#I made the characters like eleven years ago which is crazy

[spittyfishy]

Would any of y’all be interested in hearing about my own characters/stories or would it just be annoying?

[jasmineandcedar]

"Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two"

Azriel's shadows and his relation to light

Elain looked up at Azriel, their eyes meeting, his hand still lingering on the hilt of the blade. I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife. (ACOWAR)

Throughout all five books, there is a lot of symbolism surrounding Elain and Azriel, describing them using themes of light and dark. In this post, I will have a look at Azriel’s darkness by focusing on his shadow powers, what the shadows provide for him, how they behave and around whom. I will discuss how this relates to Azriel’s relationship with light in its explicit and implicit sense, and how Elain is described as a physical manifestation of light, and what that means for their relationship. This will be a long post, because I will include a lot of quotes from the books. I try to go where canon leads me (which is a pleasant experience if you love Elriel).

I wrote this years ago because I went a little crazy after ACOSF and the realization I’d likely have to wait years for Elain’s book and I don't know how to behave myself so I dissected every mention of Elain, Azriel, and Elriel in all books. But I have only recently decided to start to kind of archive my Elriel ramblings on Tumblr, because it’s prettier than having them stored in a Word document. I also like the idea of an Elriel community to be part of, although I have no experience in taking part in online fandom spaces. Beware that most of this will probably be old news by now, since many years have passed since ACOSF. Don’t expect anything revolutionary. But, in anticipation of Elain’s book, it could be nice to reminisce.

Azriel’s darkness

We know of Azriel’s past. Explicitly, there’s the literal lack of sunlight in his early childhood where he was locked in his father’s dungeon until the age of 11.

[Rhys to Feyre, about Azriel] Rhys was quiet a moment. Then he said too softly, “His father had two legitimate sons, both older than Azriel. Both cruel and spoiled. They learned it from their mother, the lord’s wife. For the eleven years that Azriel lived in his father’s keep, she saw to it he was kept in a cell with no window, no light. They let him out for an hour every day—let him see his mother for an hour once a week. He wasn’t permitted to train, or fly, or any of the things his Illyrian instincts roared at him to do. When he was eight, his brothers decided it’d be fun to see what happened when you mixed an Illyrian’s quick healing gifts with oil—and fire. The warriors heard Azriel’s screaming. But not quick enough to save his hands” (ACOMAF).

More implicitly, there’s also a lingering darkness to his character.

[Feyre, during her first meeting with the IC] But the second male, the more classically beautiful of the two … Even the light shied from the elegant planes of his face. With good reason. Beautiful, but near-unreadable. He’d be the one to look out for—the knife in the dark (ACOMAF).

[Feyre, during her first meeting with the IC] Cassian tipped back his head and laughed, a full, rich sound that bounced off the ruddy stones of the House. Azriel’s brows flicked up with approval as the shadows seemed to wrap tighter around him. As if he were the dark hive from which they flew and returned. I tried not to shudder and faced Rhys, hoping for an explanation about his spymaster’s dark gifts (ACOMAF).

[Rhys about Azriel] People often made the mistake of assuming Cassian was the wilder one; the one who couldn’t be tamed. But Cassian was all hot temper—temper that could be used to forge and weld. There was an icy rage in Azriel I had never been able to thaw. In the centuries I’d known him, he’d said little about his life, those years in his father’s keep, locked in darkness. Perhaps the shadowsinger gift had come to him then, perhaps he’d taught himself the language of shadow and wind and stone (ACOFAS).

[Amren tells her story] "But I was—the time locked away down there … I didn’t care. I had not felt the wind on my face, had not smelled the rain … I did not even remember what they felt like. I did not remember sunlight.” It was to Azriel that her attention drifted—the shadowsinger’s darkness pulling away to reveal eyes full of understanding. Locked away (ACOWAR).

[Feyre winnows with Azriel] Azriel’s dark breeze was different from Rhys’s. Colder. Sharper. It cut through the world like a blade, spearing us toward that army camp. Night was still overhead, dawn perhaps two hours away, when he landed us in a thick forest on a hilltop that overlooked the outskirts of the mighty camp (ACOWAR).

This darkness is perhaps most prominently manifested by his shadows, which will be addressed shortly.

Azriel’s darkness is somewhat paradoxical when looking at the very well-mannered, gentle, soft, and caring personality traits he possesses (I often wonder who Azriel would be if he had a safe and happy childhood, and it is my personal view that I don’t think there would be much darkness to him had he not had to suffer through what he did during his childhood). These soft and gentle traits seem the most prominent around Elain, who we know he has romantic feelings for, and Feyre, who he has a very beautiful friendship with. I would with some hesitation add Mor here. However, while he definitely has warm feelings for her, there’s also a lot of rage where Mor is concerned (not towards Mor herself of course, but towards what happened to her). I would also maybe add Nesta, but their friendship is newer and developing. I'm sure we will get to see more of that.

[Feyre, flying with Azriel] Then we tilted, shooting straight. Azriel’s body was warm and hard, though those brutalized hands were considerate as he gripped me. No shadows trailed us, as if he’d left them in Velaris. (ACOMAF)

[Feyre flies into a tree during flying lesson] “Shit,” was all I could say as Azriel knelt before me. “You’re all right. Just stunned.” The world was still reordering itself. “You banked well,” he offered. “Into another tree.” “Being aware of your surroundings is half of flying.” “You said that already,” I snapped. He had. A dozen times just this morning. Azriel only sat on his heels and offered me a hand up. My flesh burned as I gripped his fingers, a mortifying number of pine needles and splinters tumbling off me. My back throbbed enough that I lowered my wings, not caring if they dragged in the dirt as Azriel led me toward the lake edge. In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More … human than I had ever seen him. “There’s no chance that I’ll be able to fly in the legions, is there?” I asked, kneeling beside him as he tended to my skinned palms with expert care and gentleness. The sun was brutal against his scars, hiding not one twisted, rippling splotch (ACOWAR).

[After Feyre’s first flying lesson] Azriel had given me a tonic that would help with the soreness, but I knew that by tonight, I’d be whimpering (ACOWAR).

[Feyre, at the town house] I was still sore enough the next day that I had to send word to Cassian I wasn’t training with him. Or Azriel. A mistake, perhaps, given that both of them showed up at the door to the town house within minutes, the former demanding what the hell was wrong with me, the latter bearing a tin of salve to help with the aches in my back (ACOWAR).

[Taking Elain to the garden] I [Feyre] dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went (ACOWAR).

[Leaving Velaris for the Illyrian camp] Rhys cleared his throat, and nodded to Mor. Then she was gone, Cassian and Nesta with her. Then Azriel, gently taking Elain’s hand in his own, as if afraid his scars would hurt her (ACOWAR).

[Rescuing Elain] The gray light of morning had broken over the world, mist clinging to our ankles as we headed into that camp, Azriel still cradling Elain to his chest. He dripped blood behind him the entire time—a trickle compared to the torrent that should be leaking out. Contained only by the patches of power he’d slapped on it. Help—he needed a healer immediately (ACOWAR).

[First Solstice together] Azriel emerged from the sitting room, a glass of wine in hand and wings tucked back to reveal his fine, yet simple black jacket and pants. I felt, more than saw, my sister go still as he approached. Her throat bobbed. […] I strode to my seat—nestled between Amren and Mor—in time to see Elain say to Azriel, “Hello.” Az said nothing. No, he just moved toward her. Mor tensed beside me. But Azriel only took Elain’s heavy dish of potatoes from her hands, his voice soft as night as he said, “Sit. I’ll take care of it” (ACOFAS).

[First Solstice] It was three by the time the others went to bed. By the time Cassian returned, quiet and brooding, and knocked back a glass of liquor before stalking upstairs. Mor followed him, worry dancing in her eyes. Azriel and Elain remained in the sitting room, my sister showing him the plans she’d sketched to expand the garden in the back of the town house, using the seeds and tools my family had given her tonight. Whether he cared about such things, I had no idea, but I sent him a silent prayer of thanks for his kindness before Rhys and I slipped upstairs (ACOFAS ).

Azriel's shadows

The mix of darkness and gentleness to his person, and with whom what side is dominant, is also manifested in how his shadows behave. Elain is the one person Azriel himself states his shadows are “prone to vanish” around (Azriel’s BC). What does it mean for his shadows to fade or vanish? To know, we need to assess what the shadows do or provide for him? Only then can we know what it then means for the shadows to vanish. That is to say, under what conditions are what the shadows provide not needed? And under what conditions is the opposite true?

I am immensely interested in how Azriel’s powers work. It is one of the things I look forward to learning more about the most in Elain's book (aside from getting more of Elain, but I won't get into that in this post). Since we do not have much information yet, I have tried to figure out as much as possible from what we have. I have catalogued every single mention of Azriel’s shadows in all five books, and these are some patterns I have found. (I will not go into the strength of his powers, as that is an entirely different discussion. I'm intrigued by how the strength of his powers is often compared to Rhys by Feyre, and how Rhys himself is somewhat intimidated by Azriel. There's just so much we don't' know.)

Firstly, we shall have a look at how the shadows are explicitly described by Azriel and by others. Then, we will look at patterns regarding his shadows’ behavior and use all of this information to draw some conclusions.

How are his shadow powers described?

From Rhys we know that it is assumed that Azriel’s shadow powers came to him during his time locked up in his father’s dungeon. They have no relation to the powers he has by nature of being Illyrian, channeled through his Siphons.

Shadows different from anything my powers summoned, spoke to. Born in a lightless, airless prison meant to break him. Instead, he had learned its language. Though the cobalt Siphons were proof that his Illyrian heritage ran true, even the rich lore of that warrior-people, my warrior-people, did not have an explanation for where the shadowsinger gifts came from. They certainly weren’t connected to the Siphons, to the raw killing power most Illyrians possessed and channeled through the stones to keep from destroying everything in its path. The bearer included (ACOFAS).

That his shadows came to him during childhood aligns with how Azriel describes his shadows as having always been there to keep him company.

[Azriel during second Solstice night] But even the silence weighed too heavily, and though the shadows kept him company, as they always had, as they always would, he found himself leaving the room (Azriel’s BC).

What does the company of his shadows provide?

We can gather some answers from how others describe what the shadows do for Azriel. We should perhaps take this with a grain of salt, as it is noted that no one really understands the nature of his powers (see Rhys’ quote above). To guard against this lack of understanding, we will combine this information with a look at how his shadows actually behave.

[Feyre’s POV. Going to Rita’s with Cass and Mor] It was an effort not to stare at Azriel as he watched them head up the steep street, arm in arm and bickering with every step. The shadows gathered around his shoulders, like they were indeed whispering to him, shielding him, perhaps. His broad chest expanded with a deep breath that sent them skittering, and then he set into an easy, graceful stroll after them (ACOMAF).

[Feyre, about Azriel’s shadows when Azriel attacks Eris during the meeting with the High Lords] “Enough, Azriel,” Rhys ordered. Perhaps those shadows that now slid and eddied around the shadowsinger hid him from the wrath of the binding magic. The others made no move to interfere, as if wondering the same (ACOWAR).

[Feyre, about Azriel’s shadows during their rescue mission] Azriel had made us invisible—shadow-bound. We sprinted between tents, feet flying over the grass and dirt. “Hurry,” he whispered. “The shadows won’t last long” (ACOWAR).

[Feyre, when searching for the Hyberns] We searched, but the missed arrows had been snatched up by our attackers —and even the shadows and wind told Azriel nothing, as if our enemy had been hidden from them as well (ACOMAF).

[Rhys, when Azriel gives him intel ahead of the first Solstice  together] Az’s expressionless face was precisely the reason he’d never lost to us at cards. “Why should I be the judge of that?” “You mean to tell me that you weren’t bluffing when you said you didn’t track Lucien’s every movement?” Nothing. Absolutely nothing on that face, on his scent. The shadows, whatever the hell they were, hid too well. Too much. Azriel only said coldly, “If Lucien kills Graysen, then good riddance” (ACOFAS).

The shadows are explicitly described by others (Rhys and Feyre here) as protecting him by shielding him, giving him information, and hiding his emotional state, and even his scent.

Related to the shadows tendency to shield and hide Azriel’s emotional state and his scent, we know that Azriel is often described as unreadable. In fact, “unreadable” (and words of similar meaning) is one of the most common explicit descriptors of Azriel (I have catalogued all of those too). For one, his emotional state is often unreadable, and secondly, we know he also hides how physical pain affects him. Meaning, SJM has made a blatant point of telling us how being stone-faced and unreadable is one of Azriel's defining traits.

[Feyre asking Rhys about Azriel] “Does he mind what he does? Not the spying, I mean. What he did to the Attor today.” Rhys loosed a breath. “It’s hard to tell with him—and he’d never tell me. I’ve witnessed Cassian rip apart opponents and then puke his guts up once the carnage stopped, sometimes even mourn them. But Azriel … Cassian tries, I try—but I think the only person who ever gets him to admit to any sort of feeling is Mor.And that’s only when she’s pestered him to the point where even his infinite patience has run out” (ACOMAF).

[As Cass and Az save Feyre and Lucien from Lucien’s brothers] Azriel flicked the blood off his own blade and stalked toward me. I met the hazel eyes of the shadowsinger. The cool face that hid such pain—and kindness (ACOWAR).

[About allying with Eris] Mor whirled on Azriel. “Why didn’t you say anything?” Azriel held her gaze unflinchingly. Didn’t so much as rustle his wings. “Because you would have tried to stop it. And we can’t afford to lose Keir’s alliance—and face the threat of Eris" (ACOWAR).

[When questioning Amren about how to escape the Prison] Because the shadow in the corner behind Amren … that was Azriel. The obsidian hilt of Truth-Teller in his scarred hand. He’d moved without my realizing it—though I had no doubt the others had likely been aware. Amren bared her teeth at him. Azriel’s beautiful face didn’t so much as shift (ACOWAR).

[After the meeting with the High Lords] Rhys rose from his seat and dragged a hand through his hair. “That went well. It would seem none of us won our bet about who’d fight first.” Azriel stared at the floor, stone-faced. “Sorry.” The word was emotionless—distant (ACOWAR).

[After Feyre and Azriel rescued Elain and Azriel is injured] I didn’t know how Azriel had managed to stay aloft—stay conscious during those minutes in the sky. I didn’t let myself think about how and when and why he’d learned to manage pain like that (ACOWAR).

So, assuming Rhys and Feyre are correct in how they interpret Azriel’s shadows, it seems Azriel has had a need for concealing his physical and emotional state, since his childhood. Which makes sense, considering what he went through. He has learned to hide how external threats affect him. Logically, to protect him. His shadow powers seem to have come to him during this time and in doing so his shadows are described by others as hiding and shielding him. It makes sense, because what do shadows do in a material sense? They hide, shield, veil. What do you wish to hide, shield and veil? That which you wish to protect from external threats.

So, for one: the shadows shield him – to protect him.

Aside from shielding him, the shadows give Azriel information (again, see above how his shadows are described). Rhys says Azriel “learned their language”. This seems true in both a figurative and literal sense. In his role as Spymaster, he seems to use his shadows to gather information. What use does he have for information? To know where there are threats so the threats can be neutralized or otherwise dealt with. Or to gather information so that the IC’s plans can be safely executed. That is to say, for protection. Let's look at some examples:

[The IC about trying to get into the human courts to access the half of the book] Rhys shook his head. “One, it’d take too long. We don’t have that time.” I thought of the past few wasted weeks, how hard Azriel had tried to get into those courts. If even his shadows and spies could not breach their inner workings, then I doubted an assassin would (ACOMAF).

[Feyre to Rhys, about Eris, during negotiations with Kier and Eris at the Court of Nightmares] What is he doing here, I speared down the bond, not bothering to hide any of what coursed through me. Making sure Keir agrees to help, was all Rhys said, the words tight and clipped. Restrained. As if he were still holding the full might of his rage in check. Shadows curled around Azriel’s shoulders, whispering in his ear as he stared down Eris (ACOWAR).

[Cassian about Azriel perhaps learning about Nesta] Cassian hadn’t told anyone about the step he’d found with the clear finger holes burned into it. He wondered if Azriel had somehow learned of them, the news brought to him on his shadows’ whispers (ACOSF).

[Nesta tells Cassian and Azriel the women should be taught Valkyrian techniques] She’d meant it in jest, but the words rumbled through the space, as if she’d spoken some great truth, something that made fate sit up. Azriel turned to them fully this time, eyes narrowed. Like those shadows had whispered something to him (ACOSF).

[After Nesta tells Feyre about the risk of her pregnancy] Cassian soared over the House of Wind to find Azriel there, hovering in place, a heavy pack in his hand. Whether that had been from a separate warning from Rhys, or Az’s own shadows whispering, he didn’t know (ACOSF).

[Cassian and Azriel with Koschei] “You fell for it rather easily,” Koschei went on, “though you took your time making contact. I thought you’d rush in for the kill, brute that you are.” They could make out nothing of him beyond the shadows of his form. Even Azriel’s own shadows kept tucked behind his wings. Koschei laughed, and Azriel stiffened. Like his shadows had murmured a warning (ACOSF).

[Azriel, alone during second Solstice night] Az snickered to himself, to the listening shadows around him. Sleep, they seemed to whisper in his ear. Sleep. I wish I could, he answered silently. But sleep so rarely found him these days (Azriel’s BC).

[Second Solstice night] Azriel winnowed into shadows before she could say anything, appearing at the doors to Rhys's study a heartbeat later. His shadows whispered in his ear that Elain had gone upstairs (Azriel’s BC).

So, secondly, the shadows give him information – again, in general to protect him in some shape or form (although, as seen above, there's instances of a more neutral information exchange occurring between Azriel and his shadows).

The shadows’ behaviour

It seems not enough to take Rhys and Feyre’s word for how Azriel’s shadow powers work. Let’s also look at how the shadows behave.

There is little consistency in what precise words are used to describe the shadows’ behaviour. Many different words are used - shadows coiling, curling, wreathing, swarming, writhing, shielding and so on - during quite similar circumstances. As stated, I have catalogued every mention of Azriel’s shadows in all books, and in general, when the shadows move around a lot and move closer to Azriel, there is some form of distress, emotional or physical or both. I will include a few examples, but across all books, there really is too much to give a full picture of the shadows’ behaviour during distress without including a very large amount of examples. I've tried to choose examples that exemplify the shadows' general behaviour during distress. Since I have catalogued all mentions of his shadows by category, i believe I can do this with a satisfactory amount of accuracy (but feel free to correct me if you disagree).

[After Azriel attacked Eris at the meeting with the High Lords] But I looked to Azriel, currently leaning against the wall beside the floorto-ceiling window, shadows fluttering around him. Even the birds in their cages nearby remained silent. I said down the bond, Is he all right? Rhys tucked his hands behind his head, though his mouth tightened. Likely not, but if we try to talk to him about it, it’ll only make it worse. (ACOWAR)

[Rhys says he would “thank the Cauldron” if Amarantha showed up, offering them a chance to defeat Hybern] Too far—this was pushing them both too far. I tried to catch Cassian’s gaze, but he was monitoring them closely, his golden-brown skin unnaturally pale. Azriel’s shadows gathered close, half veiling him from view (ACOWAR).

[Before the final battle in ACOWAR] “I can fight on foot,” Azriel said to Rhys. “No.” There was no arguing with that tone. Azriel seemed like he was debating it, but Amren shook her head in warning and he backed down, shadows coiling at his fingers (ACOWAR).

[Cassian and Azriel at breakfast, Cassian and Nesta are needed at the river house] “At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.” “Because of the shit with Elain?” Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. Cassian blew out a breath. “I take that as a no regarding the meeting topic, then.” “It’s about what I discovered. Rhys said he requires you both there.” “It’s bad, then.” Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him. Cassian knew it was a lie, but didn’t push it. Az would speak when he was ready, and Cassian would have better success convincing a mountain to move than getting Az to open up (ACOSF).

[After Nesta’s powers are revealed during her nightmare] Then Rhys inhaled sharply, his body full of movement again. Azriel asked, his own shadows gathering at his shoulders, “What happened?” (ACOSF).

The shadows moving closer to Azriel or moving around a lot when he is under some form of distress is a general trend, and a strong one. However, shadows sometimes are present under neutral or more positive circumstances too. I would say there is still often (but not always) some emotional state that could perhaps explain the presence of the shadows in examples like those. Some examples of more positive or neutral circumstances:

[When Nesta is grateful for her Solstice gift] And then she jumped to her feet and flung her arms around Azriel. The room went silent for a beat. But Azriel chuckled and squeezed her gently. Cassian smiled to see it— to see them. “Thank you,” Nesta said, quickly pulling away to marvel at the device. “It’s brilliant.” Azriel blushed and stepped back, shadows swirling. (ACOSF)

[Azriel, trying to get through to a horny Cassian that him and Nesta are needed at the river house] Azriel cleared his throat, and Cassian blinked. “What?” “I said, are you two ready to head down to the river house?” “Two?” He blinked through the cloud of arousal. Azriel chuckled, shadows skittering. “Did you listen at all last night?” “No.” “At least you’re honest.” Azriel smirked. “You and Nesta are wanted down there.” (ACOSF)

What we can learn from this is that he is in general in a state of emotional or physical distress when his shadows are very active. His shadows being present is not always a negative thing (as in, him being negatively affected by something). However, his shadows vanishing or fading is always a positive thing (as in, he is in a positive situation).

Because the only entirely consistent pattern to be found is that the shadows are only described as vanishing, fading, or lighting up when he is happy, content, and relaxed. In all five books, it seems this has only (as in, being explicitly mentioned) happened around Feyre, Elain, and Mor.

[When Feyre first meets the IC] Mor patted Azriel on the shoulder as she dodged his outstretched wing. “Relax, Az—no fighting tonight. We promised Rhys.” The lurking shadows vanished entirely as Azriel’s head dipped a bit—his night-dark hair sliding over his handsome face as if to shield him from that mercilessly beautiful grin. (ACOMAF)

[Feyre, about Azriel] Yes—Azriel, who kept a step away, whose shadows trailed him and seemed to fade in her [Mor’s] presence. (ACOMAF)

[Feyre, flying with Azriel] Then we tilted, shooting straight. Azriel’s body was warm and hard, though those brutalized hands were considerate as he gripped me. No shadows trailed us, as if he’d left them in Velaris. (ACOMAF)

[Feyre introduces Cass, Az, and Rhys to her sisters during their first meeting] “Cassian,” I said, inclining my head to the left. Then I shifted to the right, grateful those shadows were nowhere to be found as I said, “Azriel.” I half turned. “And Rhysand, High Lord of the Night Court.” (ACOMAF)

[Banter during dinner with the IC] Cassian only grimaced at Rhys and Azriel. “I told you that the moment we started letting females into our group, they’d be nothing but trouble.” “As far as I can recall, Cassian,” Rhys countered drily, “you actually said you needed a reprieve from staring at our ugly faces, and that some ladies would add some much-needed prettiness for you to look at all day.” “Pig,” Amren said. Cassian gave her a vulgar gesture that made Lucien choke on his green beans. “I was a young Illyrian and didn’t know better,” he said, then pointed his fork at Azriel. “Don’t try to blend into the shadows. You said the same thing.” “He did not,” Mor said, and the shadows that Azriel had indeed been subtly weaving around himself vanished. “Azriel has never once said anything that awful. Only you, Cassian. Only you.” (ACOWAR)

Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders.  (ACOWAR)

[During flying lesson with Feyre] Azriel only sat on his heels and offered me a hand up. My flesh burned as I gripped his fingers, a mortifying number of pine needles and splinters tumbling off me. My back throbbed enough that I lowered my wings, not caring if they dragged in the dirt as Azriel led me toward the lake edge. In the blinding sun off the turquoise water, his shadows were gone, his face stark and clear. More … human than I had ever seen him. (ACOWAR)

(I won’t do much deeper analysis in this post, but I am sure there’s more to this passage than meets the eye. As far as I’m aware, no other fae has been described to appear “human”, and the  fact that it is done in connection to “the blinding sun”… I think there may be some Elriel symbolism going on here).

[Azriel at the town house with Feyre, Cassian, Nesta, and Elain] Cassian’s dark brows narrowed. I dragged a hand over my face before going to Elain and touching her too-bony shoulder. “Can I set you up in the garden? The herbs you planted are coming in nicely.” “I can help her,” said Azriel, stepping to the table as Elain silently rose. No shadows at his ear, no darkness ringing his fingers as he extended a hand. Nesta monitored him like a hawk, but kept silent as Elain took his hand, and out they went. (ACOWAR)

[Solstice night] Elain sucked in a soft breath that whispered over his skin. His shadows skittered back at the sound. They'd always been prone to vanish when she was around. (Azriel’s BC)

I believe these are all instances of his shadows vanishing from all the books (feel free to correct me if I’m wrong). I think all the above examples show his shadows’ behaviour is consistent with the idea of the shadows being there to protect him (by shielding him and giving him information). The shadows came to him, he learned their language at a time when that was what he needed, and they stayed with him.

If the above is accepted as true. What does it mean for the shadows to vanish? It means there is no need to be shielded, and there’s no need to gather information. Because there’s no need for protection. He is safe and content. The shadows vanish when he is safe and not under any form of emotional or physical distress. This view seems entirely consistent with canon (as seen above).

Remember also what I discussed earlier about his gentle and soft traits coming out the most around Feyre and, even more, around Elain - two of the only three people in whose presence his shadows are described as vanishing or fading. To say that his shadows vanishing is somehow indicative of the shadows not liking that person, or that person being evil is simply not aligning with canon. Canonically, the shadows only vanish when the opposite is true. Shadows vanishing coincide with Azriel being able to express his soft and gentle side, not needing to be stone-faced and shielded. As such, his shadows vanishing cannot be described as anything other than positive. Not needing his shadows is character development for Azriel, as it means he is breaking free of whatever darkness he had to embody to get through the dungeon*. It means he is letting go of being unreadable and guarded and constantly informed of his surroundings. He is joking and connecting with Feyre by the lake during her flying lessons. He is relaxed, happy and content (and smitten, to put it lightly) around Elain.

*This is most certainly not to say I think he will lose his shadow powers overall. It’s just that he doesn’t seem to really need them when he is in a state of safety and contentedness (which it seems he until now rarely has been).

(Again, my personal view is that I don’t think there is an inherent darkness to Azriel. I think he was forced to embody such traits to get through the abuse he was put through. As such, I don’t think Azriel needs someone that can “handle his darkness”. I think he needs someone that lets him be himself, which is gentle and caring. Under such conditions, as seen above, there appears to not be much darkness to him.)

Conclusion

To conclude, and get back to canon once again, who is the only person around whom the shadows are described by Azriel himself, the one the shadows keep company, as “prone to vanish” (Azriel’s BC)? Elain. With Elain, his “head goes quiet” and his “shadows vanish” (Azriel’s BC). It now becomes glaringly obvious what it means for his shadows to vanish.

[Azriel flies Elain to the town house] Azriel arrived first, no shadows to be seen, my sister a pale, golden mass in his arms. He, too, wore his Illyrian armor, Elain’s golden-brown hair snagging in some of the black scales across his chest and shoulders. He set her down gently on the foyer carpet, having carried her in through the front door. Elain peered up at his patient, solemn face. Azriel smiled faintly. “Would you like me to show you the garden?” She seemed so small before him, so fragile compared to the scales of his fighting leathers, the breadth of his shoulders. The wings peeking over them. But Elain did not balk from him, did not shy away as she nodded—just once. Azriel, graceful as any courtier, offered her an arm. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them. (ACOWAR)

[Elain and Azriel in the garden] Elain sat silently at one of the wrought-iron tables, a cup of tea before her. Azriel was sprawled on the chaise longue across the gray stones, sunning his wings and reading what looked to be a stack of reports—likely information on the Autumn Court that he planned to present to Rhys once he’d sorted through it all. Already dressed for the Hewn City—the brutal, beautiful armor so at odds with the lovely garden. And my sister sitting within it. (ACOWAR)

Additionally, we know that Azriel even says in his bonus chapter that he doesn’t need his shadows to read Elain. He already understands her, and he trusts his understanding of her to not need his shadows to inform him. Not even to double check.

[Azriel and Elain, alone on second Solstice night] “I..." He watched her swallow. She clutched a small gift in her hands. "I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier."  Lie. Well, the second part was a lie. He didn't need his shadows to read her tone, the slight tightening of her face. She'd waited until everyone was asleep before venturing back down, where she'd leave her gift amongst his other, opened presents, subtle and unnoticed. (Azriel’s BC)

To wrap up, lets get back to the symbolism. As seen in the quotes above, Azriel relaxes in the presence of light, implicit and explicit. His shadows vanish. There is peace and quiet in the presence of light. He suns his wings where there is light. Why? We know how defensive Illyrian males are about their wings. Rhys didn’t let anyone so much as touch his wings for 500 years. So, what could it mean for an Illyrian male to be so relaxed as to sun his wings in someone’s company? There is only one reason any Illyrian male would be so lax about their surroundings as to sun his wings. To sun your wings is to be safe. His shadows, who shield and protect him, do not need to do so where there is light. Around whom do his shadows vanish? Around whom are they even “prone to vanish” (Azriel’s BC)? Around the one with whom he is the most gentle and soft, because she inspires it and that is who he is when he is not in distress. Around the one who is consistently described as the very manifestation of light and sunshine. She is “like a summer dawn” (ACOMAF), “full of light”, like a “blooming spring” (ACOWAR), a “bloom of color and sunshine” (ACOFAS), “glowing like the sun at dawn” (Azriel’s BC), with a smile “as bright as the setting sun” (ACOSF).

Elain.

The lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her.

I think Feyre was partly wrong. At least, she only got half of the equation right. She said Elain would cling to Azriel for some peace and quiet (ACOMAF). From what we have seen, it goes both ways. Azriel clings to Elain for peace and quiet. In doing so, his head goes quiet, and his shadows vanish. Because he is safe, content, and himself.

And then, shadows vanished, he suns his wings.

[queensoybean0724]

Succession Chapter 15 (Karl Heisenberg/female reader) Resident Evil Village fanfic

Title: Succession Chapter 15

Characters: Karl Heisenberg, female reader, Salvatore Moreau

Rating: PG-13 for language

Summary: you discover a long lost relative has died and made you his sole beneficiary.  While flying to collect you inheritance, you crash in a village in Romania.

Author’s Note: I do not own the characters from Resident Evil Village.  This is a work of fiction.  Anything remotely similar to anyone living or dead is purely coincidental.

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 15

You awoke with the urgent need to pee.  The room was pitch black, the fire in the hearth burning out hours ago.  You couldn’t see anything.  You were incredibly sleepy and could have very easily fallen back asleep, but the need to use the facilities outweighed your slumber.

Heisenberg spooned you, his arms wrapped tight around your body, holding you close. You smiled at the feel of his breath on the top of your head.  He was sleeping soundly and you knew he needed his sleep.  The feel of his naked body against yours was so comforting and you didn’t want to bother him, but you really had to go.

Trying hard not to wake him, you slowly started to pry his arms from around your body.  Heisenberg moaned and pulled you closer to him.  “Where do you think you’re going?” he murmured sleepily, nuzzling his nose in your hair.

“I have to pee,” you said.  His soft moan of disapproval made your heart clench.  He begrudgingly let you go and you sat up, moving your feet to the floor.  “Come back soon,” he whispered, rolling onto his back.  He slung one arm across his eyes as the other lay on his stomach.

You stood to your feet and blindly walked naked towards the door.  You knew there wasn’t any furniture between the bed and the door, but you wanted to make sure you didn’t run into anything.  The door was closed and you could hear the faint noises of the factory on the other side.  You held your hands out in front of you and made your way towards the noise.

You sucked in a pained gasp when your toe hit the edge of the kitchen area.  “Ow, fuck!!” you cried out, “fuck fuck fuck fuck!!”  You hopped on your uninjured foot as you grabbed your stubbed toe, whining and cursing.

“What was that?  What happened?” Heisenberg asked from the bed.

“I stubbed my fucking toe!” you whimpered, squeezing your toes in one hand with your other hand pressed to the counter top.  He was quiet for a moment before laughing.  “Shut up,” you grumbled at him.  You felt along the wall and found the door knob, opening it wide.

The lights from the hallway were a welcomed sight as you went into the bathroom.  You closed the door, locked it, and relieved yourself.  Flushing the toilet, you walked to the sink and washed your hands, looking at your reflection in the mirror.  Your hair was a mess.  You looked down at your hips and thighs and noticed a peppering of bruises and bite marks.  Your muscles were starting to feel sore and achy.  It made you smile.

In between naps and cuddles, you and Heisenberg had done nothing but stay in bed and fucked for the last several hours.  He was insatiable.  His hands and mouth had touched and explored every inch of your body.  You two had made each other cum over and over again.  Finally, after reaching a point of exhaustion, he pulled you to him and the both of you passed out.

You turned off the bathroom light and went back to the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.  With the little amount of light spilling in, you were able to find your way back to the bed.

You slid under the covers and into Heisenberg’s waiting arms.  “How’s your toe?” he asked, pulling you close and kissing your forehead.  You rested your head on his chest, placing your hand on his stomach.  “It’s fine,” you murmured.

“Sorry I laughed,” he said with a slight chuckle in his voice.  You growled softly and cuddled deeper into his arms.

*

When the two of you awoke in the morning, Heisenberg made breakfast...eggs and bacon again.  You poured yourself a mug of coffee from the small pot Heisenberg had on the back of the stove.  It wasn’t as good as the coffee you were used to from back home, but you cut him some slack...after all, you doubted the Duke had various flavors of coffee available to buy from his carriage.

Heisenberg found another chair in a room down the hall and pulled it into his quarters so that you and he could sit next to each other while eating.  After years of him living alone, he only needed one chair in his room.  But you were with him now and he wanted to make accommodations for you.

Heisenberg brought two plates to the table, setting one in front of you and the other for him.

“I thought you didn’t eat breakfast,” you asked as you picked up your fork.

“Usually I don’t,” he responded, “but as of late, I’ve worked up quite an appetite…”

You snorted and clamped your hand over your mouth to keep food from flying everywhere.  Heisenberg laughed as he chomped on a strip of bacon.

The two of you ate in silence, Heisenberg stealing glances at you from time to time.  He watched as you pulled one leg up to the chair and let the other hang over it.  He studied your eating habits as you went from a forkful of eggs to a strip of bacon and ending with a mouthful of coffee.  It had been a long time since he had someone share his living quarters…

He quickly shook those thoughts away.  It had been years since he last thought of them and he didn’t want to be reminded.

“So,” you said, pulling Heisenberg out of his thoughts, “I wanted to do something today…”

“Really?” he questioned, arching his brow, “and what might that be?”

You rolled your eyes.  “Knock it off, pervert,” you muttered, “I want to see Salvatore.”

“No fucking way,” Heisenberg said bluntly, lifting his mug of coffee to his mouth.

“I want to give him something,” you said, turning your body to face him, “the bracelet I got from the Duke...I want to give it to Salvatore.  To show him that everything is okay and that I’m not mad at him…”

Heisenberg shook his head, placing the mug down.  “Everything is not okay.  You could have died, Y/N.  If I wasn’t in the area and hadn’t heard your screams…”

“This isn’t up to you,” you said defiantly, “I want to go see him and I’ll go with or without you.”

Heisenberg laughed loudly, tossing his head back.  “Are you getting tough with me, pussycat?  You think I would let you go there alone after all I’ve told you about this place?  You know, I could go back to chaining you to my bed and locking the door…”

You met his amused eyes with a serious look.  “Please, Karl,” you implored, “we don’t have to stay long.  Come with me, let me give him the bracelet, and then we can leave…”  You put your hand on his arm, squeezing it slowly.  “I’ll make it up to you…”

He looked from your hand on his arm and up to your mischievous eyes.  “Anything, dollface?”

Your heart skipped a beat momentarily at his words.  Oh fuck, you thought, what depraved possibilities could be spinning in his head right now?  What have I gotten myself into?  But you swallowed your tongue and simply nodded.

“Fine,” he said, “we’ll go in an hour…”

*

The ramshackled building that Moreau lived in hovered yards ahead as you and Heisenberg walked closer.  The sun peeked out occasionally through thick clouds.  There was a brisk chill in the air as you shoved your hands in the pockets of the oversized coat you found in the plane wreckage.  You had spot cleaned it in Heisenberg’s tub the day before, scrubbing the slobber and blood that the lycans had gotten on it your first day in the village.

Heisenberg huffed under his breath as you reached the wooden door, slinging his large hammer around and propping it up against the wall.  “Smells like rotten fish,” he mumbled, “which means my brother is home…”

You shot him a glare.  “Do you think you could not be so rude to him?  He is your brother.”

“Not by blood,” Heisenberg shot back.  You shook your head as you pushed the door open.

“Salvatore?” you called out, “it’s Y/N and Heisenberg!  Are you here?!”

It was quiet for a moment.  You could hear the soft sloshing of the water in the reservoir.  A clock ticked by somewhere.  Birds flapped their wings and flew up towards the ceiling and in and out of small openings in the roof.

“Salvatore?” you called out again.

“MOREAU!” Heisenberg yelled loudly, making you jump out of your skin, “where the fuck are you???”

“Jesus,” you breathed, your hand at your chest, “you scared me to death!”  He simply shrugged as you heard shuffling from down a hallway.

“K-Karl?” Moreau called out, “...what are yo-you doing here?”  He turned the corner and saw the two of you standing there.  “Oh!  Y/N!  Oh ho, how are you??  I thought you were m-m-mad at me…”

You smiled and came forward, reaching both of your hands to him.  “No, Salvatore, I’m not mad!  It was just a crazy ordeal that got out of hand and I wanted to let you know...”

Moreau looked down at your outstretched hands and hesitantly lifted his.  He was very slow at placing his hands in yours for fear that you didn’t want him to touch you.  He was used to people over the years being afraid of him, calling him a freak, and picking on him.  It still felt recent, but it had been close to thirty years ago, when local children would see him walking through the village and pelt him with pebbles and rocks.  They would call him names, plug up their noses, and jeer at how much he stunk.  Unless he was beckoned by Mother Miranda, he stayed in the reservoir from then on out.  He would get his revenge a time or two when some of the bullies would jump in the water for a swim.  He would quietly slip under the surface of the water, turn into his huge, monstrous self, and rip them to shreds.  It was one of the few times he recalled ever being truly happy and justified.

You smiled at him and gave his hands a soft squeeze.  They were slimy and felt unusual, but you didn’t say anything; you would wash your hands later.  “I got something for you...just to let you know there aren’t any hard feelings…”  You released his hands and went for your jeans pocket, pulling out the carnelian bracelet.  “I got it from the Duke.  It’s a carnelian crystal.  It represents joy, friendship, and togetherness.  It made me think of you.”

Moreau looked down at the bracelet you extended towards him.  His eyes took in the red crystal.  His mouth opened and his jaw trembled.  “This...is fo-for me?  A present for me?” he asked.  You smiled and nodded.  A low sound that could only be described as the beginnings of weeping formed in his mouth.  You let it hang from your fingertips as Moreau closed his hand around it.  “Thank you,” he said happily, “oh, thank you, Y/N!  This is the best gi-gift I have ever gotten!”  He looked joyful and happy before his body began to jerk.  With a sudden loud gag, he turned away quickly and vomited green fluids on the floor.

“Ugh!” Heisenberg muttered under his breath.  You turned and shot him a warning glare.

“It’s okay, Salvatore,” you assured, turning back to him.

Moreau wiped his mouth with his other hand, looking at you.  “Sorry,” he apologized, “it happens sometimes…”

Heisenberg clapped his hands together once as if everything had corrected itself and they were all good to go.  “Well, brother,” he announced, “it’s always nice to see you.  Don’t be a stranger, don’t forget to write, you know...all that jazz…”

“Thank you, Heisenberg, for coming to visit,” Moreau said, “and thank you for bringing me the fish and cheeses last week.  They we-were very good…”

You slowly looked up at Heisenberg with an amused look, as if to say “oh, what a nice thing for you to do for your brother…”  He looked at you for a split second before turning away and mumbling “you’re welcome.”  You couldn’t stop the giggle that escaped your lips.  Heisenberg could try all he might, but there was goodness inside of him...he didn’t show it a lot, but it was there.

With a short grunt, he looked down at the floor to his left and found a scrap of metal that looked to have fallen from the ceiling.  He reached down and picked it up quickly, showing it to his brother.  “Yeah, well...I’m taking this!” Heisenberg announced, turning around and stomping out of the reservoir building.

You pressed your lips together to keep from laughing.  Turning back to Moreau, you bid him goodbye and promised that you would come see him again soon.

You jogged out of the building as Heisenberg grabbed his hammer and slung it over his shoulder, the metal scrap dragging behind him in the snow.

“How old are you again?” you quipped, walking with him up the path back towards the factory.

“Shut up…” he grumbled.

[misiahasahardname]

to whoever sees this: this post does not hold up nowadays actually. the dad part especially, i love my dad <3

i made this post when i was in s2 which was... not a great year for me!

it's not really that bad but i'm still not a fan.

with love, michasia (this update brought to you on the 16th of august, 2024)

I AM HAROLD HUTCHINS, FUCK YOU, I’M GOING TO MAKE A MASSIVE COMPARISON, READ NOW!

MY HYPERFIXATION MADE ME DO IT

Ok, ok, ok, ok, ok, lemme calm down a bit. I tend to get like, REALLY hyper when it comes to talking about my hyperfixation (Captain Underpants!!), so this may or may not seem like a rant, but please, I am literally IDENTICAL to Harold Hutchins, the amazing, wonderful, gorgeous, marvelous, beautiful, splendid, spectacular little child. So, uh, here are some amazing similarities!!!

Harold Hutchins is an ADHD icon. Before reading book 12, I had no idea what ADHD was. (Yes, I know book 4 mentions ADHD first, but I had that copy in Polish first and what in the everloving fuck is ZDUN?!) Yeah, my best friend has it, and I new that, but he called it hyperformia and we had no idea what it was actually called (we were in Primary 5, the legal still-allowed-to-be-a-dumbass age) so yeah, didn’t see the connection. So I looked it up and found SO MANY SYMPTOMS, most of which I could relate to on multiple levels. Being an idiot nine year old, I instantly decided “Yeah, I have this.” and then learned that self diagnosis is wrong! BUT it turns out I was RIGHT, after a lovely trip to the phsycologist when I was… twelve? Eleven? So yes, I too have ADHD just like the amazing Harold! (When I was younger I was an idiot, because I liked the characters and my friend a lot and their lives seemed fun, I thought the disorder was also fun, I was wrong, it really sucks, especially when you’re not on medicine.) By the way, I am PISSED that Cap. U is like the ONLY ADHD representation I can find. WHY?!

We can both be used as a mop. Crazy haired blondies, rise up! Headcanon, someone has DEFINETLY flipped Harold upside down and ACTUALLY used him as a mop. I can’t imagine how hard it would be to get all that dirt out his hair that evening.

You’re attracted to the opposite gender? I dunno, that’s kinda gay. I got book 12 on my ninth birthday, actually, and started reading it in the car when we were driving to Edinburgh with the intent of partying. I got to the page where the future families were revealed and I was STUNNED. This book which had JUST released… maybe a year ago had a GAY CHARACTER. I was amazed! I repeated 3 times, “Harold is gay!!” (or gae, if you wanna know how I used to spell it.) I was mind blown. Little did I know, some girl in my class that VERY SAME YEAR would cause my gay awakening. Another funny coincidence, both me and Harold are in love with a very caring amazing person, if we assume that’s what Billy’s like. I love the very subtle way it was just mentioned that Harold has a husband that just made me stop and then go, “woah”, as if it almost flew over my head. Did that make sense? I’m rambling lmao

Drawing is my passion. I like writing, but I’ve been getting worse and worse at it because for WHATEVER REASON, my brain is mixing my two main languages together to confuse me and make me forget how to spell words like peice, or write w’s instead of v’s because apparently the letter v is illegal in our ‘alfabet’. Instead, I’ve been drawing random things constantly, JuSt LiKe HaRoLd!¡!¡!¡! Do I need to add random information to each point? No. Will I add information anyways? Yes. Are you interested? Are you hooked? GOOD, BECAUSE THIS IS WHAT EACH POINT IS GONNA LOOK LIKE!

The Bad Dad That Left For Milk After Mum’s Divorce and Random Bully Trauma Club! Yep, here we go. I like to beleive Harold loved his dad even though he got hit because he just didn’t comprehend that what he was going through was abuse, just like me! Like, he could get into trouble at school or something and his dad was going to be told about it and hide under his covers, hoping he won’t find him so he doesn’t get smacked, but still love the guy! I HATE HOW TINY CHILDREN DON’T UNDERSTAND WHAT ABUSE IS, GET OUT OF THERE AND CALL CHILDLINE, HAROLD!!! Oh, and the bullies? Jesus, bullies love picking on people like me- (loud, obnoxious, weird, egotistical, (not Harold traits, I’m not an identical copy)). We have Harold’s bully and his 3 goons; Sissy, Prissy, Pissy and Fuckboy, meanwhile I had Mr. Simp. So glad the both of us had epic, amazing friends to save us! Plus, we ourselves had our own special plans to destroy the bullies. Oh, and about friends…

BESTIE TO THE RESCUE! I HAVE A FRIEND THAT IS JUST LIKE GEORGE (minus the ties and shit) AND SHE IS AMAZING BUT I FEEL KINDA BAD THAT I DUMP ALL OF MY FEELINGS ON HER AND TREAT HER LIKE SOME THERAPIST. (sorry Millie D:) George is amazing though, we need more characters like him. I mean, what kind of five year old gets offered to go up THREE GRADES just like that?! I’m so jealous! Oh, oh, AND, my friend, like George, is there to comfort me and make me more like a more sane human being? Am I phrasing this right? Ok, just picture that moment of pure bliss in Season 3 Episode 4 where Harold gets very excited about what’s in the mystery box. See how he sits in that amazingly excited position? And how George then calms him down or something? THAT’S my friend, and also me. I get excited like that. I also get corrected (“Old unicorns?” “Old uniforms, Buddy.”), complimented (that one moment in Season 3 Episode 3 where George gives amazing compliment to Harold and hugs him whilst Harold looks mildly uncomfortable), forgiven and put up with (lmao Harold breaks the fantaseers 2000 because he’s caught up in the moment is a massive mood), etc. etc. I did have another example or point but I forgot (of course).

Cowards! When it comes to situations, Harold is the more cautious one. Ditto, ditto, ditto, DITTO. I am a pussy, and I am NOT afraid to admit that. Poor Harold is scared of a vampire camp. Not really as stupid as a fear of dogs, though. (DON’T WORRY, I’M GETTING REHABILITATED, I’M NOT AS SCARED OF GOING TO MY FRIENDS’S HOUSES ANYMORE)

Clingy, please, I need my best friend, PLEASE! I don’t know how our illusgaytor would do without George, how depressed he gets when they’re going to be placed in separate classes in the movie, when he finds out he’s gonna be put in a different grade than George in book 11, just such a fucking mood. I HATE waiting for my friends in the playground, I feel so lonely, empty, and most importantly I HATE IT when people walk past me with THEIR friends, judging me. It makes me feel like a loner! And I get uncomfortable seeing one of my friends alone, I just REALLY need to go over there and see if they’re okay, even though maybe my shouting scares my friends away. But, am I the only one who realised that George and Harold are each other’s ONLY friends? Like, in the books and the movie, they’re only seen with eachother. No one else, they have no connections with the other kids. WHY, THEY’RE SO LIKEABLE!!!

Is that it? Man, it felt like more. Do you get my point? I hope you do. Uh, so, yes, Harold is best boi, I like characters with lots of development and lots of things to relate to, um… ŚIEMA!

[deathvalleyusa]

day’s eye

Summary: In the eyes of a child named Daisy, Alfie Solomons is a thing of adventure books and mythical tales. As she grows he seems to morph to even more mythical proportions. That is, until Margate shows Daisy just how mortal and human Alfie is. ONE SHOT.

Characters: Alfie Solomons, Child OFC, OFC

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: Language, S5 spoilers

A/N: Wrote this a while ago but only recently picked it up again. I had plans to write a fic about Nora (Daisy’s mom) and Alfie but this ended up happening instead lol. x-posted from AO3.

When one grows up without a father, people assume a terrible fate befell him. The War. An accident. Perhaps he had found himself in trouble with one of the many gangs that ran the streets of every city on British soil. His absence could be explained away.

When one grows up without a mother, death is often called upon as the excuse as well. Childbirth. Influenza. Beatings no one saved her from.

But in certain cases, the father is simply gone and the mother still lives and breathes. Daisy was one such case.

Her mother, a lovely woman named Nora, had dreams. Visions of a house, a garden, and a job to keep her steady. Daisy was a part of the vision, but not a part of the journey thus far. So at her grandparents cottage she stayed. Six years old, knowing her mum was somewhere else, trying her hardest.

The day Nora came for Daisy was one of excitement. Tears. Good-byes from her Papa and Gran, hugs that melted into her skin. A buzzing ecstatic feeling as they boarded the train, heading to a place called London.

"It's all new there for us, Daisy," Nora had said. Pretty in her makeup and burgundy cloche hat. "A life for us, eh? Me and my girl?"

Daisy was not expecting to meet a man that week.

At six, she'd met her fair share of men from her grandparents' village. Her mum had never brought around anyone other than her uncle Harry. So this man was something new entirely.

Daisy had thought he maybe had been a bear before he was a man. Towering and scruffily bearded, he was an odd one.

"This is little Daisy, then?" He had asked. Voice low, accent unlike the Liverpool one she had lived with all her life. He spoke with a curiosity and a kindness, deep blue eyes twinkling.

"That's her," Nora answered, beaming. "Daisy, this is my lovely friend Alfie."

He offered a hand. Daisy stared, then gave a glance to her mum. A supportive nod, and her tiny hand met his.

It was not unlike her grandfather's, or Uncle Harry's. Worn and slightly rough on the pads, work showed it's time through calluses and small light scars. It was warm though, gentle as he shook hers before enveloping it in another large hand. Daisy couldn't help but admire his rings and the small crown tattooed into his skin.

Like a man from the pictures, she thought to herself, giving a pleased smile. Like a pirate. Or a king.

One thing Daisy learned, as she spent more time with her mother and Alfie, was how much he spoke and how rapt her mother's attention was to his words. He spun stories, rambled about the folk about town. Posed hypotheticals at Nora who would answer after a long pause. Alfie would always include Daisy, posing the same questions or asking about life in a quiet village.

Years passed. Daisy, in her infinite child wisdom, came to understand some of the nature of Alfie besides his sweetness. That he was just as she had suspected, a pirate and a king. He terrified others, kept the men in the bakery in reverence of him.

She came to understand her mother as well. A woman with muted glamor, someone with quiet dreams that slowly seemed to materialize. She was not the princesses or damsels in the films or books Daisy consumed. No, she was something of a beautiful warrior.

Daisy thought of herself as an adventurer. No one feared a child of her age, and she had no one who needed her protection quite yet. Instead, she was a wily spirit, content with exploration during the day and a cozy home with her mother, and quite often Alfie, at night.

It came as no surprise at the age of nine when Alfie sat her down and explained he had asked her mother to marry him. Truly, it felt like a long put off event, and Daisy had just wanted it over and done with.

Alfie's laugh filled the sitting room when she told him.

"It's not always that simple, Daisy Bell," he said. "But I'm pleased, your mum expected you to take the news hard. Not sure why, but you are full of surprises, yeah?"

And so, on one afternoon that had gifted pockets of sun, Daisy watched as Alfie made her mother his pirate queen. Daisy, in turn, became a pirate as well. And with her new place as the daughter of a pirate and a king came new lodgings.

Not a ship, but a house with many rooms. A place for her toys and baubles, and a new wardrobe to hang the pretty things her mother liked to dress her in. Daisy quite liked to sneak into Alfie's study, staring at the little collections that lined shelves. On the occasions she snuck in while he sat at his desk, he'd call her over with a wave of his big hand. A sweet would appear, followed by a kiss to the head.

"Don't tell your mum," he'd whisper in gruff tones, "or she'll 'ave both of our heads for spoiling your dinner."

It was those moments she liked best, when the two of them would hold a small secret. Daisy knew Alfie and her mother had their own secrets, whispered under their breaths as if Daisy would pay it no mind. Talk of bread, of a man named Shelby. Nothing that ever reached her in her fortress.

And in that fortress protected by men led by Alfie, who as Daisy neared eleven, seemed more pirate than king, she thrived. Played with the other children, took pockets of Yiddish they taught her home to practice with her mother. Spent hours feeding treats to Cyril behind her parents’ backs. Tormented Alfie's men with silly games and questions they usually had no answer to. Ollie was her favorite. He had taught her to play cribbage in the moments where his time wasn't completely occupied with Alfie's commands.

There were long stretches where Alfie did not return home, only giving a phone call to calm Nora's nerves. Her mother would get whispered conversations; Daisy was given sweet words and a gentle good night or morning. Daisy contented herself with this, until one day Alfie did not return.

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

"He's gone to Margate," Nora explained, rubbing at her tired eyes. They seemed to grow more tired with each passing year. "I haven't heard from him yet, Daisy. Perhaps tomorrow we'll get a ring."

The call did not come. Daisy thought of terrible fates that befell kings and pirates. How easily it could happen to a man whose business kept him in hushed conversations. How her pa, dear Alfie, could be struck down in crossfire with the polished guns he kept locked in his study.

When a letter came, and with it a terrible wail from the beautiful mouth of her mother, Daisy knew she was right. Wished it not to be so; that there had been a terrible mistake and the news written was wrong. But sneaking a look at the letter when her mother had finally let it out of her grasp, Daisy found her worst thoughts had not been bad enough.

Alfie's wonderful handwriting lay before her. Asking forgiveness of Nora, then of her. A betrayal to the Shelby man detailed Alfie's demise. A desire to end a painful, cancerous existence that he had never spoke of to Daisy.

Another letter detailed his condition. Alive, but for how long would be up to him. Where he could be found in the winding streets of Margate.

With no noise, she returned the letter to it's envelope. Daisy took care to walk quietly, letting herself hang at the entry of her mother's room. For the first time in many years, she crawled beside her in the vast bed, letting a desperate hug melt into her skin.

On the eve of her twelfth birthday, the house with many rooms lay barren. Everything had been packed and sent to Margate, which Nora explained would become their new home. Daisy had seen her mother hold back tears as they locked the doors for a final time. Her house and her garden that had materialized out of her dreams since Daisy was very small was no more.

Camden Town had too much risk lying to the north to bring Alfie back even in secret. He was no longer a king, but a ghost of one. They were to follow the ghost, live in a haunted home by the sea.

In that haunted home, Daisy helped place Alfie's collections and her baubles on shelves. She ignored the moans from the guest room, which had become a makeshift hospital ward. Instead she practiced her piano and read on the balcony to avoid the noise. Wished that Cyril, wherever he had gone off to, was by her side to help her ward off the ghost that lived here.

Alfie haunted her, night and day. He haunted her mother more, once he became more coherent and spoke his rambling nonsense to her. More than once she had heard Nora's voice raised behind the oak door, and no reply from Alfie. Her mother was not an angry woman, but Margate in those early months had sparked like a flint and filled Nora’s glamorous face with a rage-fueled fire.

As time passed, Daisy returned to her schooling. New friends were found, and so was a sense of normal. Her mother’s anger had become smoldering coals, and she started to leave the house. Sometimes for pleasure, other times for business still left from Camden Town. Daisy wondered often if Alfie, who remained behind the closed door, envied their comings and goings. She wondered more if he missed her, months separating the moment she had seen him in a gauze mask till now.

***********

On an unremarkable Sunday afternoon, her mother had gone out for some air. Daisy had been left to her own devices, plunking out a song on the piano in the sitting room. A voice, one she hadn't heard in more than a gruff whisper in weeks, sang out:

"Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do!”  

He was awake. Calling to her, it seemed, with a silly song he'd sing to tease since she was small.

"I'm 'alf crazy, all the love for you!”

Daisy rose from the piano bench, wood upon wood scraping quietly before feet plodded to the guest room she avoided. Now, though, the call from within was irresistible.

The door groaned silent as she peeked in, black curls slipping around her shoulders. There in bed lay the man she called father. A man in a pitiful state, but lucid.

"Daisy Bell, sweetie." he managed to crack a smile. "I'll cover up this nasty face of mine if you like, yeah, I just need to see that cherub one of yours."

She stepped in, trod closer.

"It's all right," Daisy remitted. "Will it always look like that?"

Alfie took consideration. "It won't always be as red, yeah, but it'll still look like a gnarled fucking tree. Maybe it'll smooth one day, but it's stuck, love."

"Then don't cover it," she said quietly. "If it's forever, I need to get used to it."

"Wise words from the mouth of babes."

"I'm nearly thirteen." A slight bristle shook through her voice, reminding herself of her mother. "I'm no baby."

"Is that right?" Alfie shut his eyes, heaving a grumbly sigh. A few beats passed, and he opened his good eye. Deep blue, like the ocean at night. Daisy sometimes sat on the balcony of their townhome and watched the waves roll in and out. Alfie's eye held no waves, just stillness.

"Well, if you're such a grown woman now, with wisdom and maturity beyond all our years, right, you'll fetch your dad a thimble of whatever Mum's got in that fancy bar cart she had to have, yeah? A secret between us grown ones, so I can partake of the earthly pleasures again."

Daisy's face hardened. "Mum says you can't."

"A biscuit then. With a strong cuppa." Noting her doubtful looks, he gestured to his face. "The tea to soften the biscuit so this old man can chew softly."

Daisy gave him a doubtful look, but obliged. Wondered how many times he'd asked for small tokens from the nurse or her mother and was promptly shut down. She returned, biscuits and tea in hand.

"You have my undying gratitude, Daisy Bell," he said.

He seemed quite happy, but Daisy couldn't tell if the biscuits or her presence was more the cause. As he dipped a corner of the biscuit into his tea, she thought how silly it was for a ghost to enjoy afternoon tea. She couldn't help an amused smile.

"What's that you're giggling about?" Alfie asked. His own mouth drew into a devilish grin. "You do something funny to these biscuits, ey?"

"No," Daisy replied, smiling wider. "It's a silly thought is all."

"I haven't heard silly thoughts in some time, just a nurse droning on and on about health and tablets. Indulge me."

For the first time in many months, Daisy felt heard again. Hands grabbed the wooden chair next to the wardrobe, scooting close to Alfie. She even let her forearms rest on the side of his bed, close enough to feel warmth not usually becoming of a ghost.

"Well you see," she started, "when we met when I was very little, I saw your rings and tattoo and thought of the men in the books my Gran would read to me. All while we lived in London, I thought of you as a pirate king."

"Is that so?" he chuckled, taking a sip. "Reckon you were a pirate princess then, weren't you?"

"Something like that." Daisy grinned before looking away at the wall. "After Mum got the letter and we couldn't bring you home… Well, I felt like you were a ghost. Like I've been living with a ghost this whole time in Margate."

Alfie didn't respond. Daisy had known he wouldn't; the wound on the soul was still as raw as the scar on his eye.

"But just now, seeing you eat,” she continued, “I found it quite funny to see a ghost eat a biscuit and enjoy a cuppa. All ghosts should be that funny, I think."

"Do you?" Alfie heaved a great sigh, then chuckled. "Better to be a ghost with a sense of humor and an appetite for sweets than a man who's lost both, yeah?”

Daisy nodded. The more she let what he had said rattle about in her mind, the more she came to understand the thankful truth of it. Though she mourned her pirate king, Cyril, and the house with many rooms, Margate and its ghost with his biscuit and tea had their own comfort.

She once again was a child who had a father with a terrible fate that had befallen him. A dozen excuses could be made for his absence but Daisy knew this time, at least, that in secret he still existed. The little secrets they shared had grown to one of great magnitude, like ones of novels and myths.

“I’ve missed you.”

Alfie, who had finished one of his biscuits, eyed her up with that twinkle she loved so dearly in the still dark blue iris. The cup clinked against the saucer as he set it on his lap covered by a blanket. Daisy felt the familiar roughness of his hand as it grasped hers.

“So have I, Daisy.” He gave her hand a squeeze, the feeling less ghostly than she had imagined. “Someday, I promise you, I’ll be out of this terrible fuckin’ bed and you and I can do whatever pleases your sweet heart.”

“That could be a very long time,” Daisy answered. “Is it okay for me to come back in? Will Mum be upset?”

Alfie took a pause.

“I don’t think so,” he decided. “And if she does get upset, it won’t last. The rotation of faces will do me good, yeah? That nurse sometimes makes me feel more ill by her presence alone, she’s got a particularly sour smell to match her face. The sooner I’m out of this room, the better I’ll be, I think. The sea air’ll do me some good, don’t you think?”

Daisy nodded again, vigorously. If Alfie thought the sea and the wisping salt against his face would help him be less a ghost and more a man, she would believe it too.

“We can go walking together,” Daisy suggested. “In the afternoons when I come home from school. And all day on weekends. Mum said she’d buy me a swimming costume for the summer, maybe we could swim—”

Alfie interrupted with his distinctive laugh, a near giggle unexpected from such a large man. The first time Daisy had heard it she had been taken aback, only to laugh along. Hearing it now was like a balm slathered on a skinned knee.

“We’ll start with a short walk, sweetie, then think about swimming in the next distant summer when these limbs can carry this old man easier. If I try to swim now, right, I might be swept away into the sea and some fantastical creature may happen upon me and drag me to its home in the depths. You believe in mermaids, love?”

“No.” Daisy sat back in the chair. “Not anymore.”

“Pity,” Alfie answered. “I saw one once at a carnival; pretty thing with a tail blowing bubbles under the water. If anything were to drag me out to sea, I’d choose her.”

“Stay on land, then!”

Alfie looked at her, quieted by her outburst. Daisy hadn’t meant for the words to leave her mouth so loudly. But all the talk of leaving once more sent her deep into a place of fear.

“I don’t want you to leave again,” Daisy tried once more in a softer voice. “I don’t want you to even try.”

“Then I won’t,” Alfie replied simply. “I’ll ignore all those siren calls I hear from the beach and stay right here, on your orders. You’re the boss, then.”

“Mum said she’s the boss now.” She shifted in her seat, wondered how cold the tea sitting on Alfie’s lap had gone. “Her and Ollie, she says.”

“Right then, you’ll just have to be my boss, won’t you?” Alfie shut his eyes. Daisy inspected his face, riddled with red scars and the patches of scaly rashes around his scalp he had explained as an affliction called psoriasis when she questioned it. He opened his good eye, giving her a quick smile. “Keep me in line and give me my orders to follow. First order is no following mermaids, got that love, what else should I heed from you?”

Daisy had never had that kind of power before, giving orders to an adult. The men at the bakery heeded her silly requests before, yes, but Alfie had always been the one to bark orders. As a child on the cusp of thirteen, it was an immense responsibility. She racked her brain, lips pursed as she ignored Alfie’s amused face, before settling on one.

“Get well fast,” Daisy finally said. “And don’t make Mum cross again, I’ll know if you do.”

“A tall order, that last one, but I’ll do my best,” Alfie grunted, tapping her hand before saluting her. “Yes ma’am.”

[rhosyn-du]

Never make a mess when a total catastrophe will do - Epilogue

Pairings: Jimon, past Clace, background Clizzy, a bunch of other minor background pairings Rating: Explicit Art: @cor321​ Beta: @all-thestories-aretrue​ Tags:  Alternate Universe - College/University, fake dating, oh my god they were roommates, friends with benefits, idiots to lovers, pining, miscommunication, holidays, drinking games, mistletoe, symbolically significant Oreos, domestic fluff, brief mention of past character death, Jace’s self-worth issues deserve their own tag Summary: What do you do when you find out your sister is not only dating your ex and love-of-your-high-school-life but is also bringing her home for Christmas? Bring your annoying, hot, annoyingly-hot roommate as your fake boyfriend to show them you're totally fine with it, obviously! There's no possible way this could backfire. Link: AO3 , Tumblr Master Post

Epilogue

“How is this the third store we’ve visited that’s out of cranberry sauce?”

“Because it’s eleven in the morning on Thanksgiving Day?” Maia threw Simon a look that clearly said ‘duh.’ “I’m honestly surprised we managed to snag those last two pie crusts.”

“I should never have let myself get distracted while I was doing my shopping on Monday.” He fixed Jace with a stern glare. “No more distracting me at the grocery store.”

“You were pretty into my distraction, if I recall correctly,” Jace said with a lazy grin.

“You’re laughing now, but you’ve never seen Bubbe Helen when she doesn’t get cranberries on Thanksgiving. You don’t even know.”

Jace wrapped his arms around Simon’s waist, pulling him close. “Hey, we’ll find Bubbe Helen her cranberries. We’ve still got a hundred miles left between here and New York. There’s bound to be a store along the way that still has cranberries.”

Simon relaxed in his arms with a sheepish smile. “You’re right. I’m being dumb.”

“It’s not dumb,” Jace corrected gently. “It’s tradition, and it’s important to people you love.”

“Wow, holidays make you really sappy,” Simon teased.

“You make me really sappy,” Jace corrected, reaching for Simon’s left hand. He brought it to his lips, placing a kiss on the knuckle right above his father’s ring. The same ring he’d used when he actually proposed two weeks ago, at the same table in Java Jones where they’d made their list of fake dating rules all those months ago. He’d hidden the ring under his muffin, knowing Simon would steal the last bite like he always did, and even though it wasn’t the kind of grand, romantic gesture his siblings had suggested when he asked for their help, it was theirs, and the look on Simon’s face when he said yes was really all that mattered.

“You make me pretty sappy, too,” Simon said, drawing him into a kiss.

“If you two start making out in the middle of the canned goods aisle, I’m stealing the van and going to New York without you.”

Jace pulled away from the kiss to give Maia an unimpressed look. “No one’s making you watch.”

“Yeah, but every minute I have to spend waiting for you is one I don’t get to spend with my girlfriend, who I live two-hundred miles away from and only get to see maybe once a month if I’m really lucky.”

“She does have a point,” Simon said. “Plus, Becky can be really vindictive when she wants to be, and she’s got easy access to the room we’re sleeping in tonight.”

“And the longer we stand around here, the longer other people have to buy all the cranberries at other stores,” Maia pointed out.

“Fine,” Jace relented, releasing Simon. “Let’s go find some cranberries.”

Simon took his hand, and Jace could feel the warm metal of his ring pressing into his skin.

~~~

“We have cranberries!” Maia announced as they entered the Lewis home.

“Oh, thank god,” Becky said. “Someone was starting to get a little agitated.” She raised her eyebrows and tilted her head significantly toward the kitchen.

“So, you’re only happy to see me for my cranberries, huh?” Maia teased.

“I’ve got a whole list of reasons I’m happy to see you.” Becky gave her a quick kiss, then turned to poke Simon in the ribs. “But I’m only happy to see this fool for his cranberries.”

“Hey!” Simon protested, poking her right back.

“I guess I just don’t even rate, huh?” Jace asked.

Becky turned a wide, mischievous smile on him. “Oh, no. I’m happy to see you for an entirely different reason. I want to offer you a trade.”

“Don’t do it,” Simon said. “She’s sneaky, and she will rip you off.”

“I am sneaky,” Becky agreed, “but this is totally above board.” She turned back to Jace. “I hear that you and Maia are drinking buddies.”

“I’m not sure I like where this is going,” Maia commented.

“That’s probably a pretty accurate description of our relationship, sure,” Jace agreed.

“Which means you’ve seen Maia drunk,” Becky continued. “Which means you probably have embarrassing stories about my girlfriend. Stories that I’m more than willing to trade embarrassing stories of my brother to hear.”

“See?” Simon pointed at his sister. “Sneaky.”

“Yeah, babe, I’m not sure you’ve actually thought this through,” Maia said.

“No, I have,” Becky told her with a smirk. “I’ve also thought up all kinds of ways to convince you to forgive me.”

“Please don’t elaborate,” Simon said.

“Okay,” Maia said, “but I have an even better deal for you.”

“I’m listening.”

“How about we both tell embarrassing stories about Simon and Jace over dinner.” Maia leaned in and finished in a low voice. “And then you can show me how you were planning to get me to forgive you when we get back to your place tonight.”

“Oh,” Becky said. “Yeah, that’s a much better deal.” She turned to Jace. “Sorry, got a better offer. No hard feelings?”

Jace shrugged, biting back a laugh. “I mean, I can’t really blame you.”

“Is it too late to do Thanksgiving with your family?” Simon asked Jace. “Or we could just sit in the van and eat cranberries out of the can. That’s also an option that would be preferable to this.”

“Oh good, you found the cranberries.” Bubbe Helen emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel. She walked over and pulled Simon into a hug. “I knew my grandson would come through.”

Behind her, Becky shook her head emphatically, mouthing ‘lies.’

Simon kissed his grandmother’s cheek. “It wouldn’t be Thanksgiving without cranberries.”

“That’s what I’ve been saying.” She turned a critical eye on Jace. He was pretty sure she still held a bit of a grudge over him supposedly proposing to Simon in a storage closet. “And what are your thoughts on cranberries?”

“Oh, uh.” Jace was pretty sure he’d never thought much about cranberries before this morning’s frantic search across half of New England. “I’m definitely pro-cranberry.”

“Speaking of which,” Simon interrupted, “we should get these groceries to the kitchen and get started on the pies. You’re going to love Jace’s pecan pie, Bubbe Helen. It’s the best I’ve ever had.”

“Pecan, huh?” Bubbe Helen gave Jace a considering look.

Jace nodded. “With browned butter. It’s a family recipe.” Technically, it was Alec’s recipe, but Alec was family, so he figured it counted.

Bubbe Helen nodded. “You’ll do.” Then she turned with a wide smile to greet Maia, and Jace let out a relieved sigh.

As they made their way to the kitchen, Simon bumped Jace with his shoulder and spoke in a low voice. “It’s cute that my grandmother makes you nervous.”

“It’s not cute,” Jace muttered. “She’s terrifying.”

When they arrived in the kitchen, Simon’s mother was checking the turkey.

“Another half-hour, I think,” she told them as she closed the oven door. “If you work fast, you can put the pies in as soon as the turkey comes out. I cleared some counter space where you can work over there. Do not touch anything else.

“Hi, sweetie,” she added as an afterthought, giving Simon a quick hug.

Simon returned the hug. “Hi, Mom. Pie plates still in the same place?”

“Bottom cabinet to the left of the sink,” she confirmed. “Is there anything else you two need to get started on the pies?”

“Pie plates to the left of the sink, half an hour, don’t touch anything,” Jace repeated back to her. “I think we’re good.”

“Perfect. I’m going to go toss the linens in the dryer. You boys get started on those pies, and I’ll be back to check on the turkey in,” she checked her watch, “twenty-eight minutes.”

Jace watched long enough to make sure she was out of earshot before saying, “If we’re ever crazy enough to do joint holidays, she and Maryse cannot be allowed in the kitchen at the same time.”

Simon chuckled. “Mom can be a little intense about holidays being perfect, but I think it’s just because she wants us to enjoy them.”

“I get it.” Jace knelt down to retrieve the pie plates from the cabinet. “I mean, you saw what Maryse and Alec were like just over Christmas dinner. Military campaigns are less well-orchestrated than Thanksgiving at the Lightwood house.”

“Is it weird having Thanksgiving here instead of with your own family?” Simon asked as he rolled out a pie crust.

Jace set the pie plates down next to the pastry mat. “I am having Thanksgiving with my family. I’m having it with you.”

Simon smiled without looking up from the pastry mat. “If you keep saying romantic things, I’m going to kiss you, and then we’ll never get the pies ready to go in the oven on time.”

“I wasn’t being romantic,” Jace insisted. “It’s just, it took me a long time after the Lightwoods took me in to really start thinking of them as family, to accept that they thought of me as family. I’m not sure I ever would have if it wasn’t for Alec and Iz. They taught me that family can be people you choose, not just something you’re born with.” He shrugged. “And I chose you.”

Simon looked up from the now perfectly-rolled pie crust. “That was super romantic.”

“Maybe a little,” Jace conceded. He lifted the crust into one of the pie plates and began smoothing it into the corners.

“That’s actually part of why I wanted us to do Thanksgiving here this year,” Simon said as he began rolling out the second crust. “I know you haven’t always felt like you had a family, and even though I know you do now, I wanted to show you that you get to have my family now, too.”

Jace wound his arms around Simon’s waist. “Now who’s being romantic?”

The pies were not ready to go into the oven on time.

[wolfiafuntime]

Alright. I just remembered this comic I read a while ago, about UAF Gwen telling Omniverse Ben that she feels insulted on how he sees her (this being post-cloning the universe), and how her clothes are one of the only ways her mother accepts her for who she is.

I tried to look for the comic, but I don't remember the name, and I never ended up finding it, so...

Anyways, after remembering this comic, I came to realize that Ben ended up inadvertantly changing a lot of things. The face of Mr. Smoothies being the most obvious, as the show made a point of showing the difference. It's also notable that Ben gains his hoodie Post-Cloning.

Post-Cloning really shows a lot about Ben, and it's all by just taking a look at the characters that appeared in UAF, but didn't appear in Omniverse until Ben cloned the Universe. Two characters that I want to zero in on during this post are Charmcaster and Albedo.

Pre-Cloning, Charmcaster was shown as a serious, genuinely evil girl, who was calculative, and worked years on getting her dead father back. She appeared to like solitude, as she basically never left her dimension after she became it's ruler. But she could also fall in love easily, as shown in that one episode where she fell for Darkstar; which seems to have inpacted how Ben saw her.

Because Post-Cloning, she's seen kidnapping Darkstar after Team Ben defeats him at Gwen's college, and her design now has hearts on it (at least four). Other moments with her show that she's gone crazy. Which, could be seen as something that naturally happened after her father refused to be with her after she killed at least a million people for him, but she was later seen falling in love with Darkstar. But then again, Darkstar only added on to her emotional damage.

Pre-Cloning, and five years prior to Omniverse, Albedo was shown to be loyal to Azmuth, even though he believed that he was better than the First Thinker. Then, at some point between the four years Albedo trapped himself within a clone of Ben's body, he wanted his own Omnitrix; believing that he would be able to do more good with it than a Human. However, Azmuth rejected his request, which sent Albedo on a spiral that eventually got him fired (even though Albedo says that he quit). In UAF, Albedo shows narcissistic tendencies. And while those tendencies are still present in Omniverse, there is one major difference. That difference being that Pre-Clone, Albedo wanted nothing more than his body back. And while he got it back Post-Clone, he also tried to take Azmuth's brain for himself.

Another note of Albedo's character is that Pre-Clone, the only difference between him and Ben is his hair and eye color. His hair is well kept, he looks like he's gotten the proper amount of sleep, and a good amount of sunlight. However, Post-Clone, his hair is messy, there are bags under his eyes, and he's pale. He's clearly not doing well, which is especially evidenced when he gets turned into a eleven-year-old version of Ben, and breaks down crying. And what does Ben do? He laughs.

But what is, to me, Albedo's most jarring change, is how his name is pronounced. In UAF (and possibly in the Omniverse flashback, I'm not entirely sure), his name is pronounced Al-bee-doe. While in Omniverse, it's Al-bay-doe.

Now, as I said before, Post-Clone reveals a lot about Ben. One of the obvious ones is that he doesn't see the Villains as anything more than just crazy and/or just evil people. Which usually isn't all that bad, but it is in Charmcaster's and Albedo's case. Charmcaster just wanted her Dad back, and Albedo just wanted his body back. And Ben, even with all of the goodness in his heart, ended up inadvertently driving them both insane. Or rather, inadvertently making them both insane.

And they aren't the only two examples. There's Animo, who was ripped Pre-Clone. There's also Argit, who seems to be suaver. Argit is someone to take note of, as he's the first of three non-villain characters that have changed Post-Clone. The second is Magister Patelliday, who's gotten sillier. And the third is Jimmy Jones, who was helpful Pre-Clone, but is an annoyance Post-Clone.

The only people Post-Clone that don't really seem to change are the people he's constantly surrounded by, sees as a best friend, or has forgotten the existence of. The best examples for this is his mother, Sandra, and his Grandpa Max, his best friend Kevin, and Malware (granted, he thought Malware was dead).

And honestly, that's why I think Ben 10: Omniverse - Season One, Episode Four: "So Long, and Thanks for All the Smoothies", is the start of SO MUCH of Ben's character development. It is, undoubtedly, one of the most underrated episodes in all of the Ben 10 shows. Because you get to see how Ben sees these people. But, because the two main characters of this post (Charmcaster and Albedo) appear in later seasons, it's so easy to forget.

[elysiashelby]

In Another World - T. Shelby Imagine Ch. 13

Paring: (Eventual) Thomas Shelby x Aliena Welsh (OC)

Fandom: Peaky Blinders

Word Count: 5,851

WARNINGS: ANGST, HEAVY ANGST, Alcohol Consumption, Cursing, Recreational Drug Use, SUICIDE ATTEMPT, Mentions of SMUT (doesn’t concern any of the main characters)

Summary: Aliena Welsh hasn’t gotten any better. Her mental health is in the dumps and she’s coping with alcohol and drugs. How will she recover?

MASTERLIST  CHAPTER 12 CHAPTER 14

A/N: THERE IS A SCENE OF ATTEMPTED SUICIDE. YOU READ ALL OF HER THOUGHTS LEADING UP TO THIS POINT & I DO BELIEVE IT TO BE VERY TRIGGERING!! THERE WILL BE BLACK LINE BREAKS TO START THE SCENE. Not a whole lot of Tommy in this one.

That night on me birthday, I blacked out. Couldn’t remember a thing, but I do remember feeling like shit the next morning. Not just from the raging hangover, but emotionally as well. I’ve never truly understood how fuckin’ shitty it is to wake up with no fuckin’ memories of the night before.

But now I did!

The days after I attempted to cut down me drinking as suggested by Polly. I kept to it as much as I could, but I just turned to other vices when we went out. Instead of drinking, I was getting high. Same effect really except I was more affectionate than ever and wasn’t getting weepy. 

Problem with weed? It made me sexually aroused a.k.a. horny. I started dancing with strangers. Men and women. I was truly not giving one flying fuck. 

And it was scaring me.

I managed to get past the whole debacle of me assaulting that woman at the Garrison. Talked to Polly abar it, ya know, some of me troubles. Really made some headway. She started wanting me to work in the shop more. 

Couldn’t tell ya why, though.

I didn’t mind, it kept me busy for a while. That was ‘til Polly told me she didn’t need me in the shop for sometime. So, now— I was stuck collecting money every fortnight, cleaning the house, cooking, and be an all-round delivery girl. 

Have you ever heard of the saying, “High highs are followed by low lows.” Let me tell you abar the low blow I was dealt. I caught Tommy banging Lizzie. 

Drop the mic!

Yeah! I caught the first love of me life having sex with a prostitute. Not knocking her down, a girl has to earn her coin somehow. It was the fact that Tom was paying for sex that got me. He would rather pay than use me. 

Let me tell you the number that did on me self-esteem. I didn't want to make it matter, but it did. It was irrational, in a way. I knew that. It was just that I was so hung up on him and I couldn't find it in meself to let go of him, yet. It was absolutely pathetic. I realize that, but I was also used to it. Used to the ones that I want not wanting me.

Oh well! I mean I wasn’t obsessing over it, but it did hurt me heart, is all. It also served as a turning point for me. Now, I wasn’t just dancing with random fellas— I was making out with them too. 

Kissing didn’t matter to me anymore. Ever since me first kiss was stolen by that bastard two years ago, or so.

I didn’t let it go any further. I was just making out with them. Men and women. Anyone who would have me. 

I was laying in me bed. I didn’t feel like leaving it. So, I didn’t. I kept me eyes shut and was getting lost in me own world. I fantasized abar being back with me family. That I had woken up in de’ ozzy from a coma ‘n I made all of this up.

“Aliena, love. You need to get up now.” Polly whispered as she shook me gently.

I opened me eyes and blinked. I faked waking up for the first time today. I hummed. 

“Come on, love.” She urged while uncovering me and taking me hand.

With our hands joined, I turned ‘round and rose to me feet. She took me head in her grasp before using the back of the head to check me temperature.

She tutted. “You don’t have a fever. Do you feel sick, Ali?”

I nodded, lying. She sighed and pulled me into her chest. I hugged her tightly while whimpering. It was better this way.

We stayed that way for a while before she pulled away. Me face in her hands again. “How ‘bout I make ya some soup? You go on back to bed and I call you when it’s done. Yeah?”

I nodded with a small smile. She led me back to me bed and tucked me in. I said nothing as the tears streamed down me face. When she left, I closed me eyes again. 

I’m so tired.

When the soup was ready, she got me up as promised and helped me down. I was acting and not at the same time. I was just showing how I really felt. I knew tomorrow I would have to bottle it all up again. 

It was just that I already used up all me rest days just laying around, so this was a better cover. 

She sat with me as I slowly nibbled away at the soup she made me. I didn’t care for it. I wanted me ma’s chicken soup. We made small chat ‘til I was done and I was sent back to bed afterward. 

I laid there doing nothing ‘til I felt like I was going stir crazy. I leaped from me bed and pulled out me journal that was full of me writings. Only once I had the pen in me hand, I couldn’t think of anything.

I threw it down and ran me hands over me face. I began doin’ some heavy breathing before I took a deep breath and just suppressed it. I just suppressed it ‘cause I felt like I was being overdramatic.

I do so much complaining. I should be grateful. I should be grateful for what I have. Why was I so miserable? 

Because I wasn’t in a relationship with Tommy, don’t make me laugh! He’s just one man.

 Is it because I’m not with me family? Come on, after all that wishing to experience something more exciting in me life!

 Fucking kinel! I was lucky enough to be found by Jeremiah and not be chucked into some mental asylum or in a prison cell for being suspicious. For not having to sell me own body in order to make ends meet. No, nothing has changed. I’m still that sheltered little girl who is just so ungrateful.

I inhaled sharply and gripped me hair tightly. 

Just so greedy. Just so lustful. So fuckin’ ungrateful.

“No!” I shouted before I slapped meself. The stinging sensation overwhelmed me and balanced me. I swallowed harshly before racking me head for a song. 

I sang ‘Empty’ by Olivia O’Brien to meself. I sang a million of other depressing songs ‘til me head ached. Then, I sat there. Just sat there. Letting the stories that ran through me mind play out there since I couldn’t write them.

But even they weren’t bringing me joy. Awful scenarios triumphed the love stories I was trying to conjure. They would just turn sour with infidelity, broken promises, and death. 

I placed me bent elbows on me desk and used me hands to support me head. I closed me eyes as a way to fight the burning in me eyes. 

As soon as I woke up, I choked down a sigh. I just turned on me back and ran a hand threw me hair. After a second or two, I got up and began getting ready for the day. For the past couple of days, I’ve been waking up with anxiety. I haven’t felt this way since being in school. 

College was different. I had more freedoms, but years six through eleven— they were absolute hell for me. It just triggered me anxiety disorders, especially me agoraphobia. 

I looked at meself in the mirror and saw a dead woman. I placed me fingers under me eyes, tugged down, and then let go. I took a sharp breath before I opened the door and walked out.

I was finding it harder to breathe these days. Like if me asthma was back, or gotten worse. Which would be totally plausible since I have been smoking ciggies now. Still pace meself, though. 

I had me hair in a bun, some hairs framing me face. I was wearing a light purple button up shirt with a darker purple, high-waisted midi skirt. 

I walked down and cut me two slices of bread. I was gonna eat me regular bread and jam. I sat down ‘n ate it. When I was done, I began to clean up again. The same old routine. Sweep, dust, fold, sew, shine, or wash.

I was in the middle of fixing one of Finn’s shirts when he walked in, panting. His lips smacked before he spoke. “Tom-Tommy wants to see you.”

“What is it, Finn?” I asked while rising to me feet. What the fuck’s happened? “What’s happened?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I was out with Isaiah, came in and he told me he wanted me to get you.”

I let out a sigh of relief before annoyance took over me. I shoved his head away from me. “Dear lord, Finn. I thought something bad happened! Ugh!” I walked past him and into the shop.

The chatter of men overwhelmed me senses. I marched over to Tommy’s office and knocked before going in. 

“Finn said you needed me.” I stood up straight with me shoulder rolled back. Me fingers were interlocked and resting at me waist.

Thomas nodded as he took a drag from his ciggie. “I need you to deliver this to Moss.” He looked up as he held up the package for me to take. 

It was probably hush money to distribute, or his own allowance to keep him quiet, or something else.

I blinked furiously as I stepped forward and attempted to take the package from his hand. 

Okay, the fuck is happening?

Tommy kept looking at me up and down and wouldn’t let go of the package. I cleared me throat and he let go instantly. 

“Right. I need you to give that to him as soon as possible. So, it’s best if you go now.” He looked away from me and back down at his paperwork.

“Right.” I repeated softly before turning ‘round. As I stood in the doorway, I held onto the wall and snapped me head to Tommy.

“Tommy.” 

He looked up, his eyes wide. “Yeah?”

I thought abar it. I wanted to ask what that was all abar. I cleared me throat before gulping and shake me head. “Nevermind. Have a good rest of your day, Tom.” 

I didn’t wait to hear a response. I practically ran out of there. I got me coat and then out the door. The cold air stung me face, but I welcomed it. After all, that interaction got me all warm inside. 

I didn’t want to think abar it too hard. I had negative and positive thoughts. Maybe he thought I looked nice, but at the same time— maybe he saw what I’ve been hiding too. I remembered abar that promise we made on December 3rd. Abar how I would go to him if me depression was getting bad, but—! I didn’t sit right with me. How could I complain abar all of me problems when he was unknowingly one of them?

I sighed and clutched the package tighter. Men and women alike greeted me as I passed. After the bar “fight,” some stares and greetings changed. I didn’t care.

Why should I? They probably bunched me in with the rest of the Blinders, now. Might call me a devil too, now.

I huffed. Well, as long as they kept their thoughts to themselves. A bizzy held open the door for me, so I flashed them a nod ‘n smile. I walked through the building ‘n ignored the stares. I walked over to Moss’s office and knocked. 

“Come in.” He shouted.

 I opened the door and walked in. Moss, instantly, sat up straight.

“Ms. Welsh.” He began. “What can I do for ya?”

With the package still in one hand, I thrusted it forward, bouncing it a little. “Mr. Shelby has a delivery for you.”

He ah-ed, rose from his seat, and took it. “Thank you. Miss. My wife was just saying the other day how she missed your company. She’d be very pleased if you visited her soon.”

I smiled and nodded. “Oh, well, I’ll make sure to stop by soon. Good afternoon, Sergeant Moss.” I nodded again and turned ‘round.

I felt the stares and heard the whispers as I walked. As walked out of the station, as I walked home. 

I shook me head as I raised me fingers to me head. Whispers, gossip, chisme. It was all so fucking annoying. Me days were blending together. Day in and day out, I was just lethargic. Having to force meself to do all this stuff was so tiring. 

But what else am I going to do? I’m so useless.

I was letting the music in me head envelope me. With me hands, I moved me hair to the side as I danced. I was hot. Like feverishly hot, but I didn’t care. I wasn’t thinking abar anything but dancing. 

I felt someone take their hands in mine, so I opened me eyes. Cassie was in front of me.

“Dance with me.” She yelled before she started doing the Charleston. 

I giggled and then began to do it with her. For this type of dancing, I had to tune in on the club music. The club we were at right now was owned by Sabini. Luckily, no one knew me face. Otherwise, we might have been kicked out or worse. 

Well, actually, since there was no bad blood yet… I might’ve just been used as a tool for some sort of deal. Ya know, a messenger or something.

When I felt tired, I gulped for air and stopped dancing. As did Cassie. We walked into each other. Why do we fucking wear heels all the damn time? I want me trainers back!

“Let’s go back to the table, yeah.” I announced more than asked. I led Cassie back to the table where Angie and Tina were sitting with men.

I rolled me eyes. Here we fuckin’ go. “Angie!” I shouted. “We’re back. You can hit the floor if ya want.” Angie’s eyes snapped to Tina, excitement all over her face. Tina’s facial expression spoke volumes, “She didn’t want to leave the table.” But she gave a sheepish smile, and nodded instead.

“Thanks, Ali.” She said to me before looking down at her new friend. “You want to dance with me?” She asked him to which he happily took her hand. Then, the four of them were gone.

I let out a sigh of relief and sat down with me legs open. 

Cassie snorted. “You’re so ungraceful.”

I tsked while waving her off. “Do one. I’m tired.” I reached for me glass of water. I wasn’t gonna be drinking alcohol for a while. However, I did reach into me bag and took out a rolled joint along with me lighter.

I lit it up and took a puff. I held it for as long as I could before exhaling. This wasn’t wise. I’ve already smoke so much, but I didn’t want to come down from me high— so, I was lightin’ up again. 

“You got cards?” I asked before exhaling another puff. 

Cassie shook two fingers as she replied. “Yeah, in my purse.” 

I passed her the joint. Probably shouldn’t have since she was drinking too, but fuck it! She was a grown woman.

I sniffed and wiped me nose. Cassie took out the cards with one hand before getting frustrated since she couldn’t get them open. She passed me back the joint before taking one last puff. I took it as a chance to take another drag.

Cassie got the cards out and began to shuffle them. “So, what game are we playing?” 

I shrugged. “Want to play Go Fish?”

Cassie chuckled while meeting me gaze. “That’s your favorite game, isn’t it.”

I shrugged again, exhaling while stubbing out the joint. “Easiest to play. That’s all.” So, that’s what we did ‘til I found meself getting more ‘n more sluggish. I felt the imaginary hand squeeze me heart as much as it was racing. That sense of dread better known as a cold sweat. 

Before I knew it, I passed out. 

When I came too, I felt a cold towel on me forehead. Slowly, I reached for it and dragged it off me face. I moaned as I sat up straight in me chair. I looked to me right to see Cassie chatting up some guy. 

My moan caught her attention. 

“Oh, good, you woke up, Ali. You smoked too much weed again. I got you a towel from the bar while you were passed out. Just stay there for a while. This is Henry.” Cassie motioned to Harry who greeted me.

Through squinted eyes, I nodded at him and gave him a little wave. I turned me attention back on the wet towel. I placed it back on me forehead and just looked ‘round. People were dancing, sitting and having a chat, and others were just drinking. Well, okay. I didn’t want to pay attention to it, but there were people having sex ‘n doing a whole bunch of exhibitionist acts.

I stifled a laugh at meself while covering me mouth. I swear this place is always a madhouse, but it was very freeing too. People were just free here. It made me feel like I fit in. 

The bad thing abar sitting down by yourself when you’re high, for me, is that I start thinking. Thinking while high isn’t good. ‘Cause what you find out is that you don’t feel pain all that much. If you catch my drift.

I sighed. The same thoughts that’s been haunting me kept repeating in me head. The same stuff as always. 

Why was I here? What was my purpose? What was I going to do with my life now? ‘Cause honestly, I was a 22-year-old Hispanic English-American, who was working on her first book as well as beginning the process of having a baby. I was going to have a baby.

And now, I’m here. Getting high and drinking meself ‘til I blacked out. I was having anxiety attacks under the same roof of the man I’ve been obsessing over since 2013!

My whole life plan was fucked. I’m stuck in the 1920s where Women’s rights are not the highest priority. Fuck, my children are probably gonna be put through the second world war.

I sighed loudly as I pinched me nose and started bouncing me leg. I let the towel fall off me head and onto the table. I picked up back up and started wiping me neck with it.

I miss my family and friends. I want the comfort of being in my own home back. The feeling of security. I knew that no matter what my family would be there for me always. But here, here everything was conditional. Everything came at a price. 

Doesn’t it? 

I mean, yeah, it does. 

I stopped wiping and got up. Me chair scraped loudly against the floor. I got up too quickly. Me vision went black and I had to sit down again. I stifled the moans that wanted to escape me mouth out of embarrassment and pride. 

When me vision cleared, I got up again. Slower this time. Then, I began to make my way over to the bar. 

“Oi!” I shouted. The bartender looked toward my direction. I raised the towel and he walked over to me. “I wanted to give this back. Don’t need it anymore. Thanks.”

He took it from me hand while nodding. “No problem, miss.”

I nodded while taping the bar top rhythmically before turning ‘round and walked back to the table. 

I have no idea what time it is. I don’t care. I fucked up. I groaned and doubled over. 

“Get the fuck up, Ali.” Cassie slurred. 

“Do one, slag.” I replied while trying to push her away.

She tsked. “You fuckin’ first. We’re almost at your stupid house.”

“You’re stupid.”

“You’re stupid.”

“Bitch.”

“No you.”

We glared at each other before busting out laughing. I started kicking me feet.

“I’m gonna piss meself!” I shouted. “I’m gonna-! I’m gonna piss meself!”

Cassie cackled even harder while clutching me arm with a death grip. I said “ow,” very childishly as I tried to pry her grip off me.

Anyway, I drank. I stupidly drank and was also high. I can’t describe the feeling except that I am extremely tired and numb. 

I slumped to the side and tried holding me head up, but failed. I groaned loudly as me head slipped from me hand. I shot back up and held my stomach. I felt like I was gonna be sick.

I pried open the window and stuck out me head.

“Get in, you dummy.” Cassie shouted as she tried to claw me back inside. Her nails only leaving a little bit of sting. It was enough for me to register that she was doing it.

I breathed slowly and deeply. I tried making the cold wind sober me up. But then the clawing got annoying, so I shook off the heel of my left foot and used it to push her away.

I could faintly hear her groan. Should’ve known that wouldn’t have stopped her. She started pulling on me leg. I rolled me eyes and got back into the car.

“I was trying to feel better, Cass!” I shouted in face. 

She pouted angrily, like a child, before burying her face in me breasts. I sighed and started stroking her hair. I did it for so long that I didn’t even realize we had made it to me house. 

“Ms. Welsh, we’ve arrived.” Simmons repeated. 

“Huh? Oh, okay.” I looked ‘round the car ‘n saw that everyone was passed out. I loudly stifled me laughter. “Simmons, they, uh.”

“I know, Ms. Welsh. I can take care of it.” He smiled at me through the rear-view mirror. 

I trusted him as much as Cassie trusted him. He came with her and her father from America. He’s been with their family for a long time. 

So, I nodded and slipped out from under Cassie slowly. I opened the car door with the same pace and then stumbled out. I was flailing abar like fucking Bambi! I gasped when I was able to balance meself. I took a deep breath and then tapped on the hood of the car.

“Thank you, Simmons.” 

“You’re welcome, Ms. Welsh. Goodnight.”

“You too.” I said before giving him a salute and turning ‘round. I trudged over to the door and shifted through me purse for the keys. I groaned impatiently when I couldn’t find them right away.

Once I did, I cheered and unlocked the door. I stumbled through, me heels clacking against the floor. As I was taking off me coat, I noticed a coat that’s not often there. Along with a very familiar shoulder holster. 

A whisper escaped my lips as me fingertips carefully touched the items. “Tommy.” 

I slowly walked into the living room and saw that there was a fire lit along with a glass on the table. I walked even slower toward the couch, me heart in me throat. I looked over it and sure enough, he was sleeping on the couch.

I smiled with scoff. I, immediately, turned ‘round and slowly went upstairs. I didn’t want to disturb his sleep. Hardly gets any as it is.

As I closed my door, I let out a sigh of relief. I looked down and cured. “Fuck! I forgot to hang up me coat.” I tsked and ripped it off me. I threw it on me chair. I crossed me arms and took off my dress. I had to fight with it a little, though. I left it on the floor and walked to my closet.

I took out my matching white nightgown and robe. I put them both on. I tied the robe tightly around me stomach and then began taking the pins out of me hair. I trudged over to my desk and threw them on there.

I shook out me hair and finally looked at meself in the mirror. I smiled at meself softly. If there was something I was absolutely confident abar meself, it was me hair. I smiled again before looking down and getting the stuff I needed to take off all this makeup. 

Once I was done, I walked over to me bed and sat down on it. I wasn’t tired anymore. So, I just sat there. I shuffled over the window and just looked. I would strain me eyes so much that black dots would appear and I would frighten meself.

What am I doing here? Why am I here? How is ma and papa doing? Are they grieving over me? How abar me friends? Did they know I was gone? Did anyone? Was this real? This is real, right?

Calm down, Aliena. That’s not your name. I took a deep breath. That’s not your name! You are not 18-years-old. Why is your body like this? Why can I do things that I couldn’t do before?

I raised me hand to me head.

What am I doing? How long am I going to wait for Tommy to look at me? How long am I going to stay with this family? Should I just move in with Cassie? No, no that’s wrong.

No, this is wrong.

Stop being so irrational. You’re just feeling depressed, right now. You’ll get over this soon. You’re overreacting. 

But what if I’m not?

When Grace comes back, will Tommy still sleep with her? Does he love her as intensely as he did on the show? 

Why would you think anything else? Well, we used to be close. Used to be! He made it clear many nights ago that you were to be married to someone else. He doesn’t like you like that!

I whimpered and gripped me head tighter. Me feet going back and forth on the bed, messing up my blankets.

Even if he did, you’re too insecure. You can lie to yourself all you want, but you’d be worried. Worried every time he left that door. Every time he had a far off thought. “Are you thinking of her?” You’d think. “Did you cheat on me?” You ask. “If you ever cheat on me, I’ll kill you.” You’d threaten.

Toxic, toxic, toxic.

Should I try to go back?

My eyes shot open and I gasped. 

Should I try to go back? Maybe this is all a very complicated dream. If I die, then maybe I’ll wake up in my room at home. I see me ma’ sitting in the living room with her dogs. Papa would be in his room working or with her in the living room. I’d see my baby niece. 

I gulped. I put down me hands and noticed they were shaking.

Things here aren’t that great. I’m not close to Tommy anymore. I’m depressed and I can’t recall most days. I’m drinking meself half to death. I should just…

I looked at the door with wide eyes. I felt tears sting me eyes. I took a shuddering breath and slowly, me feet touched the floor. I gasped and a tear fell from me eye. I walked toward me door and slowly opened it.

I savored every creak of the door. When I deemed that I opened it enough to slip through, I stopped and did just that. I twirled ‘round and closed it with just as much care. I walked past Tommy’s door with ease since he was downstairs. 

I was at the top of the stairs when it hit me.

Should I leave a note?

I raised me hand to my mouth and nibbled on my fingernail. I shook me head, deciding against it. 

I went down the stairs, one step at a time. Each more daunting than the last. I didn’t want to risk waking up Thomas. When I got to the last step, I let out a shuddering sigh of relief.

I tiptoed across the room all the way to the door. I went to get me coat and mentally cursed meself.

I left it upstairs. 

I looked back at the stairs. My face contorted in discomfort. I looked back at the rack and stared at Tommy’s coat and shoulder holster. I then shifted my gaze to the couch where he laid.

I took a deep breathe and raised me hands at a snail’s pace. I took the holster into me hands and carefully lifted it up. I put it on with little difficulty. I thought I would have trouble since I saw Tommy having some from time to time. 

The holster was empty. I knew it would be. I took a deep breath and tip-toed over to where Tommy laid. There on the little table was the gun. I held me breath as I walked closer. 

I was in front of him now. I couldn’t stare. He would feel it. ‘Cause of the war. I reach down and quickly snatched the gun. I didn’t waste a second as I quickly walked back to his coat. With the gun clenched tightly in me hand, I exhaled as silently as I could. Me mouth opened wide as I slowly let the breath out.

When I didn’t see his head pop up, I swallowed me worries. I placed the gun in the holster and then hurriedly put on the coat. 

It was so big on me. Me hands were lost in the sleeves and it reached me mid-thigh. 

I could admire it later. I blinked and made my way to the door. I gripped the handle with a strength I didn’t know I had. Me hands shook as I slowly unlocked the door. Then, I opened it with just as much care. 

Just like I’d done earlier, I slipped through the sliver. Once the door was shut, I let go an audible exhale. I looked ‘round me and instantly felt paranoid. I walked fast and looked at no one. 

I brought the sleeves to me face. I took in the scent. 

Cigarettes. It smelt of cigarettes and his cologne. I used to associate the smell of ciggie with me gran, but now— I was surrounded by smokers. The scent, I would think, would evade my nose since it was so common. I just adapted to it. 

I took in the sights as I walked past them.

This maybe the very last time I walk these cobblestone steps. This last time I set eyes on these houses. No more gossips, no more whispers. 

I took another gasp for air and quickened my pace. 

I kept feeling like someone was chasing me.

There was this burn in me legs. They were begging for me to stop, but I was used to it. It reminded me of the times I would feel this burn in me legs when I walked to and from school. 

So, I marched on all the way ‘til I reached my special place. When my parents’ headstones were in sight, it got very real. I was going to attempt committing suicide again. It was like white noise filled me head as I walked up to them. 

I dropped to me knees when I stood in front of their headstones. Me hands instinctively began to trace their names. 

Memories of them began to flash in me head. From when I was little to just, what, two years ago now. I have a feeling the childhood memories were fabricated, though. I hardly have any positive memories of that time. I lost them to my depression. 

I sucked in breath and exhaled, shakily with my cheeks puffed. 

I just kept thinking abar their faces. How much I missed them. That brought on longing for me friends. I met them in high school ‘n they meant everything to me. I thought they would see my babies. They wanted to be there for me ‘n now…

I let out a curt laugh to meself as I bent me head, in shame. Slowly, I got off me knees and sat on me bum. I brought me trembling hand to where the gun was. It was cold in me grasp. 

I took it out. The holster made a noise as I did so. I held it with both hands. 

My breathing got quicker and I felt more and more fear. 

I was going to die. What if I die? What if I die and don’t wake up? What if I don’t see my parents’ again after all and I just threw away my life? 

Isn’t that what you wanted! I mean you’re depressed, aren’t you! 

Yes, but no. I had things I wanted to do before I died.

So, why are you doing this?

“Because I’m so fucking tired.” I sobbed as I raised my forearms to hide me face. I brought my knees to me chest as well. 

I let out an “oooh” before blowing the rest of the exhale out. 

Well, then what abar the Shelbys’? How will they react when they find my body? Will they weep? Will they hold a funeral? Will I change things? 

I choked on a sob. Then, it hit me. Like a fucking revelation an idea struck me.

Let’s leave this to a high power. I don’t care who. God, Fortuna, Tyche, or just the laws that controlled fucking chance. 

I opened up the cylinder, spread me legs, and emptied out the chamber. I let the bullets fall on me dress. I took the bullets and set them aside one by one. I held that sixth bullet in me palm. I rolled it ‘round in me palm. 

This very bullet will decide my fate. It completely holds the fate of my life. This little thing. 

I slid it back into a chamber, closed me eyes, spun the cylinder, and then snapped it closed. I opened me eyes ‘n a tear fell out.

When debating suicide, I only accepted two ways. Overdosing on sleeping pills and a bullet to the head, no pain. Peaceful. 

I laid down between the headstones of my parents and looked up at the sky. Tree branches were slightly in the way, but it made for a beautiful picture. Tears were falling out of me eyes more now. Blurred me vision, but I didn’t care. I liked the way me tears rolled down me face. 

Slowly, I raised the gun to me temple. I inhaled sharply and held it as cocked the gun. A sob wracked my body. 

I placed me finger on the trigger gently. Thoughts in me head were racing a hundred miles per hour. 

I kept apologizing to everyone that ever mattered to me. The Shelbys, my friends here, my family, and my friends there. 

I licked my lips, threw my head back against the ground, and gasped. I closed my eyes.

“I’m sorry.” I whispered. “Tommy,” was left unsaid.

Then, I pulled the trigger.

TAG LIST: @amirahiddleston @nemesis729​ @salvatoreitmeanssaviour @tlfshelby1 @halepea @lilymurphy03 @marsfireeyes @masumiyetimziyanoldu @i-love-superhero​ @thatweirddaydreamer​

[cupstealer]

Re: your last ask.

I am also no longer into the fandom side of hockey anymore and hardly ever read fan fic anymore. (A senior thesis will do that to a person 😔) Buut I want you to know that I think about contact high on a regular basis. Once a week maybe type of regular, when I’m wishing I was reading something fun and not a science journal. Is that weird?! I mean I know that sounds a little crazy- but it might be the greatest fic I’ve ever read. While I was reading it I got the sense that it would be one of my favorites, but I had no idea how much it would still ruminate with me a year and a half later. I don’t think I can recall a single other rpf work like I can that one. You are such an amazing writer! And I hope you continue to write- whatever it may be that your writing about! 💕

(Sorry to keep putting these on y’all’s dash, but it’s the only way I can THANK these anons and they definitely need thanking.)

Your timing OP ;.; I really got this ask when I needed it most. 💕 Thank you thank you thank you! Sorry for the delayed response—it’s so hard to figure out how to thank somebody and explain how much words like this mean while not sounding like a flu patient or something.

To answer your question, it’s not weird! There are absolutely fics that live rent-free in my head to the degree that I’m basically sponsoring them on a permanent residency program [cut to footage of bring it if you really want it by staraflur]. And god, what an honor that Contact High is like that for you 🙏 Contact High is my favorite thing that I’ve written. A lot (pfff, all) of the content was so self-indulgent for me, just utter wish-fulfillment, which I usually try to dial back, but I wanted to see what might happen if I really leaned in instead. (The thing with toothpaste/walking in on someone actually happened to me when I was staying over at a friend’s house in high school... Sorry again to her brother, I promise I barely saw anything.) There isn’t a single element of that fic that I wasn’t excited about while I was writing it. And it’s that much more touching when the work that feels the most ‘me’ is someone’s favorite.

Anon, I hope you get some free time to read fun stuff soon! You deserve it. And good luck on your thesis! Defend that sumbitch like you’re Connor Murphy (no idea if it’s the kind of thesis you defend, but you get my meaning). Thank you again 💕

I am still writing, by the way! Just as slow as ever though, and for a very mixed bag of subjects! No hockey lately, though I have a few unpublished 1988 WIPs that I haven’t touched in a long stretch yet haven’t let go of either. Every fall, I pump myself up to roll up my sleeves and edit/finish this genre-confused frankenstein of a haunted house-type fic, and I haven’t given up hope yet! (Plus if I finish it, I can finally read jezziejay’s witch Jonny fic—which got posted while I was writing mine, and I made myself bookmark it for later so I wouldn’t be influenced or in my head about any overlap even though they’re almost certainly totally different in every way. I’m dying to read hers ;.;)

Hmm I hesitate to say this, but... If anyone is really interested regardless of fandom, there’s also an unorthodox fic I wrote as a Christmas present for my sister back in 2017 that she keeps telling me to post. (I know, and it gets weirder from there.) I think I want to but I’ve hesitated for several reasons. First: I need to re-do the ending now that I’m not scrambling to finish it on Christmas Eve. Second: It is a pairing that does not exist and kind of bananas. More info under the cut if you’re interested.

Basically, years ago, one of my sisters and I had a looong conversation about who was worthy of being shipped with Stacker Pentecost from Pacific Rim, and when none of the characters from the movie satisfied us, we reached out into the vast universe of basically anyone from any media to find him love, guess-and-check style. After literal hours, I brought up one of my favorite under-appreciated characters, Linus Caldwell from Ocean’s Eleven (Matt Damon). Which makes no sense, but doesn’t it a little? It became a running joke, and then a running a joke that I was gonna write it, and then not a joke. Ain’t that the way?

So yeah—Third: I’m hesitant to get somebody excited about a new hockey fic only to open the email and see it’s a batshit crossover that literally no one (except my sisters) is asking for. That being said, I started it as a joke/challenge, but ended up making something that I find quite a fun little ride because I was so loose with it (because, like, who’s ever gonna see this, right? Some real dance like nobody’s watching shit). I’ve written a bunch of stuff never meant to see daylight, but this fic in particular feels complete. It just has a lot going on (Hidden identities! Never Been Kissed-style fake student/professor tension! Chase scenes! Cameos! Close-up magic! Heist crew banter! Idris Elba’s North London accent! My total lack of military knowledge!). Also it’s over 30k words. (Yeah.)

Is there any interest in me posting this?? To be clear, I’m definitely not expecting it to be popular or anything, but taking the time to fix it up only makes sense if I know at least two people will lay eyes one it, lol. You don’t have to know both films really well for it to make sense, but familiarity with the Ocean’s trilogy and characters probably helps a lot for context since it takes place in between those movies. Goes without saying that no offense will be taken if there isn’t clamoring demand amongst hockey rpfers for 30k of Pacific Rim crossed over with a George Clooney movie franchise in a fic that has neither giant robots nor giant monsters (nor George Clooney, in any appreciable quantity)... Think I’m capable of taking that sentiment on the chin. 🤙

[kevkesblog]

Translation: Interview with Julian Brandt before the DFB Cup Final (May 12, 2021)

Mister Brandt, what would it mean to win the DFB Cup and your first big title in professional football?

 Ju: A DFB Cup final is a new situation for me. I’m really looking forward to it – even without the atmosphere being like it usually is. I have a real motivation to win this final. It would be something special for me. Many players in our team have already won the DFB Cup before. It would be very important for the team and the club to hold something like that in their hands again.

 What personal memories do you have with the DFB Cup final?

 Ju: Since I’m a Bremen native I remember in 2009 when Werder Bremen won the cup I was in Berlin myself – not in the stadium, but in the city. My friends and myself were very happy after Bremen won the final against Bayer Leverkusen. Now I play the DFB Cup myself for a few years now and follow the finals closely.

 You stood in a DFB Cup semi-final with Bayer Leverkusen back in 2018 however you lost 2-6 against Bayern Munich. Has this been among your most bitter defeats?

 Ju: Of course you want to advance once you’re so close to the final. We even played a quite good game. However Bayern just had more quality and we didn’t have a chance against them. It was disappointing not reaching the final. It should always be your goal. But I hope I can play another final or two in the future.

 How do you assess the opponent RB Leipzig?

 Ju: They are quite good in the way how they play football. They go deep and do a good pressing. It’s a trademark of RB Leipzig. If a player loses a ball, everyone else tries to get the ball back. They are a very athletic team with many young players, who have an extremely good quality. And they have a very deep bench with many good players. If I think about how they were able to sub against Bremen in the semi-finals – Benjamin Henrichs or Emil Forsberg – it shows a great strength. They deserve to be on second place in the Bundesliga this season.

 Is there a favorite in the final?

 Ju: No. I think they are both good teams and everything can happen.

 Borussia Dortmund played an moody season. How do you assess this season?

 Ju: (thinks) I think times are special right now. It’s a new environment for every team to play in an empty stadium and to readjust to new hygiene plans every now and then. Some team deal with it fine other are having more problems. We belong to those team who struggled with it. We miss the fans extremely. 80,000 fans in the stadium do unleash some energy with our players. Those few percentages were missing. Those are – with a few minor exeptions – among the main reason for your season. At least we made it into a final and we have a chance to win a title and make it somewhat a golden season. And I really hope many things will change for the new season – not only in terms of football but also in our private lives of all people. I think if the normal life returns – also the easiness with BVB returns as well.

 Coach Terzic could crown his time as head coach with the DFB Cup before he’ll return to the bench as assistant coach. How important is it that he remains with the team in the future?

 Ju: You do have a different relationship with him, since he has already been assistant coach for a few years under Lucien Favre. And the good relationship stayed once he had taken over. On one hand you are a little looser with him on the other hand he is now the head coach. He helps us extremely. He can ignite a fire within our team from game to game. I think everybody is happy that he will stay with the team despite everything he has already achieved. Because lets be honest: once you tasted being head coach, perhaps you want more. However he loves the club and identifies with Borussia Dortmund.

 Lets talk about you again. You said once about your parents putting a lot of emphasis on being grounded and not losing ground. But isn’t that difficult sometimes if you are a national player at the age of 20?

 Ju: I think I never had a phase were I lost ground. At least that’s not what my family or friends told me. However its not easy all the time. I can understand that there are players, officials or coaches who like all the surroundings and it makes them better. Its unavoidable sometimes. Once success arrives and everyone patting you on your shoulder, the media hype starts, your mind has to deal with it first. It takes time. You can get crazy with it. I have always surrounded myself with family and friends. There has never been a reason to change. You become older and so you put more emphasis on different things in life unlike if you are 19 or 20 years old.

 Where have you put more emphasis on earlier than today?

 Ju: You went partying after the weekend as a 18, 19 or 20 year old after you scored a goal and made a good game. You get interested in new things. You basically get thrown into a pond as a young player. You want to try-out everything once. All your teammates drive great cars or wear expensive clothes. You are trapped in this system for a short time. However you wake up after a while and say: okay some things are cool, other stuff is unnecessary. For example I feel my contact for family and friends has become more important. I also spend more time in the gym then I did as a 19 oder 20 year old. And I pay more attention to what I eat. And somehow the time has ended where driving a fast car was something I was keen to do. I have a vespa roller in Cologne and sometimes that’s enough.

You just turned 25. Do you have a feeling about the public still treating you like a youngster?

 Ju: That was the case two or three years ago, perhaps. It changes a bit right now. However: I still have to play the youngster in Dortmund whenever we play eleven vs eleven. But I realize how time runs. I’m already in this business for eight years. Yet I still feel fresh. I don’t really follow closely what the media writs about me, so I can make any judgement in that regard.

 You almost played all national teams from under-15 to under-21 up until the first team. You played 35 games for them so far. What help has this been for you career?

 Ju: First of all, it was an extremely nice time. Every year I got some new experiences – whether it was the EURO-Cup with the under-17 or the under-20 World Cup in New Zealand. You get to know many people over the years, which you meet later on. For example: I became under-19 European champions with Marcus Sorg – and now he is assistant coach at DFB with the first national team. There have also been really nice characters like Horst Hrubesch. I’ve made many new experiences. It helped me a lot.

 Source: dfb.de

[madamebaggio]

Notes! IMPORTANT INFORMATION:

I don’t know how many of the non-latins here will get this reference, but I’m sure Brazilians -such as myself -and if there’s any Mexican around will. I can’t say about other Latin countries, or any of our northern neighbors and everybody that’s beyond that…

Have you guys ever heard about the Mexican band RBD? That’s a good way to start this conversation.

Back in 2004 (if I’m not mistaken) there was this Mexican telenovela called “Rebelde”. It was a remake of an Argetinian telenovela (“Rebelde Way”), and it told the story of a bunch of rich kids in a boarding school. Well, not all the kids were rich, but you get the idea.

From the telenovela came the band (RBD), which had six members, who also played characters in the telenovela.

I was 14 at the time and I was absolutely mad over it. It was great, cheesy and corny in the best possible way. I have many fond memories of the telenovela and great regret that I never got the chance to see RBD playing live.

Anyway, the band broke up around 2009, but many fans still love them (maybe it’s just us Brazilians, we have a hard time letting go of stuff…)

Recently their albums finally were made available on Spotify and it got me thinking and…Well, this is the result.

I’m not saying that this is what happened to the actors after the band/telenovela was over. It was just another crazy idea that popped into my mind and wouldn’t let go until I wrote it down.

So… Yeah.

***

Chapter 1

Arthur was passing by Catia’s room when he heard it.

“You’re such a hooligan.”

He knew the voice, he knew where that sentence came from. Before he even noticed what he was doing, he’d pushed Catia’s door open and caught her watching TV.

He saw himself on the screen, much younger -God, so much younger -talking to the pretty redhead.

“And you’re a brat. So what?”

“I didn’t know you liked this show.” He said, startling Catia.

“Arthur!” She paused the scene, and turned to him. “I’m sorry. Did you…”

“I didn’t know they had that on Netflix.” He spoke before she could finish her sentence.

“Oh.” She looked at the TV like it was guilty of something. “They put it on it last week.”

Arthur hummed his understanding.

He didn’t really mind seeing himself as Michael Rivers, the poor student at High Tower Academy. It’d actually been his first role in TV, many years ago. The show (which was cringely called ‘Rebel Way’) was about an exclusive boarding school, and he was the underdog who fell in love with a rich girl.

Oh yes… They also sang. They made it cool before High School Musical came along. The show wasn’t actually a musical, but his character and a few friends were part of a band in it and in ‘real life’.

The show lasted three seasons -their time at the Academy -and the band still lasted two years after that.

“I can turn it off if you want.” Catia offered quietly.

Arthur shook his head. “No. It’s okay, Catia. You can watch it; I just didn’t know you liked the show.”

“It’s fun in a silly way.” She confessed with a giggle.

Arthur chuckled. “I know. I’m not embarrassed by it or anything.”

He left Catia to her show, and tried not to think about his time spent on it.

His mobile rang; it was Bedivere, his agent.

“Olenna Tyrell called me.” Bedivere told him without preamble. “She wants to talk to you.”

Fuck.

***

Sansa sat there as the hairdresser fixed her hair for the shooting. George was an artist, and he was making amazing curls on her hair.

Brienne was sitting on the couch nearby, checking her phone as they prepared and Sansa was talking about a new restaurant with George.

His new assistant kept throwing nervous glances towards Sansa, and the woman wondered when she’d get the courage to ask what was on her mind.

“Oh Seven, Lindsay. Just ask her already.” George told the girl, rolling his eyes when her fidgeting got on his nerves.

“I’m sorry!” Lindsay blushed terribly. “I didn’t want to bother you, Miss Stark.”

Sansa gave the girl a gentle smile. “It’s fine, Lindsay. What did you want to ask me?”

Lindsay bit her lower lip, clearly worried about saying what she had on her mind. However, she seemed to find her courage.

“I… I’m a big fan of Rebel Way.” She finally said. “I know it’s been a long time and all… But your character, Mia, was my first fashion icon.”

Sansa chuckled. “I’m glad to hear that. I loved her clothes.”

Lindsay seemed excited by it. “I made a uniform by myself when I was eleven.”

“Which uniform?” Sansa asked. “I liked the one in the first season better.”

“Me too!”

“Sansa.” Brienne cut in gently. “It’s a call for you. You might want to take it.”

Sansa frowned, wary of Brienne’s tone, but took the phone her agent was offering her.

“Sansa speaking.”

“Hey, Stark.” Margaery’s sugary sweet voice called from the other side. “We need to talk.”

***

Margaery knew Sansa wouldn’t be happy with the idea, but she’d promised her grandmother she’d do this for her.

Olenna was the only person that could get Margaery to do absolutely anything. She’d hide a body for her grandmother.

It took some convincing, but Sansa eventually accepted coming to the meeting. A part of Marge had wanted to hide some things from Sansa -like who was going to be there -but she knew it was unfair. They’d been friends for a really long time, and Marge wouldn’t risk it just to make her task easier.

She was in a peculiar position: on one hand, she was really happy with her life now, on the other, she genuinely thought that her grandmother’s idea was a good one.

When Marge entered the cast of Rebel Way, she was supposed to be the star of the show. Her grandmother was producing the whole thing, so it was a given.

She hadn’t liked Sansa at first, because it was clear that she’d get a lot of attention too. Their characters -Mia and Rosalie -were rivals for a big part of the show -they only became friends at the end of the second season. 

Marge and Sansa managed to become friends much earlier. Probably because Marge started dating Sansa’s brother, and Robb wanted them to get along.

It was very difficult to say ‘no’ to Robb Stark.

Which reminded Marge…

He’d be there as well.

Oh hell…

***

With the years, people stopped recognizing Robb as Daniel Cross from Rebel Way. He’d been way younger then, and now he had a beard so most people didn’t recognize him.

Some of the old fans still could, and he never changed his name; but generally he lived a pretty normal life.

“Mr. Cross.”

Some people were just fuckers. “Can I help you, Jon?” He glared at his long-time friend.

“Sansa’s on the phone.” Jon informed him, offering his own mobile. “She said she needs to talk to you and your phone is turned off.”

Robb frowned. Sansa was supposed to be in Madrid for a photoshoot. Why would she be calling him in the middle of the day?

Robb’s phone was dead, and he’d forgotten to recharge it, but if Sansa had called Jon looking for him, it should be serious.

Right?

“Hey, princess.” Robb said softly as he picked the phone. Jon waved at him, before leaving the room so they could talk.

“Hello, Robb.” Her voice was warm. “Do you have a minute?”

“For you? Always. Is something wrong?”

There was a pause. “Not exactly.”

“This doesn’t sound promising. What happened?”

“Margaery called me.” She sighed. “Olenna wants to meet with us.”

“What does Her Majesty want with us?”

Sansa took another long pause. “It’s about the show. Margaery just wouldn’t say what exactly.”

Oh shit. Robb did the math quickly in his head. He was almost certain that the show was about to reach its 15th anniversary. If he was correct, this couldn’t be just a coincidence.

“I really hope this isn’t a revival.” Robb joked softly. Lord, no!

“I don’t think it’s about the show, to be honest. I think it’s about the band.”

Robb cursed under his breath. “If it’s about the band…”

“They’re all going to be there.” Sansa finished for him.

“Shit. I’m going to call Theon.”

“That’s why I called you.” She confessed.

Robb sighed. “Thank you for the heads up.”

“Just be ready when you get the royal call.”

Robb snorted.

***

“Thank you for coming, Theon.”

Theon shook the hand of the man. “It’s always my pleasure, Tom.”

“You bring a lot of comfort to those kids. You make them realise it’s possible.”

Theon gave Tom a vague smile. “I’m glad to be of help.”

He waved and started leaving the room. Theon had mixed feelings when he heard things like this. On one hand, he was very proud of himself; it hadn’t been easy to get sober and remain sober. On the other hand… He didn’t feel like a good example, like he was someone any of those people should aspire to be like.

Yes, he’d been sober for almost seven years now, but it had been one hell of a messy journey.

When he reached the parking lot, he was shocked to see Robb there, leaning casually against his car.

“What’s up, Stark?” He called.

Robb looked at him and grinned. “Hey, Greyjoy.” They hugged it out. “Listen… Have you checked your phone?”

Theon was immediately wary. “No. I turn it off during meetings.”

“Right…” Robb cleared his throat. “So you’ll probably have some missed calls.”

“Robb, you didn’t come here to play the answering machine to me. What the fuck is going on?”

“Olenna is calling all of us.” Robb admitted. “Called Sansa, then me… And probably you.”

“Why?”

“Sansa thinks she wants to get the band back.”

“Why?” Theon repeated, this time disconcerted.

“I have no clue, but we’re getting close to the show’s anniversary.”

“Oh shit.” Theon grumbled. “I knew there was something weird going on.”

“What do you mean?”

“You should start checking Twitter.” Theon told him dryly. “Last week they put the show on Netflix. ‘Rebel Way’ is trending.”

Robb groaned. “Now what?”

“I’ll be honest… I want to know what the Queen wants.” Theon confessed. “Let’s see if I have a message waiting for me.”

***

“Have you heard? Sansa Stark is going to be exclusively with Versace this year.”

Maggie ignored the gossiping assistants and tried not to sigh.

She couldn’t escape Sansa’s name, since they were basically in the same industry, but it was never easy to hear it thrown around so casually.

Fashion Week was almost upon them, and people had often questioned the lack of interaction between the two former band mates.

Maggie was used to people asking her why Sansa -one of the highest paid models in the world -never worked with Maggie -the rising star of the fashion world.

Maggie wished she had a simple answer to that. She normally said that their schedules never worked out, and she knew Sansa had answered the same a few times.

The truth was Maggie resented Sansa a bit. She didn’t hate the model or whatever some people thought, she just…

Those years working together hadn’t been easy on Maggie. That was it. She wasn’t ready to just get back to it.

Her phone rang and when she picked it up, she saw a strange number calling. She ignored the call and was ready to put it away when it rang again, and Arthur’s name flashed on the screen.

“Hello, Arthur.” She said as she answered it.

“Oh you answered, great.” Arthur let out a relieved sigh. “Listen, Olenna Tyrell is going to call you. I’m calling first to warn you: she wants a meeting.”

“Oh. Slow down.” She asked, her head spinning. “What meeting?”

“A meeting with all of us; the whole band.”

Maggie had to sit down. “You can’t be serious.”

“I talked to her myself a few hours ago.” He told her. “The old witch wouldn’t tell me exactly what’s on her mind, but if she wants to see us all…”

“Are you sure she wants to meet with all of us at the same time?” Maggie pressed, desperate for a negative answer.

“She said that. ‘Get the kids back together’.” Arthur copied -poorly- Olenna’s voice. “Bedivere thinks it’s about the songs, but I think it isn’t that simple.”

“It never is.” Maggie grumbled, massaging her temples.

“Listen, if you don’t want to go, I’ll stand by you.” Arthur said, and she knew he meant it. “We don’t owe her anything.”

“Well, technically…”

“No ‘technically’, Maggie. We don’t need to do this.”

Maggie sighed. No, they didn’t, but she needed to. Some things had to be discussed, some problems had to be solved, and this was the only way she’d get some closure.

She needed to face the music -and the band.

[19agbrown]

So there's this thing that popped into my head, and I can't seem to get rid of it. So I'm going to just drop it here, and you guys can let me know what you think of it, you can expand upon it, but I really just need to get this idea out because it's driving me crazy.

So, what if a regeneration of the doctor (I don't know 13 or 14 you know just one that hasn't come yet, but that's not too far off). What if towards the end of their regeneration they did something bad. And I'm not talking just a little not good ,or not Doctory. I'm meaning more, you know, terrible, as in something much worse than any Doctor before has ever done.

And what if doing this terrible thing, it just changes the Doctor completely. This Doctor has just done something very very bad, something that they know is very bad. And it's affected them in a very negative way. So now, this Doctor's behaviour, regardless of what it was before, is now more like an early version of Six, Nine, and Twelve. You know, more cynical, angry, and just not very enthusiastic.

Well, then whatever made them regenerate happens. And they, of course, have to regenerate. So here is where it starts getting a bit complicated.

What happened between Eleven and Twelve, was that Eleven subconsciously chose Twelve's face to remind Twelve of something that Eleven himself forgot once or twice, that the Doctor's job is to save people. How he did this reminder, was he chose the face of one of the very few people that the Doctor managed to save from Pompeii. So, that's how he did it. That's how he managed to make Twelve remember that the Doctor's job is to save people. That's how Eleven put Twelve back on the path, and made sure that Twelve stayed on that path. So that's what we're going to do for this one. Only this time, the doctor isn't choosing to do it. The TARDIS is.

Whatever the Doctor did, it's something that no Doctor before them would have done. And the TARDIS knows this. So what she does is, she reaches back into the Doctor's memory, and she searches for a face that will bring out the reminder that she wants. And what she wants is that the doctor remembers, that they never would. Because this doctor did.

The face that the Tardis chooses, is none other than, the Doctor's daughter, Jenny. Because, when Ten had that whole thing where he almost shot the guy that killed Jenny, he didn't. Because he never would. So to remind this Doctor, that they never would, Jenny's face is the face that the TARDIS chooses for the next regeneration.

The Doctor, of course, is shocked the first time they look in a mirror. Because they certainly did not expect Jenny's face to be staring back out at them. But it doesn't hurt really, because for the Doctor, remember at this point, it has been a couple thousand years. More than that if you go off of hell bent, and the whole thing with the confession dial. So, really, mentally, for the Doctor, it's more like a few billion years. So Although seeing Jenny's face in the mirror hurts, it doesn't hurt as much as it really would, if this had happened earlier. Eleven, probably couldn't have handled that. But this one is far enough removed from it that they can.

So now, the Doctor is Jenny. Or at least the. Doctor looks like Jenny. At first, nothing really changes with the Doctor. They are still just as cynical, jaded, and angry as they were before the regeneration. But, eventually, the reminder does its job. And the doctor remembers, that they never would. Eventually, having Jenny's face, essentially saves the Doctor.

Not only, would this provide a very nice character arc for the Doctor, but it would also make Georgia Tennant, the doctor's daughter x2, the Doctor's wife, and the Doctor. Which I think would actually be really cool, because Georgia would make an amazing Doctor. But anyway, this idea just got stuck in my head a couple hours ago, and it wasn't going anywhere, so I had to get it out in the open, so that maybe it'll leave me alone now.

[star-gamerxox]

Holiday Special 2020

(This takes place in a world where none of their written stories are canon, it’s a work where all shipkids exist. It also brings up their canon age-

This is 'Second Canon' although true canon fits in their actual stories.

I didn’t include any child partially done or that don’t have canon ages figured out to work with these babs-

I also won’t add Kai and Maelee.

Also I put a couple in development characters under the guise of pregnancy-

Most ship kids belong to me

Viri’s original design by @amarald  

Picmlaoho belongs to me and @seertale )

“Merry Christmas!” A tiny body flopped on Nightmare and he let out a groan, wrapping his arms around his child.

“Hello baby. Where are all your siblings?” He asked and the child giggled more.

“Downstairs with papa!” The child, a very happy Aurora, bounced on Nightmares chest while he groaned.

“You are four, child, why are you like this?” He grumbled and his daughter squealed before deciding it was time to finally leave her dad alone.

“Don’t start presents without me!” He yelled out and aurora giggled. He groaned before his eyes widened.

“Shit… which kids are here this year? I know Cayda is here but… would Error even let EveFalcity here?” He groaned a bit before opening his door and going downstairs.

“But papaaaaaaa!” That was Pearl. She was the youngest of his kids, at 3 years old, but she didn’t remember Reaper, her biological papa.

“Nope. We gotta wait for your dad.” Killed hummed. EveFalcity wasn’t there but she was 16 now and he had hardly been in her life. 

“Hey kiddos!” He called and Pearl stood and darted over.

“Daddy! Daddy! Presents!” She wasn’t his only child that only saw Christmas as gift time.

“Wait baby,” He hummed. Onyx grinned, laughing while Cayda and Cobalt simultaneously groaned.

“But daaaad.” 

“Wait.” He chided yet again as he walked over to Killer and kissed his head. He loved his kids and he loved Killer. He just realized he had found his love for Killer much earlier in his life, although that would mean most of his kids wouldn’t even exist.

“Papa gets a present first.” He hummed and Killer smiled up at him.

“Oh?” He grinned

“Yep.” And then Nightmare got on one knee.

“No way!” Onyx sat forward and laughed. He was the oldest besides EveFalcity and yet not even he had seen his dad married. Killer nodded and Nightmare kissed him before sitting back a bit.

“Yes way.” Nightmare smiled as he slipped the ring onto Killer’s finger. They both reached to rub the almost invisible baby bump Killer had. They were both grinning widely.

“Now presents!?” Pearl whined and Nightmare turned before he started to laugh.

“Yea baby. Now presents.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Cross looked at Calypso through a slightly pained gaze. The boy was just a year or two older than his own son he had with Nightmare. It was a vivid reminder of the five years he spent apart from Dream after their fight. Dream had went to Killer while Cross had, admittedly, gone back to the only other home he knew. He had gone back to Nightmare.

But then he left his son there. Thinking about Cayda wasn’t a happy way to celebrate his Christmas though so he tried to focus on the ten year old that sparked those thoughts, Calypso.

“What’s up kiddo?” He asked. Calypso giggled more and hugged him.

“Morning Papa.” Calypso didn’t know Killer much but he did at least know him.

“Morning baby… were is your dad and siblings-“ he has that question answered for him as Dream ran in with their eldest two. 

One thing that always stuck out was the fact that Calypso got none of the corruption that Dream had at the time of his birth. He also got none of the corruption his older siblings got.

“Daybreak! Toss it here!” Sunrise called and Dream laughed.

Dream wasn’t corrupted like that anymore but their eldest children were, which was a grave reminder of that time. 

“Hey… where is Nelaya?” Cross asked suddenly.

��Hiding.” Daybreak said as he threw a wrapped item at his sister.

“Again?” Dream asked.

“She’s six. This is her first Christmas without Dust.” Sunrise mumbled. Dream sighed a bit and rubbed his head.

“I swear… my poor baby…” he rubbed his small baby bump before going to go find Nelaya.

“Baby… come on sweetheart… we can call him…” he called out until he heard a familiar sniffle.

“No! I wanna go home!” She whimpered.

“I know… I know…” he whispered quietly before slowly going closer to her and lifting her up.

“I wanna go home…” she whispered again and he bounced her a bit.

“I know… but for now this is your home… let’s go…” he mumbled as he walked back over to the others. The kids all moved to surround them and Nelaya managed a small smile.

“Presents?” She spoke up and Cross started to laugh softly. He gently placed his only picture of Cayda in his pocket as they went to the tree.

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Evelyn shhhhh!”

‘I can’t talk! How can I make as much noise as you!?’

“Just shush!”

‘You’re the only one making noise, Dawning!’ 

“Quiettttt!” 

“I hear two little eleven year olds trying to sneak presents at 6am while our parents are asleep.” A warm voice was heard.

‘EveFalcity!’ Evelyn darted away from her twin and tackled her eldest sister.

“Heya kiddo. Let’s not do presents now. Viri will be very upset if she finds out you did this without her.” EveFalcity sighed.

“Well… what about Syntax?” She hummed.

“He comes at one. Currently he’s at his dads.” She picked up Evelyn and threw her over her shoulder.

“Let’s go find our brother.” She hummed and Evelyn cheered. Picmlaoho was still asleep in his bed. Evelyn and Dawning moved to lay in their beds

“Morning kids!” Ink chirped as he threw open the door, holding the two year old Viri on his hip.

“Morning dad…” Picmlaoho mumbled as he rubbed his eyes and sat up. Evelyn decided to roll off the bed and Dawning laughed.

“Chri-mas! Chri-mas!” Viri chirped from her spot in her dad’s arms.

“Yep.” Dawning reached for her baby sister who squealed and made grabby hands for Dawning. She stood and took her sister from Ink before laughing as Evelyn rolled on the floor.

“Seriously?” Error walked over and rolled his eyes before lifting up Evelyn and Pic, since both were small, and walking downstairs. The laughs of the eldest child were heard in the hall and Ink threw an arm around Dawning before going downstairs. 

Error had finished making breakfast as the kids did stockings. Viri came in waving around a very small teddy bear. Dawning, Evelyn, and Picmlaoho all had matching bracelets. EveFalcity’s big stocking gift stuck out compared to her siblings. A beautiful necklace with a moon charm.

“I saw that Night sent a gift and you put it under the tree… that’s new.” EveFalcity spoke up as she sat down for the meal.

“He wants to be in your life… he has for years. He usually sends you a gift but he sent you two and he sent you that necklace.” Error hummed and she smiled a bit.

“Well that’s nice… maybe I can see him tomorrow?” 

“He’s still your parent Eve. Of course you can. He has other kids now. He’s realized a whole lot about himself over the past years. He really wants to be in your life… he really does.” He smiled and EveFalcity rested her head on the table and looked at her necklace.

“Thanks Nightmare…” 

“He really does care about her, huh?” Ink smiled as he watched his kids unwrap their presents. Somehow Viri now had a bow on her skull and Evelyn had somehow put one in her right eye. EveFalcity was resting peacefully on the couch, looking at the gifts from Night, Ink, and Error.

“He always has Ink, it’s just, he was scared when she was born. That was 16 years ago and our lives have changed a lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Daaaaaaaaaad. Come onnnnn! I gotta go to papa and Ink’s place at one!” Syntax bounced around a bit despite being almost as old as his elder brother Zenai. 

“Yea, yea. Ze, go get Elliot and Azalea.” Blue hummed and Zenai nodded before hurrying off. Elliot was four and Azalea was already almost eight.

“Elli. Come here bubba.” Zenai grinned. He was Dusts son but for a lot of his sixteen years, it had just been him and his dad. His dad had dated others, that’s how Syntax came along, but then Blue met Red. Red came with his daughter, Azalea, who was two at the time.

No matter how much Blue loved his husband, he openly would admit he would have stayed with Dust if the other hadn’t flat out disappeared. Zenai loved his step dad and his younger siblings though, that never changed. He just missed Dust.

“Zalea! Come on!” He called the girl over and she grinned. She poked the still half asleep Elliot and the child whined loudly.

“Okay! After breakfast we’ll do gifts and stockings. At noon, Syntax gets to go to Errors so he gets to celebrate Christmas at both of his homes!” Blue always looked tired but Zenai was impressed how excited he seemed for this holiday. He did it every year and Zenai was always impressed with his dad because he had been like this since the year Dust left.

“Yay! Waffles!” Suddenly Azalea was standing on her chair and nearly jumping off it. Even without being biologically related to Blue, she somehow got his crazy energy, 

“Yep. Waffles. Although you better be careful princess or there won’t be waffles for Christmas, it’ll be a trip to the emergency room for Christmas.” Red hummed as he walked over.

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Zenai hummed and Blue snorted.

“You were a very chaotic child.” Blue responded cooly.

“No. I meant that it wouldn’t be the first time for Azalea. Remember when she was four? She was trying to get her stocking down using Elliot’s bouncy chair. She bounced straight into the fire and we spent Christmas in the burn wing with a sobbing two month old. We all already know I spent many Christmas’ getting a cast put on some broken limb.” Zenai hummed as he ate breakfast.

“I have no clue how your girlfriend handles you.” Syntax hummed.

“Well you’ll see her at Error’s, why don’t you ask her for me?” He grinned and Syntax shot him a glare.

“Just because you grew up with my big sister doesn’t make this any less awkward. You’re my big brother and EveFalcity is my big sister. Even if you two don’t have any family relation, it’s strange for me.” He stuck out his tongue and Zenai laughed.

“Yea, yea. Come on. Presents.” Somehow the younger two were finished. Zenai was mostly finished and Syntax was too.

“Yay!” Azalea ran ahead and Zenai laughed.

“Be careful!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bryin groaned and flopped on his back.

“When can we start?” He mumbled. It was already noon and his presents were mocking him.

“When Pandora gets here. The Foster place was very iffy about letting her spend Christmas here. We said around lunch.” Spoop, Bryin’s younger half brother, mumbled. Bryin didn’t hate Spoop but he definitely didn’t like him either. His parents had been separated for a couple years when they finally got back together. Horror came back with two toddlers and, sadly, the elder twin- Rye- died in a car crash a month later with his biological dad. Spoop didn’t remember either of them.

“She’s your friend, go get her.” Bryin glared and his six year old, younger, brother held up his hands.

“Im six, not a miracle worker!” He yelped and Bryin groaned.

“Kids! Guess who’s here!” Lust yelled from downstairs and Bryin ran down.

“Finally!” He laughed. Pandora was a skinnier girl with super tiny wings. She was seven, a year older than Spoop, and she had lost her parents about 6 months ago. Somehow Spoop and Pandora had convinced their parents and her foster parents to let her stay the day here. At their House. On Christmas.

The older brother wasn’t amused by Spoops plans.he was eight by now, almost nine, and he was supposed to get his first tablet this year. That wasn’t happening now. They could afford a tablet and gifts for Pandora.

Or so he thought.

Bryin had come to terms with the fact he wouldn’t get his long awaited gift. He didn’t blame Pandora, or Spoop.

Spoop and Pandora were finished with their presents and Bryin stared at his final one, a bit confused. As he opened it, his eyes lit up.

“No way…” he looked up at his parents. “How?”

“Well… I know you wanted a tablet to help you play games and we didn’t wanna take that away from you… so I picked up extra shifts at the restaurant and Horror did some extra odd jobs.” Lust smiled and Bryin lit up. He moved to hug Lust who just grinned and spun his son around. 

“Thank you Daddy! Thank you so much!” Bryin nearly cried and Lust just smiled.

“Of course baby… of course.” He whispered as Horror moved to join the hug, surrounding his love and their eldest child.

“Of course.” Horror’s voice was more raspy but it always made Bryin smile, just as the boy was now. Both parents moved slightly when Spoop wanted to join, letting him in. They even encouraged Pandora to be part of a family hug.

“You’re the best…” Bryin whispered and, as if sharing a brain wave, Horror and Lust smiled.

“No you are… all three of you.” They whispered, almost in unison.

What a good Christmas this turned out to be.

[beybladefanfictions]

Ryuga’s Return - Chapter 3

(Description: AU where Ryuga survives Metal Fury but loses L-Drago. He reunites with Kenta and struggles to figure out what he’s supposed to do without Beyblade, his purpose in life for so long. Character’s thoughts are in asteriks.)

Ryuga's POV

*Why am I doing this?* Ryuga wondered as he followed Kenta down the sidewalk. Kenta had somehow managed to talk Ryuga into going to meet his parents, mostly because Ryuga couldn’t think of an excuse not to. He didn’t want to but Kenta clearly wanted him to, for whatever reason. Ryuga couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. The fiercest Beyblade battles and harshest environments had no effect on him yet the idea of talking to people, especially people he didn’t know, made his stomach knot. It just wasn’t something he was very used to. 

Ryuga never really had anyone to talk to regularly until Kenta came along and Kenta was almost always the one to initiate the conversation. Meanwhile, Ryuga was content with silence and didn’t get why Kenta talked so much. It was necessary sometimes, sure. However, other times Kenta would just talk at him for no reason about such random things. Ryuga always wondered why he did that. He had seemingly gotten his answer earlier that day, when Kenta mentioned wanting to “socialize” with his friends. Apparently, that was something friends did and Kenta was his friend now.

“Here we are!” Kenta’s voice shook Ryuga from his thoughts.

He looked up. Kenta was pointing at a fairly nice looking house with a flat roof and pots of plants decorating the front porch. Ryuga froze. Kenta continued on, then stopped and looked back at him.

“Ryuga?” He gazed at him expectantly.

Ryuga took a deep breath. With some reluctance, he stepped up to stand beside Kenta. He gazed at the ground.

“Are you okay?” Kenta asked, looking up at Ryuga with concern in his eyes.

Ryuga met his gaze coldly. “I’m fine. What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Kenta sighed, looking away.

He stepped in front of the door and knocked. Moments later, a green-haired woman, who was noticeably shorter than Ryuga, answered the door.

"Hey, mom,” Kenta greeted with a wave.

"Oh my goodness!” the woman exclaimed, her eyes wide as she stared at Kenta and Ryuga. “What happened to you two?!"

"Long battle," Kenta answered, shrugging.

"Against each other?!"

"Well…” Kenta looked up at Ryuga. “We battled too… before Nemesis."

"It didn't last long," Ryuga replied with a smirk.

"Hey!" Kenta glared up at Ryuga, pouting like a child.

"So this is Ryuga then?"

Ryuga stiffened when Kenta’s mother said his name.

Kenta nodded. "Yeah."

"Well, nice to meet you,” his mother replied, nodding to Ryuga. “How do you know Kenta?"

"We travelled together," Ryuga answered swiftly.

"Just the two of you?" The woman looked back at Kenta, raising an eyebrow.

"I er, it's a long story…” Kenta rubbed the back of his neck. “But-but I wasn't alone for long! Ryuga kept us both safe."

Kenta grabbed Ryuga’s arm, gazing up at him with an almost desperate look in his eyes. Ryuga looked back at Kenta’s mom.

“Yes… I did,” he answered, hoping that was what Kenta had wanted him to do.

"Well, thank you.” Kenta’s mother smiled. She took a step back, pulling the door open and ushering them inside. “Here, come in, both of you. You two must be starving."

"Yes! Very!" Kenta answered, hopping up the step into the house.

Ryuga followed, instantly feeling confined in the small space. It wasn’t even a small house. There was space to walk around but it was nothing compared to the infinite space of the outdoors or even the huge Bey stadiums. This house however almost made Ryuga feel smaller.

"Well, there's plenty of sushi on the table,” Kenta’s mother was saying to Kenta. She turned to Ryuga. “There should be enough for you too, Ryuga."

*Sushi? As in food?!* Ryuga hadn’t realized he was hungry until the idea of food was brought up. Now he realized he was starving. He looked at the kitchen. A green-haired man was sitting at the table, reading a book. He looked up at Kenta.

"Hey, kiddo!" he greeted, with a smile.

"Hi, dad!" Kenta rushed over to his dad and threw his arms around him in a hug.

"How was your trip?" His dad asked.

"Really exhausting,” Kenta admitted, stepping out of the hug. “I'm glad to be home, and with food!"

He sat at the table, immediately reaching for the tray of sushi and grabbing three pieces. He placed them on a smaller plate.

"Ryuga, want some of this sushi?" Kenta asked, looking up at him and holding up a piece of sushi.

Ryuga froze. Everyone’s eyes were suddenly on him, which he would be used to in a stadium, but this wasn’t a stadium. It was the furthest thing from a Bey stadium.

"Ryuga, huh?” Kenta's dad didn’t even sound shocked. “Wow, Kenta really can make friends with anyone."

"You've heard of me then,” Ryuga muttered. He took a seat next to Kenta, across the table from Kenta’s parents.

"Sure, a while ago,” Kenta’s dad answered with a shrug. “How'd you and Kenta end up friends?"

Ryuga stared down at the table. "Long story."

"We can listen," Kenta's mom insisted gently.

Ryuga tapped Kenta’s shoulder. "Kenta, you tell them."

"Huh?” Kenta had been busy stuffing his face with sushi. “Oh, okay.” He turned to his parents. “I was with Gingka and the others on the journey to find the Legendary Bladers and defeat Nemesis…"

Ryuga zoned out as Kenta recounted the events of his travels. He glanced at the sushi tray. He was hungry, but the food looked so… Weird. Ryuga wasn't a picky eater, he was willing to eat whatever he could find, but he rarely ate processed food like this. However, he wasn’t dumb enough to deny food when it was right there in front of him. So he grabbed one of the rolls and took a bite. *What is this supposed to be?!* Ryuga could barely make out any individual ingredients, though he was pretty sure he tasted fish. He wasn’t sure if he liked it but he was hungry enough to eat it without thinking.

"So I ended up travelling with him for months and somewhere along the way we became friends," Kenta had just finished his story before taking a bite of his sushi.

"So you're homeless then?" Kenta’s mom asked, turning to Ryuga.

"You couldn't tell?" Ryuga asked, letting out a dry laugh. He hadn’t thought about it until now, but he probably looked like just as much of a wreck as Kenta did.

"Don't you have a family somewhere?" Kenta’s dad asked, tilting his head to the side.

"No."

"Oh…" Kenta’s parents turned to each other, their eyes wide. Ryuga growled. They were pitying him, he could tell.

Kenta’s dad turned to him. "Well, you can always come here if you need to, kiddo. Any friend of Kenta's is welcome."

Ryuga stiffened. *'Kiddo?!' Did he just call me 'kiddo?!'* He didn't know how to respond so he just turned his attention to his food.

"Thanks, Dad,” Kenta replied for him, “Um Ryuga…” Kenta turned to him. “Where are you going to go after this?"

"I'll figure it out,” Ryuga muttered, grabbing another roll of sushi. He briefly wondered if Kenta’s parents would get mad at him if he ate too much of their food.

"Do you want some water with that, kiddo?" Kenta’s mother asked.

Ryuga’s fist clenched around his sushi, smashing it to pieces. He glared at Kenta’s parents.

"Stop calling me that,” he growled, “I'm not a kid."

“Yes, you are." Kenta’s mother didn’t even hesitate in her reply.

Ryuga was going to retort but Kenta cut him off. “How old are you anyway, Ryuga?" he asked.

Ryuga actually had to think about it for a moment.

"Seventeen."

Kenta smiled. "Oh, so you're six years older than me. Cool."

Ryuga nearly choked on his sushi.

"You're eleven?!"

"Yes?!” Kenta suddenly stiffened. “How old did you think I was?!"

"Eight."

"What?!” Kenta gasped, nearly falling over. “Am I really that short?!"

"Yes." Ryuga couldn’t help but smile a bit at Kenta’s over the top reaction.

"Kenta, don't worry," his mother cut in. "You'll grow soon enough."

"I was still short when I was your age,” his father added, “Don't worry about it too much, kiddo."

"Okay, okay. Eight years old…" Kenta muttered as he took another bite of sushi.

*They call him a kid too…* Kenta's parents clearly saw no difference between Ryuga and Kenta, the latter of whom was obviously a kid. However, Ryuga didn't feel like a kid. He had been living on his own for years and everyone, regardless of their age, feared him. Yet Kenta's parents didn't. Were they crazy?

*Why are they acting so welcoming towards me when they know what I've done?!* Ryuga cast a glance at Kenta. Understanding stirred within him: of course they act like this, they're his parents, after all. What else should Ryuga have expected? After eating a few more pieces of sushi, Ryuga stood up and took a step back. He glanced at Kenta’s parents. *Am… I supposed to thank them?*

“Thanks…” Ryuga muttered. “For the food."

Kenta’s mother nodded and replied, "Oh, it was no problem, sweetie.” Ryuga let out a growl. *That's worse than 'kiddo!'* “Just let us know if you need anything else.”

“Somewhere I can be alone?" Ryuga blurted out without thinking. However, he meant it. He was already getting sick and tired of Kenta’s parents and could barely keep his anger under control.

“Um…” Kenta’s dad looked at something in the living room. “The basement is mostly empty." He pointed to a door near the front one, but leading to the side.

*What’s a basement?* Ryuga bit back the question. He didn’t care enough to subject himself to any more meaningless conversation.

“That'll suffice,” Ryuga replied, making his way toward the basement.

He pushed the door open and descended down the flight of stairs and into the darkness. Ryuga sat on the floor with a sigh. He had barely known Kenta’s parents for twenty minutes and they were already doting on him as if he was their own son. *Me… the former Dragon Emperor, reduced to this pathetic husk.*

His thoughts had wandered back to L-Drago almost immediately. Ryuga’s heart ached. It wasn’t just about L-Drago’s power, though Ryuga couldn’t deny that was certainly part of it. His status had been reduced greatly. However, more importantly to him, Ryuga lost his spark. Beyblade had defined his entire life and all of a sudden, it had been taken away from him and he had been thrown into a completely new situation that he had no idea how to handle. It all felt so… empty. With Beyblade gone, there was a void in Ryuga's life that he couldn't imagine filling.

Ryuga was pulled from his thoughts by the sound of a door creaking open. He stood up.

"I thought I said I wanted to be alone?!" he snapped, staring at the foot of the stairs. The lights suddenly turned on, making Ryuga shield his eyes with his arm.

“Ryuga, it's me," Kenta’s voice replied from up the stairs.

Ryuga froze. “...What do you want?"

Moments later, Kenta appeared at the foot of the stairs, his gaze fixed on Ryuga.

“They don't mean it in a mean way, you know." Kenta’s tone was blunt, almost emotionless.

"Huh? Ryuga raised an eyebrow.

"My parents… calling you 'kiddo.' I know you probably think that they look down on you, but they're just trying to be nice."

“Whatever," Ryuga grunted, looking away.

"Ryuga?" Kenta let out a growl. "I can't take this anymore!" Ryuga stiffened as Kenta started yelling. "Ryuga, tell me what’s wrong!” he demanded, stomping his foot into the ground.

Ryuga staggered back.

“What?!” he gasped. *How did he know?!*

“You’ve been upset all day! What’s wrong?!” Kenta demanded, marching toward him. His eyes were blazing with anger though Ryuga sensed concern in his tone as well.

“I’m always upset!”

“Not like this! You’re sad about something, I can tell!”

“No, I’m not!” Ryuga clenched his fists, trying to stop himself from shaking. *I don’t want to talk about this!*

“Is this about L-Drago?”

“That’s none of your business!” Ryuga answered a bit too quickly.

Kenta let out a sigh, suddenly becoming less tense.

“It is, isn’t it?” he asked, taking a step back. “You miss your Beyblade and don’t want to replace it, so you don’t even want to Beyblade anymore.”

Ryuga froze. *How did he figure that out so quickly?!* Kenta stared at him with wide eyes, clearly realizing he had hit a nerve.

“Leave me alone,” Ryuga grunted, sitting down against the wall. His anger had dissolved, leaving him completely drained.

“No!” Kenta insisted. “You shouldn’t be alone right now! You should have a friend supporting you and that’s what I’ll do!” Kenta sat next to Ryuga, clinging to his arm.

“You can’t do anything about this, Kenta,” Ryuga muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground. “Don’t waste your effort.”

“It’s true, I can’t bring back L-Drago, but I’ll listen to you. It can help to talk about how you feel.”

“That’s ridiculous.” Ryuga pushed Kenta away. 

“At least try!” Kenta insisted. He sat across from Ryuga now, gazing intently as he waited for a response.

Ryuga let out a sigh, staring down at the ground. “You don’t get it, Kenta. Beyblade was my entire reason for being alive, it’s one of the only things I care about.”

“What's the other thing?”

Ryuga met Kenta’s gaze. *You should know the answer to that.*

“Oh…” Kenta rested his hand on his chest, his eyes watering slightly.

“What am I supposed to do… without Beyblade?”

“Well… what do you want to do?”

“I don’t know!” Ryuga stopped when he realized he had raised his voice. Kenta stared at him with wide eyes. “I’ve never wanted to do anything but Beyblade…” Ryuga continued, lowering his voice again.

“Maybe you could still Beyblade,” Kenta suggested, scooting forward a bit. “I know it’s not L-Drago, but Flash Sagittario’s power was originally yours, maybe-”

“No.”

“Huh?”

Ryuga dipped his head. During their travels, Kenta had gone on and on about how he felt cast aside and ignored by his friends for not being a Legendary Blader. Kenta probably didn’t think Ryuga had paid any attention, but he had. He needed Kenta to know that he was worthy of the power Ryuga had given him.

“The power in Sagittario is yours now… and I don’t regret giving it to you.”

“R-Ryuga…” Kenta’s eyes watered. “But-but L-Drago-”

“Was full of stolen power,” Ryuga cut him off. He looked away, his jaw clenched, “I never changed after overcoming the dark power. I let my greed consume me just like those stupid Americans did.”

"Ryuga…?" Kenta stared at him in disbelief.

Ryuga noticed himself trembling as he went on, “I was the most powerful Blader, I was respected, or feared. What am I now? Who am I without Beyblade?!"

Ryuga’s voice descended into a cry. He turned away, disgusted at himself for showing such weakness. Kenta threw himself at Ryuga, wrapping his arms around him. Ryuga stiffened. A single tear streamed down his face.

“I can’t answer those questions…” Kenta murmured, “But I want to help you.”

Ryuga was suddenly overwhelmed by appreciation for his friend. Shifting in place, he put his arms gently around Kenta, careful not to crush the smaller boy. He leaned forward to rest his chin on Kenta's shoulder.

“You’re already helping me.” Ryuga’s voice came out shaky, almost like a sob.

He had never allowed anyone to so much as witness him during a moment of weakness like this. However, Ryuga knew he could trust Kenta. The two of them stayed in the hug for a few more breaths before Ryuga let go. Kenta scooted back, dipping his head.

“Kenta…” Ryuga sighed. Kenta met his gaze as he spoke, “I’ve been sticking with you because I don't see the point in travelling on my own anymore."

Kenta just nodded, as if his suspicion had been confirmed.

“I…” Ryuga hesitated. He reflected for a moment longer before continuing, “I want to stay with you and your family, until I figure out what to do with myself.”

Out loud, the idea sounded even crazier. However, if Ryuga really couldn’t Beyblade again, he wanted to stay with the one person whose company he valued.

“R-Ryuga…” Kenta stared at him in disbelief. “You don’t have to do that. I know you hate it here.”

Ryuga raised an eyebrow. “When did I say that?”

“You never said it… but I’m not blind, I could tell you were uncomfortable around my parents.”

“They were patronizing,” Ryuga grunted. “But… I can learn to deal with it. After all, I won’t be staying here forever.”

Kenta grabbed Ryuga’s arm, pulling him into a side hug.

“When you do leave, do you promise to visit?” he asked, gazing up at Ryuga with those dreaded puppy dog eyes.

“Yes, of course,” Ryuga grunted, attempting to get his arm free.

Kenta let go, smiling. “Okay…” His smile suddenly faded and his gaze dropped to the floor. “Um, Ryuga… I had a question.”

“What is it?” Ryuga asked, suddenly concerned.

“Everyone keeps telling me… that you gave me your star fragment because you respect me. Do you… respect me?”

Ryuga let out a sigh. *So he’s going to make me explain.*

“Kenta, I’ve always respected you.”

“Wha- huh?!” Kenta staggered back, as if a gust of wind had knocked him backwards.

“The problem wasn’t you, it was my delusion.” Ryuga dipped his head as he explained.

“You… you really mean it.” Kenta’s eyes watered. “Ry-Ryuga…” His voice came out in a sob.

Ryuga stiffened. “No, please don’t.”

Kenta wiped the beginnings of a tear away.

“I’m fine, I’m fine…” Kenta insisted, and Ryuga noticed that the kid was smiling. “I just didn’t realize you cared so much.”

Ryuga bit his lip. The idea of caring about someone still seemed so weird to him. However, he also felt a twinge of guilt. He didn’t want Kenta to think he didn’t care and he definitely didn’t want him to cry.

*Weak…* Ryuga instantly pushed the thought away. Kenta cared for his friends and he absolutely wasn’t weak. His love for his friends had driven him to follow Ryuga through the brutal wilderness and in turn, pushed him into becoming a stronger Beyblader. *Caring about his friends didn't make him weak and caring about Kenta doesn’t make me weak either.*

“Hey, you should let my parents know you want to stay.” Kenta’s voice pulled Ryuga out of his thoughts.

“I should?” Ryuga asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Well, yeah.” Kenta chuckled a bit. “They gotta know.”

“W-why do I have to tell them?” Ryuga asked, backing up a bit. “Can’t you?”

“You’re the one who wants to stay…” Kenta stared at him for a moment. “Are you scared?” he asked, tilting his head to the side.

“Scared?!” Ryuga bristled with rage. “No, I'm not scared!”

“It’s fine if you are, you know. I get that this is probably all really new to you.”

Ryuga stiffened. “Why do you know me so well?”

Kenta smiled. “We travelled for months together, Ryuga. I was bound to pick up on some things.”

Ryuga let out a sigh as he stood up. “Well, come on. If I’m doing this, you’re coming with me.”

“Um…”

“I don’t need you to say anything,” Ryuga grunted, rolling his eyes. “Just having you with me is enough.”

“Oh… okay.” Kenta nodded and stood up.

The two of them walked up the stairs side by side. Kenta pulled the door open. Ryuga glanced in the living room to see that both of Kenta’s parents were in the room, sitting on the couch and staring at small screens. Closing the door behind him, Ryuga took a few steps into the room. He cleared his throat. Kenta’s parents turned to look at him, their gazes lighting up.

“Oh, hello Kenta, Ryuga,” Kenta’s dad greeted, “Did you need something?”

“Actually…” Ryuga took another step forward. “Yes…”

“What is it?” Kenta’s mother asked.

Ryuga found himself shaking as he forced himself to speak. “Since… I have nowhere else to go and Kenta is my friend… I was…” Ryuga froze. *This is harder than I thought it would be!* “I was wondering if I… if I could…” *Just spit it out!* “Can I stay here? For-for a while at least?” Ryuga facepalmed. *I sound like such an idiot!*

Kenta's parents turned to each other, their faces lighting up. Ryuga’s jaw clenched. *Have I just given them exactly what they wanted?!*

“Of course!” Kenta’s mother was beaming as she spoke. “You can stay here as long as you need to, sweetie. It’s not a bother.”

*Apparently, I have.*

“Right…” Ryuga dipped his head, biting his lip. “Thanks…”

“Something the matter?” Kenta’s mom asked, tilting her head to the side.

Ryuga glared at them. *I've barely told Kenta this stuff. I'm not telling people I barely know, even if they are Kenta's parents.*

"Nothing important." Ryuga gestured to Kenta, silently praying he would change the subject, or give them an excuse to leave. Something. Anything. Why was talking to people so awkward?!

"Oh, uh…” Kenta looked up at him. “Ryuga, since you're staying here, you'll need a place to sleep. I could make space in my room."

"There's already space in the living room," Kenta’s dad suggested, gesturing to the space in front of the couch.

"What about the basement?" Ryuga suggested.

"The basement?" Kenta's mom glanced at him.

"It's quiet down there.”

Ryuga hadn’t taken the time to appreciate it, but the basement was the only room in this whole house that didn’t feel crowded. There was room to walk around and like he said, it was quiet.

"Well…" Kenta's dad looked somewhat doubtful. "Okay. We can set up a mattress for you in the basement."

Ryuga took a step back. "No, it's fine," he insisted, bristling defensively. "This is only temporary…” *Please stop doting on me.*

Kenta's mother stood up. "Temporary or not, we're not letting you sleep on the floor." Her tone was firm but not exactly angry.

"Why not?" Ryuga scoffed. *I do it all the time. What's the big deal?*

However, Kenta's parents didn't answer. They were already on their way to get the mattress they promised. Ryuga turned to Kenta.

"Your parents are weird.”

"Well, what did you expect?" Kenta asked with a smile.

Ryuga shrugged. “Nothing less."

He rested his hand on Kenta's head, smiling as he ruffled his hair. Kenta yelped in surprise. However, he didn’t move away. Ryuga smiled. Without L-Drago, Ryuga still wasn't even fully sure who he was, though he supposed "Kenta's friend" was a start.

(Author's Note: And that's the end. A lot of my fanfictions lately have been pretty short but this seemed like the most appropriate way to end it since Ryuga's inner conflict has been somewhat resolved and I wanted to leave the characters’ futures up to interpretation. Still, this was a really fun one to write.)

[troop-scoop]

Mistakes & Regrets XI

Summary: When a trip to your Dad’s hometown of Hawkins goes wrong, you end up in the year 1983, and have to learn how to cope with being stuck in the past.

Pairing: Steve Harrington / Future!Reader (like, a really slow burn)

Warnings: Idfk probably swearing?

• • • 

“How are you feeling?”

There wasn’t really an answer ready to be shot out at Owens when he asked that. It was the usual question asked by doctors when they wanted to get in your head, see what they needed to see to know if you were mentally alright. This felt like a mental evaluation after all. 

You shrugged a bit and Joyce gently elbowed your arm that was against the wooden armrest. Looking at her you saw the worried look on her face. It was just a few days before Christmas, and none of you wanted to be here, let alone you. 

No, the depression den that had become of the single bedroom apartment you’d been moved into was calling your name. The two liters of soda that contained more caffeine than necessary were also calling you. 

The fear of falling asleep was overwhelming, and you knew that the cheap concealer you’d bought wasn’t completely hiding the dark bags under your eyes. 

“It’s perfectly okay to not know how you feel. I don’t I think I would either-”

“When I was younger, my favorite movie was ‘Back to the Future,’ has that come out yet?” You doubted it, having not seen any posters or seen the VHS tape in the video store the last time you were there with Steve.

Owens mimicked your shrug from just seconds before. “I haven’t heard of it.”

“Right. Well, Marty McFly is the main character. And is forced into the past. . . 1955, I’m pretty sure. He’s from 85.’ But his parents are teenagers, his age in 55.’ When I was like four, I’d sprained my ankle at a park. We had gotten back from the ER, I was in a brace and Dad went to put my little brother down for a nap. Pa put on ‘Back to the Future.’ After that I always thought time travel was cool.” 

Joyce’s hand grabbed yours in a comforting manner, her thumb rubbing gentle circles into your knuckles while you continued speaking. 

“But in every movie and tv show they could go back. It could be difficult to do it. But they always did. They went back home. ‘Hot Tub Time Machine,’ ‘Avengers,’ ‘Doctor Who!’ They could go back. But I can’t, I’m stuck in the past and you’ve all said that I can’t go home.”

“You also said you didn’t want to go back to the ‘Upside Down’”

“You also didn’t offer any alternatives. Or even try to find them.”

Owens was quiet now, his face unreadable, blank of any expression while the two of you held eye contact and Joyce awkwardly sat and watched the two of you have an unspoken staring contest. 

“I’m sad, and I’m angry. But mostly, sad. Because my dad and my pa said they wanted to raise my brother and I. And now they can’t finish raising me, cause I’m here. And I won’t see them for another 36 years. Maybe not even then. I’ll be like, 50. I could be dead by then.”

“Y/n,” Joyce spoke softly. “Don’t say that, you’ll be alright.”

“We don’t know that.” You looked at Joyce, and while her eyes were soft and full of sympathy while she continued holding your hand while you let her. “You asked how I’m feeling?” You looked back at Owens whose own face seemed to offer sympathy as well. “I’m always sad and angry. And I feel like I’m going crazy because I can hear Danny’s voice and a woman’s and I’m sleep deprived because everytime I do sleep I have these awful nightmares-”

“Voices?” 

The moment he interrupted you, you wanted to run. But instead, you froze up. And the first thing, or rather person you wanted, was Steve. But why? You thought. Maybe it’s because he’d been there for you even though you called him in the very early morning, before the sun was even up. 

“Y/n?” Joyce questioned while you looked down at your own lap, as though the details in your high waisted jeans were suddenly very interesting. 

•••

The thing on your head pressed almost painfully into the nape of your neck and into your temples, Owens seemed to not be the biggest fan of even bringing you into this room and seemed put off when a nurse put the thing on your head. 

It was freaking you out, making you feel like you were crazy. But then again, everything and everyone made you feel crazy, or different, or like you could break in a single second. It had you wishing that you could go back to a few nights ago, where you and Steve had driven two counties over and back. This isn’t the place you wanted to be a few days before Christmas. 

“They’re going to turn on something, It could trigger the things you see, or hear, okay?” You looked up at the woman who adjusted the headpiece and nodded a bit before she left the room. 

You looked over at Owens before down at the table in front of you. The sound turned on. It was a simple white noise, with a bit of a background to it. You blinked once and heard another voice you recognized. 

“Just try, that’s all I need you to do.” Looking up you saw Brenner, a hand on a little girl’s shoulder. She wasn’t much older than three, and seemed to be in distress. You looked at the girl who then looked up at you, making eye contact from the other side of the table. She slowly turned her wrists over and on her right wrist you could see the numbers ‘012’ tattooed into the skin. 

You blinked again, and it was gone, as well as the sound. “Owens, we got something.” He left the room, leaving you to your own thoughts. 

If Eleven was ‘011’ and then that little girl was ‘012,’ were there others? And if so, how many got out alive? How did she see you? They were running through your mind at lightning speed that you didn’t notice when the sound came back on, but you did notice the little girl again, this time, maybe a bit older, staring at you intently, as if she was waiting for you. 

She looked familiar. And for a moment you could have sworn that she reminded you of your little brother. “Hi.” You greeted quietly. 

‘012’ tilted her head a bit before repeating your word back. “Hi.” Eleven had done the same thing when something like this happened. She repeated your word back. 

“Like me.” She mumbled looking at you. Now you tilted your head in confusion but she grabbed your hand from across the table and pointed to the cheap watch you’d bought after you no longer had a phone to carry around, and then to her eyes. “Like me.”

“I don’t understand?”

“You see,” She pointed to her eyes again before pointing to your watch. 

“Time?” 

She nodded.

She was gone when the white noise was, leaving you in silence, and alone in the white clinical room, with the headpiece still on. 

12, You thought. Who is she?

•••

Joyce stood by the windows of the office, looking out to see you and Will sitting in the chairs down the hall. Will was reading a comic and you were listening to your walkman, which Joyce noticed you had begun to carry with you everywhere. 

She was worried. How could she not be? You were her granddaughter who wouldn’t be born for a long time, whose mental health seemed to be spiraling down the drain. She’d noticed the amount of caffeine you drank, how your concealer couldn’t hide the bags under your eyes. It was impossible to not notice how awkward you acted around Will.

Joyce and Hopper were just waiting for Owens to come back with whatever the test results to say. They’d taken you away for hours, and since you’d gotten back, you hadn’t spoken to anyone. You just listened to your music and stared off into space.  

“I’m sure she’s fine.” Hopper spoke up from his seat in front of Owens’ desk, where you’d previously been sitting. He’d been out in the hall with Will until they took you for testing, not allowing either of them back with you. 

Joyce looked back at Hopper and gave an unsure nod. Looking back to the hall where the two of you sat, she saw Will showing you the pages of his comic. She could see the similarities between you two. The way your brows furrowed when listening to something and concentrating were the same, and the little nervous tick that Will had of picking at his jeans while sitting down, also seemed to be your own nervous tick. She’d noticed how’d you been doing it when Hopper opened the car door for you when they got to the lab, and when you’d been in the office. 

“What do you thinks wrong?”

“What?”

“Joyce,” Hopper started. “It’s obvious that you think something’s wrong.”

She sighed and crossed her arms, walking away from the window and sitting in the seat next to him. “I don’t know. I just have a weird feeling whenever I look at her. Like she- she’s my family, she’s my granddaughter, technically. But there’s something else to her. . . She reminds me a bit of Eleven.” She admitted. 

Something about you reminded her of the girl. But it was only until recently when she was able to place it. Over a month after the events of early November. Something about the air surrounding you made it hard not to be reminded of the twelve year old. 

Before Hopper can say anything, the door opened and Owens walked in, a confused look on his face while he walked the short distance from the door to his seat on the other side of the desk. 

“There’s nothing wrong with her.” is what he started with, looking confused while he opened the folder he’d carried in. “Brain scan came back normal, her psych evaluation was normal, everything about her, except for the situation she’s in, is normal.” 

Hopper tilted his head a bit, not quite understanding. They pulled you away for hours, leaving the three of them completely in the dark, only to say that you were fine? Even though you said you heard voices, and saw things in your sleep. 

“I’m sorry?” Hopper questioned.

“The most we can say is that she has PTSD, and with what little we know about it, she can have flashbacks, and auditory flashbacks aren’t out of the picture. She might just be hearing things she’s heard before.”

“Yeah, but she said she heard a woman she’s never heard before?” Joyce looked to Hopper before back at Owens who shrugged a bit. 

“Probably a teacher she mostly forgot about. It could be a repressed memory. Or it could be the voice of a babysitter she just doesn’t remember.” 

While that would make sense, considering you said the woman would sometimes sing, Joyce didn’t buy it. You said that Will stayed home while you were growing up. Working from home so he could keep an eye on you, and so you always had someone. It wouldn’t make sense for you to have had a babysitter. 

Hopper thought it was suspicious, with the confused look Owens had on his face before giving an answer he seemed sure about. It didn’t settle right with him. He was sure Owens was just giving an answer they’d want to hear. 

“Just be patient with her. I’m going have someone prescribe her sleeping pills so she can get some sleep-”

Hopper blocked out what he was saying, because the truth was, he had the same thoughts on you as Joyce. You oddly reminded him of Eleven as well and he didn’t believe a single thing that Owens was saying

•••

@disneyprincessbuffyannesummers @jxnehxpper @yllwtaxi @songofcosplay @potatopooper05 @cheesecakeisapie @robinsdolan @yall-wildin-like-siriusly @the_passionate_freak @bisexualpears​ @ilovebucketbarnes @random-thoughts-003

[xhaotixaesthetica]

Yandere!Ateez Reaction to you Trying to Escape

Starlink Intergalactic Navigator 

Author’s Note: Heya anon! You’re a lucky one, cause your request got answered the quickest lol. I’m on a roll right now, this is the third request I’m answering today. At least as of when I’m writing this, that’s the case. I could stop halfway through and not finish this until two years later lmao. I outline Yandere!Ateez’s personalities in a previous headcanon, so this is based on those personalities. Some of them, like Yeosang and Jongho, have S/O’s that aren’t even aware they’re Yandere, so in those cases, I made it their reaction to when they think you’re trying to escape.

READ THE TRIGGER WARNING: This post contains mentions and discussion of abusive relationships, threats, violence, death, supernatural creatures, depression, self-harm, disturbing sexual descriptions, and mental illness. The behaviors and relationships depicted below are abusive and unhealthy. These are not examples of healthy relationships, it’s actually the opposite. This is meant to imagine the members of Ateez in a popular anime trope and it in no way represents their real-life personalities and characters. It’s fiction, it’s for fun, PLEASE DON’T READ IT IF YOU KNOW YOU WON’T LIKE IT OR THIS KIND OF STUFF DISTURBS YOU!

Genre: angst?? IDK really

Word Count: 2.7K+

You are in: the Asteroid Belt. 

Hongjoong

The Perfect Boyfriend 

Bitch, I’ll pray for you. Hongjoong is an extremely violent boyfriend and trying to escape is NOT advisable unless you know you have a completely foolproof plan.

 He told you to never run. He told you that you won’t have any warnings or three strikes. If you leave he will catch you and he will hurt you.

Hongjoong is a man of his word, but you didn’t listen.

“Aww, baby,” Hongjoong made a mock pout, crouching down to your level. “Does the poor baby’s broken leg hurt?”

You couldn’t even look at it, it was twisted at such a grotesque angle. You’d always heard that broken bones didn’t hurt as much as you would think, and you found that to be true right now. Or maybe you were just in so much in all the other bruised parts of your body that it drowned out the pain in your leg.

“This is what happens when you don’t listen to me, you stupid bitch.” 

Seonghwa 

The Ice King Everytime I write that, I think of the Ice King from Adventure Time.

The silence was unbearable. He hadn’t said anything since your bodyguards brought you back, kicking, screaming, and terrified.

He just stared at you blankly, nothing in his eyes, nothing on his face, nothing in his body language. Occasionally, he would take a sip of the glass of brandy on the table beside him. Sometimes cross and uncross his arms over his chest.

All the while just staring, not saying anything.

You were too scared to speak, eventually too scared to even look at him, opting just to stare at your clammy hands clasped together in your lap.

What was he thinking?

Would he punish you?

Would he forgive you?

Would he beat you?

Would he . . . kill you?

You waited for what could have been hours, bracing yourself for an even more violent response the longer he sat.

But none of that came.

Without a word, Seonghwa stood and glided from the room. You thought he slammed the door the tiniest bit harder than normal, but you were so scared that you were sure your mind had made it up.

As you shuffled back to your room, you hurried as quick as you could past his door.

Your heart was beating too loud, heart too heavy with despair and disappointment, to hear the very faint sounds of sobbing coming from behind his door.

Yunho 

The Damsel in Distress Next Door 

Theoretically, you could 100% leave Yunho. You could walk out at any time you wanted and he wouldn’t go after you if he knew you were leaving because you wanted to break up and not because you’re hurt or something’s wrong. He wouldn’t hurt you or try and guilt-trip you.

He would say that he wishes you the best and that he won’t try to hurt himself again.

He. Is. Lying.

The minute you walk out that door, he’s closing all the blinds and windows, turning all the lights off, going in his bathroom, and getting the razor blade out of his shaver.

It’s tiny in his huge hands and that makes him even clumsier. He’s shaking, he’s crying, and blood is already spurting everywhere. He’s going to punish himself for everything bad thing he ever did in your relationship that he never got a chance to hurt himself for.

He remembers everything, without even having to write it down, and he’ll give himself the “appropriate” punishment for every bad action, even down to the tiny, most minute things like the time he forgot to put your favorite condiment on the sandwich he made you three months ago, or accidentally pulling your hair when he was running his fingers through it last year.

It might take a while to give himself all those punishments, but he’s going to make sure he stays alive until he gets everything he thinks he deserved.

The time he spends punishing himself is pretty much your only window of opportunity.

Because you know exactly what’s going on. You know what’s happening, you have that same bad feeling from last time, only amplified by ten.

You know he’ll die if you don’t go back.

You could always call the police and send them there, but you honestly doubt their ability to be able to hold him. Yunho’s an adept liar, and he’d get out of hospital treatment, probably in weeks, just to do the same thing. Except there wouldn’t be anyone to call the police then and there was no doubt he’d die then.

At this point, you don’t even believe Yunho can be fixed.

You have the choice between saving his life and being imprisoned in that relationship with him forever or let him die so you can heal and be free.

Yeosang 

The Secret Serial Killer 

Yeosang’s initial reaction is going to be straight-up confusion.

He doesn’t understand how in the world you could have found anything out that would make you leave.

He was so careful, always so cautious. The police don’t even know what he is or the things he’s done, so how would you?

You hadn’t been acting weird lately. Or had you? How would he not notice?

But the truth is you hadn’t noticed anything. Like I said, Yeosang is too careful, too sneaky, too clever.

What really happened is that you were out with a friend yesterday evening and decided to spend the night as no one felt like driving and both of your phones were dead so you couldn’t call Yeosang to pick you up. You got to her house and put the phone on the charge before eating a late dinner, intending to call him when it had charged up a bit, but you fell asleep before you could do so.

And this happened to be on a night where Yeosang had prior commitments so he couldn’t stalk you so see what you were doing. He was so tired that he fell asleep as soon as he got home, only panicking when he woke up the next day to find you still gone.

And now, it was eleven o’clock and Yeosang was pulling up to your friend’s house, calming only slightly when he saw you about to get in your friend’s car, phone in hand, looking worried.

He realized you’d probably been trying to call him but the blood pounding against his ears didn’t allow him to hear the phone he’d thrown haphazardly into the passenger seat.

Yeosang barely even parks before open the car door, anything he was about to say dying on his tongue as an explanation rushed out of your mouth.

Yeosang takes it gracefully, nodding, as he pulls you into his arms.

“I was scared something happened to you,” he says, to which your friend starts cooing over your relationship.

She just doesn't know that he’s already formulating a back-up plan in case you found out about him and tried to leave.

He had no problem killing your friends off one-by-one if it meant you’d stay with him.

San

The Jekyll and Hyde 

No matter how San was feeling previously, your attempted escape would undoubtedly bring out Other San.

You’d seen Other San angry before. You’d seen him throw things, punch gigantic holes in walls, scream till he was hoarse, had him kick you in the stomach so hard he almost ruptured your organs, and even seen break an entire table once.

But none of that, none of it compared to the way you were seeing him now.

His gait was slow and confident, his dark eyes following you like a predator, a terrifying smirk painting his face, the malice of it detracting from every handsome feature he had.

“Baby,” he laughed, shaking his head, crossing to the kitchen and disappearing for a moment. You’d run if you thought you actually had a shot of escaping but you knew you didn’t and San was already angry enough.

“You’re so stupid, baby,” he giggled, voice muffled by distance and the more overpowering sound of metal instruments tinkling and bumping against each other.

You said nothing.

When San emerged, it was with a long meat knife with an incredibly sharp blade. You didn’t even know you had that.

San’s eyes were wild, manic as he advanced toward you, shuddering at the sound of your terrified whimpers.

“If you wanted me to hurt you, all you had to do was ask.”

Mingi

The Clingy Bad Boy 

This is probably going to be pretty short because I don’t see Mingi having a gigantic reaction, shocking as that may seem. It wasn’t short at all, but that’s because I got description crazy.

He would just have a really violent one.

The minute he got you back in the house, he’d look at you for a second.

And then he’d punch the shit out of you.

You blacked out and when you woke up, it was to an aching body and bruises all over your body. Some places were swollen, some cut, and some bleeding, but, thankfully, nothing was broken.

For some reason, breaking bones seemed like a line Mingi wasn’t able to cross when it came to you.

Personally, you’d rather he broke a single bone and left you alone than do all this, but that wasn’t something you’d say out loud.

You looked up when the door opened to reveal Mingi coming in the room carrying a glass of water, a sandwich and chips, and a few pills.

He sat in a chair beside the bed, putting the food on one side of the nightstand and holding the glass of water and the pills out to you. “Take these,” he said, no trace of his previous anger, but no trace of remorse either.

He looked like this was a normal, everyday occurrence.

You complied, recognizing the pills as two painkillers and swallowing them along with a couple large gulps of water.

Mingi brought a first-aid kit from under the bed, cleaning cuts and applying ointments to your wounds, humming in his low, deep voice as he did so.

And even though he was the one who did this to you, the human mind is an absolute bitch and you relaxed as you heard him sing the familiar melody. He was humming the song he always sang when you were sad.

When he finished treating you, he gave you the food and let you eat before helping you to the bathroom, giving you a hot bath and helping you brush your teeth, do your skincare routine, and dress you for bed.

Your body hurt, but the painkillers helped and Mingi carried you and did everything for you so you didn’t have to move around as much.

He sang you to sleep as well, something he rarely did.

As you drifted, halfway between sleep and consciousness, you felt him lean down to your ear and say, “I already told you not to leave me. I meant it. Don’t make me do this again.” 

Wooyoung

The Incubus 

I really don’t see a way for you to even attempt to escape from Wooyoung. He has demons guarding you and he uses his powers to keep track of you at all times. Not to mention, you can’t navigate Hell, only a demon can. This is a fact that both you and Wooyoung are well aware of.

If you managed an escape attempt, it would only be because Wooyoung was bored and he allowed it to happen. He might actually like you more if you did this. It’d give him something fun to do and an excuse to punish you and his punishments were his favorite thing in the world.

He’d tell his guards to let you slip past and watch you, amused, as you ran out of the house and past the gates. You didn’t last long, eventually too incredibly confused by the twists and turns of hell, too scared of the glowing eyes of unknown creatures that you could see lurking hungrily at you through the dense shrubbery.

Wooyoung was slightly impressed, though. It was longer than any human’s ever lasted and certainly longer than he expected of you.

But still, he waited. You had to know no one else was coming for you. You had to know that without his help, you’d die here. And it’d be a slow and painful death, much more so than any death on earth could be.

You had nowhere else to turn . . .

“Wooyoung!”

There it was.

Wooyoung grinned as he appeared before you in a flurry of black smoke, even more amused at the sight of you sobbing on your knees, hating the fact that you had to return to him but having no other choice.

He tsked disapprovingly, crouching down so he was eye-level with you, his finger slipping under your chin to bring your head up to look at him.

“Bad baby. Now I have to punish you.”

Wooyoung grunted as he thrust quickly into the demon, her loud screams of pleasure reverberating off the walls.

Her smirk was smug as she looked at you, chained in the corner and forced to watch him fuck her.

It was your usual punishment, except Wooyoung normally makes you watch him fuck three or four women (demon stamina was a hell of a thing). But he seemed to be more taken with this girl; they were on their third round and he hadn’t shown any sign of tiring out yet.

You didn’t know what that meant. Had they met before? Did he already like her? Was he . . . was he thinking about replacing you?

You tried to tell yourself that that didn’t matter, that it was something you would be happy about, but you couldn’t deny the lurch your stomach gave at the thought.

If Wooyoung found someone else, what would he do to you?

Would he throw you out? As much as you hated him and this horrible fucking place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that it was much safer here than out there with the other things that lurk in this realm.

And he definitely wouldn’t be nice enough to take you back home.

Would he kill you? There’s a chance it would be quickly but, knowing him, it would be long and drawn out.

Maybe it would be in your best interest not to piss him off, after all.

“Fuck,” he grunted. “So tight!”

His head was thrown back as the woman climbed on top of him, riding him quickly, his hands kneading her ass.

Through his haze of pleasure, he grinned as he read your thoughts. You were starting to question yourself, starting to wonder what was actually in your best interest, just as he wanted.

He became more vocal, making sure not to glance your way as he thrust into the woman and kissed her passionately, both of them groaning loudly as he came.

He could hear how their noises made you feel.

For now, you’d comply because it was best for your safety. But eventually, you’d actually believe you loved him.

“This could be you if you weren’t so mean, love,” he said, placing the woman on her back and thrusting into her once more, going back to ignoring you as he pounded into her, moaning as her legs locked around his waist and her nails dug into his back.

His ego was bigger than ever as he felt your fear amplify, scared he would replace and throw you away, terrified of what lurked outside these walls.

Yes, his plan was going lovely.

Jongho

The Overprotective Guard Dog 

We need more Jongho GIFS

OK, I know this is going to be hella short because Jongho would not have a big reaction at all. If you simply wanted to break up, he would ask why. He’d ask what he could change for you two to stay together. He’d change accordingly. If you still wanted to break up, he would reluctantly let it happen and you two would continue to be friends.

If it was because you found out about him, then he would disappear, stalking you quietly from the sidelines without your knowledge.

In all scenarios, Jongho will continue stalking you, taking out threats and people that bother you from afar.

You think you’re rid of him, but you’re his god/ess and he’ll always be around to serve you, whether you know it or not. 

The Asteroid Belt 

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