rivthewriter

[raens-art]

There is a mf reason I stick to sketches and doodles rather than doing fully colored and rendered stuff with clean-ish lineart. Yes, disability but also it brings me NO JOY

[esouliie]

– LITTLE BAMBI

synopsis | Bambi pushes Wanda too far.

pairing: darkish!wanda x fem!reader

warnings | smut, heavy bdsm (18+)

word count | 2.3K.

You shouldn’t have picked up the candy.

Matter of fact, you shouldn’t have even looked at it.

In retrospect, it was probably the most foolish thing you had done today. Despite your attitude, Wanda promised you ice cream if you behaved at the grocery store. But for some reason, the sight of a huge bag of candy rendered you completely stupid.

You wanted that candy more than anything.

~~~

“Baby, I’m not gonna tell you again. I am not buying any more candy. We have enough at home.”

Wanda grabbed the bag from your hands, putting it on a random high shelf you couldn’t reach.

You didn’t care about the candy at home. You wanted this one and you weren’t going to stop until you had it.

“I don’t care. I want this one!” Your voice carried through the aisle. Strangers turned towards you both, but their stares didn’t bother you.

Usually, the redhead was patient when handling your outbursts. Her solid emotions never seem to fail her, but her eyes flashed red & her face grew eerily still.

Today was hard. You had been acting up since the morning about every little thing.

Your breakfast was too cold -because you refused to get up - so Wanda had to make a new one.

You wouldn’t brush your teeth unless Wanda did so she had to brush her teeth twice.

You didn’t like the outfit Wanda set aside so you destroyed your room looking for a new one, leaving a ridiculous mess behind that Wanda would have to clean up.

The witch had had it with your behaviour. You assumed you were exempt to Wanda's wrath because of what you meant to her. It's as if you forgot who she was. The Scarlet Witch would never let anyone talk to her like that, not even you.

“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Her voice quiet, yet full of venom. She didn’t need any more public attention drawn to her.

The return of Wanda Maximoff made headlines just a few months ago. In the same sentence, public newspapers commended her return to the Avengers while insulting her reaction to the aftermath of the war in Wakanda. To the sacrifice and then murder of her late husband.

Humans were no longer afraid of what she could do and it irked the woman beyond measure.

So much for being the ruler of the universe. At the very least, she had you to rule over.

She stalked close, coaxing your head back to meet her eyes. Her hand rests on your head, stroking the loose curls behind your ear. The action was sweet, but when it came to a vexed Wanda, anything sweet always turned sour.

Harsh fingers pinched your lobe and your brows furrowed in pain. Her hold never let up at the sight of your discomfort.

“All day you’ve been acting like a spoiled brat. I’ve been nothing but patient with you, Bambi,” her grasp on your ear tightens, “but Mommy’s had enough now.”

Guilt swarmed your chest. You really fucked up this time.

Upsetting your girlfriend was never something you enjoyed, despite the amazing sex that followed.

Others may believe you like to rile her up, but deep down, you were most fond of pleasing the older woman.

Nothing made you happier than being Wanda’s good girl, even good ole’ rough fuck. If you had to choose, you'd favour Wanda's gentle caress and whispered sweet nothings to her punishing touch and degrading insults.

You knew that it took a lot for her to lose patience with you, so you must’ve really pissed her off.

You were practically begging to be punished.

You don’t want her to leave you though and find a more well-behaved girlfriend. The thought of Wanda no longer wanting you made you feel sick, and tears welled up in your eyes.

This was all a mistake. You shouldn’t have pushed too far.

“Because of your disgusting attitude, we’re no longer getting ice cream.” The calm venom replaced by a malice tongue.

Wanda looked around, surprised by the shift in the tone of her voice, and noticed that prior onlookers had left the aisle.

“You can’t even follow simple instructions so we’re going straight home, and I want you ready, upstairs, in our room. Do you understand me?” Her question emphasised by a firmer grip on your ear.

Your obstinacy melted like snow, and your gaze fell shamefully to the ground.

“Yes, Mommy.”

~~~

“Kneel.”

Wanda’s voice hard and unwavering.

The first thing she says to you since leaving the store. 

The carpet was cold under your naked form. Your eyes shifted to the side, noticing the wide, open window.

“Crawl.” Wanda draws your attention, and you start to move towards her.

“Not to me. Around the room.” She demands with disgust on her tongue, as if you’d know she wants you to parade around the room like a show pony.

Turning right, you crawl on your hands and knees. Humiliation burns brighter with each step. You had no choice, no say, in the matter.

You crawl in the direction of the mirror, catching your ashamed expression in it. You make a loop, turning left, to crawl around the other side of the bed. All the while, Wanda watches like a perched eagle; legs crossed and stare fixed.

After another humiliating lap, the witch orders you to stop in front of the bed. You shift your body closer to the furniture and her hand descends, stroking up the base of your neck to your flushed cheek.

“I don’t like how you behaved today, Bambi.”

The tense room becomes deafeningly quiet for a while.

“You don’t get to speak to me that way.”

She was right.

You said nothing, but she was right.

You didn’t want to dig a deeper grave for yourself.

You’d take her punishment any way she saw fit.

“Up.”

As soon as you stand, Wanda follows suit. The motion too fast you almost miss it. She places her hand on the curve of your back, bending you over the bed.

She holds you there - all is still for a second - before the same hand travels down your hamstrings to your knees. Her fingertips trace patterns across the naked skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Wanda loves teasing you (almost as much as she loves hearing you beg.)

Her touch climbs and snakes towards your inner thigh. Waves of arousal roll in your stomach as a gasp falls from your lips, and is lost in the sheets. Your legs try to shuffle away from her touch.

Immediately, Wanda grabs onto your hips. Pushing herself flush against you.

“Pretty Bambi, why can’t you stay still?” She tuts.

Gone was the dark woman in the store. The game had begun. She could be cruel or delicate with you, and either way, you'd beg for more.

But here she was, gentle as ever with her words, so soft, so loving, with her caresses.

You knew it was all a show.

A means to an end.

But you adored this Wanda.

Her words had you wanting to melt into her skin. Bubbles float through your mind, and all you could think about was her.

She gyrates her front against you. The thick material of her jeans rubs against your core as you muffle your whimpers with your closed fist.

Pulling away, Wanda takes notice of the dark stain on the denim. Her fingers shift again and tap on the inside of your thighs. “Spread them.”

Your legs shuffle apart as her other large hand tangles in your hair, yanking your head back to pull you up.

Another hand rounds you, laying flat against your lower abdomen and applying light pressure. It was enough to make you push your hips back into Wanda. Your shameful noises now free for her to hear.

“Look at you.” She muses, the hand in your hair shuffling to gain a tighter grip. “I’ve not even touched you and you’re a mess.”

You don’t say anything, unable to think of a snarky remark.

“Isn’t that right, Bambi?” Her teeth graze your lobe as she sucks it between her lips.

“Y-Yes.” You stutter.

She nuzzles into the crook of your neck and inhales the faint scent of your perfume and sweat. She hums against the flushed skin, causing you to squirm against her.

“Stay still or you won’t come tonight.” With that, her grip leaves your poor hair. Warm hands run slowly along your front, heavily avoiding where you want them the most.

Another ploy to get you to move - to break the rules- so she could punish you further.

You hold your ground, body as still as ice, as she caresses sensitive parts of you. You never wavered even when she bit hard into your neck.

“Good girl,” her hands rest back on your stomach, “I knew you could listen to Mommy.”

Joy blooms in your chest. Of course you were a good girl. That’s all you ever wanted to be for Wanda.

Without warning, she cocks her hand back and lashes it against your ass with a sharp slap. You cry out at the unexpected blow, your hands grabbing tightly onto whatever part of the woman you could reach.

“Too bad you couldn’t be this good in the store today.” She manoeuvres your palms off her and back onto the bed.

A light touch slides between your cheeks, towards your core, and a finger languidly circles your clit. “Hm, what was that about, baby? You don’t wanna be my good Bambi anymore?”

The pleasure overrides the pain, and soon enough, Wanda pulls away, landing another hit to your other cheek. This back-and-forth of pain and pleasure happens until you break; tears fall freely, moans and sobs mix together, and muddled words babble from your lips.

“P-please.” The only coherent word Wanda has been able to hear in the last thirty minutes.

“Please what?”

“I wanna come.” You admit bashfully.

Wanda’s hand cups you entirely. Slick moves between her fingers. You’d never been so wet.

Two deft fingers poke against your entrance, before sliding in, meeting no resistance. The stretch was heavenly. She began to pump her digits firmly and the friction against your walls had all sorts of whimpers tumbling from your lips. Her other hand spreads your cheek, marvelling at the way her fingers are sucked deep inside of you.

She fucks you quicker and, soon enough, you’re close. You expect her fingers to stop any second now, but she doesn’t. Instead, her hand works harder and faster, drawing you closer to the edge.

She grabs onto the back of your neck, pushing you over into the soft bed. You’re gonna come, you haven’t asked permission but Wanda’s not even letting you breathe at this point.

Just as you’re about to fall, she rips her fingers away, and an overwhelming pain ravishes your battered form. Your legs buckle underneath your weight as you sob openly into the sheets.

This time, Wanda’s hand constantly rains down on your sensitive pussy with a cruelty you’ve never felt before. Inhumane noises claw from your hoarse throat. You fling your arm around to grab onto Wanda’s buried into the back of your neck.

A beg for mercy.

She releases her hold, completely stepping away from your convulsion form.

You look so beautiful all fucked up.

Wanda climbs onto the bed, shuffling into a seating position against the headboard. You feel the movement but don’t make any effort to see what’s going on.

Pain is all you know.

She watches you cry for a while. The way tears puddle underneath your eyes reminiscent of the stain at the end of the bed.

“Bambi.” Wanda calls.

She was done with your crying.

“Come up here with me.”

It’s a struggle but you make your way towards her. A hand sweeps across your forehead, pushing stray curls away off your damp skin. Her thumb cuts off the river of tears flowing down your cheeks.

Hopefully, she’s done with your punishment and now you can just rest.

You settle between her legs and go to lay your head against her chest, but her words stop you. “Uh uh, we’re not done yet, little one.”

Such nice words and yet such a evil meaning behind them.

A part of you wants to refuse and just lay down, but you were exhausted, and fighting against her would only prolong your torture.

So, you sit up on your knees, hands flat against your thighs, and await your orders.

“Good girl.” Wanda praises. The thumb that was just wiping tears now rubs across your strained nipple.

“Mommy’s so proud of you.”

You smile gently.

She grabs your hands and guides you forward.

“Come sit on Mommy’s lap.”

For the first time today, Wanda kisses you. Her lips softly push against yours. A juxtaposition to her harsh assault on your body. Her tongue lulls against yours and her arms wrap around your waist, holding you close.

She was still fully clothed but you took a chance and tug at the hem of her shirt. “Mommy, please.”

Wanda only pecks your lips before guiding your hands to take her shirt off. She wore nothing underneath. The desire to touch has clouded your senses. You don’t even care about coming anymore. But before you could make contact, Mommy intervenes. Instead of striking you, she speaks softly, “no, baby.” To which, you don’t ignore.

You try to wiggle out of her embrace, embarrassed to be denied, but she's stronger than you, so you easily give up. You choose to ignore the fact that her naked breasts are pressing against yours.

“You can look, baby, but no touching.”

This was probably the most torturous thing to happen today.

A tingle below brings you back to reality. Skilful fingers travel slowly through your folds, purposefully missing your clit., before stopping at your entrance.

“You’re gonna ride mommy’s fingers, yeah?”

Hesitation crosses your face. You want to come but the fear of another edge lingers in your mind. It was too much of a big decision for a Bambi like you.

“I promise you’ll come this time, baby.”

With that, two fingers dip inside. Just the very tips of her long digits. You knew better than to take more than what Mommy offers. Your muscles tighten but you hold your stand. As a reward, you were given an inch. And another. And then another.

Until, your pelvis met the flat of her hand. Wanda didn’t move, she just watched your face contort in pleasure, in the feeling of almost being full.

One last test.

After a while, Wanda grunts in approval, slowly pumping her fingers. The sensation almost had you falling into her, but your hands grab onto toned shoulders. The witch doesn’t mind. Such a fragile thing like you needed some help, some stability.

“You gotta fuck yourself as well, baby.” Wanda’s voice full of humour.

“I can’t be the only one doing all the work.” Her light- hearted laugh echoes.

You almost cry in relief, feeling her fingers brush your spot as you rock back and forth. Being full after so much overstimulation, was a feeling unlike any other.

Wanda's free arm snakes around your hip, controlling your movement to be in time with her thrusts. She rocks you faster, and your nerves brush against her toned stomach.

She only curves her fingers inside, fucking you harder.

“One more?” She asks, the third digit already aligned with your hole.

You moan in reply. Your head rolls backwards.

“So beautiful, my little Bambi.” Her soft praise lures you to the edge once more. Your body in desperate need of release.

“Ready, baby?” Wanda gives a kiss to your cheek, just missing your lips. Your hips stutter as your walls flutter around long fingers.

“Yes! Please! Mommy, please!” Wanda quickens her pace, hitting your sweet spot consistently.

“Okay, baby. Come for Mommy.”

Her gentle words were music to your ears as you fall limp against the woman. Your heart rate skyrockets as you frantically try to catch your breath. Wanda hushes your sobs, the pleasure too intense for your wrecked body. Her palms run up and down your back, helping you ride out your orgasm.

The sun sets before you calm down. The night plunging your room into darkness, if not for the lamps on either side of the bed, and the moon shining through the window.

Wanda still has you in her arms. She’s singing to you in her native tongue as it lulls you to sleep. Almost.

“Little one.” Wanda raises your heavy head, lashes fluttering in an attempt to acclimate to the dark. Wanda's face was only partially highlighted, but she was just as lovely in moonlight as she was in sunlight.

“You okay?”

You don’t want to talk so you push your lips against hers and she lets you. The kiss was slow, and all lust had dissolved. Only love remained.

Remembering the witch’s semi-nakedness, you cup both breasts comfortingly. She doesn’t object.

Usually, Wanda would let you to touch her after she had played but she notices how sleep fogs your vision. You were running on automatic and needed rest. Wanda’s need to look after you will always outweigh her arousal.

Besides, there’s always tomorrow.

Wanda cradles you against her chest and shuffles the blankets over you both. She swirls you onto her side as she lays flat, burying your head deep into her neck.

“Night, little Bambi. I love you.”

[cleolinda]

Varney the Vampire: Chapter 11

Chapter 10: A wild Charles Holland appears!

A brief unexpected hiatus there for a week or so. Onward!

If you're just joining us, an ancestral vampyre has been victimizing fair maiden Flora Bannerworth, and it is the worst thing that has ever happened to her brothers Henry and George. Truly, nothing could be worse than having a sister bitten by a vampyre; let us mope upon it in the family crypt with some friends. The friends have matches. Meanwhile, Flora just shot the motherfucker.

CHAPTER XI.

THE COMMUNICATION TO THE LOVER. -- THE HEART'S DESPAIR.

As I've said, you can summarize Varney the Vampire very concisely if you really want to. In this chapter, Henry takes Flora's newly-returned kinda-fiancé aside and explains him a thing. Less concisely: That thing is a vampyre, one Ancestor von Spookyportrait, who keeps preying on Flora and repeatedly getting his hapless ass shot for it. But what you have to understand is, there is not a goddamn thing about Varney the Vampire that is concise. I would even argue that the spirit of verbosity—the baroque grammatical vibe, if you will—is more the point of this godforsaken thing than the actual plot is.

Consternation is sympathetic, and any one who had looked upon the features of Charles Holland, now that he was seated with Henry Bannerworth, in expectation of a communication which his fears told him was to blast all the dearest and most fondly cherished hopes for ever, would scarcely have recognised in him the same young man who, one short hour before, had knocked so loudly, and so full of joyful hope and expectation, at the door of the hall.

I myself am long-winded. Game recognizes game.

It would be one thing, Charles Holland thinks to himself, if Flora were just a trifling-ass strumpet. At least then he could get mad about it, his pride would shield him—but no, he is convinced that his angelic maiden fair back there is trying to protect him from something. As he should be, because it's not like it was hard to tell or anything.

Happier would it at that time have been to Charles Holland had she acted capriciously towards him, and convinced him that his true heart's devotion had been cast at the feet of one unworthy of so really noble a gift.

James Malcolm Rymer really builds up what a sterling hero—verily, a textbook cinnamon roll—Charles Holland is. At first you might think Charles Holland is his cherished self-insert, or maybe Rymer is even a little in love with him, as perhaps all writers should be with our own characters. But if I remember correctly, there's a more interesting reason he does this. But I get ahead of myself (my favorite thing to do).

But now he was to hear all. Henry had promised to tell him, and as he looked into his pale, but handsomely intellectual face, he half dreaded the disclosure he yet panted to hear.

Okay, “panting,” Rymer, don't be weird about it. Also, please use some names in this paragraph; I am pretty sure that Charles Holland is the Pale But Handsome one, which renders this "he" salad nonsensical.

Charles Holland begs to be told the truth! Henry avers that he will tell it, no matter how dubious or strange! Speak truly, Charles Holland, did you indeed hear Flora breaking up with you two pages ago? Why, yes, of course I did, Henry, I did! Then you will be shocked my sister broke up with you! Forsooth, I am! You know who actually wrote this? I've figured it out—energy vampire Colin Robinson.

Because just the act of describing this is sucking my will to live, and I'm not even sure why. Like, it's fine? It's not terribly onerous to read? It's just... so... it feels so much like long covid fatigue, I can't even tell you. NO! We can do this!

"She was right. She is a noble-hearted girl for uttering those words. A dreadful incident in our family has occurred, which might well induce you to pause before uniting your fate with that of any member of it."

Hold onto that "don't unite your fate with ours" thought, because it's an ugly one and we'll get to it. Right now, Charles Holland declares that nothing can ever change his feelings for Flora, ain't no mountain high enough, so on and so forth. What change of fortune could have occurred for Henry to think so?

"I will tell you, Holland. In all your travels, and in all your reading, did you ever come across anything about vampyres?"

Ah, shit, here we go.

"You may well doubt the evidence of your own ears, Charles Holland, and wish me to repeat what I said several more times. I say, do you know anything about vampyres?"

They go back and forth a while about the shocking fact of believing such a shocking fact, but finally, Henry has processed his circumstances: he, Henry von Spookyportrait Beaumont Bannerworth III, is experiencing the worst thing humanity has ever endured:

"Listen to me, and do not interrupt me. You shall know all, and you shall know it circumstantially." Henry then related to the astonished Charles Holland all that had occurred, from the first alarm of Flora, up to that period when he, Holland, caught her in his arms as she was about to leave the room.

I am fucking shocked that Rymer did not have Henry recap this at actual length. "And approximately four to five people also saw all of this!" And Rymer does not have all of those people file in and give sworn testimony in real time. Like, that's surely an entire mortgage payment he just passed up, or else he got into a fistfight with his publisher and lost.

"You bewilder me, utterly," said Charles Holland. "As we are all bewildered." "But -- but, gracious Heaven! it cannot be." "It is." "No -- no. There is -- there must be yet some dreadful mistake."

"No, no! By Heaven, no!" "Yes, Charles. Reflect upon the consequences now of a union with such a family."

Wait, Henry, what the fuck do you mean by that?

"That one who has been visited by a vampyre, and whose blood has formed a horrible repast for such a being, becomes, after death, one of the dreadful race, and visits others in the same way."

Two points:

What are the Vampire Rules in Varney the Vampire? We now know that it only takes (one?) bite to infect someone with vampirism—no exchange of vampire blood is needed. Allegedly. Rymer will probably forget about this.

"Dreadful race" is a real interesting word to use about something that is supernaturally contagious rather than hereditary. On the other hand, Rymer's been implying that Varney is Flora's ancestor, hasn't he? The shame of vampirism is in both her bloodline and, now, her actual blood.

At the same time, here comes the ugly thought to unpack. [Content note: mental health ableism, undescribed self harm and suicide in fiction, racism. If you'd like to skip this very long section, scroll down/search for "Charles Holland is a man of action."]

For decades if not centuries (and, I would argue, still today as well), there have been persistent ideas that mental health issues 1) inevitably led to violence and chaos; 2) were inevitably hereditary; and 3) weren't exclusive to "impure" bloodlines, but, short version: "savagery," colonialism, racism. And all this coalesces into the idea of the Family Stain. In a book like Jane Eyre, published the same year as the collected Varney, Charlotte Brontë evokes a family who "tricks" Rochester into marrying a woman coded as biracial who has apparently inherited a family mental illness. In this character, Charlotte Brontë chooses to identify insanity with violence (and, implicitly, with race), to the point that imprisoning Bertha in an attic is presented as "merciful." And honestly, given the state of mental healthcare up through the 20th century, given the real-life prevalence of this identification, it probably was. This is the cultural foundation beneath Henry's warning of "the consequences of such a union."

But let's delve deeper into the word "consequences." There's also a Louisa May Alcott serial from her "blood and thunder" days called "A Nurse's Story" (1865), and while it was published twenty years after Varney the Vampire, it makes those assumed consequences explicit: point #2 above, the inevitable "curse" of mental illness spreading to a patient's children. (I want to stop here and tell you that I'm bipolar. Medicated, very stable, not cursed. I've been very open about this for many years. I want you to read this paragraph knowing that I personally know that what follows is bullshit.) The story's narrator, Kate Snow, is hired to be the caretaker for a young woman who has started to present symptoms of the Family Stain, hereditary insanity, and has begun to self-harm as a result. By the end of the story, Elinor has actually died by suicide; I won't even go into the details because the story (dangerously) portrays her death as a tragic but noble act.

Elinor also has two older brothers who have sworn to die single (one has become a priest; the other is self-medicating with unspecified substance abuse, probably alcohol), so that they don't pass the family illness to any children. Unfortunately, there is a fourth sibling, Amy, who is determined to keep the secret and marry. (She dies within two years of her wedding, reports the epilogue.) Even better, there's a second family stain—the siblings are all actually illegitimate, because their father has a living first wife that he abandoned! And his son from that marriage, when not busy blackmailing the family, falling in love with Kate, and twirling his mustache, will also develop the hereditary insanity!

I'll be real with you, I actually love this story. It's got the psychological screw-turns that make a lot of Alcott's Very Problematic guilty pleasure stories so engaging, and (aside from the ableist premise rotting there at the core), the characters are portrayed with compassion. Kate stays with the family, villainous legitimate son included, as a loyal friend; the initial setup with Elinor was apparently based on Alcott's own experiences as a nurse/companion, and she has a great deal more sympathy for her characters than a lot of gothic-leaning writers. What "A Nurse's Story" illustrates for us, though, is how concretely mental illness was viewed as a family stain on the level of an original sin, something no one will ever escape, that will make even the kindest people erupt in violence, and something that must be prevented from propagating at all costs.

Like I said, though: I'm bipolar. I of all people know that these tropes are bullshit, and dangerous bullshit at that. I still love this story. Jane Eyre is one of my favorite books. We contain multitudes; we just also have to critique those multitudes. That's why I'm here writing thousands of words about this absurd vampire serial in the first place.

Now: let's take those ideas and jump back over to Varney:

"There may be insanity in this family," thought Charles, with such an exquisite pang of misery that he groaned aloud.

There may be insanity in this family, thought the potential father of Flora's children.

"Already," added Henry, mournfully, "already the blighting influence of the dreadful tale is upon you, Charles. Oh, let me add my advice to Flora's entreaties. She loves you, and we all esteem you; fly, then, from us, and leave us to encounter our miseries alone. Fly from us, Charles Holland, and take with you our best wishes for happiness which you cannot know here." "Never," cried Charles; "I devote my existence to Flora. I will not play the coward, and fly from one whom I love, on such grounds. I devote my life to her."

You're probably wondering why I brought racism up as well, ten million words ago. Well, because I think Rymer has given us visual cues as to why the noble Charles Holland is right to remain loyal to Flora. She's been coded as immune to any kind of metaphorical "stain," whether she's covered in blood or not. Look back at the very first chapter:

Now she moves, and one shoulder is entirely visible -- whiter, fairer than the spotless clothing of the bed on which she lies, is the smooth skin of that fair creature

Rymer intends us to understand Flora is intrinsically worthy of her fiancé's devotion: she is as white as the spotless bedlinen that she's being fetishized on. And I wish this were only a visual metaphor using the color spectrum of electromagnetic light, but I think we all know that the Victorians were racist as fuck. Readers of 1847 would have understood, consciously or not, the assurance of Flora's "fairness" that way. She's whiter than white; she might die nobly, but Charles Holland won't have to stuff her in the attic.

What I want to critique in this serial, to separate out, is to what extent Flora is presented as a heroine because of her whiteness, and to what extent that comes from her actions, such as shooting a vampire while everyone else is moping around a crypt. I think it could be incredibly useful to identify this, especially if you yourself are a writer, and infinitely more so if you are (like me) a white writer, to study what kind of bullshit you want to avoid in your work. (For that matter, ableism is another form of bullshit to to examine and avoid.) I'm going to be honest with you, writing about Twilight taught me more about characterization than any of the dozen writing classes I ever took, because I sat down on Livejournal and observed every single thing that I thought made Bella Swan annoying as hell, or Edward Cullen creepy as fuck (what I should have observed more: the werewolf "lore" being destructively racist), and I made mental notes: Do the Opposite of That. Now that I've found myself here in the middle of these tropes, that's what we're going to do. And if anyone ever adapts this for television, I would recommend that they cast Flora as a different race, but with the exact same "gentle maiden" personality, and portray a purity and sweetness that have nothing to do with skin color, no matter what Hunger Games fans thought.

But back to the story. Charles Holland is a man of action. Charles Holland has plans.

"Look you here, Henry: until I am convinced that some things have happened which it is totally impossible could happen by any human means whatever, I will not ascribe them to supernatural influence." "But what human means, Charles, could produce what I have now narrated to you?" "I do not know, just at present, but I will give the subject the most attentive consideration. Will you accommodate me here for a time?"

-- He is going to converse with Flora upon the subject

-- He will say nothing to add to her fears thereunto

-- He will touch base re: a paradigm shift with Henry's brother George, Mr. Marchdale, and Mr. Dr. Chillingworth to move the needle on some core competencies

-- He will tell Henry to buck up, until yea, Henry does rejoice in his command of executive function

And Charles Holland is able to do all this because Henry unwittingly Said A Thing: if there's "such a weight of evidence in favour of a belief in the existence of vampyres" that they are compelled to believe in their local ancestral vampyre, CHILLINGWORTH—then that means they can catch it. "It consists," not to put too fine a point on it, "of a revivified corpse," and in that case, Charles Holland would like a motherfucker to try it:

"By Heaven! if ever I catch a glimpse of any such thing, it shall drag me to its home, be that where it may, or I will make it prisoner."

FROM THE DESK OF CHARLES HOLLAND - ACTIONABLE ITEMS

-- The squad will take turns watching over Flora

-- All intrepid protectors will be ready to defend her, potentially with swords and/or crowbars

-- They will have the means of alerting the entire household to any unregulated vampyring

-- There will be a healthy and well-balanced schedule to make sure no one is overly deprived of sleep

-- He's gonna have a roster and everything

-- Forsooth, where is the coffee pot

Meanwhile, Henry's like, oh thank God, someone who knows what he's doing. When Charles Holland says he wants to sleep in the Vampyre Room, in hopes that maybe Sir Ancestor actually will drop by again, Henry is more than happy to show him right in.

I don't think Rymer meant this to sound as creepy as it does, but blowing up the word count by iterating over and over that Charles Holland wants to sleep in Flora's room, exactly the way she left it, with nothing removed, for reasons of his own, results in an unintended (unless...?) ick factor. Spoiler: The reason ends up being, to look at the Von Spookyportrait likeness. That's all. Probably.

In theory, Varney recaps go up on Fridays. I'd like to have the next one up before Dracula Daily kicks off again on May 5th. Send thoughts and vamprayers to me.

Varney the Vampire masterpost

[fangirlstorycreator]

Hey Bestie 🖤 I thought about a Max Parish scenario for you to write, cause I obviously adore your writings. Imagine we are his physiotherapist when he is in the wheelchair. And we work over month with him but then we're having a holiday and can't finish his therapy. And after a few month he comes back surprising us that he's walking again and asking us for a date cause he fell in love with us? I think he would be so cute. Take your time Bestie 🖤 🖤 🖤

Of courses bestie 🤗 thank you, I'm so glad you like my stories 💚 I hope you enjoy it 😊

You had been a physiotherapist for many years now, and had dealt with many different injuries on a variety of patients. However, your new patient was a bit of a handful. His name was Max Parish, and you were to give him mental and physical support after an accident happend, rendering him unable to use his legs. Luckily, it wasnt anything to major and with the right exercises, he should be back on his feet within a few months. You would help him onto his feet and guide him across a little platform that had a handrail on both sides, so he was able to hold himself up.

At the start, he was very down, and he felt quite depressed about the whole situation. He just wanted to shut the world out, but you had seen this before with your other patients, and understood why he was feeling like that. But you were calm and patient with him, allowing him time to get to know you and trust what you were doing was for his best interest. And before you knew it, he spoke to you, and treated you like a best friend. He was funny, and clever, and always made you laugh and smile. He wasnt like any other man you had met before, most men you knew, including previous boyfriends never made you feel happier that you do around Max.

He had that vibe about him, and you really enjoyed his company. Even to the point where you developed a crush on him. How couldn't you? His personality was so much like yours, and he was very tall, handsome, beautiful eyes and had stubble, you loved a man with a little stubble around his face, it looked sexy. He was nearly at the end of his treatment, only about 3 weeks left to go, when you had to break the news to him that another physiotherapist will be taking over. "What do you mean another physiotherapist? Why cant I complete my treatment with you?" "I'm sorry Max but I'm afraid this is the last day I'm going to be with you. You see I booked a holiday last year and I'm going tomorow night" "Where are you going?"

"I'm off to Greece for a month. My sister is getting married over there and when the wedding is over, she is going to another part of the island for her honeymoon, and she needs someone to take care of her 3 girls while shes away. So yeh, I'm on babysitting duty, but in a place where there is sun, sea and plenty of icecream's to keep them happy" "Well that sounds really great" But then his face turns a little sad. "I have to be honest, I dont want another physiotherapist, I like being with you" "As do I Max, but at least we have one more session before I go. Now, let's get you out of that chair" You both carry on with the session, and when its finished you both say your goodbyes.

You spend the next month in Greece, enjoying your sisters wedding and looking after your nieces. And once she came back, it was time for you to head back home. After a few days, you were back in work and ready to start your working day again. It was around about 1 o clock, just after your appointment with your second patient when you were sat at your desk typing out an exercise plan for one of your new patients. When there is a knock at the door. "Come in" you shout out, your very surprised when the door opens and Max walks in to your office, hes no longer in the chair.

"Wow Max look at you! Your all better, it's nice to see you again" "Its nice to see you too, I thought I'd drop by and you know, show you how I'm doing" He says playfully, while stretching his legs out and bending them, showing off his moves. This makes you giggle. "Well I'm glad your doing much better Max, but I must say im just a little confused? Your not in a wheelchair anymore, why are you back?" His full attention is back onto you, and he moves his hand to his head, removes his hat and is trying desperately to tidy up his hair. "Ah yes! About that! Well the thing is Y/N...I wanted to know if you were free for a drink tomorow night?"

Your a little shocked, you still had a crush on Max but you didnt think he liked you back. "Really?" "Yes Y/N. I uhhh... I wont lie, I've been crazy about you since we met. You were so patient with me when I was being a completely grumpy pain in the ass, and visiting you every Thursday was the highlight of my week" His kind words instantly make you blush. "I think your so beautiful, inside and out. And I'd love a chance to get to know you more and hopefully see if there is something hear. But uhhh if, if you dont want to..." You smile happily at him and say "Well, technically I shouldn't be going out with my patient" "Oh, oh I see..." You lean across your desk and smile at him. "But...your not my patient anymore....are you?" A proud smile spreads across Max's face. "Yes Max, I'd love to go for a drink with you" "Awsome!" Then you both share a laugh, before exchanging phone numbers, ready to make plans for your date.

[iguessilovebakugou]

In Search of Silver Linings, We Discovered Gold ||  Bakugou x Fem!Reader (x Shinsou) ||  Happier pt 3 ||  Series

I really feel like Sleeping At Last’s “Two” resonates with Shinsou in this one.  But also for the Reader towards Bakugou just like...in general.  Also, I would suggest Gang of Youth’s “Achilles, Come Down” as well. And Lauren Aquilina’s “Fools”. 

One day I’m going to make a playlist for this fucking series - and then you bitches will be sorry.  

I’m sorry it took so long to get this part out.  I feel like nothing I would write would live up to what I did 2 years ago now.  So I really hope that people like this one just as much as the others. 

Part One!  Part Two!

Word Count:  7.7K TW:  Smooching, Death Mention

“Hey, you okay?”

It should be so easy to explain to them what you were feeling.  They where there with you.  They went through the same thing you had, right?  You were right there with Ochaco, sat right by her side and watched her tell Mr. Aizawa...you should be able to just...

“Yeah,”  You offered Asui a bright smile.  “Just...tired.  These make up classes are just...they’re really killer, you know?”

The dorm had been quiet by the time the raid team had made their way home from their extra classes. Everyone had already gone to bed, the common area devoid of life by the time you had settled on the couches. And you were happy for it.  Ever since...well, it had been a bit harder to be around everyone.  It was hard to come to terms with the fact that after everything that had happened, happened.  And you were supposed to just...move on from it.  Keep going forward.  No time to process.

You pulled out your phone to check your messages.  You had hoped Shinsou would have at least texted you - but you had been left on read.  You tried not to be upset about it and instead, pretended to go to another app and check your messages there.  You even got comfortable and put an arm behind your head - yep, perfectly relaxed and not at all wanting to break down on the inside.  

Tsu’s big bright eyes stared down at you.  You wondered if she felt the same - if Kirishima, Izuku or Ochaco felt the same.  You wondered if sometimes, during class, they just lifted their heads, looked around at your classmates and felt...so out of place.  The only way you could describe it was like stumbling in the middle of a skit being performed in the middle of a park, and no one seemed to quite realize you weren’t actually an extra.

But you didn’t want to run the risk of looking at her.  If she looked at you, she might realize that you hadn’t come to terms with what happened - with Nighteye, Lemillion, with that poor girl, Eri.  And that wouldn’t do.  That might lead into her asking what was wrong.  And what were you supposed to do then?  Answer her honestly?  Come to terms with your feelings like a rational, level headed adult?

You?  Nah. Never.

“Yeah, you’re right.”  Once you were certain her back was towards you, you risked a glance in her direction.  

Your body ached, your eyes were sore, and your mind felt blank but busy at the same time.  You weren’t sure where to begin with everything, where to start with trying to catch up.  But this had become your norm, and as sad as it was, it felt like your body was accommodating to the drama that had become commonplace in your life.  You watched as she met Ochaco at the base of the steps leading up to the rooms.  She seemed surprised when you didn’t move to join them, turning to give you a concerned glance and a lip pout - for extra measure.  

You smiled, lifting up your phone and giving it a little wave.  “I think I’m just going to hang out down here before heading to bed.”

“Oh,”  She muttered softly.  “Okay, if you’re sure?”

You knew she wasn’t buying the act - whatever it was - in the slightest.  You knew Nighteye’s death hit her hard.  A lot harder than you.  As it should have - you had tried to use your quirk to defend her and Nighteye, only to be overpowered and rendered unconscious when it mattered most so you weren’t technically cognizant when she had made her getaway.  But it must have been terrible, holding a man in your arms as he died.   And yet here you are moping about it.  What gives you the right?

“Yeah, I’m sure.”  Another smile, this time a little wider.  “Got some videos to watch, don’t want to run the risk of waking anyone up.”

You turned, ending the conversation there.  You stared at your phone, sitting on the home screen and not bothering to look back once you heard them make the ascent up the stairs to their respective rooms.  It had been getting harder and harder to sleep these past few days and you couldn’t spend another restless night staring at the same four walls anymore.  Watching the same videos, rereading the same texts, you would go insane.  With an exasperated sigh, you tossed your phone to the side.  Hands found your face, fingers rubbing your eyes while reclining back, letting out a slow, low groan.

The lights in the common room were dim, just enough to find your way in case you stumbled down here in the middle of the night.  It was a small comfort, you figured to yourself, to have this moment alone.  To sit in the quiet and listen to the sounds of your friends around you, of the dorm settling snuggly down for another night’s rest.  And there you were, sitting by yourself in the common room.  Trying to decide if you were still mourning for a man you spoke to maybe a handful of times before you watched him get impaled on a spike or if you were ready to move on from it all.  Your head fell back limply against the edge of the couch, staring up at the ceiling as you tried to push any semblance of thought from your mind.  You just needed this one minute, one second for your entire world to just...stop running away from you.

If I could just get to him in time, maybe I could, I could help.  I could save him and be a hero and...

God, how dramatic could you get.  At least you hadn’t held the man in your arms as he lay dying.

With a sigh, you sat yourself back up and went back to your messages, pulling up the chat with Shinsou.  You hoped he was free.  Maybe even free enough to talk.  The empty feeling finding home in your chest was becoming too much.  You could use him, right now.  Maybe you could convince him to leave and come over.  You could watch a movie and just talk until you passed out.

Like friends did.

And if he was there, maybe it would so much easier to stay asleep. 

Hey.  We just got home.  Hope you’re...

Nope, delete.  Didn’t sound right.  

Hey!  You free right now?  I can’t sleep so

Nope, too eager.  

Shinsou, you loser get your ass over here

Nothing was coming out the way you wanted it to.  Nothing had ever sounded right.  You had so many things you wanted to say and yet never seemed to have the energy for it anymore.  Is this depression?  Do you have depression?  Do people who have depression know they have depression without being diagnosed with depression?  

You bit your lip, chewed on it until it grew sore and red and angry.  You needed your friend.  Your best friend.  Your only friend.  You missed hanging out with him, missed being able to text him weird shit and get a selfie of him looking bored at the camera just cause he knew it would make you laugh.  Cause you knew the weird shit you sent him made him laugh.  You wanted to see his face, to hear his voice.  You wanted it to go back before the dorms, back before whatever extra curricular thing he was doing.  But it wasn’t like he was doing this on purpose!  He was busy and you were just being fucking dramatic and needlessly stupid you didn’t even see Nighteye die but Deku did and he is holding himself together so much better and you would be okay if...if...

Why were you fucking crying now???????

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

“Hey.”

Given the recent events in your life, his gruff voice shattering the quiet of your isolation should have been expected.  Nevertheless, it still sent your heart skyrocketing into your throat.  You thought everyone had gone to bed and you could be a miserable wretch on your own time.  You jumped, sending your phone clattering to the ground and sliding under the coffee table.  The giant...granite...coffee table.  “Ah, shit, shit...”  You fell to your knees, trying to make a grab for it.  “Damn it, damn it, damn it.”

“I thought I would find you down here.”

Shinsou had hardly heard from you since the night you got back from the raid.  He had seen the news that something had happened.  When you didn’t answer his morning text, he just hoped you were just being your normal self.  When you didn’t show up at lunch, he feared the worst.  He paced his room, hardly ate, did nothing but refresh his news feed to see if your name flashed by as a causality.  He figured no news was good news but waiting to hear from you was the hardest thing he ever had to do.  And the fact you hadn’t told him you were going in the first place and had to find out about it by overhearing one of your classmates mention it?

Ample payback it seemed.  Secrets had become your duo’s new norm - and he hated it. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“We were told not to say anything to anyone.  I’m sorry, Shinsou.”

Your voice had sounded so off, so different in what little words you spoke.  Silence had never been so poignant until he experienced it from you.  As he laid in bed and stared at the phone on his pillow, his heart broke with each toss and turn he could hear from you.  He sat quietly, for that whole 2 hours as you tried to make sense of what you had just been through that day.  But you never said more than a few words and, even so, those were just a mask to hide the rest of the truth you wanted to keep hidden.  He listened, patiently, as you tried to place it all in order so you could begin to move past it.  

He hoped he had helped - in what little way he could.  In what minute way you had allowed him.  You were closing off and he so desperately wanted to cry out for you.  But he stayed quiet.  

And he felt entirely useless. 

He didn’t know exactly what happened; only what little information he had heard from Mr. Aizawa and even that had been bits and pieces.  Confidential, he said.  Bullshit, Shinsou thought.  If he was going to try to begin to figure out a solution to...whatever it was that plagued you, to lift your spirits, he needed to know exactly what happened.  But, when Shinsou had asked if you had been involved, if you were alright...?

“You’re friends with her, right?  She didn’t really seem to want to talk about it when I asked her after the fact.  But I figure that’s just because I’m her teacher.  Maybe you should be the one to check in on her instead.  She might actually open up to you.”

Open up to him.  

And that was the problem wasn’t it?  Something that always seemed to stand right between the two of you, pushing you in separate directions - opening up to each other.  It was a thought that occurred to him as he watched you spin your spoon around in your soup, but refused to eat.  The two of you had no problems talking, especially you.  You talked a lot, and he...didn’t.  You suited him fine.  More than fine.  

But what is talking if you’re not saying anything?  What was the point of being friends if you couldn’t even rely on each other to keep a secret, to lean on each other when everything seemed so fucking terrible.  Had he done you a disservice, hiding things from you?  Had he given you the impression that you couldn’t come to him for something so small as a crush on...ah, for something really small?  Had you transitioned from “don’t want to bother him with something silly” to “I can’t talk to him anymore period”?

Shinsou had always been the more straightforward one.  Where you seemed to be an endless supply of needless conversation and seemed to always dance around subjects, Shinsou was the one who could give it to you as plainly as possible.  And you knew that.  You knew him better than anyone, could understand him better than anyone.  

So when he didn’t give it to you as honestly, as plainly as he could have, it would stand to reason that you would be sent tumbling.

Shinsou - I really miss you and I don’t want to be alone right now but I don’t know what to do I just wish you were here

The text had come as a surprise.  Shinsou had been trying to sleep, but it was a rare commodity those days.  His mind swirled with thoughts of you.  Of how much he missed just you.  Your laugh, your stupid jokes.  Everything was starting to feel so hollow when he heard that soft ding from across the room.  To say he scrambled towards his desk where the phone lay charging was an understatement.  

I really miss you.

You were screaming for him and he hadn’t heard it.  You were sinking further and further and yet here he was, wondering and waiting for some sort of sign on what to do.  How he could fix it - but later.  He’s not strong enough now.  He’s not ready.  After he’s done with Aizawa.  After he’s a hero.  After after after.  Always cautious, always testing the waters.  

I just wish you were here.

You never waited, never paused, never hesitated.  When Bakugou was kidnapped, you rushed home and came up with a plan of action.  When you wanted to talk to him, you marched from your dorms, almost got into a fist fight, just to talk.  You were reckless in all the best ways.  In all the ways that made him want to scream, to touch you, to praise you, to love...to love you.

“I would be able to sleep if you answered your phone once in a while.”

He gripped his phone and hated that he had to draw one hand up to wipe his eyes.  Hated that his chest ached and hated that you even had to ask him.

“I wish you would have answered me.”

No more.  You would never have to ask him again.

He couldn’t pull his shoes on fast enough.  Before Shinsou could stop, rethink if this was a good idea, he was outside and making his way towards your dorm.  If he couldn’t help you now, when you needed it the most, when you were asking for him to pull you out from the waters...

His heart didn’t have the right to ache for you as much as it did. 

The two of you had done this so many times, Bakugou was surprised that you weren’t in the kitchen when he finally got down stairs.  The moment he got to the ground floor and saw you hunched over on the couch, his body froze.  

He had been hoping to have a bit more time to think of what he wanted to say.

“Is it just me, or has she not been the same since coming back from the raid?”

“No, I noticed it too.”

“Should we ask her about it?”

The frog grew quiet for a moment.  Bakugou had to strain to hear her response from down the hall.  “I think she’ll open up when she’s ready.”  She said softly.  “If we try to push the issue before then, it might just make matters worse.”

“Yeah,”  Uraraka responded, “I guess you’re right.  Still...I’m just worried.”

Worried.  For you.  

He didn’t want to think about why he was down in the commons, so late at night.  He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that seeing your shaking shoulders, hearing the fast gasps you were making, ripped his very state of being apart.  He watched you, eyes narrowed.

He didn’t like it.  He didn’t like that you were in this state at all.

“Hey.”

He expected you to jump - it was a good thing that you did.  He would drag you out of whatever rut you were in, kicking and screaming if he had to.  

You got to your knees, cursing under your breath and scrambling for whatever you had been holding.  Probably your phone.  Bakugou stepped around the couch, shoving his hands in his pockets.  “Figured I would find you down here.”

You didn’t pay him any attention.  In fact, as you tried to reach under the coffee table, you kept your head turned - enough to where he couldn’t see your face.  You kept cursing, kept trying to reach desperately.  He watched you for a moment, feeling the frustration rise up inside of him.  You were ignoring him.  Like he wasn’t even there.  Like he wasn’t standing in front of you.

“Hey!”

“SHHH!”  You snapped to attention, pressing a finger to your lips.  He tried not to stare for too long.  “Do you want to wake the whole dorm!?”

“You should be in bed.”

Your stare lingered on him, for just a moment.  He refused to break eye contact first, refused to back down from the daggers you were sending his way.  You let out a huff, going back to searching for whatever it was that you had dropped.  “Couldn’t sleep.”

Bullshit.  He could tell.  It was a fact that he didn’t like to pay much attention to: tiny mannerisms that caught onto his attention like a hook.  You generally were so bright, hardly ever short.  Low energy, but not tired?  Sure.

He waited another minute.  “The others just got home.”

The slight pause.  Heh - you were like a book.  So easy to read.  “Oh.”  You said so matter-of-factly.  In another beat, you were back to searching, still focusing your gaze on the far side of the wall.  “Yeah, I guess.”

“So unless you got sent back early, I doubt you’ve even had a chance to try and sleep.”

Your fingers clenched, your fist shaking against the granite top.  Your body pulled up and away, resting in a rigid position.  But you were still refusing to look at him; in fact, to ensure that he wouldn’t be able to see anything,  you put your face in your hand.  Still, you didn’t say a word, didn’t argue with him.  So he continued:  “I’m just saying, if you’re going to lie, at least keep track who you tell what.”

You didn’t respond.  And he wished it didn’t make him as angry as it did.  He wished that he had been able to stop the rage that bubbled in his stomach.  But he couldn’t.  He didn’t want you to hide anything from him.  He wanted you to feel comfortable telling him when something was hurting you.  After he laid it all bare for you a few weeks ago, you couldn’t be bothered to at least confide in him what the hell was going on in your tiny little world?

“...tch.”  Bakugou fingers slid under the edge of the coffee table.  “Grab the other side.”

You paused, turning to stare at him.  His eyes met yours and he saw so clearly how blood shot they were, your cheeks blotchy and burning.  You sniffled once, pushing a strand of hair back into place.  “Uh...wha?”

“Do you want your crap or not!?”

“Oh, yeah, uh...”  You pushed yourself up.  His eyes followed you as you stationed yourself on the other side like instructed.  “On three.  One-”

He didn’t bother waiting.  Up he lifted and you scrambled to meet him half way.

Just a little to the side - and the bright screen of your phone illuminated the living room.  It was closest to him, causing him to flinch just slightly when the glow blinded him.  He moved to grab it for you -

Before Bakugou could realize what was happening, your fingers brushed against his.  You both paused, your digits flinching away from him every so slightly.  He didn’t know if he should continue making the grab for it or if he should pull away.  He didn’t want to.  Your skin was so soft and warm and...

He could feel your eyes on him and almost was able keep his gaze away.  Almost able to hold off temptation.  But you were like that, weren’t you?  The light had dimmed, casting a soft glow over your features.  He wanted to look anywhere else - anywhere but at you.  But your eyes held his, demanded that he hold your attention.  He hated the soft sound that escaped him.  Hated the way his heart hammered in his chest as you stared at each other, fingers still touching ever so slightly.  

He shouldn’t feel this way about you.  But he did.

Bakugou pulled back with a grunt.  He could feel your eyes follow him as he stood back up and stepped away, away from you.  Why did you do this to him?  Why did you manage to make him the worst of himself?  Lord Explosion Murder - reduced to a sniveling little puppy, eager to please because a girl he kind of thinks is pretty sometimes makes him feel like he’s going to throw up.  

His fingers shook.  He shoved them back in his pockets to hide the evidence.

You plucked the phone off the ground and immediately hit the lock screen to turn the light off.  You were once against standing alone in the dark, though he could see you plainly.  Neither of you said a word.  He wished he could say something, not scream it but just say it.  His mind strained to find something meaningful to say to you, something catching or just enough to keep you distracted from your thoughts.  But you had the knack for words - he didn’t.  All he could do was leer at you, waiting for you to start conversation.  You always had something to say.  

You silently slipped your phone in the pocket of your skirt.  

There was something different about you.  A wall that was keeping you from him.  Maybe the girls’ concern for you had weight behind it.  You still didn’t look at him, eyes downcast.

He had hoped, that night in the kitchen, that things might have been different.  That maybe...someday...

“You got your damn phone.  Now go to bed.”  He turned on his heels and made his way back towards the stairs.  He was done.  He helped you out enough.  

Sometimes you were too much.  Messed with his head and pulled his mind in so many different directions, he forgot which way was up because right there with you was where he wanted to be. 

“Why do you want to be a hero?”

Your voice cut through the silence of the dorm like a knife.  He hadn’t expected you to speak up now, though it fit you.  Question, make him stay; just when he decided to leave.  And of course, because you asked him to stay - he would.

“What kind of stupid question is that?”

“Humor me.”

He regretted coming down here to talk to you.  He should have just stayed in the comfort of his room.  “Why?”

“Humor.  Me.”  

His eyes narrowed.  Even if you wrapped yourself around him, brought him to his knees and groveling in your steps, no one spoke to him like that.  He spun around, snarl behind gritted teeth.  Who the fuck did you think you were talking to?

Then he paused.

You were watching him and the hollow expression on your face shoved the rage back down into his stomach.  With just a glance, you quelled that fury.  Another noise, another shock. Then your eyes softened and your shoulders slumped.  You remembered where you were, who you were talking to...no...no, you had never been afraid to talk to him like that.  Never afraid to meet his attitude head to head.  So what was different now?  “Please,” You added on, quietly.

What the hell happened to you?

Why did he want to be a hero?  

“To be number one.”

“Is that it?”

I don’t know anymore.  He didn’t like this line of questioning.  Bakugou was a smart kid - he could tell this conversation wasn’t going to be like the last one the two of you had.  No tea, no gentle touches.  The wounds were infected now and he felt shame burrow deep.  You had something you wanted to say, but something else was keeping it trapped, holding you back from being honest with him.  “What are you getting at?”

You fell quiet, letting his eyes take you in.  With a sigh, you turned and sat back down on the couch.  Your body folded in on itself, your hands grasping your arms, shaking fingertips digging into the fabric of the white dress shirt you were wearing.  “Nothing.”  You said finally.  “Just...thinking.  About things.”

You thought a lot about a lot of things.  Perhaps a little too much for too long.  You were receding back into your thoughts, pulling away from him again.  While he didn’t enjoy the feelings that being around you brought, losing you to your own headspace wasn’t something he would do tonight.  Or...any night.  His feet carried him back to the couch.  With a groan he sat down beside you.  “Well, then say it out loud.”

You let out a laugh that sounded too much like a sneer.  “Yeah.  Okay.”

It took everything in him to not reach out and grab you.  “I’m being serious.”

“I know.”

He just wanted to fucking help you.  “So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Like you had helped him.  “Whatever the hell that’s going on.”

A moment passed before you pulled your eyes back to his.  Finally, you were back in the present - back in that room with him.  Suddenly, you were aware that he had stationed himself beside you, so close your arms were a breath away from each other.  And there was a moment of panic in your eyes.  

You smirked, “Oh, are you playing therapist now?”

“Shut up!”  He bellowed.  “And tell me what the hell is going on before I change my mind!”

Your laugh was bitter, but it was something.  You used your hands to push your hair back out of your eyes, “...okay.”  You started...then fell quiet again.  He could hear you swallow the regret, the shame, the fear.  He watched as you struggled to put to words everything spinning around you.  “I don’t think I belong here.  At all.”

There were a million things Bakugou would have thought you could have said.  That...wasn’t one of them.  He had never thought of you not here.  What would that look like?

“I look at everyone here: Kirishima and Uraraka and Tsu and Deku...and I just can’t seem to find a place to put myself.  Among the rest of our class.”  His brows furrowed as you spoke.  He watched as your expression shifted with each word - angry and bitter and lost and upset.  “Like, you all are able to keep your heads held high, keep looking forward and never seem to let things drag you down.  I...I just don’t think I can do that.  So...”  You shrugged, swallowing harshly.  “Maybe I don’t deserve to be here if I can’t handle it...not like everyone else can.”

This wasn’t about the raid - that was just a catalyst.  It obviously struck a chord with you.  

“That’s stupid.”  

Another laugh.  This one tear filled but honest; and so, so bittersweet.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you’re absolutely right.  It’s pretty pathetic, huh?”

“No, you idiot.  It’s stupid because you’re wrong.”

You stared at him, mouth agape.  Then, in a second, your eyes narrowed, your lips thinned and your expression darkened.  He couldn’t help but feel the pride bubble in his chest:  You had realized you weren’t going to avoid this.  Not with him.  Not when he could help you.  He closed his eyes, figured it best to keep you out of his sight until he finished.  

“Look, you moron.  If you want to be angry or sad about whatever the hell happened back there, fine.  Do it.  But what good is wallowing in your own self pity if you’re not going to do anything about it?!”

Your voice shook as you spoke.  “Okay fine - then what should I do, Bakugou?”

His eyes snapped open, lips parted in surprise at the question.  There was an edge to your expression, daring him to answer.  Daring him to suggest something.  Blow it up?  Yell at it?  Fight it until it gives up?  But where would you start?  It wasn’t a real person - you couldn’t threaten it to back down.  Eyes scoured the floor for a response, searched desperately to find something - a strand of advice - to give you.  But he had nothing.  

“Yeah,”  You moved, pushing yourself off the couch.  You snatched your bag with such force it almost swung around and hit him in the face.  “That’s what I thought.  You don’t have an answer either.”

Shit.  Shit. He watched you as you skirted past his legs, intent on burying everything again.  If he let this go - let you go - you might actually do it.  You might actually leave UA - leave everyone in Class 1-A, leave your dream, leave...him. 

“It’s fine.”  You added, making your way towards the stairs.  “I’ll be fine.”

But he knew that was a lie.  Everything about this situation was a lie.  You wouldn’t be fine if he let you go upstairs, left you along with those thoughts of inadequacy, and if you kept falling lower and lower...?

“Hey.”  

You paused in front of the elevator...then pressed the button, it’s soft white glow sending panic down Bakugou’s spine.  The only thing he could see of you in the dark was the back of your head, the way your chin dipped just so lightly to your chest.  You weren’t going to respond if he didn’t do something.  He didn’t want this conversation to end - not like this.  What would All Might say?  What would Kirishima say?  What would Deku say?

What would you say?

“You never told me:  Why did you agree to go on that raid?”

There was a moment of pause before you turned and glanced over your shoulder at him.  There was a confused expression on your face, your eyes scanning him to try and figure out just what he was playing at.  “I told you why I wanted to be a hero.”  It was a challenge.  Stay and face this.  “Now tell me why you went on that stupid raid.”

“Don’t get too worked up about this.”  Mr. Aizawa - no, Eraserhead - had said.  “The Big Three are one thing:  They’re strong enough to hold their own out there with the Pros.”  He called you all out by name.  Asui, Uraraka, Kirishima and you.  “You didn’t volunteer for this and you’re not obligated to participate.  It���s your call.”

It had been your call.  Your decision.  The Pros wouldn’t have shoved you into a situation you weren’t ready for.  The four of you had known that it was not necessary for you to go above and beyond what you had already done.  It was going to be dangerous, and you needed to not only be physically capable, but mentally as well.  

You should have waited, weighed the odds, thought about it for a moment longer.  

Your call.  Your choice:  Save a little girl who was in danger or back down.  Be a Hero or refuse to answer the call.

Well...the choice was simple than wasn’t it?

You hadn’t been capable.  You screwed up.  Once again jumping deeper into a situation than you should have.  You weren’t like your friends.  

You weren’t like them at all.

“Mr. Ai- I mean, Eraserhead!  After everything we just heard, I can’t imagine not helping out, sir!”

Someone who could raise their head and keep it held high.  Who could look danger in the eye and refuse to back down.

“Yeah, if you’re going to let us be apart of this, I’d like to pitch in however I can!”

Who saw someone and danger and threw themselves into the line of fire.  Who reached out a hand and kept holding on, long past the last scrap of energy was gone. 

"If I can use my power to help that girl even a little bit, then count me in Eraserhead!”

They were heroes.  You weren’t like them.

You stood up, nodding earnestly.  Your look was stern, your eyes hard as you looked at Eraserhead.  You were equals - at least in this moment.  “Yeah,  heroes save people - so I’ll do my best to make sure that girl is safe!”

You could feel Bakugou’s eyes pick you apart and put you back together.  Looking at him made you sick, made you want to crawl into yourself and rot.  But...with a soft sigh, your eyes casted up, trying to keep the tears from falling again.  You had thought you had done all your crying.  God, his face in the dark was a slight comfort.  His eyes practically glowed in the low light of the common room.  His dark t-shirt hung around his shoulders, his hair was a wild mess, sticking up in every direction.  And he just watched you.  No malice, no rage, just...waiting.  

Waiting for your answer.  

Why did you agree to join the raid?

To save that little girl.  Because that’s what heroes do. 

But...

“After my fight with Deku, you sat with me.  You didn’t have to do that either. So why?”

Arms gripping your hoodie, squeezing you for dear life.  His whole body trembled under your touch.  Tears as he begged for forgiveness that you couldn’t give him.  But you wanted to - because it would mean his pain would be put at ease.  If you couldn’t give him what he needed, what he longed for, you would at least be there for a moment longer than the tears would fall.  You just needed him to know he wasn’t alone.  You needed Katsuki Bakugou to know you were there for him, no matter what.

“And with the League attack?  You weren’t with Kirishima and them.  You went off on your own, to try and save me.  Why?”

They wouldn’t see how hard he worked.  How much he wanted to be a hero.  And if they hurt him, if he refused and the villains hurt him?  If they took that away from him…?  All of his hopes and dreams?

No.  No, you weren’t going to let that happen.  

You had to bite you lip to keep it from shaking.  Bakugou was listing off all your fuck ups as if they mattered.  As if they were helping his case.  As if they were something you should be proud of.  You considered telling him, making him aware that even in those moments, you still failed:  you got knocked out during the raid, during the fight with the villains, and that you hadn’t done much besides give him a hug in the kitchen.  You weren’t doing much.

Deep breath, look away.  His face was too much.  It was too honest, trying to grab at you and hold you still.  He could almost convince you that you did something besides hinder those who had a better chance of being a Hero.

“You do half the shit you do because you’re a good person.  You want to help people.”  Movement caused you to glance his way.  He turned to sit back down on the couch.  “As stupid as it is, I guess it’s pretty admirable.”

‘Pretty admirable’?  He - Katsuki Bakugou - thought it was admirable.  You opened your mouth, but after a long moment of silence found you had nothing to say, so you closed it again.  You hated that even without speaking, you were losing this fight.  “So does everyone else.”  You replied weakly.  It didn’t make you special.  It didn’t make you any different.

“That so?”

“Yeah.”

“Than wouldn’t that mean you belong here with all the other losers looking to be a Hero to protect people?”

Ding!

Behind you, the elevator opened.  

A soft gasp escaped your chest.  So...that’s what he was doing.  Leave it up to him to talk you around into a circle before shoving your argument back into your face...no, he hadn’t been nearly as harsh as you had expected.  He was speaking so softly to you, being as gentle as he knew how - which granted, wasn’t much, but appreciated none the less.  One shouldn’t look a gift explosion in the mouth.  

You looked at the elevator over your shoulder, stared at it’s open doors.  

You let them shut.

For the first time since that raid, you smiled.  Really, honestly smiled.  You set your bag down against the wall.  The walk back to the couch was the lightest you had felt in a long while.  You sat down next to him, resting your hands on your knees and one by one, you tapped your fingers against your skin.  With a deep breath, you felt your shoulders relaxed.  You weren’t surprised he was able to help.  “I guess...technically...using that logic...you’re not wrong.”

Bakugou scoffed, closing his eyes and tossing his head back.  “Of course I’m not wrong.”

You chuckled, shaking your head.  “How could I have ever thought to argue with you? Truly a futile effort to begin with.”

His smirk was quick, a slight twitch in the corner of his mouth before he grunted and looked away.  The prickly exterior he generally used to conceal himself was growing back into place and you couldn’t help but laugh.  You had been so wrapped up in your own bullshit that you almost forgot how much he made your heart skip.  As you looked over his profile, you realized that you were entirely thankful for Bakugou and not just in that moment.  You had been so stuck in your pit, sinking lower and lower that you didn’t think you’d ever get out of it.

But like everything, he broke the glass ceiling and shot through.  Only this time, he snatched you up and pulled your head to the surface.  Even if for a moment, you could breathe because he was holding your head above the water.  

You leaned over and bumped his shoulder with yours, nudging him warmly.  He ruined expectations again by waiting a moment before doing it back to you.  

He was so warm, his skin amazingly soft.  It lit your chest aflame and your cheeks grew pink - but you didn’t move.  The two of you leaned against each other but said nothing about it.  How did you find yourself here?  You had been close to him before but this was different in a way that didn’t seem to make any sort of sense.  And...you kind of like that it didn’t.  Because it didn’t have to.  You realized that sometimes, when it was just the two of you, as few as those “sometimes” may have been, you simply wanted it to just...be.  

You shouldn’t want to be so close to him, not now.  Would it be in poor taste?  Would he think less of you if he knew?  Did he know?  Did he feel the same way?  You were certain that if he looked over at you, looked into your eyes he would...at least see something.  You weren’t sure exactly what it was, but it was enough to cause your knees to knock and your chest to ache.  And you wondered if he would see how much your fingers longed to reach out and touch his body, draw him close and...  

But that didn’t matter.  Not now. 

You looked down at your hands.  If you...wanted to try...wanted to see if...this was something you could have, you would have to take the first leap.  Bakugou wasn’t going to do it.  He wasn’t going to be the one who dove head first.  But was now the perfect time?  Would there ever be a perfect time?  After having him strip your defenses, tear you down, build you back up - should you wait?

You spared another look, hoping that you might find confidence in his being.  

Your eyes met.  He was looking at you too.

No.  No, you weren’t waiting.  Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t someone you waited for.  If you were going to do this, see if he felt the same way you felt - all the crazy heart skips and lingering glances when the other wasn’t looking - you had to do this now.  

Gathering all your courage, you moved your hand and offered it to him.  His eyes tore away from your face then down at your open palm.  The universe held it’s breath, watched eagerly...as he slid his fingers between yours.  His calloused digits scratched at your skin lightly, his palms were a little clammy and...

Bakugou held you firm, grasping you tightly.  Desperate and scared and you remembered everything that lead you to this moment.

“That Bakugou kid likes you.”

Wild hair haloed in the setting sun peeking above the tops of overgrown trees.  Everyone around you disappears when his arms wrap around you.  He holds your hands, guiding the knife as he helps you chop.

“Out of all those losers, I was glad you were there.”

It felt like something was dragging you to him, tugging your body towards his.  He wasn’t stopping you, he wasn’t yelling or screaming or pushing you away.  He just watched, eyes narrowed and darkened under his hair.  Was he waiting to see what you would do?  Was he too scared to move on his own?  You reached out, gliding your fingers over his sandy blonde locks and brushing them out of the way so you could see his face.  Fingertips drifted down and over his cheek, trying to offer the same warmth he filled you with.  

Defiantly, a daring look in his eye, he pressed his cheek into your hand.  If you’re going to do this, then mean it.  Everything about him made you want to scream, drove you mad.  He always fought - and you saw now, that this whole time...he was fighting for you.  Fighting to let you know.  Had you been so entirely blind all this time?  

You wanted to say something, to let him know that you saw.  But words were wrong, thin, pointless and empty.  Nothing you could say would ever be enough to let him know how you felt.  So you would give all of you and hope that it was enough for him.

Without waiting another moment, you pressed your lips to his.  It was a deep and heavy action, one that he met with passion only he could muster.  You closed your eyes and lost yourself into his taste, the heat of his lips, his very presence.  It was a rush, one that sent you spinning - derailed all train of thought.  All that mattered was him.  All that lived in this universe was you and him.

His arm snaked around your waist, pulling you up and over him and you were happy to follow.  You didn’t dare break away, to lose the contact that you obviously both had been longing for.  Your fingers found their way into his hair, twisting and tangling.  Never once did he pull away - quite the opposite.  He met you, every press of your lips, every motion of want and desire, laid bare in front of both of you.  And as you felt his finger graze over the skin on your back, dipping under your dress shirt to set the nerves there on fire, you realized both of you were utter fools.

It’s an awful thing: knowing you’re not enough.  Wanting something so badly, but no matter how much you long for it, it still slips through your grasp.  Of knowing that nothing you could have done would have changed the outcome.

He should have stayed in his dorm.  He should have never looked at his phone.  He should have never told you about Bakugou.  

He should have never let you get so close.  

It was by chance he glanced at the window looking into the common room, hand poised in front of the door.  At first, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking at - two shadowed masses, one on top of the other.  But then, he saw your face.  His heart wrenched when you pulled away from Bakugou.  A scream locked in his throat the way you smiled at him, soft and loving.  He hated the look in your eyes as you ran your thumb over his lips, as he slid his fingers into your hair to pull you back for more. 

Something Shinsou couldn’t have.  Someone he wasn’t enough for.

He didn’t linger on the steps for too long.  He feared you would see him and then - then you would have to talk.  He wasn’t sure he would be able to handle that, not with Bakugou behind you.  

The walk back to the dorm was a long one and he was surprised he made it into his room without incident.  It was late enough though, most of his classmates were asleep and the rest had retired to their rooms.  No one knew he was gone.  His mind was utterly blank until the locked clicked shut.

He didn’t realize he had punched the wall until his hand pulled back, sliced open.  Blood pooled and ran down his arm.  But it wasn’t enough.  It didn’t stop him from replaying that scene in his head over and over again.  The way you two were looking at each other, the soft touches, gentle smiles...

He slumped to the floor and let out one pitiful sob.  

What was he supposed to do now?

Author’s Note:  I honestly watched Cats the 2019 musical and then wrote Shinsou’s part because I’ve been having a pretty good week honestly so I wasn’t in the headspace for honest disappointment.  

I just needed something to remind me that happiness is fleeting and something terrible and awful will usually come and destroy what you know and love most in this world.  Drag your joy through the mud until the only thing left is a shell of what once was.

...who let’s Hooper direct shit?

Anyway.  I do think I’m going to lead into a part 4 for this one.  I don’t know.  I’ll let you guys decide if you want something more lol since I’m interested in continuing it.  Especially given the newer chapters. 

Also eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeey, kissing scene.  First real one on this blog anyway and not a kiss mentioned in passing.  And look, it only took me a year or so to do it. :)  I’m a fantastic mod of this blog who gives people what they want and doesn’t focus on stupid shit in the slightest why are you guys here you should have left me on the street corner where I was standing

Tag List!  If you want to be added, let me know!

@snaspants​ | @purplebellybell | @sxlenced-xf-lxvers​ | 

[honesthammie]

Prompt 39: Death wants you to be terrified. But the scariest thing is wanting death.

13th Doctor x female curvy reader

Warnings: mentions of suicidal thoughts, alcohol and drug abuse, domestic abuse, fat phobia

I'm sorry for this. Its really depressing and I've been hesitant on letting you guys see it but I kinda like how it's written. I've made the abuser gender neutral as females can also be abusive. I promise the next one will be much happier!

"Come on (y/n), you can make it! Just jump across and reach for my hand. I promise you won't fall." The Doctors voice echoes across the widening canyon. If you looked down, you would only see pitch black. You didn't know how long you'd fall. Maybe this would be the perfect time to just go for it. Its not like you'd matter, you're only slowing the team down as is.

They wouldn't even be in this mess if you didn't slip and hit the world shattering drill, turning it on full blast. Unfortunately, you smashed the button making it unable to turn it off. Of course the only way you'd be able to turn it off is to actually go towards it. Everyone in the room screamed at you and some raised their tentacles to attack you if the Doctor didn't step in front of you. You know the Doctor noticed you flinching and your eyes gloss over and noticed you bracing for the impact.

You learned over the years to just accept your fate. You can't run from anyone when you weighed this much. You couldn't hide either, which often left you to just accept what was coming and hope nothing broke. Bruises were always easy to cover and so were any cuts but broken bones, that was always on display and you'd have to break your number one rule: never lie. You hated lying. The truth always comes out anyway so why hide it? If you hide it, you get punished worse anyway so why bother?

If you jumped and actually went with the team, you'd get questioned about earlier and about hesitating at jumping. But if you fell, would the Doctor miss you? As much as you hated to admit it, you were absolutely in love with the adorable alien. Why did you hate to admit it? Because she was a goddess and you were a waste of skin and bones. You weren't skinny and you didn't fit in with the team at all. You were only here out of pity.

You remember when you first met the team. You were the only person alive when they searched underneath the hotel. Even the spiders didn't want you. You were at the hotel because you heard about killer spiders and you wanted an out. You could never do it or something would come up stopping you from ending all your misery. You were the complete opposite of the Doctor. She was so brave and said whatever she wanted and didn't really care for the consequences.

You focused on the Doctors sparkling eyes. Despite the situation, she still sparkled with hope and encouragement. She wasn't upset with you. You really wished she was. This would be such an easier decision to make. Your head was pounding and your heart was going faster than her two hearts. Did you even want her upset? You couldn't tell, your head was spinning wildly, one thought going to another without a chance to process the last one.

You had come to a clear decision. You ran back and let momentum do its thing as your feet left the muddy gravel. You felt so free as you glided in the air for a few seconds. It was the most beautiful feeling. No punishment, no tears before going to sleep and no terror of going back home. Just you and gravity.

Then with a clearer mind you regretted your choice. You were horrified. You weren't ready. It wasn't time yet. Graham can't lose you. He'd only recently lost his wife. He'd feel the same as you and that thought terrified you. He'd survived cancer and gained himself a new family. He can't be like you. Ryan needed him, wether he was willing to admit that or not.

Suddenly you panicked and last minute reached your hand out hoping you'd grab something. Anything. You felt a soft warm object and latched on for dear life. You were then lifted up and onto soil. You focused on your breathing a moment and waited for your heart to calm down. You looked up and saw what, or rather who, saved you. You shouldn't have been so surprised to see the Doctors worried face above yours. She gave you a questioning look, knowing the question, you nodded your head and she straightened herself and helped you up.

"That was great (n/n)! So brave of you! Let's go gang, we've gotta turn this drill off before it splits the planet in half!" She shouted as she ran forward, seemingly knowing the way. She didn't let go of your hand until you reached the drill about 10 minutes later. You couldn't help the blushthat formed on your cheeks. The Doctor quickly opened a panel on the side of the drill.

The drill was massive, bigger than the Eiffel Tower and that what was on surface level, it went down much deeper that it had reached halfway to the liquid nitrogen that ran in this cold planet where our magma centre would be. The drill itself was purple and spherical. The panel box was the size of a human head which was about the size of the civilisations sucker pads. Inside were 3 buttons and 1 lever. You needed to type the pattern that would gain the access to the drill and force stop. If it goes wrong, it speeds up rendering this planet uninhabitable.

You watched as the Doctor quickly typed the pattern in. Red,blue,red,red,red,blue,black,black,blue. That was the pattern she quickly pressed in and held the lever down for 10 seconds. Soon the drill came to a halt and the planet was peaceful once again. You all let out a sigh of relief as it stopped.

You made your way back to the chief of the race and explained that they should dismantle and never use that drill again unless they plan to empty the panet of everything it has within. He quickly agreed and the fam made their way back to the TARDIS.

As soon as tye TARDIS was parked on the edge of your solar system, you got into your comfy clothes ready to nap or maybe play a few games to slow your adrenaline until you were tired enough for a full nights rest. You played a few rounds of uno and some poker where you used some bits of metal instead of chips. Eventually everyone had left except you and the Doctor.

You made your way to the doors of the ship and settled down just watching the stars in front of you. If the sentient machine hadn't already been aware of your darkest thought, you would have jumped out there and been amongst them. Just floating eventually turning to nothing but bones drifting, maybe to never be found. All the sights you've seen and yet this is where you were the most impressed. This was your home, your galaxy and because of all the light pollution, you had never been fully aware of how many neighbours you had because you had been literally blind. This was only stuff captured and faked and now, it's forever in your mind.

You heard movement and a shuffle next you. You knew who it was because she was the only other person awake and you knew she was going to ask and not let it drop until you tell her truth. And you were going to give her it but that doesn't mean you were ready to do so but you had to, someone had to know. Maybe you wanted help or maybe just someone to listen and know everything making you mentally naked in front of them.

The Doctor waited a few moments. She was figuring out how to word it without sounding horrible. "Is everything alright at home?" She asked her voice laced with genuine concern. "Sorry if this sounds a bit abrupt but let me explain. You've been really weird lately. You hardly speak and when you its with as few words as possible, you keep going elsewhere mentally and Rassilion forbid anyone getting angry with you! I also noticed how you hesitated today when jumping and I saw your worry and panic when you jumped. I think I know but I can't help you if you don't at least tell me what is going on! And don't change the subject or anything, just answer me please. I lo-. I can't lose you too." Her voice raised a little as she panicked just speaking about it. Halfway through she grabbed both of your hands and continued her speech.

You looked deep into her eyes for any sign of a lie but there wasn't one. Just like at the canyon, her eyes showed nothing but love. Maybe you should tell her, just her. No Yaz, no Graham and no Ryan. Just you, The Doctor and the TARDIS. You looked away for a moment as you collected your thoughts. However, as you opened your mouth and tried to speak, you found no voice. You couldn't tell her about them. Lord knows what she's capable of. But you've been looking for an out for so damn long. Maybe this is it. She's your out, no death involved.

You walked towards a panel in the console and pushed your hands inside and focused. You focused on the worst time it happened. You concentrated on the fear and everything attached. You couldn't tell her, but you could show her. The TARDIS disappeared into the vortex but didn't seem so sure on landing. She was picking it all up, she felt everything you did and she did not like going. "Please baby girl, I need her to know. I need help but I can't tell her. She's my only out that doesn't involve death and that terrifies me! Please. I understand your hesitation but she needs to see." You spoke mentally to the sentient blue box. She made a sad sound as she gently landed in the moment.

The Doctor looked at you bewildered. Her eyes were wide and her mouth agape. You walked up to her and grabbed her hand reassuringly. You led her to the doors that separated her from your darkest secret. You took a deep breath and slowly opened the door.

You appeared to be in the basement of your house. You walked up the stairs and took her to a storage room where she could see it happen. You sat in silence for a few minutes only the sounds of breathing and your heartbeat could be heard.

You knew this day off by heart, it plagued your nightmares often. It all started to sweet and went sour so quickly. At this time you were currently on your way back from doing your weekly shop to Tescos making sure you didn't forget their vodka and gin on your way to pay. Thankfully, the shop was only 10 minuets away and you doubted that the TARDIS would make you wait longer than nessacary. Just as the Doctor opened her mouth to speak the door opened and in walked an 18 year old you.

You set the bags down and started sorting the items into their new places. The canned foods go in the cupboard and the meat goes into the fridge. There were loads of food and stuff to go through and place properly. After you placed the last can of baked beans into the cupboard, the door swung open, nearly breaking the door.

They came home from their dealers place early. They stunk of weed and alcohol and had a little white powder around their nose. They looked like they had a good time until they had to come home. It was their dealers birthday so he was having a brothel themed party meaning there were strippers, pole dancers and prostitutes as well. The dealer was a rich guy who practically ran this city. The cops couldn't do anything as he could always bail himself out of jail.

They looked you in your comfy clothes and scoffed. They looked angry. "Why aren't you in your normal clothes babes? I thought I told you to throw away all of that shit. Come on now. Don't tell me I wasted all my well earned money on those clothes I specifically chose for you?"

You shuddered, both in the past and now except now they only made bile rise into your throat. You were so young and vulnerable. Now you know better.

The past you quickly scampered off to get changed. After only 5 minutes you reappeared in what was sexy school girl. The blue miniskirt covered less than most underwear so you were forced to wear a thong. The shirt was a bralet that barely covered your nipples. Your hair was in pigtails and you wore thigh highs. The sight made you silently sick in your mouth. You looked pathetic and weak.

You looked at them expectingly. You were waiting for your next order from them. They seemed to drool at the sight of you. "That's better babes. Why didn't you go shopping like that? Show the world your fat ugly figure? I want you to walk out there and see that no one else wants you but here I am, loving you. I am the only one who will ever like you in the way we have now. Your lucky I've had some fun tonight. All I want is my vodka and a new blunt darling"

You quickly went and grabbed their stuff and walked towards them as they settled in front of the TV. They turned the TV on and put Love Island on. How you hated that show. It made you feel bad for being the size you are. The women on there were beautiful but you also knew that, that kind of beauty costs money. So while your partner had fun watching the show for the romance, you watched it to spot what part of them was bought and what was real. Almost all the women had fake teeth and breasts. You hated how your partner would make snide comments on how they looked compared to you.

"You should be looking like Becky ya know. Beautiful teeth, big perky tits and a fucking great ass. What do you have? Flabs!" And there was the first comment of the day. The first of 30, you counted.

"Yeah well you are fucking broke so I can't look like fucking fake ass Becky or the others!" You thought. Then the Doctor gave you a look of shock and pity and then you realised you said that aloud. Not loud enough for them to hear you but enough for the Doctor.

"Make yourself fucking useful and make me some dinner. I fancy a steak and chips." They ordered as you got up and waddled over to the kitchen. A few minutes in you realised you put too much oil in the pan for the steak but the steak was already in and cooking quick. So quick that it started to smoke just a little bit. You tried blowing it away from them before they realised that you fucked up their dinner but ut was too late. They were already on their feet a marching towards you.

"I'm so sorry. I accidentally poured too much oil in. I'm so sorry. I have a spare steak, you can have my meal for tonight, I could do with skipping a meal anyways, helps me lose weight!" Past you was panicked and present you wasn't much better. Even though you were safe from them, they still made you uneasy. If you were to ever see them again, you'd freeze. They made your blood run cold. Even their voice sent unpleasant shivers down your spine.

"You better make me another steak but I still have to punish you. You fucked up, a lesson needs to be learnt." They said scarily politely. They grabbed your left arm and marched you towards the sink. They also grabbed the burning pan and pinned you so you had no escape as they poured the boiling oil onto your skin. You knew not to scream do you bit into your other arm knowing a bite out of it is better than causing more punishments for screaming.

When they were done left to watch the TV and you knew what that meant. You had to cook the spare steak and make there meal before you can get proper treatment at the hospital. Through your tears of agony, you quickly ran your burnt and bleeding arm under the cold water of the sink. You bit deeper into your other arm and tasting blood, but thay didn't stop you until the left one had cooled down. Then you got an old shirt, ripped 2 pieces of fabric off and wrapped them around both arm Injuries. You then continued their meal.

Once they had the meal they kicked you and punched you in the stomach because the chips were slightly cold and then they drove you to the hospital as they promised. When you had left you didn't realise you had been crying until a drop fell on your arm. You walked out of the storage room and sat on the sofa, turning the TV off.

The Doctor looked shocked for a moment before walking over and kneeling in front of you. The Doctor went silent for a moment. Before she could speak, you decided to speak first.

"I couldn't tell you because I couldn't think if a nice way of telling you. I didn't want to appear weak to you." You cried as your voice cracked in the middle due to the tears and the strain. The Doctor looked at you in pity and disappointment.

"This does not make you weak. Being abused does not make you weak. Because being abused is like being tortured by someone who supposed to love you and cherish you. They are meant to protect you from danger not be the danger. I would never hurt you. I know that I put you in risky situations but believe me, I would never intentionally put you in danger. You mean too much to me" The Doctor softly spoke with tears making a little river down her soft cheeks and onto your black carpet below.

"Before I met them, I was like you or Yaz. I was so happy at everything. Very little could bring me down. But I met them and started dating them and suddenly, my world of sunshine faded to grey. There was no light. I wanted to die Doctor. When you found me at that spider hotel, I wanted to be free from them as I couldn't do it. I can't because they'd kill me. I don't want to be alive whilst I'm with them. I have so many scars from either them or me trying to end my own life and that the scariest thing. Death wants us to be terrified but wanting to die is so much more terrifying Doctor, I know that." You cried as you emptied all you could to her. The Doctor was silent for a moment, taking in everything you said. Waves of emotion flashed through her, anger, sadness, pity and something you couldn't quite place.

"You said wanted. That's past tense. You said wanted to die. What changed? What made you want to live?"

"You did. You saved me from the spiders. You gave me a temporary out of the relationship for a while. You made me smile for the first time in 3 years! You made me laugh. The world of grey is now full of sunshine and rainbows Doctor. You also saved me today. When I jumped across that canyon, I jumped to end my life. I made a mistake that nearly ended a planet! If I wasn't so fat and clumsy maybe i-"

"Don't you dare say that! You are not fat (n/n). Yes you have more plush to your body but you are not fat. I hate that word. Its such a nasty word. You are gorgeous, amazing and so brilliant. You can't see what I see and I really wished you could for just one moment. You are worthy of being loved and cared for. You are precious, rare, one of a kind. I've never met anyone like you. There's always some skinny, fake bodied and caked up women but there's no one with as much natural beauty as you! Let's get back to the TARDIS and we'll talk more when looking at the stars because I can see that being here isn't doing you any favours" The Doctor spoke with such passion that you started to believe that her words held more than those of a supporting friend would.

Once the TARDIS was parked in the Milky Way you settled by the door once again and found yourself accompanied by the sweet alien. You both sat there for a moment just content with wrapping your heads around what's just happened. You looked over to the blonde and noticed how the stars made her glow in such an ethereal way that you felt almost compelled to worship her. Maybe you should after everything she's done for you. Her eyes sparkled with si many emotions from the past senario.

"Are you still with them?"

"Why do you think I never left this place? I mean even if could, I wouldn't want to but it's mainly because if I go back home, I'll come back with more injuries. I feel safer with you. You are my sunshine and rainbows and they are my storm clouds. Whilst I'm here, I'm alive and mostly unbroken. Whilst I'm there, I'm as alive as a puppet and severely broken. I can't leave, not on my own anyway."

The Doctor looked at you in thought. "The starlight compliments you. You look so pretty and almost angelic. I just wish they never hurt my angel. My innocent angel had broken wings and I'm going to fix what the Devil broke, I promise. Just hold on, I'm going to take us somewhere."

You held the nearest crystal as the TARDIS transported you somewhere but it seemed like the sentient machine was determined to take you there as quick as she could. As you opened the doors you noticed a familiar smell of weed mixed with alcohol. You heard the familiar tune of Love Island and knew exactly where you were. You were home. The Doctor saw your hesitation and whispered softly, "I want you to pack everything you want. I've written a note for them to find. I'm going to put it on the bed. If they notice you scream for me and I'll be there. They will not hurt you much, hopefully not at all. I just need to do something in the TARDIS before I help you." She turned and left into the TARDIS and disappeared down a corridor.

The atmosphere sent chills down your spine and you were frozen. The TARDIS seemed to notice and words of encouragement were sent into your head which helped you move towards your bedroom. You quickly buy quietly opend your suitcase and started to fill it with clothing and hygiene products. As you entered the bathroom a bottle of their shampoo fell into the tub giving you away. You knew you only had so long before they came in and hurt you so you closed the door and barricaded it with whatever you could.

As you pushed the last cabinet to the pile they roared through the wooden door. "Let me in you fat dumb bitch. You've been gone for 3 weeks and you've got some balls coming back! You're lucky I haven't burned all your shit! Where have you been?"

Your heart ran at an extremely fast pace nd you knew only one person could help you now. And so you screamed her name so loud it hurt your throat bit that didn't stop you. You screamed until you heard talking. You couldn't understand what was said but suddenly a thud was heard and then silence.

"Hey Starlight! It's only me. I've taken care of them. They're not dead but in a venishion aikido. They can't move, they're paralysed. You can come out and finish packing"

You moved everything out of the door and opened it to a view you expected. The Doctor with 2 fingers to their pulse point on their neck. The Doctor smiled at when they saw you. You finished packing and zipped the bag up. Then Yaz walked in with her police uniform on and arrested them for domestic violence and many other things. Now you understood why The Doctor left, it was to get Yaz as a back up option to completely take them out of your life.

The Doctor helped open doors for you as you got your room and you set the suitcase to one side to empty another day. You both sat down on your bed. The sound was filled with nothing but 2 lifeforms breathing and the TARDIS faint buzzing. You two stayed like this, staring into each other, trying to read the others emotions. But we all know what The Doctor is like, she can't stay silent for long.

"I had to save you because as long as you were with them, you weren't ever going to be truly happy. I didn't want my big bright star to turn into a black hole, I wanted her to be a supernova. My Starlight deserves to be happy."

"You keep saying my Doctor. And you asked if I was still with them and then when I basically said yes, you quickly, as in a rush, sent us home so I could leave them. You keep saying all these things about me. You held my hand from the canyon to the drill. You are always the first to check on me and you always make sure I'm OK first even if I'm the farthest person from you! Doctor, be honest, I don't want any more bullshit. Doctor why?" You spoke softly but with determination. The Doctor blushed and shifted her gaze to the stars and quietly gulped. She knew this day would come. The day her secret was revealed. And she dreaded her answer and she dreaded your reaction. And whilst she figured out what to say, you already knew the answer.

You gently grabbed her chin and made her look at you. Once her gaze caught yours, you smiled and placed your lips to her soft ones. Quickly she caught up and kissed you back with all the love and passion she could muster. She wanted to relay that she did love you and that she would do exactly as she said earlier, she would cherish you.

As for you, you smiled. You finally had an out that didn't end in death but instead ended with the same love that you yearned for, for years.

[judediangelo75]

Bath Time

A/N: This is gonna be based on the years after Hogwarts, just a few months after graduation.

It’s also going to be based on the “Physical One-Liners”. I feel like in the privacy of their own space, Talbott turns a bit more... mischievous, which both surprises and flusters Judith to no ends.

If that’s not your cup of tea, don’t read. Just that simple. Anywho...

Enjoy!

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

Judith never felt more happy to leave St. Mungos. While she did enjoy her job, and spending time with her long time friend Chiara, she was beyond exhausted. Not in the mood to walk home, the young woman decided to fly home instead.

Quickly ducking into a dark alley, she transformed into her Black Sparrowhawk and flew off. Flying has always been one of her small joys in life. It reminded her of the times with her father, where he would teach her the basics of flying. It also reminded her of her time at Hogwarts. Attending Flying Class with Madam Hooch and playing on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team.

Most of all, it reminded her of her long time boyfriend, Talbott Winger. He was the one who helped her become an Animagus and teach her how to fly in this form. It was one of the ways the two bonded.

After they graduated, they got a small apartment together. After Judith graduated, her mother promptly kicked her out. Talbott was boiling on his girlfriend’s behalf, but she urged him to let it go. Judith always knew she wasn’t wanted by her mother, so he spoke to Dumbledore about ways to support herself after. He offered to pay her during her last year, which helped out a lot.

Now she was free to live her life the way she saw fit. And be with the love of her life.

It wasn’t long until Judith landed in front of her home and she transformed back. Pulling out the key from her purse, she opened the door and walked in.

She was minorly surprised to find Talbott inside as well, who was just taking off his shoes and placing them near the front door.

“Hello, little bird,” he greeted with a small smile. Judith blushed and smiled back.

“Hello, my love,” she said back, walking up to him. She carefully got on her toes to give the young man a peck on the lips.

Well, it was suppose to be a peck on the lips.

Talbott ended up wrapping his arms around his girlfriend’s waist, pulling her to his chest. Craning his head a bit lower, he pressed his lips against hers more firmly. Judith let out small giggle and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Talbott groaned softly, gently pushing Judith against the door. A shudder wracked Judith’s body as she felt Talbott’s teeth softly sink into the plump flesh of her bottom lip. Her eyes shoot open when she felt his larger hands press into her lower back. Talbott released her lips, red eyes half lidded and a lazy smirk on his full lips.

“You seem a little tense darling,” Talbott drawled, running a hand up and down the length of Judith’s back. A blush blossomed on her face, causing his smirk to grew a fraction wider.

“It’s... uh, it’s been a long day,” she mumbled, finding Talbott’s chest suddenly interesting. A chuckle rumbled from the back of his throat.

“You don’t say? Come on, darling. Let’s take a nice bath together.” Judith’s breath hitched as her blush worsen. 

Talbott tried his best not to laugh at his little bird’s expression. Ever since they left Hogwarts and all the stressors behind, he’s been seeing a different side of Judith.

She was more free. Happier. Carefree.

He’s seen bits and pieces of this side of her at Hogwarts but not often. He found this side of her to be so beautiful...

And if he was being brutally honest... it was sexy as well.

The girl would be more free with what she wears and would sometimes sing and dance to the music she has playing as she cleans.

He has walked in a few times where Judith was slowly swaying her hips slowly to the beat of a song as she cleaned, wearing nothing but a tube top and some short shorts. It never fails to put him in a trance as he watched how Judith seems to become one with the music. Especially when she tranced the length of her body and curves with her hands. His body temperature never failed to spike at the sight she created. 

The only way he’s forced to snap out of his daze is when Judith finally acknowledges his presence with an embarrassed squeal.

However, last time was particularly bad. Talbott didn’t know what kind of magic Judith casted on herself for her to move her waist the way she did, but Talbott was sure it had to be from the Dark Arts. What she did should’ve been illegal. Talbott never stared harder at something in his life.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VdOFz0Lsfbo

Even after Judith after squealed out of surprise, it didn’t arouse him from his stupor. The only thing he could think of was how his pants was tighter in an area that where it shouldn’t be.

The fact that Judith starts blushing and acts shy is what baffles him the most. She was extremely witty, sharp tongued, sarcastic, sassy, and petty. Rarely anything can render her mute.

Yet Talbott staring at her with a glimmer of desire in his eyes does the job just fine.

Talbott found this to be amusing, sometimes going out his way to tease her on purpose.

Lingering touches on her neck, shoulders, waist, and hips.

Spending extra time around her neck. Kissing, gently biting, and licking the sensitive skin.

Whispering in her ear in his sleepy voice.

Picking her up so she’ll be forced to wrap her legs around his waist.

Heated snogging sessions.

Hell, sometimes he would pinch her ass when she least expects it. Her scandalized blush never fails to make him laugh.

Being in the privacy of their own space made he feel a bit more open to be a bit more intimate with his little bird.

And Talbott knew she secretly liked this side of him. Judith could easily tell him to stop anytime and Talbott would do so immediately. But she hasn’t. 

Talbott wanted to see what she would say to taking a bath together...

“A-A bath? T-t-together,” Judith stuttered. She wasn’t sure why this was sending her heart into a frenzy.

‘Of course you do. You’ll in a bathtub with your boyfriend. No clothes, just soap and water.’ Judith really hated it when her own thoughts sass her...

“Of course, little bird... is that okay, darling,” Talbott asked, kissing her cheek. Judith bit her lip.

“Yeah... it’s fine...”

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

Judith was already in the tub. She was quick set up the bath and pick a body wash (vanilla which is her favorite). Not wanting Talbott to surprise her by silently watching her, she quickly stripped and hopped right in. 

She purposely added a lot of the body wash so the bubbles can hide her body.

‘Why the hell am I so bloody nervous? It not like he hasn’t seen what I looked like half naked...’

‘Because you sitting in this tub bare ass, woman. Plus you know this tub was made to fit two people, you’ll be literally pressed against him. And you know good and damn well you’re sensitive to his touch.’

‘You know, when I asked this, I didn’t need the sassy answer. I didn’t ask for an answer at all.’

‘Cry me a river.’

“Well aren’t you eager to take a bath?” Judith snapped out of the mental argument with her subconscious to find Talbott towering over her in just towel.

Judith blushed, forcing her eyes on her boyfriend’s face and not his lean muscular body-

“I didn’t want the warm water to go to waste by waiting on you, bird boy,” she retorted. Talbott raised a brow, a teasing smirk on his.

“You know, you’re right. Scoot over for me, darling...” Judith did what she told, averting her gaze when she noticed Talbott’s hand moving to undo the knot of his towel.

She didn’t look back at him until he was submerged. She regretted doing so, seeing how his smirk widen.

“You’re so cute when you’re flustered,” he teased, kissing her cheek. She crossed her arms over her chest, doing her absolute best not to pout.

“I’m not flustered,” she mumbled under her breath. The devious spark flashed in Talbott’s eyes.

“Oh really?” Judith didn’t have time to respond as she pulled to sit on Talbott’s lap, facing him.

“How about now,” he asked innocently. Part of Judith was cursing Talbott seven ways til Sunday, the other part of her headed straight down the gutter.

“You are truly something, Winger,” she answered instead, glaring at him.

“I know, but you love me regardless,” he chuckled. 

“Shut up,” she mumbled, kissing him to do just that. Talbott accepted the kiss wholeheartedly, nipping his girlfriend’s lower lip. Despite the warm water lapping against her skin, Judith could still feel goosebumps breaking out on her skin.

Damn her sensitivity.

Judith quickly broke the kiss before it could turn into something more.

“Where are you going, little bird,” Talbott asked quietly, his voice low and husky. 

“We’re suppose to be taking a bath! Not fooling around in the tub,” she retorted, cheeks rosy. Talbott nuzzled her neck, leaving a feather light kiss. Judith was quick to grip his shoulders to steady herself.

“Mmmm... of course, darling. Don’t worry I’ll take care of you...” Judith felt her heartbeat pounding in her eardrums as Talbott reached for the wash cloth.

‘He’s gonna kill me,’ she thought when he could feel his smirk on her neck.

Let’s just say by the time they finished, the bath water was cold and Judith was sporting quite a few love bites on her neck, shoulders and chest... 

[dotthings]

So here’s my thoughts on an alternate ending plan for S15. While the remade heaven was something that fit, very little else did, and if they were aiming for self-actualizations being fulfilled the ending didn’t convey that. It feels incomplete to me (I have posted enough analyzing why and that’s all I’ll say here). This is a more earth-bound take. An ending where all of TFW 2.0 defeat Chuck and are together and figuring out life free of Chuck’s maze. This also incorporates some of my previous meta spec that didn’t get addressed at all in the finale but things are left so ambiguous, I have no reason to think my spec can’t be canon now. Also I think if canon can screw things up this royally, then I’m allowed to state that my version is not only kinder, but makes more sense. I’m sure there is some loose end I’ve missed, and I’d want to have all the Wayward Sisters appear too. Gosh, endings are hard!

Envisioning this as one extra long episode. To be extra subversive I’m still using the start of ep 19, but mostly this diverges after the end of ep 18.

-the phone call from Cas in ep 19 isn’t a troll from Lucifer (Lucifer can stay trapped in The Empty for all eternity). It’s actually Cas.

Here’s what happened: The Empty took him, fulfilling Cas Jungian arc about confronting his shadow and instead of fighting it, accepting it as part of himself. Inside Cas, a soul has been growing for many seasons now. Spontaneous soul combustion. It started small and kept growing. The act of confessing his love to Dean was the final spark to complete the growth. As The Empty drags Cas away, Cas’s grace merges with his soul and the grace is the power jolt it needs to make his soul blaze to full life. His grace is effectively gone, burned out in the act of bring his soul into being. The Empty cannot hold him, his soul is pure, and he’s not filled with self-loathing. The Empty spits Cas out in Lawrence, KS because that’s where Cas’s soul home beaconed to. Effectively human, this process was fairly traumatizing to his body, so he’s weakened. He staggers across town to outside the bunker, calls Dean, and collapses. Dean (as we saw in ep 19) races up the stairs and reaches Cas first, but Sam isn’t far behind, and both boys help Cas down into the bunker. Dean, being Dean, can’t stop touching Cas. There’s some awkwardness after Cas’s confession but they aren’t going to talk about it yet. Dean’s just relieved to have Cas back

-Jack’s also overjoyed Cas is back. Cas explains to the fam what happened and that he has a soul now. This will change the dynamics of TFW interact, changes Cas’s demeanor slightly, and how Dean and Cas interact, but Cas’s personality is basically the same

-Michael sides with TFW. His decision to stand up to his father is sincere. There are Cas and Michael scenes where they start reaching some kind of understanding of each other’s pov

-There is a further scene showing Sam mourning the snapped Eileen, as he finds something that belongs to her in his room

-They hatch a plan to confront Chuck. Cas assumes he’ll be joining them but Dean balks because Cas is freshly human and not battle-ready. “You and Sam are human, and you’re going into battle” Cas argues. Dean’s not really being logical about this, so Dean and Cas bicker while Sam, Jack and Michael have to go guys? Guys? Evil god to stop? World to save? “Get a room,” Sam snaps.

-Dean wins the argument, mostly because Cas has to give in just so they don’t stay derailed. They proceed with Cas holding down the fort at the bunker in case they need a further spell or information from the MoL archives

-They confront Chuck at the beach. Following some parts of ep 19, Chuck starts pettily beating up Sam and Dean, who refuse to give up. Sam and Dean shoulder to shoulder, laughing at their enemy through their bloodied faces. (That was a good moment, I’ll keep that) Michael intervenes, Chuck tries to destroy him but Jack steps in. Chuck is fending both of them off for the moment. Kind of looks like Chuck might overpower all of them. He raises his fingers to snap them all away

and a familiar voice yells HEY ASSBUT. Cas hurls a magical molotov cocktail at Chuck. Because Cas he found a spell, and while the thing certainly won’t kill God, it certainly makes for a great distraction. Chuck’s body burns for a moment, and then the flames go out with Chuck unharmed. The distraction allows Michael to get the upper hand enough for Jack to grab Chuck and absorb his powers and render Chuck powerless. They all leave Chuck on the beach.

-Michael looks deeply amused by the cocktail. “At least you didn’t hurl it at me this time”

-unsnapped Adam switches in.

-Sam and Dean look beat to hell. Cas says something sad about how at one point he could have healed them with a touch but he can’t now and Sam and Dean reassure him it’s fine. Cas asks Jack to heal them and Jack says he’s going non-intervention God and yeets. Sam, Dean, and Cas seem taken aback by this move and their son vanishing into thin air

-Michael switches back in and offers to heal them but Sam and Dean refuse again. Cas rolls his eyes. Typical Winchesters.

-Sam calls Eileen. “Eileen, are you okay?” All is well. Dean checks on Jody and the girls. They’re fine. Everyone unsnapped.

-Adam switches in again to say goodbye but maybe see you soon, shakes hands with Sam and Dean. A promise of maybe someday they could figure out how to be family. “Where you headed to now?” Dean asks. “Around, I guess,” says Adam, and then Michael switches back in and says “the french fries on earth are worth hanging around for a bit” and Michael yeets out.

-They won. They’re free. Chuck’s defeated, Jack is going to be a new, uncorrupted God. But wait, there’s still half an hour left, what’s left to resolve? What else could there be?

-We get a montage. Sam and Dean continue to hunt, the bruises and cuts on their faces from the battle with Chuck fading. A scene of Dean giving Cas shooting pointers and Cas is a pretty decent shot but maybe he should hold the shotgun a bit higher. Dean sure does keep touching Cas a lot when it’s not necessary. They still haven’t talked. Sam doing laundry. Dean studying a job application at the desk in his room. The bruises and cuts from their fight with Chuck are almost gone. Eileen hanging out in the bunker, she and Sam doing research at the library table, laughing as Sam makes a joke.

-Sam, Dean, and Cas get wind of ghoul activity and set out on a hunt together. Dean and Cas are waiting together, leaning against the Impala, while Sam is inside a gas station getting them all snacks.

Dean: Are you okay with this? Human...forever?

Cas: I’m adjusting. Rather enjoy being able to taste the pb&j again.

*Awkward silence*

Dean: Cas—what you said—I—

Cas: It’s all right Dean. You don’t have to say anything. I told you, it’s not about the having, it’s—

Cas doesn’t get to finish the sentence because suddenly Dean’s holding his face in his hands and then leans in and kisses him.

Dean pulls back, staring right at Cas’s stunned pikachu face.

Dean: What makes you think you didn’t already have me?

They hold each other. Sometimes it’s not in the saying it’s in the actions.

Sam, who just emerged from the gas’n sip station, stands there holding packets of junk food and yells “FINALLY!” and Dean and Cas jump apart. Dean is beet-red but both Dean and Cas look happier, more peaceful than we’ve seen them look in a very long while.

-Standard hunt. They kill some ghouls, badass Team Free Will action scene. Cas gets taken off guard, but Sam has his back.

-Back at the bunker. Sam answers a text from Eileen—they’re meeting up next week.

-Sam, Dean, Cas are in the bunker having dinner when Jack randomly appears. Raises his hand. “Hello!” They’re all startled, but tell Jack they miss him. “You don’t write, you don’t call,” Dean complains. “Well,” Jack says. “I figured just because I’m non-interventionist doesn’t mean I can’t stop by for dinner once in a while.” “Darn right,” says Dean.

-TFW 2.0 have dinner together. Jack mentions he remade heaven, no more barriers. Released trapped souls like Kevin’s to heaven. New set of rules. Mentions he met with Rowena. They’re working out a better system. Reform.

“I would have gotten rid of the monsters,” Jack explains, “but can���t do it without upsetting the natural order of things—what’s done is done. The alternative is to reset everything. I won’t do that. Too much would be undone, too much good lost.” The implication is also: while he won’t intervene and be the God perching on Team Free Will’s shoulder, he also can’t bring himself to do anything that will undo them. “Sometimes it’s all worth putting up with a few monsters,” Sam says.

Jack vanishes again. “Guess we’ll get used to that eventually” says Dean.

-very last shot. It’s dusk, outside the bunker. Sam and Dean leaning on the Impala, watching fireflies, drinking beers. Not talking, just being.

Dean: We did it.

Sam: We did it.

Dean: Well, here’s to freedom.

They toast their beer bottles. Both look more peaceful than we have seem them look in a very long time.

Overhead shot of Sam and Dean, the Impala, the bunker.

*Kansas version of Carry On, Wayward Son plays*

[dis--parity]

paperwork.

Summary: Alex gets around to something she’s put off for too long. Trigger warnings: None! Author notes: Happy mother’s day to all my UK moots!

       “And this... is the main reason I didn’t get around to this for so long.” The girl’s prosthetic hand rests upon the wad of papers present in front of her - brass-tipped fingers placing her pen down to shift the forms aside, sheet by sheet.

“So.” Flip. “Much.” Flip. “Paperwork.”

The sigh that escapes her sounds dangerously close to completely demoralised defeat; the world of legal matters was not only completely and utterly boring to her, but the amount of small boxes, scattered text... it was far too difficult for her to focus on alone. Just looking at the form seemed to confuse the poor girl - if not because she understood how serious the change was, then simply because of how... uncomfortably uniform these documents were.

She never would have seen herself even making an attempt at it, if it were just her - if there wasn’t still one person in her life who knew her almost as well as she knew herself. Whose voice could still bring a little clarity and focus to her addled mind.

Whose hand would find its way to her shoulder, resting upon it as if it had always belonged there, brushing away those curly golden locks so alike her own. Her free hand, then, would gather up the papers again, already with a few pen marks on them - putting just one sheet in front of her, and tucking the rest away with a smile.

“It’s like eating an elephant, dear.”, hummed Janella. “I know you get too overwhelmed when you try to do everything in one go - let’s go through it bit by bit. Now, then... this first sheet is the most important part, dear.

Your new name. What do you want it to be?”

She hesitates to give a direct response to her mother; all her life, she’s known herself as the same person. Alexandra. And so would her prosthetic hand pick up the pen again and put down exactly that. The gesture warranted a furrow of the brow from her mother; but nothing more than that.

“The same name?”, she asked, a chuckle slipping past her lips. “I’m surprised, dear, you’ve put so much thought into the person you want to be…” “I know who I am, mom. I’m Alex. Well... Alexandra, not Aleksander, now. And-... well, I- I guess there’s a couple of other things, too.” “Such as?” “My middle name, for a start.”

The nod that Janella gives her in turn is slow, one of absolute understanding. “Eitan, or Ethan… the name your father wanted for you when you were born-” “I- I don’t need to be reminded-”, Alex snaps - sucking in a deep breath, eyes cringing shut as she pushes the anger back down again. Unfazed as Janella seemed to be, she loathed how easy it was for that name to fill her with such rage. “Sorry, mom, I- I- just... yeah. That’s-... why I wanna get rid of it.”

“Well. I can’t say I blame you, darling,”, she sighed. “Your father was an awful man, there’s no denying that. Even years later, I’m still ashamed to have called that apathetic, selfish shell of a man my husband.” “Wh- what about the dude you left him for, my stepdad?”, asked Alex, with a tilt of her head. “I mean… he- he never sounded like he was that much better, right?” “... well, yes, but at least he actually tried to care, dear.” Clearly, that alone was enough for her to stay married to him for 17 years of her life; enough for her to raise a kid with him, even! Alex simply pursed her lips, a small hum serving as a subtle ‘touché’ to her mother’s retort. “But, I’ve told you those stories, haven’t I? So… what were you thinking of instead? Or, you can always get rid of it entirely, I suppose.” “No, I-... I had an idea. It’s silly, but…” She breathes in again; she’s learned well enough not to be embarrassed around her mother. Besides her therapist, she’s probably the one woman she’s shared the most with.

“My first name… I- I kinda wanted to change it to Alyssa. But-... I feel like that’s better as my middle name, y’know? And-...”

She hesitates again, pen hovering after the name ‘Alyssa’, as if paralyzed by some unknown force. Her eyes close, rendering her unable to see her mother’s glance of curiosity, but only for the moment it takes to make up her mind. Her pen slides slowly, apologetically across the paper again, the ink curling and swerving into a new word.

Gale.

It’s not a name the two of them feel any need to share words over. Her mother was one of the first other people who Alex opened up to about the impact that girl had on her, after all - and the legacy of a lost love is not something she’s about to dispute. Though, she must miss her an awful lot for her to want so badly to do such a thing - then again, who was she to say anything about that?

“You know,” Janella hums. “I think you’re having the same thoughts I did when I decided to keep your stepfather’s name. That, deep down, perhaps… there was still a good person where he was. At the very least, there was a person we missed.” “Yeah… I do miss her. Every day, y- you know that. But… I- I guess I just wanna carry her with me a little more. Like I do with Nancy.” “Won’t argue with you there, darling. Whatever your heart desires. Speaking of which… will that be your last name?”

And, at last, they come to the final hurdle - yet, for as much as she anticipates that Janella would ask, and for as good of an answer as she has, she just… can’t seem to get the words out. She stalls - breath slowly and sharply seething in through her nostrils as she gathers the will to say those words she’s mentally rehearsed over and over again. While the papers were printing, while her mom’s car was pulling up to the parking lot, all the while the Earl Grey she was enjoying was steeping… and finally, she spoke, her quaking voice barely audible enough to register.

“I want… your name. Y- your… your last name, I mean.

I wanna be a Cloutier. No-... an Iskra Cloutier.”

Janella falls silent then, for a good moment - her teacup slowly finding its way back to the fine saucer it rested on. She seemed more confused than touched by the gesture, as it was - but, there was still a glint of understanding behind her eyes.

“I see… but, darling, you could choose anything you want. You don’t need to take on my name, I should hardly think I’m a huge part of your whole transformation.

Please, don’t think as if you need to limit yourself - you can call yourself whatever you want. You know far better than me, you can be whatever you want to be.”

“I know who I want to be,” Alex said, the conviction behind her words forcing her head up to meet the hazel eyes of her mother. “For so long, I-... I’ve had this path in my life, ever since you’ve come back into it. When I woke up, and- and saw you there, and- and heard your voice, and… and when I was able to just talk to you after everything with dad was said and done, I-... for the first time in my life, I felt like I knew what I was doing. What I wanted to do!

And… it’s taken me this long, but… now I can finally be the person I really want to be. Who I’ve wanted to be from the beginning.” Words hang in the air for a moment, a tear refracting the light peering into the flaming cognac of her eyes as she makes her declaration.

“Your daughter.”

And in that moment, it feels as though Janella’s very soul had a new light beaming through it. Motherly tears are a thing she knows only in grief; leaving behind a son she loved, two children of her own, even, to circumstances she couldn’t do anything to control. Yet, as she pauses to let the words of the girl next to her repeat themselves in her mind, she can’t help a tear falling from her eye. With those two words, this had become just as significant for Janella as it ever could be for Alex.

To be a family. A family of two - but one more closely knit than any other she could have made.

And her smile lights the world up again. And her embrace reminds the girl of how precious she always will be. And the way she speaks so softly through her tears, squealing as she whispers to her, “My darling girl…” ... completes her.

She lets go after a time - though the warmth from the way they held each other fails to leave either of them. The lingering hesitation that Alex feels as the pen hovers above the paper is alleviated with a permitting nod from Janella. And so, triumphantly, her pen lowers to paper again - and then, to the surface of the desk, at least for the moment - and her new name is in full view of the two of them, in the best print she could manage.

Alexandra Alyssa Gale Iskra Cloutier.

“Well,” Alex hums, dry voice creaking just a little. “That’s one page out of the way already.”

“Ah, it was the hardest one, really.”, Janella is quick to reassure. “The rest is all declarations, me being a witness, things like that. We can do that, though, can’t we? Together.”

Together. She can’t see herself being happier than she already is - though, in the minutes that pass as they chat away through the paperwork that once was so daunting breezed past them like nothing, she felt more elated than she could imagine.

She knew only that she had a path to go down since her awakening by her mother’s side, and finally, finally she felt like they were walking that path, hand-in-hand.

She had always been free to do what she wanted - and all she wanted in the moment of triumph as they slipped the papers into an envelope to be sent off was to fling her arms around her mother. To hold her as close as the day they reunited - for now they were properly family. 

“I bet you’re proud of yourself for getting through this, surely?” “Mm-hmm…”, is all the response Alex could muster - until the few seconds where time stood still around them, the warmth of her motherly embrace enveloped her and quelled the excitement that still rocked through her, when she finally looks up, speaks properly; says that one thing she knew she says too much, yet not enough - yet this time, with heart.

“... I love you, Mom.”

[written-on-the-trees]

Chris Motionless Fan Fic - I Know You

Prompt: Cursed

Word-count: 1625 words

Warnings: none

Description: Many beings who cast curses are also the beings who break them...it becomes at little awkward, at least in Chris's opion, when the only way to break the curse he cast is through true love's kiss.

Chris knew the other fairies hated him. He was fine with it; he didn’t exactly like them, either. So long as their hatred never outweighed their fear, he didn’t care how much they whispered when they thought he couldn’t hear, or cowered when he came into sight, or avoided him as if their lives depended on it. He had no problem with being left alone to his own devices at all.

 However, what Chris did have a problem with was three of the boldest fairies deciding they were going to try and break his curse.

 Angelo, Thomas, and Josh were all beings Chris had maybe once considered friends…yet they took the side of the humans who had attempted to destroy Chris’s life. Even if Chris hadn’t been on the best of terms with the three other fairies at the time, the betrayal was enough to have him seeing red. Taking the side of human was bad enough: taking the side of humans who had demonstrably decided they had no care for fairies or their lives…any fairy in the Moors would be angry at them. They were trying to leverage bonds of friendship that hadn’t existed in decades against him, but Chris wasn’t having it.

 They were trying to help the humans circumvent his curse by hiding the cursed chit of a human away from the palace she had been born into as if Chris’s magic was insipid enough to be tricked by a mere change in location…but it would do them no good.

 On the night of her twenty-first birthday, the princess would prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel, and would fall into an endless sleep that only true love’s kiss could wake her from. Her parents could destroy every spinning wheel in the kingdom: Angelo, Thomas, and Josh could secret her away to a cottage in the forest: and every ‘magician’ and ‘sorcerer’ from across the land could work on breaking the curse, but it wouldn’t work. The outcome Chris had cursed the human to was inevitable and unavoidable…and even if, by some sheer coincidence any of them did come up with a way that could risk the curse not coming to be, that was why Chris was here, sitting in the shadowy lower branches of a large tree that overlooked the cottage they had attempted to hide the chit in, watching.

 He would not be denied his revenge.

 He would not.

 Even if it meant that he was getting cramps in his legs and dew was settling on the feathers of his wings, he would ensure everything went to plan. He was half-expecting Angelo, Thomas, or Josh to come out and confront him, or ask him to break the curse now there was just a week until the princess’s twenty-first birthday and there was no-one who had come close to breaking or circumventing his curse. He wasn’t expecting to see the princess herself.

 She had, as Thomas had said, become a beautiful young woman, with his gift granting her long hair so pale it appeared silver in the moonlight, ivory skin, bright green eyes that seemed to shine with the reflected light of the stars, and a graceful walk as she cut through the long grass outside the front of the cottage. Chris knew he shouldn’t be surprised the young woman was so beautiful, he had been there to hear Thomas give her that gift, but…it was a hollow beauty.

 Her sadness was so obvious, it rendered her beauty shallow and empty. Her eyes may reflect the light, but they were hollow behind that reflection. Her lips were full and a fascinating shade of pink, but they were turned down slightly at the corners. Her cheeks were pale and smooth, but there was no hint of colour to them, no sign of life or joy. She was like a statue; beautiful, but cold.

   “Are you here to visit my uncles?”

   Chris almost started out of his tree at the question.

 Almost.

 Instead, he managed to keep his surprise on the inside, and instead turned to quirk his head at her, wondering if she would be put off by his tall frame, or wide raven-like wings, or the horns that rose from his head.

 But she wasn’t. She just waited patiently for him to respond, looking up at him calmly from the base of his tree.

   So Chris just shrugged: “No, I’m not.”

 “Then why are you sitting in the tree outside their house?”

 Their house, not our house…interesting…Chris pushed the thought aside for later, and just shrugged again: “Because I want to be.”

 The princess nodded: “Oh, that seems reasonable, I suppose. I’m Dawn - may I ask your name?”

 Being raised by fairies, the girl should have known better than to offer her name…but manners were manners, and as she had, Chris offered a name of his own in return: “You may call me Chris.”

 “Well, it was nice to speak to you, Chris.” Dawn offered, even though their little tête-à-tête was hardly what Chris would call a conversation: “Have a nice evening.”

   She appeared ready to walk on deeper into the woods, and Chris acted on the sudden urge to join her and elegantly dropped down from his position in the branches.

 Dawn seemed lonely - and she was only going to become lonelier after she fell into her death-like sleep. Chris wouldn’t say he felt bad for the young woman, but he did acknowledge that she was innocent. His war was with her father, King Stefan, the man who had tried to cut off his wings, so the least he could do was offer the girl some company during her last waking week. As recompence for using her as a pawn against her father, even if she didn’t know he was doing so.

   “Let me accompany you.” he offered, along with his arm so she could tuck her elbow through his: “We can continue to speak on your walk.”

 Unsurprisingly, Dawn accepted - even though Chris was appalled at how little Angelo, Thomas, and Josh had taught her - and treated him to a smile that finally injected some life into her features: “Thank you, Chris. I would very much enjoy that.”

   And so off they went.

      Chris slid into the grand chamber they had laid Dawn in.

 The thorny wall that he had grown to surround her in her sleep, back when he hadn’t wanted anyone to break his curse, had been no obstacle for him. He had found his way to Dawn’s bedside with no trouble at all, for all the good it would do him.

 He had been foolish. So, so foolish.

 Each night for a week, he had met Dawn at the edge of the forest, and they had spent a few hours walking among the trees, with her arm tucked through his.

 At first, it had been an attempt at recompense: just something to make up for the loneliness she would feel in her endless sleep, but then…but then he had gotten to know her. Dawn was everything she had been gifted by the fairies and more. Beautiful inside and out, full of physical and mental grace, kind, intelligent (albeit sheltered), and utterly lovely. And now laying eerily still on an ornate four-poster bed.

 He carefully perched on the side of the bed, and finally looked at Dawn properly. She looked like a memorial statue: a version of herself carved in marble to rest atop her grave, and it made Chris’s chest tighten. He had long thought his heart was beyond use, but seeing Dawn in an inescapable sleep, one that was his doing, made the long-forgotten organ stutter and ache.

    “I’m sorry, Dawn.” he whispered, choking on the emotion welling in his throat, reaching out to brush his fingertips over the curve of her cheekbone before cupping her cheek in his hand: “So, so sorry.”

   Of course, there was no response - and for the first time since he’d escaped Stefan, Chris felt tears well in his eyes.

 This was all his doing. Dawn would remain in an endless sleep, with no-one to wake her, because her father and ‘uncles’ had kept her isolated from anyone who could truly love her. There was no-one to deliver true love’s kiss, no-one who could wake her, and it was all because of his bitterness towards her father.

 Leaning in, Chris pressed a soft kiss to Dawn’s forehead.

 He’d remain here with her. He had no-one else to miss or who would miss him, and even if she was asleep, Chris prayed that somehow she would know that she wasn’t alone. It wasn’t enough - would never be enough to make up for what he’d done - but there was nothing else he could do.

   Closing his eyes against the tears that were threatening to spill, Chris snapped them open again when he heard a voice he thought he’d never hear again: “Chris?”

 Dawn looked up at him, face painted with confusion, but Chris couldn’t bring himself to worry about her confusion.

 She was awake.

   “Dawn!”

 “You woke me up…” she whispered: “I thought only…but that would mean…”

 “I think we have a lot to talk about.” Chris whispered after she’d trailed off, still awed that his kiss had actually been true love’s kiss, and Dawn was awake and talking: “But we have time for that. You’re awake…”

 “I am.” Dawn beamed: “Because you woke me.”

   She reached out for him, and Chris met her half way, pulling her into his arms and clutching her to his chest before leaning down to kiss her properly this time, smiling into it when he felt her return the kiss eagerly.

 He’d never been happier.

[koiotic]

The Fire Nation becomes a democracy (maybe the real political restructuring was the friends we made along the way)

I have no impulse control so I wrote a thing based on my own post 

Tagging @dreyri-infinity-aldranaris because they commented on my original post and it gave me two years of serotonin 

———

“The war’s over.”

Katara blinked. “What?”

“War’s over,” Sokka repeated blankly.

“What?” Her voice cracked a little, but he just held up the piece of paper in his hand, looking a little dazed.

“People were yelling about it when I went to buy food. Apparently someone beat us to taking down Ozai.”

“Who?” Aang cut in before she could ask, disbelief clear on his face.

Sokka took a deep breath, then reread the paper in his hands like he needed to double check. “Zuko.”

Katara laughed, and she was aware it sounded a little unhinged. “No way.”

With a small shrug, he passed her the paper. ‘Firelord Ozai was removed from power by his son, the banished crown prince Zuko. The new Firelord ordered the removal of Fire Nation troops from all foreign territories and has started peace negotiations. There have been discussions of a large scale change to the Fire Nation’s governance.”

“This... This is... What?”

“This...” Aang hesitated, then glanced up almost hopefully. “This is good? I think?”

“So what do we do?” Katara asked.

“We could go talk to him?” Aang suggested, far too optimistically for her taste.

“Aang, he hunted us! This could be a trap!”

“But what if it isn’t?”

“Either way,” Sokka cut in, “I want to know what in La’s name is happening.”

•••

“We’re making it a democracy,” Zuko said for what felt like the millionth time. The advisors were still staring at him like he had two heads.

“But- but your majesty, we can’t ju- just do that!”

“Why?”

There was more spluttering, but no one seemed to have an answer. One of the advisors buried his head in his hands.

“Well, if no one has any more objections, that’s sorted then.”

•••

Sokka was honestly still expecting this to be a huge joke and/or trap, but no one started shooting fire when they landed in one of the gardens. The gardens of the Fire Nation royal palace. In the Fire Nation. Which was inhabited by firebenders.

But no fire yet, so that was at least a plus.

There was a very high-pitched “hi!” and then a blur of pink was cartwheeling towards them, followed much more slowly by a girl in black, who seemed far less enthused to see them.

“You must be the avatar, the waterbender and the asshole with a boomerang,” the girl in black said, a tiny trace of a smirk on her lips.

“The asshole with a boomerang?” Sokka asked, half offended half amused.

“Nice to meet you!” The pink blur announced, stopping in front of Appa. She was a girl, looking around the same age as the other, but radiating excitement and enthusiasm like her life depended on it. “I’m Ty Lee, and this is Mai!”

She slung an arm around Mai’s shoulder ignoring the other’s glower.

“Hi,” Katara said, a little faintly. “Uh, Katara, Sokka and Aang. We came to talk to Zuko. Sorry, who are you?”

“The royal guards,” Mai deadpanned.

“Cool,” Aang said after a beat. “Um, is Zuko here?”

Ty Lee shook her head, braid swinging around wildly. “He’s in a meeting right now, but you could come have tea with us while you wait!”

“What she means,” Mai drawled, “is that she wants you to get off the bison so she can pet it.”

———

As it turned out, there didn’t appear to be a trap. Ty Lee seemed way too enamoured with Appa to attack them, and Mai didn’t seem inclined to do much at all. The two girls led them to a table in an alcove and even sipped their tea own tea first; Sokka was fairly sure that meant it wasn’t poisoned. If it was, that was some serious dedication to killing them.

“Would you like some coffee?” Ty Lee asked.

“What’s coffee?”

“No idea, but Zuko’s been drinking it and he hasn’t slept in two days. It’s pretty good!”

“No thanks,” Sokka said quickly, before Aang could respond. He was hyperactive enough on good old fashioned sugar in his tea.

“So...” Katara said after an awkward pause. “Zuko’s the Fire Lord now.”

“Yep!” Ty Lee said brightly.

“Okay. Right. Cool. But... how? And why?” Sokka possibly sounded a little frenzied, but that wasn’t the issue right now.

“I believe,” Mai said evenly, “his exact words were ‘fuck it, I’m ending the war’.”

Aang blinked. “So he... just did that?”

“I thought you of all people would know that Zuko never gives up.” Mai shrugged. “When we were kids, I asked him for a knife and he spent three weeks making one from scratch.”

Ty Lee giggled. “We still haven’t told him she just wanted him to pass her a knife at dinner.”

Sokka was having a hard time reconciling the image of Angry Jerk Zuko with the absolute dork being described to him.

“You grew up with him?” He asked, mostly to have something else to think about. And also for the possibility of blackmail worthy information.

“We were best friends!” Ty Lee chirped.

“-with his sister,” Mai finished dryly. “Actually, you’re probably lucky she’s out at the moment.”

“Is she worse than him?” Katara asked, then seemed to remember she probably shouldn’t be insulting the new Fire Lord in the Fire Palace of the Fire Nation. Did Sokka mention the fire?

Ty Lee laughed again. “Azula’s great, as long as you don’t do, say or be anything that annoys her. Like talking to her too much. Or breathing too loud. Or standing too close to her. Or not telling her that she’s the best, smartest, most amazing person ever enough.”

“She’s a bitch,” Mai said blankly. “I like her so much.”

Was everyone in the Fire Nation insane? Was Zuko actually the most normal Fire Nation person they knew?

“She sounds nice,” Aang said, a little awkwardly.

“She is!” Ty Lee agreed. “She only threatened to kill me once today! That’s a record!”

He caught Katara’s eye across the table, and tried to silently communicate ‘what the actual fuck is happening?’. She sent back a helpless shrug.

Sokka had never been happier to see Zuko.

The new Fire Lord appeared a moment later, and Sokka almost didn’t recognise him. Thank the spririts, the ponytail was gone. Well, not really, but there was more hair around it. Looking at it no longer made Sokka want to pin him down and fix that spirits forsaken hairstyle. He was wearing what was probably Fire Nation royal clothing, but it looked like it had been at least a two days since he last slept.

“It’s a democracy now,” he said, and then seemed to process the three new people in front of him. “Oh, fuck.”

Aang gave a little wave.

“Uh, I’m really sorry? For hunting you and all that?” Zuko looked like he was expecting someone to kill him, and wasn’t strongly opposed to the idea.

“What do you mean it’s a democracy?” Sokka cut in, as the last few seconds started being processed in his brain.

“Oh,” Zuko blinked. “The Fire Nation. I made it a democracy.”

“Wait, you can do that?” Katara asked.

Zuko gave a small shrug. “Well there’s nothing to say I can’t.”

Sokka considered himself to be very eloquent. He was a smart guy, a hobbyist in poetry, and generally great with words. “Dude, what the fuck?”

“Do you have a problem with democracy?” For a second, Angry Jerk Zuko was back.

“No!” Sokka almost yelled. “Democracy is great, but what the fuck is happening?”

“I... made the Fire Nation a democracy?”

“No. We gathered that much. How in La’s name are you even the Fire Lord?”

“I’m not the Fire Lord,” Zuko said slowly. “I’m the head of a democratic government.”

Sokka briefly considered screaming, then shelved that thought for a later date.

“How did you become leader of a democratic government?”

“Oh, I fought my dad.”

His head was starting to hurt. He had a feeling that wouldn’t be going away any time soon.

“Why did you just switch sides? You were yelling at us about honour like, last week.”

“Well I kind of realised that hunting the avatar was kind of stupid, and that I may have been misinterpreting the message my dad was trying to send.”

“Which was?”

“Well, he said ‘you’re banished until you find the avatar’ but apparently that means ‘I’m hoping you die on this suicide mission and I never see you again so I can make your sister crown princess’.”

And that... that was a lot to process. There was a beat of silence, then Aang chimed in. “Are you currently in the market for a friend?”

“A what?”

If Sokka had known all it took was a hug from a tiny airbender to render Zuko completely nonfunctional, the past few months could have been a lot easier. Aang practically vaulted over the table and caught Zuko in a hug, and the firebender looked rapidly between him and the others with a look of abject confusion.

“Great,” Mai sighed, “you broke him.”

Ty Lee perked up almost immediately. “Are we allowed to hug Zuko now?”

“No!” Zuko managed to get out, a little strangled.

“I’m your dad now,” Aang declared, clinging on staunchly even when Zuko tried to shake him off.

“No one is my dad!”

“Then I’ll be your grandad!”

“My grandfather also tried to kill me!”

“I’ll be your great grandfather!”

“That was Sozin!”

“Your other great grandfather-“

“Please let go of me.”

“Respect your elders, young man!”

“You’re, like, ten!”

Sokka glanced over to Katara again, but to his horror, he recognised the look on her face. “Katara, no-“

“Katara, yes-“

“Please, don’t-“

“We’re-“

“No, we’re not!”

“We’re keeping him, Sokka.”

[artificialqueens]

Not A Ghost, You're In My Head (Your Move 3/3) (Branjie) - Ortega

a/n: this has had about fifty billion potential titles, but rest assured that finally this is Your Move 3, only a year and a bit late. i really hope u all enjoy the end of the saga, and sorry and thank u to those who have been so patient! i’ll shut up now bc quite frankly uv all waited long enough for this. (title’s from Forever by Charli XCX pls listen to it it’s such a Branjie song)

fic summary: “Everything was perfect. Until it wasn’t.”

***

The smell of coffee and the warmth of the cafe inside hits Brooke like a ton of bricks as she walks in, blinks a little, and scans the room to find a seat. Eventually her eyes settle on a small booth through the back, away from the clatter and hiss of the coffee machines and probably the closest thing to quiet that they’ll get in a public setting like this. Sliding into it, Brooke shrugs her jacket off, lifts up a menu, puts it down again, drums her nails against the tabletop and takes her phone out. She checks the time, then checks her reflection in her phone’s camera. Briefly she finds it crossing her mind that she’s probably put more effort into her outfit, hair and makeup today than she had for their first date. What had she worn for their first date again? She can’t remember. She supposes it doesn’t matter now.

Putting her phone down, Brooke digs her toes into the soles of her shoes and takes one deep breath that she intends to be calming. Instead it leaves her feeling as if she is trapped under a sheet of ice with a millimetre of air to work with before she sinks underwater. Part of her feels as if she is already sinking. The other part of her feels as if she sank a month-and-a-bit ago and here she is, sitting waiting in a cafe, a living shipwreck. Sometimes her ribs feel like huge, cracked planks of wood, an empty vessel where something once lived. Sometimes it feels as if her heart is a sail, a huge mast broken in two with two long, ragged dagger marks scarring the sheet and rendering it useless. Other times she feels like a huge, heavy propellor is cutting into her stomach and churning it up, though that’s mainly when she makes the mistake of scanning social media (and isn’t madness doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?)

Today, Brooke just feels hollow.

Suddenly her phone buzzes harshly against the table and Brooke’s heart involuntarily leaps as she picks it up, an aftershock of the past seven months that will eventually dissipate with time. At least, she hopes so.

V: i can’t do this today

V: i’m sorry

Brooke feels as if an elastic band inside her has suddenly snapped. She doesn’t know if she feels relieved or if she wants to cry. Feeling a blush prickle against her cheeks and a lump form in her throat, her body seems to make the decision for her.

B: It’s okay don’t worry. Another time x

What does she expect? Brooke isn’t supposed to be the heartbroken one, Brooke isn’t meant to be the one that is sitting crying at a coffee shop table as if she’s the one that’s been broken up with. She wipes below her eyes and dabs lightly at her lashes with her fingers before pulling her jacket back on and walking quickly back through the door of the cafe she’d stepped through not even five minutes ago.

They’ll try again when she’s ready.

***

Brooke sinks on top of her bed, letting out a huge, deep breath of air until her stomach feels as if it is concave. It had been Vanessa that was the cautious one, it had always been Brooke making the big decisions about their relationship- a fact that, she cruelly reminds herself, remained true til its very end. She blinks very slowly. Her eyelids are so fucking heavy and tired. She took the morning off work to accommodate her plans and now she has nothing to do. Sitting and staring at the ceiling until her eyes burn is a nice impromptu plan.  

Her phone suddenly hums in the silence of the room. As if she’s been shocked by jump leads, Brooke spins over on her bed and grabs her phone from her bedside table, her heart hammering at an unhealthy rate. She feels the disappointment sink through her whole body when she sees the name on the screen.

“Hey.”

“Hey, boo. Calling to see how you were, but your tone kind of says it all for me.”

Brooke rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. Vanessa never showed.”

“I know. She phoned me.”

The cardiac arrest is back, alive and unwell in Brooke’s ribcage. “What did she say?”

“That she felt like an ass. I asked her what donkeys had to do with anything.”

Brooke shakes her head and laughs in spite of herself. “You’re the fucking worst.”

“I know. How are you doing?”

Brooke frowns deeply. “What, that’s all you said? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

A sigh comes from the end of the line. “Brooke, maybe you have to let her go.”

“No, come on, Yves, that’s not fair. Don’t talk to me like I’m obsessed and still clinging on because that’s not…it’s more complicated than that.”

“I mean. It was you that ended things.”

“Yeah, thanks for reminding me,” Brooke sighs, her heart feeling sick and empty.

“Look, just give her some time. You can’t just expect everything to go back to the way things were. Because…” her friend pauses on the end of the line, as if she’s about to deliver something Brooke won’t want to hear. “…well. Things might not.”

“I thought you were phoning to cheer me up,” Brooke says, deadpan. Yvie has the audacity to laugh.

“No, sorry, sorry. I just…you know. Best friends tell you shit you don’t want to hear sometimes. That’s part of the contract I signed back in high school,” Yvie’s affectionate warm laugh comes down the phone and Brooke finds herself smiling. It’s impossible to stay mad at Yvie; she may look fierce on the outside but Brooke knows she’s secretly a Care Bear brought to life via magic spell. Brooke is sincerely happy they’ve been friends for so long. They’ve helped each other and been there for each other through a lot, of course, through situations that are arguably worse than this, but Brooke is glad she has Yvie during this absolutely shit time. Vanessa had loved Yvie too when she’d met all of Brooke’s friends. Sure, she’d got along with Plastique and Nina and had eventually warmed to Bianca (although that had been a struggle after some of Bianca’s snide comments), but Yvie had welcomed her into Brooke’s life with open arms and had treated her as if they had been friends all their lives too. Brooke knows Yvie still speaks to Vanessa just to check in on her. She doesn’t mind.

“Do you wanna go for drinks tonight? Or food, if you feel like drinks will descend into stuff you’ll regret,” Yvie continues down the phone. Brooke exhales slowly.

“…Honestly Yves, it’s fine.”

“I’ll come to the apartment then. I just don’t want you wallowing. Wallowing’s for hippos. You’re not a hippo. You’re a…graceful crane.”

“You’re drunk already.”

“Maybe I am, and what the fuck of it? Right, I’m coming over tonight with lasagne in a tinfoil tray. Preheat your oven now. I’ll be round at 7. Love you, bye.”

“Bye. Love you too,” Brooke raises her eyebrows as she hangs up the phone. She remembers when she used to sign off like that all the time.

***

Brooke remembers those days of being in love with Vanessa, when the sex was passionate and gentle and full of fire and tenderness all at once. She remembers how it felt to look at her for as long as she wanted, taking in each glossy thread of hair, each small speckle of colour in her eyes, each individual and perfectly curled eyelash. Vanessa would always laugh at Brooke when she did that, telling her she was a creep, to stop staring at her. Now Brooke wishes she’d looked just a second longer, because she’s clearly not committed it all to memory.

She decides to go into the office. What else can she do? Yvie is annoying, but she’s right, Brooke can’t just sit and wallow. Or she could, but there’s case files that need updating and Brooke can either be sad at home lying in bed or sad at work doing something productive. Sad is the wrong emotion, she supposes. Empty is maybe more accurate. She is past the point of sad. Sad had happened when they’d had that argument and Brooke had played her trump card, best card in the pack at the time. Now she knows it had been a tarot card in disguise, the fool, and Brooke hadn’t at all known what her future would hold. She still doesn’t.

She walks into her office, past people that used to fear her, respect her. Perhaps they still do, but Brooke can still see the glint of sympathy in their eyes, hear the note of pity their voices hold. Brooke says good morning to Nicky, her new secretary. She hasn’t fired her yet, probably won’t ever fire a secretary again no matter how horrendous they are. Vanessa never came back after that day and Brooke doesn’t blame her, but she hopes she’s found another job. Nicky, she supposes, isn’t horrendous. She’s efficient and calm and obedient. Brooke knows she’s attractive too, and for a moment she allows herself to wonder if there is a parallel universe where she’s sought out a relationship with Nicky instead. Maybe a bit of random fucking with a pretty girl could take her mind off everything. Brooke laughs to herself in her office. She’s clearly losing it.

Detox comes in around half an hour later. Brooke’s done no work, simply staring at an excel spreadsheet and feeling her eyes glaze over but being unable to work up the motivation needed to blink. Detox puts a cup of coffee down on her desk and Brooke lets out a laugh.

“Jesus Christ, D. I’m not dying.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Seen happier faces at a fucking wake,” Detox jibes softly, pushes the cup closer to Brooke. “How are you today?”

Brooke leans back in her chair, swears she catches the scent of Vanessa’s perfume. It is gone almost as quickly as it had appeared and all Brooke is left with is approximately 45,000 memories, none of which she wants. “I’m shit. But I think that might be my new normal, I’ve felt like shit for so long. So I guess shit is the new fine. Therefore I’m fine.”  

Detox exhales through her nose, the hint of a humoured smile playing on her lips. “The old you would be beating you up and taking your lunch money if she heard you talking like that.”

“Believe me, I’ve already beaten myself up enough.”

Detox gives a heavy sigh of frustration, shifts from one foot to the other. “You need to sort your shit out, Brooke.”

“What are you, my Mom?” Brooke snaps back, now as frustrated as her friend. She wants to be left alone to stew in her own lack of emotions. Detox doesn’t relent.

“Look, I’m gonna give you two choices. Number one, you accept that everything’s over with Vanessa, that you fucked it, that you’ve made your bed and now you need to lie in it. But from what I can see of how you’re acting just now, you don’t want to do that.”

“No, I’m not fucking doing that,” Brooke sighs, tearing her hands down her face and wishing Detox would leave.

“Second option is, you start a constant campaign of non-stop attempts to win V back. Flowers, texts, cards, we’re talking borderline Joe from You.”

“Of course you watch that trash.”

“But you get the point?” Detox persists, annoying incarnate. “Brooke, you can’t…you can’t go on living like this. It’s been over a month, it feels like I’ve lost this bitch that used to be my friend.”

Brooke supposes she has lost her sense of self. She goes through her days without showing a single emotion, instead preferring to let them all out in the courtroom, raining down upon witnesses relentlessly as if every case has been a personal experience. She’s won her past six in a row and she puts it down to the fact that she now focuses every single fibre of being that she possesses into her career and job and work and anything that doesn’t have to involve emotions whatsoever.

“Look, I’ll..I’ll think about it, alright?” Brooke waves her away, rubs her forehead long-sufferingly. The whole thing is annoying her, becoming less of a heartbreak and more of a headache.

Detox smiles and punches the air. “That’s my girl. Have a think. Right, I’ll leave you alone. See you later.”

Have a think. Brooke wants to laugh. She hasn’t been able to stop thinking since the day Vanessa left.

***

Brooke misses her.

She misses the way Vanessa just got her humour like no-one else did. When she’d have a client waiting for her and Vanessa would send her her first impression or opinion of them in advance, and then Brooke would have to hold in her laughter for the duration of her meeting because holy fuck yes, the woman’s hat did make her look like a bat and combined with her cloak it did make her look like the villain in a superhero movie.

She misses the way that Vanessa had sort-of-not-quite-not-officially moved in with her. Some of her clothes are still strewn around the apartment: a pair of black heels left by the door that she’d worn out to dinner with her, an emerald green lace underwear set that had fallen underneath the bed and Brooke had stuck in her washer-dryer, the cosy pyjamas that lived under one of Brooke’s pillows folded not-quite-neatly and covered in creases, and a white silk shirt that Vanessa had worn to work and Brooke had peeled off her when they’d arrived home, pressing kisses to her bare collarbones, chest and stomach. Vanessa used to crash her way through the apartment and often Brooke wondered if it was her mission to make as much noise as possible as she loaded the dishwasher, hoovered the living room, sang off-key in the shower. Brooke’s apartment has been so deathly quiet since she left, a funeral sort of quiet. Mournful and still and ghostly and cold.

Sometimes Brooke is sure she sees in black and white.

She remembers the day when they told each other they loved each other for the first time. There had been no ceremony, no grand gestures. In fact the pair of them were watching a film on Brooke’s couch- The Little Mermaid 2, Vanessa eager to force her love of Disney sequels onto her girlfriend. Brooke had looked away from the TV just for a moment, just to see Vanessa’s reaction to whatever was happening on screen, and when she lay her eyes on her she felt that familiar feeling of falling hit her like a wave all over again. It had happened quite a few times that fortnight or so, and the urge to tell her grew with every moment they shared together. Brooke watched her smile like a dork at the TV, the light in her eyes shining and the good in her heart visible just by looking at her. Brooke had laced their hands together, Vanessa taken by surprise and meeting her gaze with a funny sort of smile on her face. Her nose had crinkled up as she’d laughed at her.

“What?”

Brooke had pulled her close and kissed her without saying a word, trying to tell Vanessa without actually telling her anything. She was scared to say it first. She was scared to say it at all.

When Vanessa broke away, she gave Brooke a look that seemed to reach into her soul. Then she looked down at the blanket they’d thrown over them and gave a shy laugh.

“I wanna say something but I’m scared.”

Brooke still remembers the way her heart had beaten right out of her chest. If she tries she can still feel it.

“Say it. Say it, because I want to say it too.”

Vanessa had made eye contact again, her face nervous and hesitant, and Brooke wanted to kiss her fears away but that would have stopped her from saying what she wanted so desperately to hear.

“I love you. I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you.”

Almost as quickly as they’d said it they were pulling each other in, their lips meeting desperately as they melted into each other. And Brooke hadn’t taken her to bed and they hadn’t had passionate, lovestruck sex on the couch. They had sat and kissed on the sofa with the film playing in the background like teenagers, the feeling of being in love communicated without even having to say anything else.    

Brooke had finally understood why people in musicals randomly burst into song.

She wishes she had known the last time she’d said it to her would be the final time. She wishes she could say it to Vanessa again. It’s still true. She’s still in love with her. She had fallen so hard.

The trouble with falling is that she had to hit the concrete eventually.

***

Another day goes by and a new one begins. Nicky comes in at half past nine with Brooke’s coffee. Vanessa always used to have it sitting out for her when Brooke arrived, a little heart drawn in the foam with caramel syrup making the coffee too sweet, just like her. Brooke can forgive Nicky, though. She suffered through another sleepless night and she needs the coffee more than she needs a lot of things. Doing her makeup this morning had been like painting a corpse, and Brooke tries not to feel embarrassed as she takes in Nicky’s perfectly painted face in contrast to her own. She thanks her, takes the cup and assumes Nicky will leave.

“Ms. Hytes,” Nicky says, surprising her. She stands in front of her desk, her brow furrowed in concern. “You’re hurting.”

Brooke almost drops her coffee cup in surprise. In days of old she would’ve fired a secretary on the spot for having the audacity to address her in such a way, make such an assumption, but Brooke is tired. She can’t be bothered to deny it, it would take more energy than to simply admit it. She deals in facts, and it is a fact after all. “Yes, Nicky, I am.”

Nicky pouts a little sympathetically. There is a pause in which Brooke assumes she’ll leave. She doesn’t. Instead she speaks again. “Who was the girl that broke your heart?”

Brooke can only blink back at her, her eyelids heavy from lack of sleep. She could tell Nicky to go back to her desk, she supposes, to get on with her work. But she’s in a rare mood to talk about things, so Brooke cracks a small, indulgent smile. “And how do you know it was a girl?”

“Men can’t break hearts like women can,” Nicky says softly, philosophically. Brooke isn’t sure she’s right but she supposes she’s never had any experience with men to disprove the theory. She sighs, nodding.

“Yeah, it was a girl. Her name was Vanessa,” Brooke says, the name feeling too clunky and odd in her mouth where once it had felt like a prayer. “I guess she didn’t break my heart. I broke hers and then by proxy I broke my own. It was a stupid mistake, we had a fight and…things were said that I regret but she still won’t talk to me. And fair enough, why the fuck would she?”

Nicky nods slowly, wraps her arms around herself to give herself a hug. “I have the same. Uh, I am escaping a girl who broke my heart. But even though she hurt me, I still love her. How does that work?”

“Because emotions are stupid and they don’t work in a logical way,” Brooke shrugs instantly. She’s had a lot of time to think about the subject. Looking at Nicky, she can see the pain behind her eyes, the hurt behind the calm facade of her perfect makeup. “Who was your girl?”

Nicky smiles sadly, nostalgia getting the better of her. “She was named Jaida. She was a model, like I used to be. I don’t wish to talk about her much. It’s still sore."

"Yeah. It’s still sore for me too.”

“You say you broke Vanessa’s heart?” Nicky asks shyly. The words are like a stab through Brooke’s chest, confirming the whole thing, validating it. Brooke nods wordlessly. Nicky gives a small laugh. “Then probably she still loves you too. Like me for Jaida.”

Brooke laughs, disbelieving even though she’d be lying if she said Nicky’s words don’t strike even the tiniest bit of hope into her heart. “No, I think that ship has sailed, Nicky.”

Nicky raises her eyebrows, shrugs. “You should call her.”

“Tried that.”

“Well, call her again,” Nicky persists, her voice calm and relaxed despite her insisting. “I wait for my call from Jaida every day."

Brooke feels sad for the young girl. She’s clearly lived so much of her life already at such a young age- she’s from France, but her CV stated that she moved to America to work in the modelling industry, which clearly didn’t work out if she’s making coffee for Brooke. "You should go back into modelling. You’re wasted here.”

Nicky frowns. “I am a waste…of space?”

Brooke laughs at the misunderstanding, waving her hands and shaking her head in protest. It’s the first genuine laugh she’s had in a long time. “No, no, no, no, God no! Wrong expression. Um…you’re too good at modelling to be working as a secretary. You have too nice a face.”

Nicky blushes, making Brooke’s face hot too. She hopes her compliment didn’t come out wrong. Nicky is smiling again, the regret plain on her face. “I would love to, but I would risk meeting her again and I am not ready for that.”

Brooke’s face contorted. “But you want her to call you?”

Nicky sighs, scuffs her foot. “It’s different when you have her in front of you and she’s beautiful."

Brooke shrugs in agreement. "That’s fair enough.”

Nicky lingers, tilts her head thoughtfully. “Can I do anything to help, Ms. Hytes?”

The Parisian lilt to Nicky’s voice makes everything sound like a proposition, even though Brooke doesn’t think she means it. She knows that she could probably have Nicky in her bed by the end of the day if she wanted to- they’re both hurting and broken hearted and yearning to be needed and wanted again, and Nicky is gorgeous but it’s not Nicky she wants. Her porcelain skin just reminds Brooke of Vanessa’s in contrast, her neat blonde hair brushed carefully into its bun reminds her of how wild and loose Vanessa’s used to be, her blue eyes remind her of Vanessa’s dark ones. Brooke shakes her head, gives a tight smile of gratitude. “No, Nicky. Thank you for this, but I think we’d both better get back to work.”

Nicky smiles in agreement, giving a little nod as she exits Brooke’s office and takes a seat back at her desk. Brooke looks at her phone in its place on her desk, reaches out to take it. She scrolls to Vanessa’s name in her contacts and hovers her finger over it, millimetres separating her from potentially hearing her voice again.

She discards her phone onto her desk and opens an email.

***

They had been the best months of Brooke’s life. She couldn’t stop telling Vanessa how much she loved her once she’d started and Vanessa couldn’t seem to either. They were the worst kind of honeymoon phase couple, or perhaps the best. Detox had cooed over them like a mother hen and Brooke had let her guard down a bit at work. Well, a lot. She’d loved being able to show Vanessa off as her girlfriend, she’d loved being able to kiss her throughout the day, squeeze her hand as she showed a new client into her office. They would exchange ridiculously soppy emails during meetings. Everything was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Brooke has spent so long blaming the business trip, blaming Priyanka, blaming Vanessa, blaming her work, blaming the distance. It was none of them. It was her fault. She did all of it.

Brooke had flown out to Florida for the weekend. There was a conference that her law firm had to attend there, Detox was speaking. Brooke had been looking forward to it as she knew one of her old friends from her Law degree would be there. She hadn’t seen Priyanka in ages; she was still based in Canada and practising there, but they still texted and when they’d found out they were both going Brooke had been excited. Priyanka is one of those rare exes that’s still a friend, their breakup back in their early twenties being a mutual decision, and Brooke knows there’s no attraction there anymore.

But of course, Vanessa didn’t.

Brooke should’ve done more to reassure her, she knows this. If she looks back she can see how agitated Vanessa had been during the leadup to the conference for a full week- biting her perfectly manicured nails, a small frown on her face without her knowing, moments where she’d stare off into space. Vanessa knew about Priyanka (they’d both talked about their exes) but Brooke had told her it had been amicable and mutual. Besides, she told Vanessa how much she loved her every single day. It wasn’t as if Brooke had hidden the fact that Priyanka was going to be there that weekend, or shielded her phone when they’d been texting each other. She’d had nothing to hide.

Brooke almost wishes she had been more secretive now. Maybe it would’ve changed things.

The conference had been fun, even though Brooke now holds it in the same regard as the beginning of a horror movie, the calm before the cyclone. She’d phoned Vanessa when she had arrived, eager to reassure her but she could still hear the worry in her tone, the anxiety. Still, it hadn’t stopped her meeting up for drinks with Priyanka that evening in the hotel bar, laughing and chatting like they’d always used to and doing silly Boomerangs with the cocktails they’d ordered. Brooke told her all about Vanessa and Priyanka was thrilled for her, saying how excited she was to one day meet her. Brooke had got her phone out to show her some photos when Priyanka had looked at her own and gave a little exclamation of surprise.

“Oh! Is her nickname Vanjie?”

Brooke had narrowed her eyes, watching as Priyanka scrolled. “Yeah, why?”

“She’s watched my Insta story already. Doesn’t follow me though. Probably just doesn’t want to be weird,” Priyanka had shrugged. Brooke had shrugged back, offhandedly agreeing but internally embarrassed. She’d known why Vanessa had watched her story- she’d been checking up on her. Brooke hadn’t liked that.

When she’d arrived home, everything gradually came crumbling down, the pair of them slowly removing the Jenga blocks of their relationship one at a time. Their hug had been off when they’d seen each other again, their conversation had been the small talk of strangers. And then it had happened. Vanessa had brought up Priyanka, Brooke had brought up the Instagram stalking. Vanessa had brought up how weird she found it that she still wanted to hang out with an ex, Brooke had defended herself and told her they were only friends. Vanessa had expressed how worried she’d been, Brooke had been hurt.

“When have I ever given you reason to be worried?”

“Well shit, when you met up with your ex for drinks?”

Brooke had hit out, called Vanessa out on her jealousy.

“Well maybe I do get jealous! But it’s only ‘cuz I don’t ever want to lose you, fuck, I just don’t want to think about you with anybody else, that’s all!”

“But you don’t have to! Priyanka is my friend, that’s it, that’s all there is to it!” Brooke remembers how irritated she’d been, how exasperated. “Don’t you trust me?”

“I trust you! Of course I trust you. I just don’t trust her,” Vanessa had sighed frustratedly, pulled another block out.

“Well I’m not going to just not see one of my friends for the rest of our relationship, V!”

“So you’re choosing her over me? That it?” Vanessa had questioned. Brooke still remembers the tears in her eyes. She’d known Vanessa hadn’t meant to say that, she knew Vanessa knew she was being unreasonable. But Brooke had reacted instantly, thinking in absolutes, or perhaps not thinking entirely.

“Fuck, Vanessa, well if it’s that black and fucking white to you then what the hell are we doing anyway?” she’d yelled, the finality still hurting her if she thinks about it. The raised tensions in the room had come to a boiling point. Vanessa had gone quiet.

“What are you saying?”

Brooke had committed and she was still angry, still frustrated. She’d doubled down. “Why the hell are we doing this if there’s no trust in our relationship?”

The realisation had dawned slowly and sickly like tar over Vanessa’s face. “You’re saying you want to break up?”

Brooke hadn’t replied, only stared at the floor. Vanessa had taken it as an answer.

She’d left.

Brooke had regretted it, but she’d known they would make amends. It had just been a silly argument, and things had been said that neither of them meant. She still loved her. They still loved each other. Brooke had given it an hour, waited for her to cool off before she called her to apologise.

Vanessa hadn’t picked up.

Brooke’s still waiting on her to call back.

***

Brooke is ten minutes away from a firm meeting when she gets the text.

V: i’ll be at Rialtos for the next hour

V: your move i guess

She doesn’t even think about the decision, simply acts. She asks Nicky to send her apologies, tell the director that she’s had to go home with stomach pains. If she gets a disciplinary it’ll be worth the risk. She crashes out of her office like a tsunami, her bag and her coat swinging wildly from the crook of her arm. Rialto’s is a five minute walk from her office but she makes it in three even in her stilettos. It’s only when she sees it on the corner on the sidewalk opposite that an overwhelming feeling of panic and sickness hits her like a gut punch. She’s been waiting for this moment for the past month-and-twelve-days (she’s counted), but now that it’s here she almost doesn’t know what to do. She’s never felt nerves like this- all of her nerve endings are buzzing like broken strobe lights and every time her heart beats her whole body feels it. It had been different the first time they were supposed to meet up and talk things out because Brooke had been there first, she could sit for a while and psych herself up. But this time Brooke knows that Vanessa is sitting at a table in the bar just across the street, and all that’s separating them is a busy road, a door and a few steps. Brooke steels herself, forces herself to take a few deep breaths as she checks her reflection in the shop window beside her. She looks a fright: no makeup, sleep-deprived bags under her eyes, the only thing remotely presentable about her is her hair which she threw into a low ponytail that morning. Then again, she supposes that Vanessa’s seen her without makeup before. Brooke thinks Vanessa’s seen every possible version of her, apart from of course this one. She takes another deep breath, turns around and stares the bar down as if she’s going to war.

It’s time.

Brooke dashes across the road and it crosses her mind that perhaps it would be better to just let fate take its course and get hit by a yellow taxi, but that’s the coward’s way out so she reaches the bar entranceway, pushes the door open with a huge, held-in breath. Rialto’s is dark inside with dim red lighting, and so even at four in the afternoon it seems as if it’s midnight. There’s red booths with black lacquered tables that shine under the crimson of the lamps positioned above them and the walls are covered in framed pictures, none of which Brooke takes in because she’s searching, slowly yet frantically as if she’s attempting to both prolong and speed up this whole situation. One booth near to her to her right holds a cheerful couple, another on her far left houses an old man drinking a cup of coffee.

And then she sees her.

She’s got her back to the door but Brooke recognises the wave of her blonde hair, the tie-dye of the oversized hoodie she’s wearing. She recognises the acrylic nails and the chunky rings that pattern the hand that’s curled around what looks like a French martini on the table. A searing, painful memory of their first date at Le Bernardin wrenches Brooke’s heart. She takes another deep breath and walks forward even though she feels like she’s going to be sick. She stops just at the table and the breath is knocked out of her lungs.

Vanessa looks up at her, her face impassive. Her makeup is perfect, but then Brooke wouldn’t have expected anything else. There’s dark roots at her side parting but Brooke thinks she somehow suits them. Apart from that she looks exactly the same, just how Brooke remembers her.

“Hi,” Brooke greets her feebly. Vanessa somehow communicates a shrug through a blink.

“Hey,” she says, taking her hand off her glass to gesture to the seat opposite her. “Sit.”

Brooke nods as she sits down in the red leather seat, and it’s only then that she notices there’s a second cocktail opposite Vanessa. It looks like a pornstar martini, it’s one of Brooke’s favourites.

“I ordered you one. Figured it might make this easier,” Vanessa explains. Her expression doesn’t break. Brooke is touched by the gesture.

“Thanks,” she says. Her hands shake as she reaches out to take the glass, sips at it and feels the sweetness of the vanilla vodka and the tang of the passionfruit coat her dry mouth. Her stomach’s still churning as Vanessa sits regarding her for a moment. Brooke wants to say something. She wants to immediately apologise for it all, even though she’s left twelve voicemails and twenty texts saying the same thing. She wants to ask how Vanessa is, even though that would be the most idiotic of things to say. Eventually she decides to lead with a compliment.

“You look great.”

Vanessa sniffs. “You don’t.”

Brooke takes the hit, supposes she deserves it. “I’ve not been sleeping great.”

“Yeah. Yvie’s mentioned,” Vanessa looks down at her lap, blinks. When she looks up again she’s clearly ready to speak, and Brooke’s heart is in her mouth. “So, we need to talk properly.”

“Yes.”

Vanessa looks down at the table, then into Brooke’s eyes. Brooke can tell she’s having a hard time doing so. “Uh, first off I wanna say sorry.”

The apology knocks Brooke for six. She feels herself frown involuntarily. “For what?”

“Well, it was wrong of me to try an’ make you choose between me and your friend. I knew it was wrong the moment I said it but I was jealous, an’ I was hurt. But that don’t excuse it, so I’m sorry.”  

Brooke shakes her head. She’d been annoyed at Vanessa for that at the time, and she’d have maybe appreciated an apology a month ago, but just now it only seems trivial in the grand scheme of things. “Vanessa, you don’t…you don’t need to apologise for this situation.”

Vanessa narrows her eyes at her and there’s a warning look in her gaze, so Brooke drops her protests and shrugs a little. “But I accept your apology.”

Vanessa nods, clearly following some internal script. Brooke is happy to go along with it, to play her part and say her lines, whatever they’re meant to be. She’s so used to immediately taking control of every situation she finds herself in, and even though her stomach feels sick and she feels as if she’s in an interrogation room she doesn’t mind playing the role of the witness and letting Vanessa be the lawyer for a change. She supposes she is on trial in some way.

“Now…I know that you’re sorry, you’ve made that pretty clear, so I don’t want another apology from you,” Vanessa begins, and part of Brooke doesn’t like that because she does want to say sorry, but maybe that’s just for her own benefit and not Vanessa’s. Vanessa sighs as she continues, looks down at her drink and this time doesn’t break eye contact. “But I need you to know how much you hurt me.”

Brooke winces. She realises Vanessa’s waiting for confirmation. “Okay.”

Vanessa pauses, and the breath she takes is shaky before she speaks again. “I…loved you so much, Brooke Lynn.”

The past tense slices Brooke in half.

“I never loved anyone like that before in my life. An’ I always thought you were too good to be true, like somehow one day I’d wake up and our whole relationship would be a dream. I never stopped tellin’ you how lucky I was or how much I appreciated you or how much I loved you. An’ you never stopped tellin’ me either. You made me feel so loved, an’ so precious, an’ so…fuck, sorry.”

Vanessa’s tone grows frustrated, anger layering with the tears Brooke can see in her eyes as she tips her head up, swipes at them like a tiger to wipe them away. Brooke thinks her heart might be breaking again, halves into quarters.

“An’ so that day, when we had that fight,” Vanessa continues, staring steadfastly at Brooke. “All of that, everything we had…it was like it didn’t matter anymore? Like everything we’d shared an’ everything I’d told you an’ everything you’d told me…like, what, that was all for nothing?”

“It wa-”

“Just lemme get this out, please,” Vanessa puts a hand up, stops her. “It was like everything I knew about you was just…nothing. I didn’t know you anymore. An’ I know it was a stupid fight and we shoulda been able to work that shit out, but…I was hurt. I’m still hurting. You hurt me.”

Vanessa stops. She’s done. Brooke wants to cry. She swallows the feeling down before she speaks.

“I behaved like a dick. And I said stupid things, but by the time they were out I couldn’t take them back. I didn’t mean any of it, Vanessa, I just…opened my mouth and said whatever got there first. That’s my fault, I know that. And I know I’ve apologised before but I haven’t had the chance to do it in person, so I’m honestly so sorry for hurting you. For making it seem like our relationship meant nothing to me. Like you meant nothing to me. You mean the world to me, you still do,” Brooke sighs, trying to make the deep breath she takes to stave off her tears subtle. She can’t meet Vanessa’s eyes when there’s tears in her own so she fixes her gaze on the passionfruit half floating in her drink as she continues. “And you don’t have to accept it, just as long as you hear it.”

“I know,” Vanessa says instantly. She looks calmer now she’s said her piece and heard Brooke’s, and she takes a sip from the two little black straws sticking out of the martini glass. She suddenly rolls her eyes, a bitter smile spreading across her face. “Fuck you, Brooke Lynn.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, I mean…fuck you for making me still love you. Fuck me for still loving you,” Vanessa sighs, resigned. The words make Brooke’s heart give a leap and she can’t help the smile she instantly tries to suppress and fails. Vanessa narrows her eyes at her, her expression turning serious. “But that don’t mean I forgive you.”

“I know. You don’t have to,” Brooke says guiltily. She thinks about saying it, wonders if it’ll guilt-trip Vanessa and she doesn’t want that, but indulgently and selfishly she says it anyway. “I still love you. I never stopped.”

Vanessa winces as if she’s been shot, her expression instantly turning into one of discomfort and her eyes squeezing shut. Brooke frowns. “Sorry.”

“Stop apologising, Christ. You’re so fuckin’ Canadian,” Vanessa sighs exasperatedly as she puts her head in her hands, and Brooke probably would’ve laughed if she hadn’t been trying to repair the most important relationship of her life so far. Brooke feels awkward and she’s in this conversation without a map, unsure which direction it’s going in.

“Where do we go from here?”

Vanessa drains her glass, foam and syrup all that’s left. She leans back in her chair and folds her arms over. There’s a tiny smile that’s back on her face, and it makes Brooke’s hopes start to climb.

“Well,” she shrugs a little, her guard still up but ever so slightly lowered. “You can start by buyin’ me another drink an’ we can take it from there.”

Brooke nods, grabs her purse and almost sprints to the bar. She orders another French martini and another pornstar- she thinks she’ll be needing it. As she waits for their drinks and the sound of ice in a cocktail shaker cuts through the air, Brooke sneaks a look at Vanessa in the booth. She’s so gorgeous. Brooke’s happy to see her again, despite the circumstances. Just as she makes to turn back around, Vanessa’s head snaps up from the phone in her hand and their eyes meet.

Vanessa’s gaze is soft and the small smile on her face is warm.

Maybe they’re going to be okay.

[tazzytypes]

Apocalypse: Sanctuary - Chapter 4

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The air was thick and smelled of must. People crowded into the streets like they were in the center of New York City, but when she looked up she saw the towering remnants of an ancient metropolis. Like a tide, they pulled at her this way and that. Green eyes staring up at the sky quickly were once more pulled to the cobblestone street beneath her feet as she tripped and fell to the ground.

She had to move. That was the only thing she was sure of. She had to find him.

“He’s here!” the people murmured, the phrase coming towards her like ripples in a pond, followed by gushing. Their words were a roar in her ear, fan-girls and fan-boys all vying to be seen and heard over all the others.

Something possessive curled around her heart, a jealous python that would squeeze until the organ burst in her chest and rendered her lifeless on the street. Then she would be left to be trampled by the stampede, head caved in and bones broken by a million feet — the second rendition of the Who concert of the 19070s.

She had to move.

The snake in her chest provoked something in her. Her hands were like claws as they dug into the shoulders of those in front of her, pulling them back so she could surge forwards. Like rag-dolls they allowed her to tear into them or perhaps she simply didn’t care if they were hurt. All that mattered was finding him.

Finally, she could see the edge of their ranks. They were like a funeral procession, swaying back and forth silently. No cries of praise or screaming of star-struck fans close to their equivalent of a god. He wasn't a god… not to her. Or maybe he was? She couldn’t recall.

All she knew is that when she looked at him her heart soared and she felt happier than she had ever felt before. When she finally saw his golden hair between the silhouettes of those before her she felt giddy, a smile pulling at her lips as she reached out to him. Blue eyes met hers and she could see the universe within them, a sea she could explore a million times over without growing tired. She smiled so much it hurt, her lips forming his name like a prayer.

The smile faded as quickly as it had formed. His back turned to her as he ascended the stairs, up to one of the ancient monoliths that surrounded them. Her heart fell to her stomach and all she could do was stand there, hot and salty tears pouring down her cheeks.

He was hers, wasn’t he? Or was she simply of the masses, looking upon him and wishing to be looked upon in return… to be something more than what they were.

Em awoke with a gasp, heart hammering in her ears as she stared down at the floor of the empty hallway, the wall she leaned on cool to the touch.

Wait… hallway?

Panicked, she righted herself, turning around in circles as she tried to figure out where she was. How did she end up in the hallway? The last thing she remembered was Venable sending them to their rooms as wardens rushed in to deal with the snakes. Emily, as usual, had pulled Em to her senses… literally tugging her from the chair with the help of The Fist. The Three Musketeers had gathered in the library, Timothy convinced they had actually summoned a demon while the two girls sought a more logical explanation

Then she had gone to bed, seeking refuge from the continuous hunger that clawed at her belly… sleepwalking maybe? But she had never sleepwalked before…

Em looked down at her legs. She had gotten dressed, entirely in purple with a bow around her neck and puffed sleeves that reminded her of the 80s. Her now shoulder-length hair was even pulled back into a bun.

A hand went to her wrist, something stiff behind the cuffs of her sleeves. She had even readied the pocket knife she had smuggled in, hidden in a secret pocket she had sown in during their first few weeks in the outpost.

She had always been meticulous when getting ready for the day — the curse of Victorian clothes and an inability to trust the presiding authority. So how could she not remember? Dissociating wasn’t new to her — it was common to get into a routine and go on autopilot, but this was just… black. Like she had drunk too much or had her wisdom teeth removed.

“Em!” A voice called, the woman in question turning at the sound of footsteps running in her direction. Emily bounded towards her, lifting her skirt so she could move as quickly as possible. “There you are! We’ve been looking all over for you!”

The brunette didn’t even note the buzzing feeling until it retreated from her, leaving her head, then her shoulders, and onward until it left her toes and seemed to seep into the floor, her spine-shivering at the sensation. How could she not have felt it jitter her bones?

Emily noted her friend's distant gaze and pinched brows, hand going to cover Em’s freezing ones. “Are you alright?”

Em shook her head, trying to clear away the fog.

“Sorry,” She apologized, offering an unconvincing and certainly not reassuring smile despite her intentions, “lost my head for a moment there. Did you need something?”

Emily frowned for a moment but didn’t push.

“Venable called for a meeting. Maybe we’ll finally figure out something.”

She took a few steps forward, hand reaching back for Em to take. A small relieved smile flickered to Emily’s face as Em took her hand, allowing the ebony-haired girl to tug her along to the salon.

“Who do you think was in Venable’s office?” Emily asked. Her hand was tight around Em’s as if she were afraid the brunette would float away.

“I don’t know.”

“Has to be someone important. I’ve never seen her so ruffled.”

“She deserves to be ruffled,” Em notes, earning a laugh from her companion.

“Amen to that.”

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

Em would probably never stop complaining about the arrangement of furniture in the salon. Having her back to open air was unnerving and knowing a wall of Greys were behind her didn’t help smooth out the hairs that stood up on the back of her neck.

She shifted this way and that as the others chatted around her, trying to find a position that eased her tension. The brunette would slouch, but corsets made that physically impossible. Emily noted her friend's discomfort and offered her a reassuring smile.

God, she wished she could join the Greys, standing in the background against the walls or above them on the small balcony. She glanced over to Venable who stood front and center. It reminded Em of an annoying governess, looking down at her charges with her nose in the air. No, if Em moved that would break the woman's precious rules. Heavens knew they couldn’t break quid pro quo of their tiny society.

While Venable’s presence was enough to seep any joy from the room, there was an added weight to the usual tension. This moment was going to be a defining one. A visitor knocking on one's door during a nuclear winter was haunting and they had all been warned about the cannibals… the wild, tumor infested ones at the very least.

The clicking of heels against wood was a drum-roll suitable for a battlefield, growing closer and closer at an agonizingly slow pace. They all turned their attention to the door which stood wide open by a Grey. From the shadows, a man came forth.

His clothes were much more modern than her own, making Em feel more than a bit ridiculous. She kept her hands in her lap and forced herself not to fidget as he rounded the room. The light of the fire he was approaching made his features more prominent, but her attention was focused on his hair. The way the firelight hit him made it seem like there was a golden halo around his head, catching and setting ablaze every stray strand. It was enough to awe at, the poet in her quick to make a comparison to angels. Then again, even God’s most beautiful angel had locks of golden hair… and they all know what happened to him.

He came to a stop uncomfortably close to Venable. It was enough to unnerve the woman, a triumphant smile quickly pressed into a thin line. His actions were primal, a lion trying to take over the pride. When Em glanced at Emily and the others she found that they had already removed their gaze as if they were watching a dance that was not meant to be seen. Coco scratched at the back of her neck and even Dinah preoccupied herself with straightening a wrinkle in her dress.

Whatever Venable saw in the man’s eyes was enough to make her falter and step back, the second-long interaction feeling much longer.

Smug, he pulled his gaze away from the queen of Outpost 3 and glanced over them with his hands behind his back. He oozed and burned with something Em had been yearning for — power. Letting the silence sit for a moment, he finally addressed them.

“My name is Langdon and I represent The Cooperative,” He started, “I won't sugarcoat the situation.”

They all sat a little straighter, eager to hear him speak. His eyes linger on her and she does not look away, makes sure of it. It was a primal interaction she knew all too well.

“Humanity is on the brink of failure,” Langdon went on, eyes not leaving hers, waiting for her to turn away.

While the existence of “alphas” was debatable and even debunked by the man who coined it, dogs and even cats avert their eyes from their more powerful counterparts. Em would not bow her head to anyone.

“My arrival here,” He continued, finally pulling away, “was crucial to the survival of civilized life on earth. The three other compounds — in Syracuse, New York, Beckley, West Virginia, and San Angelo, Texas — have been overrun and destroyed.”

West Virginia — that’s where Em had been initially placed before some rich benefactor decided their dog was more deserving of her position there. She was lucky The Cooperative even bothered to place her somewhere else. While Texas would have been the next closer outpost to where she was on the east coast, she was honestly quite glad to be where she was. Enough of her life had been spent surrounded by bigoted rednecks.

Langdon went on, “We’ve had no contact from the six international outposts, but we are assuming that they, too, have been eliminated.”

Em bit her lip to keep down the retort that threatened to burst out. A giant fucking ocean and radiation interfering with whatever electrical-waves that could be used for communication ensured little to no communication. She doubted a radioactive pigeon could even survive long enough to make a voyage.

“What happened to the people inside?” Timothy asked across from her. He was the only one that seemed relaxed, leaning against the arm of the chair as he had during every cocktail hour for the past 18 months.

Langdon spared him a fleeting glance, tone light despite the gravity, “Massacred.”

“By who?” Em prompted.

The quick side-eye from the man was enough to tell her that he had heard her, but was choosing not to address her.

He was not shy to deliver the news which he had come here to give them, “The same fate that will befall almost all of you.”

“Almost all?” A Grey questioned from behind her. Em glanced in the direction of the voice to find the girl that had delivered Em her clothes a few days before. Coco’s friend… though "friend" would be a very loose word.

Once again, Langdon pretended not to hear. Looking at the girl, but not dignifying her with a response.

“In the knowledge that this very moment might occur,” he said, “We built a failsafe — The Sanctuary.”

“The Sanctuary?” Coco echoed.

“The Sanctuary,” He went on, quickly growing tired of the interruptions, “is unique. It has certain security measures that will prevent overrun.”

Mead made a face at that, clearly bothered by this bit of information, “Excuse me, sir, what measures? Why weren’t we given them?”

“And why weren’t they applied to all outposts?” Em couldn’t help but add, meeting Mead’s gaze which shared a similar glimmer of realization.

When she turned back to the blond, his eyes were boring into her own, raising a hand to silence Mead, “That’s classified.”

He sighed, unable to hide his annoyance, “All that matters is that The Sanctuary will… survive, so the people inside it will survive, so that humanity will survive.”

Andre had looked at the man with contempt from the moment Langdon had entered the room. His eyes flared with anger the other residents were all too familiar with. “Who are the people who are populating it?”

Langdon shook his head, eyes shimmering with something akin to amusement, “…also classified. However, I have been sent to determine if any of you are worthy and fit to join us.”

Chattering filled the room, Coco’s face breaking into a smile as she turned to Gallant and Dinah beaming as she squeezed her son’s hand. Timothy, Em, and Emily could only spare one another silent and concerned looks. They all knew the questions in the minds of the other two. Did wealth factor into their chances? Either was, Em was reluctant to get her hopes up… she had learned that lesson long before the apocalypse.

“The Cooperative has developed a particular and rigorous questioning technique we like to call… ‘Cooperating’.” Langdon explained, glancing over to them with a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth, threatening to grow into something more. “I will then use the information gained to determine if you belong.”

This time, Em could not hold back the quiet scoff that left her. He had to know what he sounded like. His sarcastic tone implied that much… like a CEO on his high horse telling minimum wage workers that if they worked hard enough then they wouldn’t have to worry about rent.

Naturally, Coco was quick to throw a fit and complain. The other residents could practically sense it coming like it was The Force from Star Wars.

“What is this? The Hunger Games?” she spat, “This is bullshit. I paid my way in here and that is the only cooperating I plan on doing.”

Em sighed and leaned towards Emily, being careful to keep her voice to a whisper, “I think I’d prefer The Hunger games.”

Emily gave her a look, biting her lip to hide the amusement that had begun to show itself on her face.

Langdon waited out the tirade like a parent watching their child throw a tantrum in a Target. Certain it would come to an end, but not quite sure when. Part of him even looked shocked at the outburst altogether.

“You don’t have to sit for questioning,” he informed her. Whatever first impression Em would make on this man, she could at the very least assure herself that is wasn’t as bad as Coco’s.

“What happens if we chose not to?” Andre asked.

“Then you stay here and die.” Langdon snapped. He had hoped for his message to be implied through his speech, but these people seemed to need their hand held, either too stupid or too lazy to put 2 and 2 together.

“I volunteer to go first!” Gallant proclaimed abruptly, raising his hand into the air.

“And so you shall,” Langdon said with a smirk. Em’s eyes lingered on the hairstylist, making a note to keep her ears to the pavement. The man couldn’t keep a secret to save his life… then again it wouldn’t be past him to tell her the wrong information just to ensure his own salvation.

“The process should only take me a week or so,” Langdon said, reaching into the inside pocket of his jacket, “so you won’t be kept in suspense forever. For those of you who don’t make the cut, all is not lost.”

His eyes scanned over them once more as he held up a vial, “If the worst should happen and feral cannibals come knocking, down one of these.”

There were only a few pills left and they all had to wonder if the vial was once full to the brim, “one minute later, you fall asleep and never wake up.”

Emily’s hand gripped on to Em’s skirt, but Em did not share her concern. She was quite surprised at her relief, tension leaving her shoulders. What was it that Hamlet said — “To sleep perchance to dream?” She was so tired of fighting, but the thought of death was a sobering chill in her bones, an existential fear she could not escape. She was like Jekyll and Hyde, flickering between wanting to live and wanting to fall into an endless slumber.

“I look forward to meeting each and every one of you.”

Langdon left as quick as he had entered, in silence with nothing but the clicking of heels down a hallway to give any sign he was even there at all.

They all sat there, staring at nothing… some of them turning their gaze inward. Em could only wonder what the price of survival was. Right now they were living one day only to make it to the next. It was hell, plain and simple. This ultimatum was simply choosing the lesser of two evils.

All she wanted was to see the sky — the real thing, not a worn photograph frozen in time. But there wasn’t a sky anymore, was there? Just a green haze. The brunette was nothing more than a walking corpse, the dance of day to day life, of cocktail hour and dinners and library sessions, was just a distraction. Who was to say they weren’t leaving one prison to be locked in another?

Sometimes she just wanted to scream until her vocal cords snapped.

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

It didn’t take long for the purples to be at each other’s throats. She found it almost morbidly amusing — in the plight to survive they would end up killing one another until no one was left. That was irony, right? Em had become hazy on the exact definition and was too lazy at the moment to search for the answer.

“Well, smooth move asking to go first,” Coco scoffed, turning and glaring at the man beside her as soon as Venable had left the room.

“There’s an old actor’s adage,” Evie sighed, “Either go first or go last.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Coco snipped.

“Are you suggesting that he is going to pass me up?”

“You’re ancient! He’s looking for people to repopulate the earth, not fill a bingo hall.”

“You know, for someone with the mental capacity of a 3-year-old, I suppose 52 might seem ancient.”

Coco laughed, mocking and without mercy, “You were 52 when Elvis took his last shit!”

“That’s enough,” Gallant groaned.

“Oh, no.” Evie said, “let her spout. I remember a wonderful lunch that I had with Dan Tana’s with Natalie Wood.”

Coco groaned and pressed her face into a hand she had propped up on the arm of the chair.

“Natalie turned to me and she said,” Evie continued, changing to mock an accent Em couldn’t quite place, “’ Evie, you are a survivor. You’re gonna outlive us all.’”

With a flourish of her hand, the old woman procured a fan from somewhere on her person and used it to emphasize her point, “and dear Natalie — she turned out to be right.”

Em’s restraint and sanity were at an end. Whatever thread it had been dangling by snapping as she listened to Gallant and Coco go at the other’s throat, the other residents hardly doing anything to help the situation.

Emily jumped as the brunette next to her suddenly jumped to her feet. Coco opening her mouth to retort to the old woman’s story, but finding herself cut off.

“Shut up!” She cried, “For the love of god, shut up!”

The group went quiet, shocked and looking to another for some explanation. Em wasn’t one to hide her aggravation, but it was mostly aimed at Venable. For the past 18 months, she had been relatively quiet save for her interactions with Emily and Timothy.

“Realistically,” She posed, “What is going to happen to us?”

Coco frowned, “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to be in that sanctuary.”

Evie scoffed, “darling, you have as much of a chance getting into that sanctuary as Stu does.”

Coco narrowed her eyes, “Stu’s dead.”

“That’s her point.” Gallant sighed.

“You have no right to speak his name!” Andre snapped before turning and glaring at the old woman, “especially you!”

“We didn’t eat your boyfriend!” Coco and Gallant snapped back in unison.

Dinah stood and took a spot next to Em who could only roll her eyes at the former star’s antics, “The only way to survive is to work together.”

“Oh, shut up,” Coco groaned, leaning her head back on the couch, “that garbage may have worked in TV land, but this is real life.”

“And real life has need of influencers?” Em scoffed. She was beyond done with this batch of spoiled socialites and tired of holding her tongue in the hopes that one day they may prove useful. “Spare me.”

Coco gaped at her, turning to her and beginning to bop her head again like an angry chicken, “there are 2 types of people in the world: the influenced and the influencers.”

Em shook her head, hands coming to her chin as if she was praying, “The old world, you mean.”

“Old world, new world.” Coco said, “it’s all the same.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” Em asked, holding back a laugh.

“Oh, and you have all the answers?”

“No,” Em admitted, coming to stand in front of the fireplace, “but I have facts: most of the people in this room have no applicable skills.”

Coco raised a finger and opened her mouth.

Em held out a hand, pointing at her with the rage of god, “I swear if the word influencer leaves you mouth one more time—”

Whatever Coco saw in the brunette’s eyes was enough to shut her up, eyes going to the ground before her before she glanced at the others. Even Emily was frightened by her friend’s current rampage, looking to Timothy who only shrugged… Em had a point.

“Scientists theorized after World War Three,” Em explained, pacing back and forth, “that 80 percent of people would die in the blast and the other 20 percent would die in the aftermath.”

“But the Sanctuary—”

Em cut off Gallant, “The only sanctuary we have is in death and this place— ”

She motioned to the room around here, “— this place only prolongs our suffering.”

“Well if you’re so right and whatever why don’t you just off yourself and save us the headache!” Coco snapped.

“Out fingers have the consistency of a carrot,” Em sighed, speaking more to herself than the others, “we could bite it off just as easily… but we don’t.”

“Yeah! Because we’re not psychos!”

“Because our brains stop us,” Em said, “When standing at the edge of a tall building some of us feel the urge to jump… not because we’re depressed, not because we want to, but because it is simply there.”

“Are you going to get to the point?” Gallant sighed, pinching his nose and making a motion with his hands to hurry the girl up.

“Humans don’t want to off themselves. Those who do are fighting against every instinct that says otherwise, but—”

Em mimed a gun with two of her fingers and aimed it at Coco, closing one eye as if to get a better shot, “— to kill another is so much easier.”

“You think The Cooperative is just trying to off the 20 percent?” Timothy asked, leaning forward and glancing at Emily.

“Then why leave the others outside in the radiation,” Emily asked, brows pinched together in thought as she glanced between her boyfriend and Em, “Why not let us all die?”

“Because we are human,” Em said, “and humans don’t want to die. They will find whatever reason they can to worm their way to self-preservation.”

Gallant opened his mouth to comment, but the signature sound of a cane hitting hardwood made everyone fall silent. Venable appearing in the doorway, looking less than pleased as she stared at Em, raising her head to look at the woman down her nose.

“To question those who keep us alive is a flagrant show of disrespect,” she said.

“If we do not challenge our perception how are we to survive?” Em posed.

The residents glanced between the two like watching a tennis match where there were knives instead of balls.

Venable straightened ever slightly, “through strong will and respect for the chain of command.”

Em scoffed, “Putting a corset on chaos and hoping it will stay in its confines.”

“You doubt The Cooperative?” Venable asked, taking a step forward.

“I’m entertaining philosophical debate.”

“AKA going bat-shit crazy,” Coco laughed, sparing a look at Gallant who smiled at some unspoken joke.

“Well you got one thing right,” Venable said, banging her cane on the floor to gather the attention of the entire room and looking over each of them one by one, “You’re all expendable.”

Her eyes landed on Em, “something everyone would do well to remember.”

Venable turned around and began to walk away, but Em’s voice made her halt. As always it was smug and mocking. She couldn’t wait for this particular fly to finally be squashed.

“What about you?”

Her voice was firm and resolute, “I am the only thing standing between you and a quick death.”

She didn’t turn to look at Em, but she could practically sense the mocking bow taking place behind her.

“Then I yield to my executioner.”

Venable’s lips twitched into a scowl that she did not pretend to hide, unseen by the crowd behind her.

“Dinner is in an hour,” She spat, “Tardiness will not be accepted for any reason.”

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

Timothy and Emily had gathered in the latter’s room, sighing against the other's lips. Emily groaned as he pulled away trying to pull him closer only to be stopped by a hand on her shoulder.

“This one kiss a week is bullshit.” She sighed, eyes flickering open as she looked at Timothy through her lashes.

Timothy’s eyes pressed into a line as he looked everywhere but at her, trying to hold on to whatever restraint he had left. “I know.”

There was a moment of silence before Emily spoke again, “I want to get out of here.”

Timothy could only stare at her, praying she wasn’t implying what he thought she was, “What are you talking about?”

Emily stood, the lack of her warmth beside him quickly sobering Timothy to the conversation at hand, “I’m not gonna wait around to find out if Langdon chooses us and I don’t exactly trust him, anyway.”

She was practically beaming as she proposed her plan to him, “I say we steal two rad-suits and some food and take our chances on the road… find the sanctuary ourselves.”

He didn’t even know how to respond to that, leaning back on the bed as he gaped like a fish and gestured out to her in hopes that would spur some epiphany of words. Part of him was annoyed with Em. Put those two together and they’d overtake the outpost if they could.

“That is crazy,” was all he could say, quickly searching for something to add after as Emily began to give him that scathing glower, “We don’t… Have you forgotten what it’s like out there?”

“Em would be down in a heartbeat,” Emily tried to persuade.

“Em is less impulsive than you think. She’s seen what cancer does to people… it’s not pretty.”

“I’m not saying we have to rush it,” Emily reassured, walking back to him a kneeling down to grab his hand, “but Langdon made it here okay and he was all alone. He doesn’t exactly look like Mad Max.”

“We don’t even know where The Sanctuary is.”

“Maybe there’s something in his room that’ll tell us,” Emily said, “Em knows how to use information… she’s a fucking encyclopedia sometimes.”

Timothy was shaking his head but laughed despite himself.

“Fine,” he relented, “but only if Em agrees. We’re in this together or not at all.”

Emily was beaming, springing up and hugging him. Timothy gasped as the air was nearly knocked out of him.

“You won’t regret it,” She whispered in his ear.

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

With the pressure of impending doom, most of the residents were keeping their heads low. While she felt somewhat embarrassed about her previous rampage, there was some therapeutic relief in it. While she had voiced her complaints before, it had never been so… explosive.

Coco had called her psycho and part of Em couldn’t completely deny it. She had lost time not even an hour before. If things kept going as they were, a much more violent and permanent break would be in her future. The black void in her memory frightened her to no end. It was like being in the blast all over again, alone and surrounded by nothingness as the bombs shook her bones. Em imagined it was what death felt like, but she didn’t like to imagine it for long.

Gallant had his interview which gave them all an hour or so free of drama. Things almost felt peaceful… as peaceful as looming death would allow.

Foolishly, she had begun her free-time looking for the occult book the Three Musketeers had used to terrify Timothy. Now, she sat at a table with medical books strewn around her as she scribbled in her notebook. Medical professionals said not to self-diagnose, but the brunette had a lack of a better option.

Her symptoms included buzzing and loss of time. While it was easy to chalk it up to starvation, something about that prognosis didn’t sit right with her. Unfortunately, with those symptoms alone she might as well have searched on WebMD and chosen the worse possible answer. Cancer, tumors, and all other sorts of daunting diagnoses the first things she came across.

Sighing, Em leaned on her hand and allowed it to pull at her cheeks before running it through her hair. A dead-end stood in front of her, mocking her. She had done everything — read every book she could get her hands on and created detailed notes of every possible diagnosis. Balled up paper surrounded her, each one of them another dead end.

So, eyes tired from reading small print in dim lighting, Em changed course. With a sigh, she pushed aside the medical books and medical notes and pulled towards her the books on agriculture and self-sustainability.

Despite her feelings towards the current states of life and death, the humanity in her urged her to plow forward — to prepare for the worst-case scenario.

She knew what happened in Chernobyl. Every class since pre-k seemed to go over the subject, but Chernobyl was a harmless puppy compared to what they now faced. What happened when the radiation had nowhere to go? Was it even able to dissipate?

Then there was the issue of food. What could they eat when the entire food supply was contaminated? It was possible, she knew that much, but without the Cooperative —

Em was pulled out of her thoughts by the feeling of being watched, hand going to her neck where hairs stood on end. Looking up, she found Langdon standing there, watching her from the end of an aisle. It was unnerving, his stare, like looking into the eyes of a hungry wolf. How long had he been there?

“You’ve wandered away from the heard,” He noted, hands behind his back as he sauntered towards her.

She turned her attention back to her collection of books, sighing at the sudden interruption and heart halting fear Langdon’s sudden presence evoked, “A heard implies we are a collective group.”

He came to a stop by her side cocking his head as he looked at the books piled up around her like a make-shift fort. He made no move to sit. Another power play.

“Aren’t you?” he asked, picking a book from the top of the pile — a medical dictionary. His eyes flickered over some of the pages as he flipped through it. Why would she be looking at medical dictionaries?

Em was quick to organize her notes, scattered here and there. She placed them under the books if only to spare herself from whatever line of questioning they would evoke. Langdon noticed but did not comment.

“Push comes to shove, most of us will turn on the others to survive.” She told him, finally looking at him.

He smirked, catching her subtle slip-up as he placed the dictionary back on its respective pile, “us?”

Her hazel-green eyes flickered back towards her books.

“I don’t particularly care for many of them,” Em sighed, pulling a tome from a pile and opening it to read its index, “and I know they would sacrifice me in a heartbeat.”

“An eye for an eye,” Langdon noted, rounding the table until he stood on her right, taking a seat on the table instead of a chair, “some may call that barbaric.”

“I call it balance,” Em noted, looking up from the book and into his blue eyes. The sight of them made her pause, but only for an instant. “Is this my interview?”

“Do you want it to be?”

“I think it doesn’t matter what I want.”

His eyes narrowed as if trying to find something in her eyes, his head quirking to the side yet again, “then why do you ask?”

Em motioned to the books in front of her, “curiosity.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” He noted, waving his hand and looking away from her as he continued, “or so they say.”

“But satisfaction brought it back,” she finished.

A smirk crawled onto his lips and once more he turned his attention to the piles of books before her. His hands went to one of the medical books, opening it and skimming through the pages.

“How many books have you read?” he asked, the simplicity of the question taking her off-guard. Em eyed the book in her hand, small with yellowed pages. She closed it with a snap before turning it this way and that, calculating something in her head.

“Depends on the size,” she admits, “one a day, larger ones maybe a week. Some I’ve re-read. Would you count those as well?”

Michael smiled and shook his head, placing his book back on the pile, “Do you intend to read them all?”

“Personal goal,” she admits, fiddling with her bracelet, “we all need something to get us through the day.”

Michael’s eyes focused on her hands which religiously turned and twisted at the string and beads around her wrist.

“Such a simple thing,” he noted, “I assume it has sentimental value?”

“More like superstition,” she admits, “I was wearing it when I was brought here. It’s a Nazar, meant to ward off the evil eye.”

Michael hummed, eyes not leaving the object, “I’m familiar. When logic cannot prevail humans rely upon— ”

Em went to add something, but they were cut off by the shrieking of the library door. Em turned towards the sound but she could feel Michael’s eye on her.

“Oh!” Coco exclaimed from across the room, laughing with her hand on her heart like she was surprised as she started towards them. A hand went to pat her hair to keep it in place. “I didn’t expect you to be in here!”

Em sighed and rolled her eyes, Michael’s finally leaving her and dragging to Coco as he rose to his feet. Whatever smirk he wore was gone, his expression a stone-like mask. Was he annoyed or was that simply his resting face?

“Having a little party here?” Coco asked, her voice almost painfully nice as a hand motioned to the door behind her to the door, “or is this an intimate affair? Should I go and — “

“No need,” Langdon told her, raising a hand to silence her as he moved towards the door. As he approached Coco he stopped for a moment, eying her up and down, “I have other business to attend to.”

Coco simply stood there, trapped in his gaze until he finally turned back to Em, hands going behind his back. They were always behind his back… as if he were hiding something from them.

“You have enlightened me to some fascinating bits of information. I can’t wait to see what else my interview will extract.”

The room fell eerily silent as he left. Em watched his back, his hands. There was something off about this man… The Cooperative in general. Of all the times not to have internet—

“So what were you two talking about?” Coco asked, Em jumping as the woman seemed to suddenly appear before her. The sickly-sweet voice was back again, flooding Em’s mind with memories from high-school.

“Books,” Em sighed, reorganizing the books. She needed to put away the medical ones and get a few more for her other research… “and what living here is like.”

“Did he say anything about the interview?”

“No.”

Coco scoffed, rolling her eyes, “then my time is wasted.”

In a flurry of huffing and stomping, the woman left the room. Silence took over the library once more as the door slammed shut.

“No,” Em sang in a hushed tone, collecting books into her arms and returning them to their proper place, “don’t go.”

Desperation in a den of hungry wolves was dangerous enough, dangle a piece of meat and they would most certainly tear one another to pieces.

[dorkyungsoowrites]

Eros

Pairings: Kyungsoo x You

Genre: Fluff | Jane Austen AU

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1.4k

Description: Ancient Greeks insist that there are eight different kinds of love, each given a name that holds special meaning…Eros: passionate love.

A/N: Requested by someone whose name is lost to the ether (I’m sorry I hope you find this. I remember it was “Kyungsoo x Reader by a lake plus neck kisses”), and inspired by a post @monicaexol​ made here. Also because you seemed excited, @j-pping​.

| Storge | Eros | ?

There is strict protocol for how a lady's morning is carried out. There is fairly strict--but not as strongly enforced--protocol for her schedule the rest of the day on most occasions afterward. And there are supremely stringent rules to educate them with proper manners and etiquette, usually through classes. At last there are the most dangerous and exhilarating rules cultivated and given by society to every girl as she rises into a woman to prepare them for the rigors and wiles of men. One learns most of these by proxy. If one is blessed with a doting mother, or in fact perhaps sisters were the best teachers second only to the honest and civil conversation with a gentleman, one could be moderately informed of the absolute blunder that fondness breeds on first approach.

So was the path of all affairs before engagement. Gossip and whispers and rumors flew faster than a lark, and the bird that flew it there held the biggest sway in reputation. Promoting each attendant of a party at least a week before the occasion, with each household choosing their favorites. Particularly of the young men and women who were eligible for their matchmaker gambling. Encouraging men to dance with particular women to line their pockets with pride.

That was how most couples met. It was how you met your sweetheart. Your family tittered about the gentleman that had come to visit the hosts of the future soiree for the summer. Japing about his reputation for being curt and austere. In truth you had been intrigued by the tales of his character for it seemed that you should not wholly trust the word of the birds alone.

It was most wise to hold back judgment for when you arrived at the gathering, for you were afflicted in the heart the moment of introduction. Mesmerized by his dark, severe eyes; striking you immobile with but a moments gaze. The memory was as clear as glass in your mind. The shape of his eyes, the intelligence and intensity in his irises, the way your breath tightened as your bosom inflamed. Longing, lusting, light-headed. You'd never seen such eyes.

So were the eyes you sought out a month after the party. The morning had been much the same as any other; your handmaiden helped you dress. First was your shift; a plain cotton garment you often slept in. Then the simple clocked stockings, secured with ribbon garter at the knee. A petticoat was necessary for warmth and modesty. Then the stay was laced around your torso with a wooden busk center front for posture support and to keep the figure once the dress went on. Next were pockets which you enjoyed stashing trinkets in to take to your secret affairs. After a hip pad was added, the outer layers could go on. A petticoat, a white neckerchief that was tucked into the front of the stay to protect your neck and chest from the sun, and the actual gown. As the off-white material was laced at the front you gazed down at the pattern on your long sleeves. Little blue flowers were speckled everywhere, and you lamented the season of falling, an autumn's blush in the trees and on your cheeks. Lastly was the silk apron to separate you from the workers of the household, and shoes with little silver buckles. All together the outfit was quite hardy, and you were able to slink away after lunch past the garden and through a narrow wood to a lake.

It was often as a child your siblings would swim during the sweltering summers there. It was well secluded from prying eyes and ears, but the waters were far too chilled that time of year. The stillness reflected the trees encompassing the grounds, and in the center, the purest blue called out for your heart to shine with it; luminescent and alluring. Letting your mind wander. It was in those moments that the voice that had been torturing your thoughts smiled behind you.

"Would I offend you, if I were to admit how long a time I've watched you?"

A grin stretched your lips, turning to see him approach. A hand was lowering the hat from his head, allowing the short, silken ebony locks to shine under the brightness of noon. The black and white suit he wore was proper, however devoid of accessories it was. And he had dained to switch the regular coat for something of thicker cloth and longer gait, the hem brushing his calves. It was a navy hue, highlighting the horrifically vivid and ethereal glow to his tawny complexion. Your heart could not be tamed at his approach just as the ocean would never cease to reach for the shore.

"Instead I would offer a warning," you replied. "For you shouldn't stare at the sun too long."

The hat was discarded, forgotten on the grass as saltwater embraced the sand and tarried. A wry smirk twisted his lips as his eyes focused on yours. Always intense and enchanting, and the light reflecting enhanced the color within, the sun swimming among his whiskey irises. Intent on getting you drunk.

"Then let beauty blind me and allow my last sight to be of everything that is precious. You are the sun and stars. You are the mountains, and the fields, and rivers and lakes. Always to be cherished. Never to be violated. Only to be loved...vigorously."

Words which you had never thought would ever leave a mouth as pretty as his, let alone become a bastion for fondness; his lips tender on your neck after his stark proclamation. Air became a rare commodity, catching in your throat. The bawdy action sent ripples of excitement through your body, and you clutched him closer. The indecentness would serve as a warning but for the sentiment in his heart.

Their families had made different matches for one another before the night you met; smarter matches they would tell. It only revealed their ignorance on the subject of affection. For if there was never a coupling such as yours for the next century, then not another couple would suffer as greatly in a century if you were parted.

The pressures of high society had been choking him and you. The birds, and the parties, and loquacious old women so sapped of their own vitality in their dull lives as to make interfering with others' their sole hobby. There never seemed to be a caring hand; someone who didn't only seek the ends. Get married; nevermind the adventure in courtship. Nevermind reveling in the company of a kind intellect. Nevermind celebrating the magnificence of life steeped in wonder while laying entwined in soul, spirit and body. Nevermind love.

He was of a mind to yearn for conversation and contented silence with a partner. To stroll away and earn peace and happiness without a crowd or extraneous clothes and property. You wished the same, and in the space between, your passions collided; coalescing into something greater. Being wanted solely and completely as yourselves, you may be able to break through that foul and ugly mist that had strangled you both.

"Shall I never tire of your winsome character," you elated.

A gust of wind dusted your cheeks with chill and fluttered your skirts. His mouth stole another taste of your skin before pulling back to greet your gaze once more, inadvertently shielding you from the cold. You were acquainted with a mien he intimated was rendered by you unwittingly; warm and soft with a smile that could raze even the strongest of wills.

"The days after our meeting," he said. "I spent walking through gardens hoping they would drive away the heavy thought of care, and perhaps it worked as such for I am here, with you now...without a care in my heart but for you." Your mouth opened, but his words carried on before you could reply. "Despite what our respective relatives might assume, this hasn't been some summer dalliance for me, and as I know I must return home before we are beset upon by winter, I know I would be leaving my heart here with it. Therefore, with all my soul and self bared vulnerable, I would disclose one more thought...nothing would make me happier than to escort you home alongside me as my betrothed."

"Is...this a proposal?"

"With an answer that is yours to give as you please."

The lake's reflection rippled under the wind. He lifted a hand to your face and it betrayed his calm; trembling as fingers fondled stray locks of hair and moved them aside. Tumultuous tenderness as his drunken eyes studied every heartbeat.

To leave all you knew to venture with all you wanted to know. Rational thoughts absconded from your mind. To pretend you required to rationalize this at all was folly. You knew the answer, and when your love collided with his in a kiss, he did too.

[ladynestaarcheron]

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Thirteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti ​ @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me)

my eternal thanks to @thestarwhowishes for being my wonderful beta. and to you all for being my wonderful readers<3

chapter thirteen, without further ado!

---

 November 7 - 4 years after

 It’s early morning when he arrives in Velaris. He’s exhausted, having spent a long day in the Illyrian mountains after flying back from Gilameyva. It is miserable to be back in the mountains, and more miserable still to arrive in Velaris and learn that it’s not any better.

       If anything, it’s worse. Because he had expected to be happier here than in Illyria—who wouldn’t? The two barely belong in the same court, with one so picturesque and overflowing with joy and the other  a messy series of war camps, still bleeding out from the hasty stitches patched upon it after the rebellions—and he isn’t. He can’t be happy anywhere, now.

       “You’re back.”

       Cassian turns to see the surprised pleasure in Mor’s voice echoed on her face. He gives her an easy grin. “Miss me?”

       She slugs his arm lightly as she grins back. “Not particularly.” Her tone changes, more gentle. “How were they?”

       He stifles a sigh. He worries he might break down sobbing if he lets it out. “They’re… amazing.”

       “Good,” she says, rubbing her hand on his shoulder. “That’s good.”

       Cassian sits himself down in one of  the large armchairs, draping his wings over the back. “Yeah,” he says. “It’s good.”

       She curls up on one of the couches beside him. “You miss them.”

       It’s not a question, so he doesn’t answer. Just nods his head a little.

       He’s heard before, that people who don’t have children simply can’t understand. He has, privately, rolled his eyes. For he has loved before, has he not? Rhys and Az and then Mor and even Amren, and the whole Illyria and the Night Court and Feyre and then for those few months with her in the mountains, he had loved Nesta.

       This is not the same.

       He doesn’t miss them. That’s not nearly enough. But he’s never been one for words, so the slight nod is all he can give.

       “Did you ask her to bring them for Solstice?”

       He frowns slightly; he doesn’t like how she phrases it. It isn’t consciously done, he knows. Mor has no malicious intent. But he doesn’t like the implication that she is bringing them for them, the children, to be here, and not them, a family unit that is he and Nesta and the triplets, to be together.

       But he supposes she is right. If Nesta comes, it won’t be for her sake. Not for a them.

       “I did. She’ll think about it.”

       Mor’s better at hiding her frown than he is, but he can still see it in her eyes.

       “It’s her right to say no,” he defends. Which he doesn’t like. He doesn’t like it because it’s true and it might happen and also because he doesn’t want to have to defend Nesta to Mor or Rhys or Amren, or even Az sometimes. At least Feyre and Elain love her too, and they have some semblance of camaraderie with him in that.

       He doesn’t like it rather selfishly: he wants to defend his right to have his family for Solstice, but because his other family doesn’t see Nesta as part of them, he has to defend her.

       Cassian wonders, briefly, if this is how Feyre ever felt. Trapped between two realms, two families. Or maybe even Rhys.

       “I didn’t mean it wasn’t,” she says carefully. “Just… you’re their father too.”

       “It’s different.” He looks at his hands, callused and scarred. “Even if I had been with them since they were born… I still wouldn’t be with them all the time.”

       “You’re keeping them safe,” she says. “You’re keeping the world safe for them. That’s important too.”

           Sugar Valley is safe, he thinks, but he keeps it to himself. No one will mind, of course. They will be sympathetic. They’ll think he’s bitter, upset, think they can help him get past his guilt and move on.

       But he doesn’t think it ever will. And the thought of staying anonymous in a sleepy town across the sea winks at him from the dying starlight as the sun rises over the Sidra.

---

 November 21 - year after

 The cheery pastels of the clinic were not helping to improve Nesta’s mood. Nor were the mother and child, hand in hand, waiting across from her.

       The child blinked up at her from long lashes, blushing slightly when she made eye contact. She looked away in alarm as he gave her a pleased grin.

       There should be a different room for children, she thought. When people were coming for… this.

       It wasn’t that she felt guilty. She just didn’t want to think about it.

       So she counted the sugarberries painted on the walls, and before long, Dadashov called her name.

       “Good morning, Miss Archeron,” she said smoothly. “Can I offer you some tea?”

       “No. Thank you.” How could she eat anything now? With every movement of her stomach feeling like something entirely different than butterflies.

       “All right, then,” she said. “If you’d lie down, please...”

       Nesta did, fidgeting with her skirts.

       “How does the… procedure… how do you do it?”

       “Well,” Dadashov said, hooking some wired contraption around her ears, “The procedure itself is only a tonic. A bit sour. You’ll stay here for a few hours, until the worst of the cramps have past, so I can keep an eye on you, and you’ll be home by afternoon. Rest for the next day or so. Until you feel yourself again. Before that,” Dadashov continued, either completely oblivious to or respectfully ignoring Nesta’s panic at feeling herself again, “I’ll need to do a quick check to make sure everything is in order.”

       “Everything in order? With me, or…?”

       “Certain conditions in the uterus rendering this particular tonic unusable or harmful to your body are rare but not unheard of. And we’ll need to make sure the fetus is in its correct position.”

       “Where else would it be?” she wondered.

       “Let’s not worry about that now,” she said gently. “I’m going to listen in, all right? I have this sheet… if you could raise your skirts, please… thank you. This won’t hurt a bit; it’s only rather cold.”

       Nesta sucked in a breath as Dadashov placed the circle her wires are connected to on her lower stomach. Cold was an understatement.

       Dadashov was silent for a few moments as she listened to… Nesta wasn’t sure.

       “Hm,” she said quietly.

       “Everything all right?” she asked, feeling stupid.

       “Well,” she said, taking off her contraption and sitting up. “The heartbeat is irregular.”

       “Irregular?”

       “Erratic. Wild. No discernible rhythm at all, actually.”

       Nesta’s own heartbeat sped up, though she wasn’t sure why. What did it matter if the heartbeat wasn’t normal? It wouldn’t be beating by sundown, anyway. “What does that mean?”

       “A number of things. What I’m most concerned about right now is the natural state of your uterus. It could mean it’s shaped improperly or perhaps a growth pressing up against the fetus, preventing it from growing properly and affecting its heart rate. No cause for concern,” she said, giving Nesta a reassuring smile. “I’m calm because you are clearly healthy and if anything is amiss, I am here and we will take care of it. How is your cycle normally?”

       “Um,” Nesta said. “Normal. It’s normal, I think.”

       “Twice a year? About a week?”

       “So far,” she said.

       Dadashov smiled again, her light blue eyes twinkling. “Of course. My apologies. Until your transition, did you experience your cycle once a month?”

       She said everything so calmly, so smoothly. Transition. Like some kind of choice. Or moving up in the world. “Yes. Well. Not every month. Sometimes… but that’s normal. Sometimes human girls miss a month.” A horrible thought struck Nesta. “Is it… could it be something I did? With… a contra—”

       “Neither sex nor contraceptives could have a misshaping effect on your body, Miss Archeron,” she said firmly. “This is no one’s fault. I’m going to do a test. I’m going to be looking inside your body.”

       “Inside my body?”

       “Perhaps you’d like to close your eyes,” she said kindly. “It’s not horribly invasive, but it will feel odd. No, no, you don’t have to move. It’s a bit of magic. I put it on top of your lower abdomen.”

       On top of her… to look inside her body… “Are you going to see...” Nesta trailed off.

       “Perhaps you’d like to close your eyes,” she repeated.

       Nesta did. Dadashov moved quickly, quietly, which made it rather eerie when something suddenly settled atop her. A bit of pressure, squeezing her—odd, not painful, just like she said.

       “Ah,” Dadashov breathed out.

       What was that Nesta could hear? Was it… awe?

       “What is it?”

       Dadashov was silent for a beat. “Miss Archeron, there is nothing wrong with your body. The heartbeat was irregular because I was hearing more than one.”

       “You mean mine?”

       “No,” she said, patient. “Not yours.”

       Her heart gave a lurch. “You mean… twins?”

       “No,” Dadashov said, softer still. “I mean triplets.”

       Triplets.

       Triplets. Inside of her. Right now.

       Nesta could feel her mind shut down. “You mean three of them?” she blurted out, in the most idiotic way she possibly could, her eyes flying open.

       “I do.”

       Nesta closed her eyes again.

       “Would you like to see?” she offered quietly.

       Nesta put her hands right over where… where they were supposed to be. She sat up abruptly.

       “No,” she said. “I need to… think.”

---

 November 7 - 4 years after

 He can’t concentrate during the briefing. After being with them for so long… and then coming back here… it’s too much. He’s angry at himself; what if he misspeaks? What if he misses something? This is dangerous.

       But he can’t help it. His thoughts are elsewhere.

       Nothing had taken away from his love and devotion to this court, to his people, his legions, before. Not even Nesta.

       That’s why she had left. He never could find the balance.

       Not like Rhys and Feyre, seated next to each other, the perfect mix of professional and adoring. Strategic discussions and little touches here and there: her hair, his thigh.

       Is he even a good commander if he can’t concentrate?

       They can sense it, all of them. It’s an odd display of cautionary tact that comes up now, whenever Nesta and the children are involved.

       So Cassian’s not surprised when Rhys corners him after.

       “I’m out of practice,” he says, jerking his head in the direction of the sparring ring. “Join me?”

       So he does.

       He’s better than Rhys at hand-to-hand, and it does force him to concentrate on something else, which is… nice.

       When they’re done, half an hour later, Rhys says, “How did it go?”

       Cassian looses a breath slowly as he swirls around the water in the cup Rhys hands him. “So well,” he says, all the gratitude in the world in his voice.

       “That’s good,” he says, echoing Mor’s sentiments from earlier.

       “I need them.” He’s never said it aloud before.

       “I know.”

       “All of them. Nesta too.”

       “I know,” Rhys repeats. “That’s why I want them here.”

       Cassian snorts. “You want Nesta here?”

       “I want you here. Happy. And Feyre. Elain. She’s a part of that. And I’m certainly not suggesting we move the children back and forth.”

       Cassian pauses. “I don’t know if… Nesta… could be happy here.”

       Rhys is quiet for a minute, drinking his water. “I don’t know her very well,” he says finally, “but I think anyone could be happy here. Given the correct circumstances.” He hesitates. “Have you thought about… getting an apartment?”

       Cassian clenches his jaw.

       “You said you want her to come for Solstice. I doubt she’ll want to stay here. Or the townhouse. Or the House of Wind. Maybe you should have a place that’s just for you.”

       He does like that—that Rhys says you as if there is a them. Perhaps he understands, in a way Mor does not.

       “I wish they got along,” he says aloud.

       “Who?”

       “Nesta and Mor.”

       Rhys laughs. “Maybe Emerie can bond them.”

       He doubts it. The idea of Nesta and Mor being friends is too ludicrous to even entertain. Neither of them are particularly keen on forgiveness, and they have plenty of reasons to loathe each other. Most of which he doesn’t understand.

       “I think she’ll come,” he says.

       “You do?” Rhys wouldn’t give him false hope. And he genuinely doesn’t know the answer.

       “I do,” he says. “Mostly because Feyre thinks she will, too,” he admits. “But also… I don’t know her well, but I do know enough. I know she’s scared to fail her children.”

       It’s a chilling line, miserable to hear. Cassian doesn’t want Nesta to come because she’s scared of what will happen if she doesn’t; he wants her to want to come.

       “There’s a place I think you’ll like,” Rhys continues, either unaware of Cassian’s reaction or respectfully ignoring it. “Property just went up for sale. Four bedrooms. Nice yard. Good location.” Rhys gives him the address.

       “I’ll look at it,” he says.  Four bedrooms, he thinks.

---

 December 19 - Year of

 Despite what Nesta told Emerie before her dinner with Cassian, the past three weeks had not been fake cordial. They hadn’t even been real cordial.

       They had been… friendly.

       They had breakfast together, when he was there. And dinner, too. He always had dinner ready for her when she came home.

       (That was something alarming: she began to think of coming back to Cassian’s house as coming home.)

       He brought her more books to read. He didn’t speak of his brothers or her sisters. Neither did she. They talked about food. About the going-ons in the neighboring camps. About themselves.

       He still teased her, but when she snapped at him for it, she wasn’t really angry.

       She had almost forgotten they were supposed to be treading on eggshells until he reminded her.

       He said, “I need to go back to Velaris. For Solstice.”

       Her eyes flashed, but she was still staring at her book, so perhaps he didn’t see. “Oh, when is that?” she asked, in a would-be casual tone. She knew full well, and he knew she did, too.

       “Two days.”

       “Oh.”

       Perhaps the both of them were thinking… no, they were both      definitely     thinking of their last Solstice together. If they could call it that.

       Then it was Cassian’s turn to pretend. “Do you want to come along?”

       Nesta put down her book and leaned back against the couch. “No,” she said, looking up at the ceiling and locking her fingers behind her head. “I think I’ll stay here.”

       “All right,” he said evenly. He sat down beside her—a little closer than he had ever done before. “Well, I leave you then with this… to keep you company.”

       Nesta looked down at his outstretched hand.

       The chocolate bar. The one she still hadn’t touched.

       A wry sort of chuckle escaped her as she rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks,” she said as she took it from him, her fingers jolting as they brushed his.

       He grinned wickedly. “Anytime.”

       She dropped her gaze quickly. “You’re bothering me.” She took her book back.

       He laughed. “I’ll see you in a few days, Nes.”

       “Don’t call me that,” she grumbled.

       But again, it was only halfhearted.

---

 November 21 - 1 year after

 What Nesta wanted when she stumbled out of the clinic was somewhere quiet, alone, to gather her thoughts. Or scream.

       Instead she got that deer-satyr from Sugar Books, holding up a cup of something steaming.

       “Hey,” he said pleasantly. “I was just coming over to bring you this.”

       “Oh, for the love of all that is holy,” she said under her breath. Louder, to him, she said, “I really can’t right now.”

       “Just a drink,” he said, holding it out to her. “Do you like chocolate?”

       She bit her lip. She did like chocolate. She did not like feeling like she owed males something.

       “Just take it,” he encouraged. “And come on. I can show you some place nice to sit.”

       It wasn’t that she wanted to go with him. It’s that she had nowhere else.

       “I don’t know what to do,” she said, not realizing she had spoken aloud until he answered.

       “About what?”

       “I don’t...” she mumbled to herself. “I don’t think… I can’t...”

       “Woah, Nesta. Here. Sit down. Here, drink some of this.”

       It wasn’t the same. One was quiet, a bad memory, hazy. Something she could convince herself didn’t happen.

       But three? Three was so… real. Three different beings. Three different people! How could there be three people inside of her, growing and feeding off of her? All together? How small must they be, for them all to fit?

       And they all had heartbeats. Three tiny hearts, beating out of sync with each other deep inside her. Each of them with its own rhythm, its own strong pulse.

       In another life, another world, another body, three sisters had once shared a bed. What would have happened if they had shared time in the womb? All three of them, together?

       Sisters deserved beds of their own, that much she knew for sure.

       Three was too much. Too much to think about, and yet too much to have.

           Bad things come in threes. Didn’t they say that? People said that, she was sure of it.

       Maybe, she thought wildly, she could keep one. Just one. And the others… somehow…

       No. That was crazy. She couldn’t do that. Could she?

       And how would she choose?

       “I can’t do this,” she said again.

       “Nesta, please, drink this.” Zayn wrapped her fingers around the cup. “Go on, drink.”

       As the hot, berry-chocolate drink slipped down her throat, she realized three other people were going to have it, too.

       “I—I,” Nesta stammered.

       “What is it?” He sounded too eager. Was that concern?

       “I… I have to… get a house.”

---

 November 8 - 4 years after

 Rhys was right. He does like the house.

       It’s a great location. Comfortable walk from the bank of the Sidra he always sees families play. Close enough to the Rainbow that they can walk there, too. A bakery on the corner, a butcher’s just beyond, and a market a block down. And a nursery, too, just three streets away.

       It’s spacious. Big windows and less doors than there are rooms. There’s a proper dining area—Nesta’s house doesn’t really have one, just the table in the kitchen.

       Of the bedrooms, two are a bit smaller than the third, so that, he supposes, is where the children can stay while they all sleep in the same room. A nice tub in that bathroom, which is good, they’re still small enough that they bathe together…

       And he’s just pushed open the door to the master when he hears Amren say from behind him, “In the market for a family home?”

       He turns. “Are you? I thought Varian was looking romanced last I saw him. That explains it.”

       She rolls her eyes where she once might have bared her teeth. “Close to a nursery,” she says, pushing past him to stand in the room. “And you can see all the way to the park from here,” she adds,  peering through the window. “Good for if you’re staying in bed.”

       Now Cassian rolls his eyes, if only to hide the clench in his jaw.

       “Is she coming for Solstice, then?”

       Amren says it the same way she says everything: cool, detached, unbothered. But Cassian knows. “She hasn’t given me an answer yet.”

       Amren pretends to take interest in the sample decorative pillows. “What do you think she’ll say?”

       “I don’t know. Yes, I hope.”

       She puts down the pillow. “You’re too hopeful. It doesn’t help you think.”

       “You’ve not asked about her at all,” he says, sitting down on the bed.

       “I don’t think there’s anything I want to know.” She doesn’t say it with malice.

       “You don’t care?”

       “She’s alive. She’s fine.”

       “We thought she was dead.”

       “We were wrong.” She pauses. “If you had known… where she was… would you have gone?”

       “Of course,” he says immediately.

       “Why did you not go when you knew she was in Montesere?”

       He flinches. Do you even care about her? is what she’s asking. Is it only for the children?

       Every regret he has has something to do with her.

       “Why didn’t you go?”

       “I do not go now,” she says simply. “I was angry when she left. When we thought she was dead and we looked for her I was angry. And I’m angry now.”

       “She’s not the only one to blame.”

       Amren shrugs. “I can be angry at more than one person. Don’t sit on the bed like that.”

       “Like what?”

       “Longing. Yearning. Pathetic.”

       “I’m not yearning.”

       “You are. It doesn’t flatter you. Nesta will come.”

       “How do you know that?” She sounds so certain, so matter-of-fact and cavalier.

       She gestures to him. “It’s not one-sided.”

       Cassian moves his eyes out towards the window, feeling very out his element. “She has a life of her own.”

       “I know about her bookstore. That doesn’t matter.”

       “It matters.”

       She waves a hand. “Not in the grand scheme of things. Nesta Archeron is very much herself. She doesn’t change. She decides on things before she knows she wants them. And she doesn’t change her mind.”

       Amren leaves him alone with his thoughts. She’s simplifying things, he knows, but he desperately hopes the core of it is right.

       She had asked him why he didn’t go. He waits in masochistic anticipation for the day Nesta asks him that as well. Why he had not followed up on her letters, vague and frustrating as they were.

       There’s nothing he can really do about it now. Except maybe make an offer on the house.

---

Chapter Fourteen

[ichor-and-symbiosis]

(1/3) Hear me out (Tenko and Hero!GF) imagine this, Kotaro force Tenko to breakup with you by telling him he’ll ruin your reputation. Because your reputation shouldn’t be tinted because of his father, Tenko did. You’re is left heart broken and sobbing without a proper reason. Tenko fell into depression, which mean Kotaro can manipulate Tenko into doing what he wants: marry a girl from a well off family/non-hero. Tenko did. He doesn’t love that girl. But he did to keep his father happy. - 🌹

i am an absolute RAT for neglecting these beautiful asks for so long, especially considering this is my favorite au!! i’m sorry anon, i had this written a while ago and had no energy to finish it until now ;-; 

- there were many clever tactics kotarou thought of to break this relationship apart. he could have told tenko that his villainous quirk will only cast judgement upon you simply by association, or perhaps you had some secret that you did not want the world to know. either way, kotarou stops at nothing to convince tenko to break up with you, because in his mind, he believes he is doing this with tenko’s best interests at heart. this, to him, is not pettiness. this is a father trying to protect his son. - no signs indicated that your relationship would ever come to an end. if anything, you were both certain that you would marry each other soon, because you were madly in love. so when tenko breaks it off with you, you are left blind sighted and completely devastated. you hadn’t even imagined a life without him since you first started dating. and likewise, this was the hardest thing tenko has ever had to do. seeing you cry made him sick with guilt, but he only wanted to protect you from his father. this was a necessary evil. no matter how much you begged him to reconsider, tenko was convinced that you would be happier without him in your life, if only so that kotarou would not bother you. - you both fall into a deep depression after the breakup. tenko was always a bit withdrawn, but he had warmed up considerably when you entered his life. now, he was worse than ever, neglecting his health and personal life and not giving a damn about it. kotarou expected this, so he let his son grieve for some time. but when he notices that tenko isn’t getting any better, he takes matters into his own hands to help him forget about you. resigned to a life without you, tenko agrees to meet the girl kotarou wanted to set him up with. he may as well — they would all be subpar compared to you, so he may as well get it over with.

-  the young woman was born into a wealthy family and reaped the benefits of her heritage tenfold. she is vivacious and larger than life, older than tomura and upholds some of kotarou’s ignorant ideas, and is the perfect trust fund kid who has grandiose visions for useless ideas and far too much money to funnel into her projects. but it keeps her busy, and she is fairly nice to his family, so tenko goes with it. the hardest moments are when he starts to actually enjoy her presence, because his mind would immediately think about you. but those moments come as quick as they go. this woman always found some way to grate his nerves at least a little. -  while tenko struggles to regain a sense of normalcy in his life, you were at a crossroads. as if the breakup hadn’t been bad enough, you discover that you are pregnant. what the hell could you possibly do? should you confront tenko and fight to get him back? kotarou would only think of you as a gold digger trying to use your pregnancy to worm your way into his family. initially, you settle on simply telling tenko about it. no strings attached. you knew him, you knew that he wanted to start a family of his own. besides, this child was the fruit of your love, so how could he not love this child? - you feel invigorated. slowly but surely, tenko would come back into your life. except you stumble upon him with that woman, and all of your hopes and dreams come crashing down. you don’t know what hurts more: the fact that he moved on far quicker than you had, or that you were gullible enough to think he would still pine for you. - you carry through with the pregnancy all on your own. kotarou’s biased logic filtered through your head whenever you headed to work, reminding you that your career put you in danger and increased your chances of not living long enough to see your child grow. children, you had to remind yourself. you were carrying twins. - you decide to retire from the front lines to use your skill set in a safer setting. a simple office job. it was ideal for you and your new little family. the twins already lacked a father; you couldn’t bear the thought of them losing their mother, too. - the moment you see your newborn children for the first time, you break down into tears. they have dark hair just like him. and when their eye color sets in, it is that same crimson shade you loved so much. - it is difficult. motherhood is new territory for you, especially with two babies and a full-time job to juggle. but you make it work, because every time you come home to those sweet little faces, you feel so indescribably happy, even when a part of you still suffered from the loss of your lover. - four years later, tenko is in a hell of a rut. his life is mundane and he is constantly reminded of the fact that he married someone entirely incompatible with him. it had been easy to tolerate in the beginning, but once the honeymoon period wore off, the fighting began. his wife keeps pestering him to finally give her a child, and he dreads the inevitable. worst of all, he had managed to hear by word of mouth that you were no longer a hero, for whatever reason. you were no longer the thing that his father hated, and yet here tenko was, stuck in a loveless marriage when he could have been with you all these years. the thought makes him unspeakably angry at times, and unfortunately he lets it out on his wife. it is not a healthy relationship. - you, however, have moved on for the most part. there simply hasn’t been time to prolong your sadness when you had two hungry mouths to feed. tenko may not be in your life anymore, but you had your beautiful children and that was good enough for you. - you cross paths one day, completely by chance. who could ever think that a boring shopping trip would lead to tenko seeing you for the first time in years. and you looked just as beautiful as you always had. his heart clenched tightly in his chest and he felt his knees go weak at the sight of you. you hadn’t noticed him yet, and he took the opportunity to watch you for a little while longer. he didn’t know if he should go talk to you or not, and while his indecisiveness rooted him to the spot, his attention suddenly shifted to a little boy that tugged at your arm asking for sweets. tenko furrowed his brows in confusion, anxiety welling up within him as his suspicions were about to be confirmed. and then he sees the little girl holding your hand.- and he sees the dark hair. the red eyes. - he nearly throws up from the onslaught of emotions that overtake him. it couldn’t be. it just couldn’t be. - the little girl notices tenko staring at you and shyly whispers to you about the strange man hiding behind a stack of canned food. you lock eyes as the little boy demands tenko to stop being a creep, and you are both rendered silent, too shocked to do anything other than simply look at each other. old feelings resurface in an instant. you both feel a magnetic pull, and tenko nearly succumbs to it. you are the first to regain your senses, because you have children to take care of, and you could not afford to rouse their suspicion. with a brisk nod to tenko you usher the twins forward as you walk away. tenko is left standing there, numb and overcome with feelings.- he wants to go straight to his father’s house and kill him. his hands are practically itching from restraint, and he goes back to his old habit of scratching at his neck, even though you helped him get over this coping mechanism a while ago. tenko goes on a long walk instead, so long that his wife has been bombarding his phone well into the night, but he doesn’t care. he needs to think. he needs to understand what he saw. - one way or another, you both find each other again at the grocery store. tenko had been waiting for you for days in that store in hopes of seeing you, and you knew him well enough to know that he would do something dramatic like this. so you appear one day without the children, distant and polite as you finally muster up the mental fortitude to speak with him. - this conversation warranted a more serious setting, but tenko didn’t want to risk his wife seeing you, and you did not want him in your house. so you go to a large park and find a secluded area to talk. and talk you did, for a very long time. tenko is practically choking with guilt and resentment towards everyone in his life for putting you both in this ridiculous circumstance. if only things had been a little different, if only you two had a little more time together, then none of this would have happened. all of these years, wasted. worst of all, his suspicions were confirmed - those two children were his, and he missed out on so many important milestones. - he wants you back immediately. he wants you so, so fucking much, he’s never stopped loving you. and he tells you this, as selfish as it is. he hates himself for hurting you like this, because you had already moved on, but you are the mother of his children, damn it. you were his real family, not the woman he grew to resent. - you are too afraid to start a relationship just yet, but you do agree to introduce him to the children. tenko pulls you in for a bone crushing hug when you say that. he nearly kisses you, with how close your beautiful face is to his, but he restrains himself. there will be time for that later. he’s going to win you back, and he will never let you go. - for once, his life was starting to get better. tenko finally feels like he has a purpose, a direction in life. but he needs to settle a score. this time, he goes to his father’s house. and as soon as he sees him, he punches the bastard right in his face. the argument that ensues is perhaps the most severe they’ve ever had, even worse than when kotarou had to convince tenko to leave you. - when he tells kotarou about the children, he feels a sick satisfaction when kotarou falls silent, and his family is left in various stages of shock. he forbids them from talking to him, or trying to contact you. he wants nothing to do with his family, even his mother and sister. they may not have had any part in kotarou’s schemes, but they were always ultimately on his side, and he hates them now more than ever. hana of course does not allow this negativity to brew between them. she is team tenko for life from now on and is resolved to help him. his mother is devastated by how everything had fallen apart, how she had grandchildren she never knew about. she cries over this for days and doesn’t speak to kotarou. - when the initial shock of everything settles down, tenko is there for his children every step of the way. he fights hard to win their trust and friendship, which is relatively easy, because he already loves them so much and they can sense his joy when they want to be with him. - and how could your relationship with tenko not prosper? despite everything, you can’t resist falling back into deep friendship. but you can’t bring yourself to enter a physical relationship with him, no matter how horribly tempting it is, because tenko is still married and you can’t condone cheating. you don’t want to be the side chick, no matter how in love you two were. - tenko calls up his lawyer that night, gets those divorce papers, and hands them to his wife as soon as he sees her. and we all know he’s in for a hell of a fight. every excuse he offers is swiftly shut down. he’s fallen out of love with her? tough shit, that’s marriage. he’s cheating on her? now she’s not divorcing him out of spite. it’s only when he confesses that he has children that she becomes genuinely heartbroken. she’s always wanted children, and tenko always made excuses. now that she knows about you, about the history you two shared, she is so overcome with jealousy that she doubles down on her refusal to divorce him. - no problem. enter kotarou, properly whipped to hell and back by his family and eager to get on their good side again. he’s too damn old and tired to keep up the drama, especially now that you aren’t a hero. there just isn’t any point to all of this. his powerful business connections allow him to put pressure on the wife’s family to convince her to take a settlement and sign the papers. to tenko’s endless relief, she relents in the end. - with nothing standing in the way of your happiness, tenko moves in with you and you become a proper family. you get married as soon as you feel confident in his love for you again, and you conceive on your wedding night. tenko loves his children very much, but he is also ecstatic about the chance to be there for your third child, to feel like a proper father and support you like he’s always wanted to. - you better believe ya’ll live happily ever after.