lose.’

Dracula raised an eyebrow.

‘Three times? Three times, Agatha?’

‘I give you a chance.’

‘I agree,’ his smile became so soft and sly that Agatha felt a desire to immediately cancel everything.’

‘What will you put?’

She thought about it. And really, what? How can a prisoner pay for a loss? Besides her own humiliation, of course, she thought with annoyance.

‘And you?’ Agatha always found it easier to attack than defense.

He pretended not to notice the pause.

‘I'll let you go,’ he said. ‘If you can’t scream even once, I’ll let you go. And I will fulfill any of your wishes. Of those that I can do, of course,’ he added mockingly.

Agatha frowned in disbelief.

‘Really?’ asked.

‘I give you my word.’

‘Okay.’ She rubbed her forehead absently. ‘What if...’

‘And if I win, then you will go with me to London. Openly, in full view, and voluntarily.’

‘Why do you need me in London?’

Dracula smiled.

‘Don't specify,’ Agatha said. ‘I won't need it. You won't win.’

‘We'll see,’ he is not threatening, she noticed. And doesn't scaring her. He just states.

She took a breath.

‘Well, good. Agree. You win – I will go with you. But that does not mean that I will stop trying to frustrate your... plans.’

‘In no case,’ the corners of Dracula's lips twitched slightly.

Agatha nodded.

‘Then... Since we agreed... on the rules... and on the terms...’ she hesitated. ‘When do you propose?..’

‘Now.’

Agatha stirred and adjusted the pillows again. Now they seemed too soft. She literally felt herself drowning in them.

‘Now?’ she asked politely. It won't do that way, she thought. She must look at him.

Dracula's eyes were completely blank.

‘Do you have any objections?’ he asked.

‘No, not the slightest.’ Tugging at the edge of the blanket, Agatha absentmindedly stroked it.

From the other side, a man's hand lay on the snow-white fabric.

Throwing back the covers in one motion, Dracula bent down, touching the long monk's skirt.

Agatha's gaze darted to his palm, which was lost in the blue folds. She did not feel it through the clothes, she only saw how it adheres to the fabric, completely, with the entire surface.

‘Tell me, have you done this before?’ now the voice of Dracula sounded very close.

‘What?’ Agatha asked, shuddering.

‘Have you ever done this before?’ repeated Dracula; his hand was still resting serenely on the crumpled skirt.

‘Why do you ask?’

‘Interesting.’

‘I’m a nun,’ Agatha said dryly.

‘I remember,’ the hand came to life and grabbed the tight hem, lifting it. ‘But you had a life before the monastery?’ Dracula looked into her eyes. ‘Heart dramas, suitors?’

Agatha shook her head.

‘Me... I was the youngest daughter,’ she said. ‘The fourth after three brothers. And no dowry.’

‘There was only one way – to the monastery,’ grasping the hem with both hands, Dracula pulled up her skirt to her knees. ‘At thirteen?’

‘At fourteen.’

He nodded.

‘Understand. Well, what about you yourself?’

Agatha stared at him blankly.

‘What... me myself?’

‘Agatha,’ he smiled. ‘Haven't you ever tried to find out what it feels like?’ He leaned closer, lowering his voice. ‘Didn't you touch yourself, didn't indulge in forbidden games? Haven`t you ever... tasted yourself?’

Agatha turned away in dismay. She remembered her conversation with Jonathan Harker. How stubbornly she asked him about everything! How persistently she sought an answer, wanting to know if he had... a special interaction with the Count. How she convinced poor Jonathan that there was nothing terrible in his desires for Mina left in London and in his fervent dreams.

‘I've never done that,’ she said dully. ‘Even in a dream. Never. I lied to him.’

‘Lied to whom?’ asked Dracula.

‘Jonathan.’ She lowered her head and looked at her legs sticking out from under her skirt.

‘Did you introduce yourself to him as the queen of lecherous women?’

Her indignant gaze met with such frankly cheerful that Agatha could not find anything to answer.

‘Do you think it will give an allowance to you?’

‘An allowance?’ she blinked.

‘Everything unfamiliar scares at first,’ Dracula bowed his head. ‘You certainly won't be able to win an argument, but fear will allow you to hold out for a while and not give up victory in the first battle.’

Having said this, he ran his fingers of both hands over Agatha's thighs, spreading her legs – unceremoniously and quickly.

The first touch pretended a tickling – a quick, almost fleeting, and high – just beyond the edge of the trembling belly. Fingers went over the hollows of the triangle connecting the thighs, leisurely stroking one, the other, covered it entirely.

Pressing her back into the pillow, Agatha instinctively closed her legs – and groaned with pleasure that stitched her body. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Dracula smiled – and moved his palm, pressing the base on...

‘Jesus,’ Agatha whispered.

Releasing his hand, Dracula once again ran it over Agatha's stomach from top to bottom, and, playing with the curls of hair in a secluded place, again – with his fingers – repeated the movement that shocked her so much.

‘It’s not forbidden to hiss, or growl, or emit lecherous moans,’ he reminded, leaning over to her ear. Gently stroking her with his thumb, with the middle finger he penetrated where it was humid and cramped, and immediately slipped out, leaving Agatha to shudder and breathe heavily.

‘You will come with me to London, Agatha,’ he said, lightly running over the open petals. ‘The bet was concluded without witnesses, and I, of course, will not claim the winnings in court,’ touching the above, he continued, accompanied by her sharp sigh. His fingers moved gently, and faster and faster. ‘If I am not mistaken, this is called ‘natural obligations’. Nobody will punish you for breaking them. But since the days of Ancient Rome, it has been known that arguing with natural obligations is like denying the very nature of things.’

He touched her again, softly and affectionately, and, trembling, Agatha with a powerless groan buried in his shoulder.

‘I win,’ after a couple of moments she breathed out barely audibly.

‘Oh dear,’ Dracula whispered. ‘This is just the first time.’

***

The dream turned into clear water. Crystal, a little prickly, light, and cool. Washing the boundaries of consciousness and completely filling it. Agatha tried to catch memories floating in the water, scattering to the sides and escaping like the wreckage of a raft or a sunken ship. Memories, thoughts, and feelings, about which, not just to the amazed Jonathan, she would not dare to tell the Mother Superior even.

‘And completely in vain,’ she opened her eyes and looked at Dracula looking at her. ‘You were talking in your sleep,’ he added, sinking to the edge of the bed. ‘Memories are worth sharing. Why else are they needed?’

‘Memories of defeat make the armies lose heart,’ Agatha muttered. She tilted her head, listening to herself. ‘What did you give do me after all... Henbane or mint decoction?’

‘Stop guessing,’ smiled Dracula. ‘You cannot solve this problem by enumerating options. Look for other ways.’

Agatha nodded.

‘I will certainly find it. You've been gone for a long time,’ she said, after a pause. And she immediately added in response to his questioning look: ‘In my position, it is difficult to keep track of time, but I tend to believe my feelings. And they say you haven't shown up for days.’

‘I thought you would want to rest,’ Dracula chuckled. ‘I'm glad I was wrong,’ he said, walking his hand over the blanket, and suddenly turning around, climbed onto her bed.

Sitting on the bed, he was directly opposite Agatha, and for a while silently looked at her.

‘You have changed,’ he said quietly. ‘You have changed so much since you came here.’

Agatha straightened and lifted her chin.

‘Winning the first round does not mean winning the game.’

‘Did I talk about what happened at our last meeting?’ Dracula was surprised.

‘Didn`t you?’

He turned around again and, stretching his legs forward, sat down next to Agatha, leaning back on the pillows.

‘Some victories only inflame... the imagination,’ he said, looking in front of him, smiling. ‘Aren`t they?’

‘How do I know?’ snapped Agatha. Turning away from Dracula, she stared at her hand on top of the blanket. Her knuckles twitched. ‘I can only...’

She didn’t finish. Dracula grabbed her and pulled her into his arms, placing her between his own legs and forcing her to lean back on him.

‘Okay, what do you want?’ whispered in her ear.

Agatha tried to push, but he just pressed closer.

‘I’m all at your disposal,’ Dracula purred, almost touching her auricle with his lips.

Agatha shuddered.

‘I can't... I can't say it,’ she said. ‘I...’

A quiet laugh made her grimace.

‘I didn't mean...’ Agatha muttered, realizing that she had betrayed herself.

‘You're curious,’ he laughed again. ‘And you love experiments too much to miss the opportunity to learn something new.’

‘Even if this is some kind of lewdness?’ Agatha snorted.

‘Why not?’ He ran his hand over her thigh and suddenly bent her leg and pulled it aside. ‘I suggested you set the conditions for the experiment,’ he said, penetrating under her skirt with his other hand, ‘so go ahead.’

His hand touched the hot skin, stroked the inner side of her thigh. Agatha groaned softly. In response, he wiggled his fingers, but instead of touching her where it was most desirable, he grabbed her bent leg and pulled gently, forcing her to open up more.

Leaning back, Agatha groaned loudly.

‘Where should I touch you?’ asked the persistent lips that tormented her ear.

Agatha shook her head.

‘I do not...’

‘Tell me,’ the rapid pulse in her temples seemed like a drumbeat, ‘tell me this out loud.’

Agatha shivered.

‘I want… I want… down,’ she whispered, feeling her cheeks flush. ‘Down... longer. And then...’

‘Then?’ touching her with a finger, he fulfills the request. Agatha breathes fast.

‘Then a little higher...’ another one joins the first finger, they caress her slowly and – oh, quite a bit – harder than last time. Agatha groans, gasping for breath. ‘Slightly higher...’ she asks ‘...higher. Above. Faster... And further... to the end.’

With the last words, choking on the exhale, she realizes that she won only because the pleasure was too strong.

***

When he appeared again, Agatha was awake.

‘You look tired,’ she said, watching him settle into the bed with the same calm casualness.

‘A lot of important things to do,’ Dracula replied absently.

Agatha ran her hand over the blanket.

‘I thought you’re not coming again,’ she said.

‘Why?’

She examined the folds of the graceful canopy.

‘I don`t know. To me...’

‘Was I with you unnecessarily...’

‘...modest,’ Agatha finished, smiling at the mocking sparkle in his eyes. ‘Of course not,’ she added in response to an unasked question. ‘I was just thinking... But no, it doesn't matter.’

Agatha turned away and fell silent.

They sat like that for a long time, and the further, the more awkward the silence became.

‘Agatha,’ Dracula said finally. Agatha shuddered and looked at him. ‘Agatha, I think I should...’

His face seemed tense and unusually determined.

‘Agatha, you...’

‘We haven't finished the game.’

She herself did not know what made her say this. She looked at Dracula, looking at her with a mixture of doubt and surprise. Without looking, felt the blanket, she threw it back – calmly and without challenge.

‘Okay,’ Dracula said and repeated as if waking up from a dream. ‘Okay.’

He sat a little longer in his place, and then, climbing onto the bed, moved closer to Agatha and reached for her skirt.

Agatha pulled back.

‘We haven't finished the game,’ she said again, looking Dracula in the eye. ‘And I want to reach the end.’ With that, she unbuttoned her collar and pulled the dress from her shoulders.

Dracula looked at her closely.

‘You’ll lose,’ he said quietly.

‘I know.’

...

The echo was long, rolling, and sweet.

‘If they could hear you, they would come and grab you as the main culprit of all problems and troublemaker.’

Agatha smiled.

‘Fortunately, they can't.’

Dracula raised an eyebrow.

‘Who can't?’

‘Oh, for God's sake,’ Agatha snorted.

They were silent for a second, looking at each other.

‘How long?..’ he asked carefully.

Agatha narrowed her eyes as she considered.

‘I think that... yes, perhaps. I think it was when you offered me... all this. The glass,’ seeing that he does not understand, she added. ‘The glass on... yes, on the table. I remembered that you don't drink wine.’

‘And you were not scared?’ He raised himself and ran his hand along her neck as if wanting to hear her pulse beating.

‘Of course, I was scared!’ Agatha responded indignantly. ‘You eat people!’

‘Actually, I don`t.’

Agatha looked incredulous.

‘And what, for a long time?’ she said.

‘Since we bet.’

She frowned.

‘But how are you then...’

‘Seagulls. Large fish. There was an albatross two days ago.’

She was silent for several minutes.

‘I was going to…’ she said slowly. ‘My winnings. I was going to ask you...’

‘I guessed.’

She tried to hold on. She did her best. But that was beyond her strength.

‘So, to London?’ she asked, finished laughing.

He smiled.

‘So, to London.’

[otomesations]

Kei scene - Retranslation

Context: 

SPOILERS FOR THE LATTER PART OF KEI’S ROUTE

Kei and Ichika have a scene where they make out in chapter 6, and there seems to be some ambiguity within the English-reading community as to how consensual it all is, how pushy Kei is being, and whether they do or don’t… erm… bring it home.

I think the Japanese version makes it clear that it is consensual, that Kei is being quite considerate in his Kei way, and that they do bring it home.

I also thought it would be an opportunity to discuss a few of the scene’s themes - many of which are present throughout Kei’s route and additional content.

So I did a translation pass on the scene and changed the bits that felt inaccurate in theme or meaning. I explained some of the big differences below the translation.

In bold, the parts that I changed from the original localisation.

Translation:

KEI: “More importantly, we can’t really make out if your brother comes home early.”

ICHIKA: “...”

KEI: “I’m just kidding. I’ll wait until you’re completely ready.”

ICHIKA: “... No. You don’t need to wait.”

KEI: “Huh?”

ICHIKA: “I… I also want to make out with you.”

KEI: “...”

Okazaki’s eyes widened, and he blinked a few times. 

ICHIKA: (M-Maybe that was too sudden.)

But it was sincerely how I felt. 

These might be our last moments together. That was all I could think about. 

KEI: “Are you serious about that?”

His hand gently reached for my cheek. 

The touch caused my shoulders to tremble slightly, but I kept my eyes fixed on his.

ICHIKA: “... Yes.”

Then we inched close enough that I could feel his breath on mine…

ICHIKA: “O-oh but wait, just a moment. There’s something I want to ask you first.”

KEI: “...”

Okazaki hung his head, clearly disappointed by the sudden interruption.

KEI: “... Ichika. Don’t you think you’re teasing me a bit much?”

ICHIKA: “S-Sorry. But I really need to ask.”

Our faces were still very close, and his eyes invited me to continue. 

ICHIKA: “Erm… Okazaki, what do you like about me?”

Although he had confessed his feelings to me, I had turned him away in that moment, and I hadn’t quite believed what I’d heard.

After learning his past and sharing our feelings I thought we’d finally become close, yet…

ICHIKA: (Somehow… I still can’t quite believe it.)

The affection that he had for me was unmistakable. But I was still sure he only viewed me as an ideal. 

KEI: “... There are a whole lot of people that I can say I like.”

ICHIKA: (...?!)

Suddenly, he dropped a bomb on me and my mind just froze. 

KEI: “I like Yanagi’s team, Yoshinari, my friends in the force, and even girls I see walking by, I guess. I like a lot of people I think are good people. But… I can’t really say that I’ve ever gotten attached to anybody.”

ICHIKA: “...”

KEI: “Even when people confessed to me and went out with me, I was often told that things were different from what they expected. ‘I’m not special to you.’ ‘I’m just another person in the crowd for you.’ … Stuff like that”

ICHIKA: (I think I can understand that)

KEI: “However, you’re the only one who’s special to me.  It doesn’t make sense. It’s not about liking or disliking you.  You’re someone that I need to live. …Now you’re the proof of my being, you’re my identity.”

KEI: “Isn’t it normal to want to touch that person, or keep her all to myself?”

While he talked, his fingers touched my cheek. The gesture was completely gentle, and I could feel the warmth from this fingertips. It conveyed his feelings much better than his words did.

KEI: “Back when you were mad at me, I thought that I should’ve done a better job hiding it from you. Maybe I should have said my death wish was a joke, and that I just wanted you to feel safe. Yeah… I could’ve lied to you and kept using you. But I couldn’t make myself do it. I wanted you to accept me for the person I really am.”

ICHIKA: “...”

I was rendered speechless by his complete honesty. 

I’m not special, my being is not important to anyone else - I was sure that I and everybody else had felt that way before.

ICHIKA: (What should I do? I’m so happy.)

This was more than love or romance - what he wanted was my being. 

It made me so happy that I shivered. 

KEI: “So, what do you like about me?”

ICHIKA: “Eh…”

KEI: “I was happy to hear that you like me, but it’s still a bit of a wonder to me. You got that angry for my sake, and you even said that you’d rather sacrifice someone else so that I could live because you didn’t want to lose me. I don’t think I’m worth that much. … To be honest, I can’t honestly believe that you actually feel that way. After all, you didn’t like me that much at first, did you?”

ICHIKA: “...”

The sudden question troubled me. I had been attracted to his kindness at first. He was warm and gave me peace of mind. He put a broad smile on my face and made my days gentle. 

But he was stubborn and uncompromising. He could be cold and lived by his own rules. He’d ignored my feelings and stubbornly wanted to die for his own satisfaction.

ICHIKA: (When I think about it…)

ICHIKA: “What DO I like about you…?”

I unconsciously let that slip. 

KEI: “Should you really be saying that in front of me?”

ICHIKA: “S-Sorry… But I’m the same as you. What I like about you, or dislike about you… I dislike everything that isn’t a part of you. I need your being.”

KEI: “Hehehe. So there are still things that we can’t believe or understand about each other. Yet we still want to be together. Doesn’t that feel pretty special to you?”

ICHIKA: “... It does.”

When we put it that way, I could agree with it. 

KEI: “If it’s hard to put into words… wanna try this?”

ICHIKA: “Huh? Try what?”

I tilted my head, unsure what he meant. But in the next moment…

ICHIKA: “Eh?”

My world turned upside down, and I saw stars.

Eventually, I realised I had been pushed down. 

Above me, he was smiling calmly. 

KEI “Do you dislike it when I do this?”

ICHIKA: “...”

My heart was pounding. This was unfair. Right now, I was feeling… vexed.

ICHIKA: “It’s vexing… But I don’t dislike it.”

Rather than dislike… I felt happy. 

When I nodded, Okazaki chuckled.

KEI: “Then, there’s your answer.”

ICHIKA: “You said you were going to try something, but isn’t this a little extreme?”

KEI: “But you understand me now, don’t you? If it was meaningless, I wouldn’t want to do this. Forget about like, dislike, all the small stuff. Right now I just want… you.”

ICHIKA: “...!”

KEI: “If you dislike this even a little, then just refuse me. But if you feel the same way I do… Then please accept me.”

ICHIKA: “... You’re mean.”

Unlike the gentleness from before, our hands held each other so tight it hurt. 

He looked at me with hot, passionate eyes, and lovingly ran his hand through my hair…

ICHIKA: (And yet there’s no reason to refuse.)

KEI: “Before, I said there are a lot of people I like, but I rarely find anyone I want to be mean to.”

ICHIKA: “I don’t know… You’re pretty mean to Yoshinari, too.”

KEI: “Yeah. That’s just my way of showing him I care. Obviously, my feelings for you are different. I want to be kinder towards you than anyone, but at the same time, I want to put you on the spot.”

ICHIKA: “I remember Shiraishi saying you’re a selfish man.”

KEI: “Yeah, didn’t you know?”

ICHIKA: “You’re good-looking but bad on the inside.”

KEI: “Heh. That’s right. But it’s your fault for getting involved with this bad boy, so won’t you resign yourself to it?”

Okazaki’s fingers touched the nape of my neck.

There was a slight click as his fingertips landed on my collar.

KEI: “They’re listening now, aren’t they?”

ICHIKA: (He’s saying that at a time like this?!)

KEI: “I’ll never hand you over to the likes of them.”

He threw these provocative words at them.

I knew that I wouldn’t be killed as long as I had some use for Adonis. But now that Okazaki was being targeted, my mind was in turmoil.

KEI: “Don’t break our promise, or I won’t forgive you.”

He said that with an infinitely gentle smile, as if he could see right through my heart.

ICHIKA: “...Okay.”

I couldn’t stop my voice from cracking. 

KEI: “If you don’t want to let me die, then don’t run away from me.”

He whispered those words into my ear. They sounded as if he was casting a spell. 

ICHIKA: (He’s so unfair.)

I thought that, but contrary to those words, I was filled with overwhelming love for him. 

I was unable to take my eyes off his bewitching smile. In truth, perhaps I should resist this. But…

As he had said, no matter how we tried to make each other understand with words, we’d never be able to fully express ourselves that way.

KEI: “I don’t want you to think of anything else. I want to be the only thought on your mind. Because the more you crave me, the more I want to live. Ichika… Be only mine.”

ICHIKA: “...”

I wanted him to take everything. Just for now, I didn’t want to let go of this hand.

That was the only thing I was sure of.

With acceptance and anticipation, I clasped his hand tight.

Comments:

The major translation issues:

They translate いちゃいちゃ at the beginning as “steamy” stuff when Kei uses the word, then as “flirting” when Ichika uses it. It means the same thing in both cases, which is to make out, and is clearly physical. She’s not being coy. She states from the beginning she wants them to fool around. 

When he pushes her down, the localisation again uses two different translations for the same word, 悔しさ: “humiliated” and “embarrassed”. Both are wrong. The first one is SUPER strong and very shocking to read, and implies that she’s feeling degraded. That’s not what it means - that nuance is not in the word at all. But it’s not as light as just “embarrassed”, either. What it means is along the lines of “vexed” or “mortified”. 

In general, they use different translations for the same Japanese words that are used in close proximity, and often in dialogue. The problem is that it a) breaks the flow of dialogue and b) breaks the themes of the scene. In fact, during the whole scene, Kei and Ichika are picking up on each other’s words and riffing off each other constantly. Among those words are “making out” (as we established), “mean” (that they bicker back and forth on, teasingly, as foreplay), and many smaller bits of dialogue. But more importantly, the big theme of this confession is that they go beyond and discard the concepts of 嫌 and 好き (dislike and like). Instead, they affirm their connection to each other’s being or essence (存在) and their way to reach that connexion is beyond words - by merging those beings in a, well, more direct way, which is what the whole conversation leads to on both sides.

Part of that theme is Kei’s confession. In English they make Kei say that she’s “the reason I’m alive”, which sounds like he’s grateful she brought him back from the brink. But that’s not what he says. He means much more than that. He says that she’s his 存在証明, which sounds more like “proof/justification of my being” (reusing the same kanji for being as I mentioned in point 3 above), and seems to be often translated as “identity”. Kei boy doesn’t mince words lol :D

There’s an unexplained translation mistake at the end. In English Kei says “If you want us to live together, you have to want to live too.” That’s not what he says at all. He says “The more you want/crave me, the more I want to live,” which makes more sense thematically tbh.