#again… ​I don’t think he would father kids but I think they’d be named after Bobby and Charlie if were following Harry Potter rules…

[paunchsalazar]

Dean should have been the new new Bobby… I’ll kill myself

[pretend-theres-a-name-here]

Everybody at the party seems to know somebody (who’s not me)

Short steddie idea I had about what if they’d met somewhere around end of s1-s2 | kinda angsty | R: G | 2580 words | could be canon if the writers weren’t cowards (nowhere does it say this doesn’t happen)

————————————————————————

Steve was tired. It was a Saturday night and there were people at his house. People he didn’t know, some who knew him. Somebody brought beer, it was Saturday night and there were people drinking beer at his house and Steve was tired. Exhausted.

 He thought he would be done with house parties when he had his fall from popularity, when he was no longer King Steve but he had a big house and crowds liked space. He didn’t want them here, only recently recovered from the nightmare fuel that went down at the Byer’s house. He wanted to spend his night alone, in his bed, maybe watching a movie. He didn’t want to spend it cleaning up after high schoolers and playing messenger between a fighting Tommy and Carol who had stopped talking to him three months ago. 

“Steeeeeve!” There was a girl calling his name, tripping over her feet on her way to reach him. He fell back further into the crowd.

Somebody was pulling him onto the designated dance floor. He didn’t want to dance, he didn’t want people calling his name from across the house. Get out, please just get out.

He just wanted these people out of his house but the music was too loud and he couldn’t find it in him to send a gaggle of drunk kids out into the public unsupervised.

So he was going to block it out and let them have their fun until people started passing out on his floor and then he was going to go to bed. This was the last, last, party that would ever be held at his house so he could rub his temples and toughen up for one night. Always were too whiny, Steven. Never could toughen up, don’t bother now. His father’s voice, always his father’s voice.

Steve was trying to keep it together but he was getting a headache and the music was too loud. He distracted himself by picking up crushed solo cups and taking cans from people who were a little too drunk already, dodging Tommy when he tried to clap a hand on his shoulder. The music got louder. He was done, done with Tommy Hagan and his romantic troubles, done being Carol's personal coat rack and gossip boy.

“Steeeve,” he heard Carol shout over the music—was somebody turning it up?—from his left, “Tell Tommy-!”

“Don’t listen to that bitch, Harrington. No good cheater!” Tommy spat, coming up on his right.

Steve was so focused on getting away from the nagging voices that he didn’t notice he was marching into a denim clad shoulder. 

“Hey, man, watch where you’re going-” the guy said, he stopped when he turned around, coming face to face with Steve. If Steve were a girl he’d say the guy was gorgeous—but he wasn’t a girl so the guy wasn’t gorgeous. Steve thought he’d seen him around school, they might’ve been in the same grade.

Steve barely heard him—who was turning up the goddam music—“Watch where you’re going.” He snapped.

The guy scoffed, mumbling a quick asshole under his breath before turning back around. Steve was faced with tangled, curly hair instead of big, brown eyes.

“No, wait. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap.” Steve was trying to be a better person these days, he didn’t much like who he was before Byers beat him around the head. Step one was apologizing.

“Yeah well I didn’t mean to be here tonight. Guess neither of us are happy.”

Okay rude, here Steve was trying to apologize and the guy was complaining about his party—a party he hadn’t even thrown!

“Why don’t you leave if you hate it so much?” Steve questioned, again trying to sound open and nice and like a good host instead of taking the guy by the shoulders and shaking him around, you think I want to be here either?

“My friends need a ride. I came here to deal. I’m actually really enjoying myself but I didn’t want to say that to your face. Take your pick, King Steve.” God, Steve hated that name. Even when he was popular it made his skin crawl.

“I hate it here too.” It was too quiet, he wasn’t sure Brown Eyes heard him. Steve didn’t know why he said it, didn’t know why it came across as more than being done with a shitty party, why it came across as if he meant—

He didn’t know the guy, “They keep turning the music up.” There definitely wasn’t any reason to say that, Brown Eyes didn’t care that he was a baby who couldn’t handle loud music anymore.

The boy stared at him for a second and Steve wondered if this was his way of politely telling him to fuck off, but then he was being dragged through the crowd by a hand on his wrist. Carol tried to latch on to his other arm but he shook her off, he supposed he could shake off Brown Eyes too but he didn’t want to. He didn’t know where Brown Eyes was dragging him to, it could be a quiet corner to kill him for all he knew about the guy. Maybe—maybe Steve would let him, maybe he would show him where the knives were tucked away in the kitchen and tell him which ones were too dull to get the job done. But Brown Eyes didn’t look like the type to kill on first meeting.

“Where are we going?” Steve managed to ask, only after Brown Eyes opened the patio door.

“Outside.” Brown Eyes grinned.

“No shit, you don’t say.” Steve grumbled.

“You said you hated it in there so I brought us out here. It’s not like you can leave your own house party so this is the next best thing.”

 The boy plopped down at the edge of the pool. Steve hadn’t sat so close to it since Barb died, he hadn’t even opened it since Barb died but some asshole found their way out here and tripped into the switch. It screamed when it opened, a horrible sound Steve had been trying to forget since being dragged into the mess that was the Upside Down, and he’d nearly stopped breathing when the guy who opened it almost fell in. 

He sat down, keeping his legs far from the water, unlike Brown Eyes who’d already gotten his shoes off and dunked his feet. Steve had to sit on his hands to stop from grabbing him by the back of his collar and dragging them both back inside, away from the pool. He had bite the inside of his lip until he tasted blood to stop from saying something stupid, something like please don’t sit so close to the water don’t get in don’t let it touch you because the last person who sat like this never made it past graduation. 

In his search for a distraction, anything to keep words sure to get him a look from tumbling out, Steve noticed that the guy had a metal lunch box with him when he lifted the lid, bringing out weed. Oh. They were here to smoke. Something Steve hadn’t done since, well a long time.

“It’s not mine.” Steve mumbled in the silence. 

Brown Eyes raised an eyebrow from where he was bent over a lighter.

“The party. It’s not—I didn’t throw it.” Steve felt silly saying that, it was his house after all so he was responsible.

Brown Eyes just hummed, didn’t question it, only asking, “Who did?”

Steve took the joint when Brown Eyes handed it to him—out of habit, he’d say later. He’d say a lot of things later.

“Tommy. Or Carol. They’re the only ones who know where the spare key is and I sure as hell didn’t unlock my door for a dozen people.” Steve sighed, blowing out the smoke.

“Shit.” Brown Eyes took the joint, exhaling his own drag before he spoke—Steve would say, later, that it didn’t make his stomach swirl like the smoke between them— “You know you could get them arrested, right? That’s technically breaking in. Think I even saw some kid break a fancy little vase. Breaking and entering right there.”

Steve winced, his mom loved those vases more than him—not exactly a difficult thing to do but he was sure to be skinned alive if she found out, “Like Hopper would believe I wasn’t just saying that to get rid of the blame. He’s busted my parties one too many times and he’s not exactly up to date on the high school drama that is my fall from grace.”

“Well you have one eye witness if you decide to go to the cops. Though I can’t say how reliable they’ll find me.” Brown Eyes turned to him with a grin. 

They passed the weed back and forth for a while. Steve didn’t like being high much, this felt different, every other time he'd had to keep up the image. Sitting and talking high with Brown Eyes was easier than talking to Carol and Tommy sober. Steve would decide that was the weed talking when he got his brain back. Easy conversation about nothing, probably classes they had together, led to Brown Eyes asking what had caused Steve’s downfall.

If Steve hadn’t stopped breathing that moment he might’ve spilled his guts about the Upside Down. If his heart hadn’t stopped and he didn’t need to get away from the pool immediately, he would’ve just kept talking. The real answer to Brown Eyes’ question was Barb’s death. The real reason he lost his popularity was the night Nancy’s best friend died in his pool and everything had gone to shit.

Brown Eyes noticed his panic, “Woah there, okay that’s enough weed for tonight. You okay, dude? You’re, like, super spooked.”

“I-yeah, I’m fine. Just, there’s more to the story than high school drama. Stuff I’d really rather not relive.” Steve scooted away from the pool a little further and hoped, pleaded with every bone in his body, that Brown Eyes wouldn’t press.

He didn’t, thankfully, just sat back with Steve—out of the water Steve realized, “We’ve all got ghosts in our closets.” He said.

Steve huffed out a laugh, “Isn’t it skeletons?”

“That would mean somebody sees them, Stevie. Ghosts are much more invisible.”

“You have ghosts?” Steve asked, quiet.

“Oh, loads.” Brown Eyes shrugged, “I’m basically a haunted house, man.” That made Steve laugh, “What about you? The ones you can talk about anyway.”

“You mean other than the fact that my house is a ghost town in and of itself? Try parents that are never around to watch you at sports you joined for their attention or friends who only like you when you’re rich.” Steve sighed, “God that’s so fucked up, I should be grateful for the money. Not complaining like an asshole.”

“You know I might’ve agreed with you a few months ago. I don’t think it’s actually the money you’re talking about, though. It’s the life, right?”

Steve felt himself nodding.

“You’re not an asshole for being lonely, Harrington.”

Steve almost remembered he never asked Brown Eyes’ name. Almost remembered to ask it now, but he didn’t, just let them lapse into silence. Steve didn’t look up for a few minutes, but when he did Brown Eyes was looking at him. Steve felt his breath hitch for a second time, not out of a panic like before. When had they gotten so close? Were their pinkies always just barely brushing?

Steve would make a dozen excuses later. Maybe he was just too high, maybe his hand slipped and he accidentally fell forward. He was lonely, Brown Eyes had said it himself. Maybe he was imagining a girl in Brown Eyes’ place. But when Brown Eyes leaned closer, a question in his eyes, Steve didn’t want to pull away. He didn’t want to be the one to break this, he wanted to see how far Brown Eyes would go. 

He told himself he only closed his eyes so he wouldn’t see when it happened, only pushed forward that last inch because—maybe he didn’t have an excuse for that but it didn’t matter because Brown Eyes didn’t pull away and he didn’t pull away. He felt the foreign feather light brush against his own lips distantly, an out of body sensation that left him tipping forward when Brown Eyes scrambled back.

“Oh shit.” Brown Eyes muttered, pushing a finger to his lips, “Oh fuck this is-this isn’t—”

“We’re just high, right?” Steve pushed off the concrete, standing probably a little closer to Brown Eyes than necessary. 

Brown Eyes was avoiding Steve’s gaze. He knew Steve was grasping at excuses he didn’t even believe himself. Brown Eyes seemed to deflate, hunching in on himself and Steve would think it looked almost disappointed if he could think anything at all right now.

“Yeah. Yeah, one joint split between us and we’re both high enough to kiss, right King Steve?” Sarcasm dripping through his words but it didn’t feel mean, it felt desperate.

It was then Steve realized he never asked the guy’s name. He needed-he wanted to know now. Before he could ask, though, Brown Eyes was backing away.

“I-I’ve got to go. I… I’ll see you around, Harrington.” 

“Wait-I never—” never got to finish his sentence. Never got to ask Brown Eyes for his name. Because Brown Eyes was through the door and disappearing in the crowd inside before Steve could get a word out and he was alone. 

Steve stayed by the pool for a long time, the longest he’d been out there even before Barb’s death. The air turned cold, leaving him littered with goosebumps, but Steve just stood there. He wanted to scream, wanted to kick and cry and throw a tantrum. That’s not how Harrington’s act, Steven, don’t be such a big baby, Steven. He could practically hear his fathers voice digging its way into his ears. God, he was a dead man if his dad found out about this, he was a dead man and there wasn’t a thing his mom could do—if she would even still stick up for him now. 

He wanted to believe she would, wanted to think she would tell him it was going to be okay but she’d just stand back and start planning for his funeral. Maybe she’d remember the time they sat in the garden years and years ago and Steve told her his favorite flowers were the daisies she would tuck into her hair on summer afternoons, maybe she would remember sliding them into his hair and then picking them out before they went inside as she told him it would be their secret and maybe she would lay them over his coffin.

In his panicked state, he noticed the guy left his shoes behind, black converse coming apart at the seams. There were little drawings scattered around the bottoms, Steve saw, smudged and dirty. He should return them. He doesn’t know who they belong to but he should return them. He couldn’t just leave them outside, at least that’s what he told himself as he trudged through his now empty house, hours later. It was the weekend anyway so he couldn’t even return them, that’s why he found a place for them in his closet. He didn’t know who they belonged to, that’s why he kept them there until summer bled into fall bled into winter. 

———————————————————————— Part 2??

Fun fact: I was listening to acolyte by slaughter beach, dog when I finished writing this

[natalievoncatte]

“Director Danvers, Lena Luthor is here.”

Alex stared at the speaker on her desk for a moment, feeling her anger rise. She didn’t need this now. Whatever stunt Lena was pulling, now was not the time. She had fires to put out and Supergirl was out of the fight.

Kara, a voice whispered. Kara, your sister.

Alex’s prime directive was take care of Kara. Yet here she was, again, dealing wit the aftermath of Kara being knocked down and beaten to a pulp in service of people she didn’t even know. Half of them hated and feared her now.

How had she let this happen? By small allowances. Step A led to Step B and then on to Step C. It started with looking the other way while Kara foiled robberies and rescued cats from trees and led to Kara defacto joining an organization whose mandate was, on paper, to imprison her or worse. She told herself that she was doing good, that between her and J’onn, they had become the wolves keeping the wolves from the door. Under the right leadership, an organization mandated to “control” aliens could help and protect them.

It gave her no comfort when Kara was lying in the sunroom unconscious, and the government was breathing down Alex’s neck while J’onn was off finding himself on some pacifist bullshit quest.

(Why did their fathers always leave them? Were the Danvers girls doomed to face everything alone?)

Now Lena was here. Luthor’s sister. Alex had let herself trust this woman and she wasn’t sure how that happened either.

Might have been because her kid sister, her precious dumbass kid sister, was over the moon for her Lena and didn’t even know it.

It was Luthor who did this to Kara, Luthor and his allies. Alex had enough of this. There would be no trial this time. No public spectacle. She didn’t care if it ended her career or even her freedom, she was going to kill him, because Kara couldn’t. Kara would always look for the other way, the perfect solution. She was beautiful and good, a hero who came from the heaven to set things right. A saint.

Alex was not and she never pretended she could be.

She drummed her fingers on the desk and stared at the speaker and said, “Keep her in the lobby.”

“No, Director, I mean she’s here, outside your door. We… she can be persuasive.”

Alex reached over wearily and hit the button to open the doors.

Lena marched in, and the sight of her took Alex aback. The boardroom predator with the razor sharp hairstyle, flawless makeup and fuck me pumps was gone, replaced by what Alex would think was Lena’s kid sister under other circumstances. She looked her age, for once, dressed in faded jeans and a threadbare MIT sweatshirt, carrying a battered messenger bag.

Alex had never seen Lena so bedraggled. Her hair was a chaos of unkempt curls pulled into a low ponytail and she was sans makeup, and for good reason. Her eyes were painfully red and the tracks of her tears were as livid as if they’d been left by claws. Her bottom lip was trembling and she fiddled with the strap of her bag.

“Close the door,” said Lena. “Can we talk here? Is this room secure?”

Alex pushed the button and closed the doors.

She had barely said “Yes”.

“Where’s Kara?”

“Not here. Why would she be at the-“

“Don’t fuck with me, Alex.”

Alex looked at her sharply. “I don’t know what you think you’re going to accomplish here with this, after you started working with Lex again.”

Lena stormed forward and slammed her palms on the desk, rattling Alex’s possessions. She leaned forward and glared with Alex with a furious, teeth-baring demand.

“The clone almost killed her. Where is she?”

Alex swallowed hard. “I’m not sure what-“

Lena cut her off. “I know Kara is Supergirl, Alex. I need to see her. Please.”

Alex rocked back in her chair as if struck by a physical force. The words slam into her chest like a brick into her sternum.

She knows.

“How?”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ve know for months. But you have to listen to me. Lex knew. He told me her identity, tried to throw it in my face so I’d turn on her. He knew her real name, he knew about you, he knew about your mother. You have to do something now.”

“Oh my God,” Alex said, standing. Mom.

“He wasn’t going to stop, Alex!” Lena blurted, almost hysterical. “He was never going to stop. He was going to kill her, he swore to me that she was going to die. I had to do it!”

“Do what?” Alex whispered.

“I had to kill him,” Lena wailed, balling her fists impotently as if she were trying to choke her own soul. “I had to!”

The reality of it slams into Alex and before she knows it she’s rushed around the desk to throw her arms around her friend, all thoughts of Luthors and loyalty and everything else going out the window as Lena sobs into her should.

“I killed my big brother.”

Lena’s voice so so small, so broken, that Alex can’t help but sob with her.

The fucking bastard just wouldn’t stop hurting them, even in death. Alex didn’t believe in hell but she wished she did for Lex Luthor.

Lena’s sobbing ebbed but did not fade entirely. There was only one cure for that.

“Come on, let’s go see our girl.”

Alex led Lena outside. First, she flagged down Brainy and gave quick, clipped orders: Get Eliza and get her here now, and find Nia and do the same. Then make a list of anyone Lex might have targeted and find them and get them secured.

Then she took Lena to the sunroom. They stopped outside and Alex handed her a pair of silly looking goggles.

“We can’t stay long, the light is too intense even with sunscreen, and you look like you burn.”

“Like a lobster,” Lena choked, pitifully.

Alex entered the code and opened the door.

Kara lay on the padded bed in a paper gown, bathed in sunlight. She was a mass of bruises and her right arm and left leg were in casts, a collar wound her neck. She’d been unconscious for three days now, possibly in the same kind of healing hibernation she’d fallen into after her first fight with Reign.

Lena rushed to Kara’s side and cupped her cheeks with her hands, brushing back sweat-dampened hair.

“Oh God,” Lena blurted, “oh please oh God Kara wake up.”

“She’s been out for days,” said Alex. “She’s stable, just not coming around. This has happened before. We think it’s part of how her body heals serious injuries. It just takes time. She’ll wake on her own when she’s ready.”

Lena didn’t even seem to hear her. She leaned down with an intensity and intimacy that shocked Alex to the core, and then shocked her further. Lena loosed three words in a language from a dead world that she has no business knowing.

“Zhao w rrip.”

Alex was thunderstruck. Lena knew Kryptonian?

“Lex had a translation dictionary,” said Lena. “I just hope I pronounced it right.”

“We need to go,” Alex said, glumly. “You can stay at the DEO. We could use your help and it’s safer for you here anyway.”

“Just let me stay another minute. Please.”

“If I do, your face will be peeling off tomorrow. We can visit again later. Come on.”

“I can’t,” Lena choked out. “I can’t leave her.”

Alex was an about to say something else when her mother fell open. Kara’s eyes fluttered open and she immediately turned to Lena, bleary-eyed.

“Did you mean that?”

“Yes, Kara, I meant it.”

“But zhao means-“

“I know what it means,” Lena insisted, so full of joy now. “I know what it means, darling. That’s how I meant it. I love you, Kara.”

Oh.

Alex swallowed hard. She didn’t want to interrupt but Lena, and not to mention Alex herself, would get very sick very fast if they didn’t leave this room.

Lena grasped Kara’s uninjured hand.

“You have to go. It’s not safe for humans in here.”

Lena swallowed hard, her throat bobbing.

“Before I… can I…?”

“Yes,” Kara whispered.

Lena darted down and gave Kara a quick, soft kiss on her lips, lingering for just a moment. Kara smiled at her and their hands slid apart as Alex half dragged Lena out of the room and closed the door, then ripped off her sun shades and stared.

“How long?” she breathed.

“I’ve been in love with her for at least for years now,” Lena said, her voice cracking a little. “I’ve wanted to tell her for so long.”

Lips trembling, Alex was besieged. She remembered every time that she told Kara to stay away, not to trust her, not to tell her. The weight of what she has done presses her down as firmly as the knowledge that Kara will be healed soon lifts her up. There’s only one thing she can do.

She swept Lena into a bear hug.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry for doubting you and pushing you apart. I’m sorry I didn’t see sooner.”

Lena, at last, fully broke down in Alex’s arms. Later, when Eliza arrived, she passed off Lena-hugging duties to her mother until Kara was fully awake and can leave the sunroom.

Then, Alex went and did what you do for family.

She got rid of the body.

[nadvs]

the act of unravelling (part five) (end)

pairing rafe cameron x pogue! female reader

rating mature 18+

summary you never expected you’d get tangled up with a kook, least of all, rafe cameron. one night, you make a life-altering decision to get revenge on someone you both despise. after you vow to keep what happened a secret, your relationship begins to twist into something more.

tags very dark! violence, homicide, drug and alcohol use, parental neglect, mental illness, s/a, trauma. no smut.

< prev

Rafe knocks again. And again. And again.

Your front door rattles in its frame, his knuckles still sore from the punches he threw at the bonfire last night.

He sat in the holding cell after being questioned by Brading, ruminating over everything he’ll say to you when he sees you. He needs to tell you that you’re right; the detective is onto you both.

Brading brought up your name, asking about Porter, asking what Rafe had over you that would make you want to protect him.

He’s confident you’re both guilty, but he doesn’t have the evidence to prove it. He’d booked him on a drug charge, telling him they’d searched his bedroom and found enough coke to arrest him for more than just possession.

His questions had nothing to do with that.

He demanded Rafe tell him about Porter, trying to provoke him into a confession. As he sat in the small, dingy interrogation room, your words echoed in his head. I don’t think we should talk to him without a lawyer.

So, he didn’t. Brading gave up and threw him back into his cell. Rafe would’ve lost his temper if he didn’t have you to protect.

The lawyer came in with Ward early this morning. After Rafe told him about the arrest, the lawyer explained that Brading had abused his power by not providing Rafe with his right to make a phone call.

Rafe couldn’t make eye contact with his father as he was escorted into a courtroom for the bail hearing an hour later. The lawyer was well worth the money Rafe is sure his father is paying him. He was given a court date and granted bail, which Ward covered.

“I’m sorry I got mixed up in this, okay?” Rafe had muttered to his father in the car on their way home. “I’ll get clean. I’ll stop selling.”

“You should know better,” Ward sighed. “The cops showing up to our house like that… what are you thinking?”

“I’m not,” he said.

“And what was that… about that missing kid? You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?”

His own father jumping to the worst conclusion, even though it’s true, pierced the wound Rafe has held in his heart since childhood. He’s nothing but a disappointment. A stain on the family name.

Now, he’s at your front door, and he’s been knocking for what feels like five straight minutes. Nobody’s answering. The house looks empty. The car is gone.

He checks his phone again to see it’s almost two in the afternoon. All his texts and calls to you have gone undelivered.

He can’t even entertain the thought that you’re doing it on purpose; he knows you’re loyal to him. He never thought he’d trust somebody the way he trusts you, but he does, and he would never expect you to turn on him.

He needs to find you.

He makes his way to the country club, figuring you must be at work. When he rushes to the restaurant, tapping the bartop, he impatiently asks where you are.

The bartender looks at Rafe with a look he can’t quite read.

“Who are you?” he asks.

“I’m her boyfriend,” Rafe says. It’s the first time he used that title, but it feels right for what he has with you. “Is she working today or not?”

“Oh… I…” The bartender uneasily looks around the room. “I shouldn’t be the one to... I don’t…”

“What?” Rafe snaps.

“Our boss told us this morning,” he responds, his expression pained. He leans closer, hesitating as he says, “She was in a car accident and she didn’t make it. I’m sorry, man. I wish I wasn’t the one to tell you.”

Rafe straightens, his body flooding with a sharp, harrowing chill.

“You…” He shakes his head. “You got something wrong. You don’t– you’re confused.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know her that well, but…” The bartender nervously shrugs. “Everyone liked her.”

Liked her. Liked. You’re not in the past tense. You’re here. You’re somewhere around here. The ringing in his ears grows louder. The man only shakes his head, frowning in sympathy.

“You’re confused,” Rafe repeats. “What did– who told you that?”

“My boss,” he tells him again.

Rafe erratically rushes out of the building, starting his car even though he doesn’t know where to go, and looks ahead with a blank stare as his chest heaves.

“No,” he mutters to himself, his voice strained. “No, this is– he’s fucking wrong. This is…”

There’s no way this is real.

He pulls his phone out to call you. Again, it doesn’t even ring. His phone beeps with the dropped call notification. He tries again. Nothing.

His limbs are shaking, eyes burning with tears. A mistake. It’s a mistake. He just needs to find another way to contact you.

He opens a social media app to message you there. Before he can type in the search bar, a smiling photo of you is at the top of his feed.

It’s a news article. Local woman dead after late night crash. The post caption reads: This is crazy. She was so young :( Rest in peace.

He taps to read the comments, reading worthless prayers and canned condolences as he keeps scrolling, every roll of his thumb making him sicker.

He finds the article. Saliva coats his tongue and he’s sure he’s about to throw up as he reads it.

The vehicle was traveling southbound… Ran off the roadway… Pronounced deceased on scene.

No. You were just with him last night, a living, breathing, beautiful girl telling him you care about him, your touch warm and soft and real.

Deceased. That cold, final word doesn’t describe you. It can’t.

He barely makes it in time to open his door and vomit on the concrete. When he slams his hands over his steering wheel, he does it until his palms throb in pain. He cries until his throat burns.

No. This can’t be real.

╰┈➤ three weeks later

The town you live in now is in a land-locked state with an even smaller population than Kildare. The agent in charge of your case gave you and your parents everything you needed to assume your new lives.

Your old one ended on a road back home, covered up with a story that you’d lost control of your friend’s car and died on impact.

You’re sitting in the therapist’s office, picking at a loose string on your shirt. The protection program placed you with a clinical psychologist who specializes in trauma recovery, but you worry you’ll never be able to rid yourself of the paralyzing pain that has sept into your heart.

You come here once a week. You’re supposed to be moving on, setting roots here, accepting your new identity.

But you haven’t and you can’t. You’re not allowed to contact anyone, but every day, more and more, you yearn to find a way to tell the people you love that you’re okay, to put them out of their grief and misery.

You wouldn’t dare take the risk, but you’re constantly checking on what you left on the island, searching news sites and social media for anything you can find through a faceless account.

Rafe’s arrest record is public. Sale and distribution of an illegal substance. You know now that Brading arrested him for coke that night. You’re sure he did it just to get Rafe in custody to be able to intimidate him into talking about Porter.

You know nothing else about him. He hasn’t posted anything since you left. His name only comes up on the law enforcement website, offering no further information on a trial or a sentencing.

When you look up your friends, seeing the photos and messages they posted in memoriam of you never gets easier. You left JJ and Pope and John B with the shock of seeing you in Rafe’s arms, then you left in JJ’s car, unknowingly racing towards your faked death.

The investigation on Porter has hit a dead end. The last article came out a week ago titled: Family seeks closure as disappearance of Porter Arnoult remains a mystery.

And the man who shot Brading, who made a full recovery, is still at large, meaning you’re still in danger.

“Come on in,” your therapist says gently, peeking out her office door.

You settle in the worn seat. You’ve told this woman everything but for the truth about the night that was the catalyst to the mess your life has become.

You promised Rafe you’d keep the secret to the grave. You meant it.

·········

The heaviest, sharpest ache sits in Rafe’s chest as he stands at your final resting place, as he reads your name in stone, a hyphen between two years that are much too close to each other.

There was no funeral. Word had gotten around that your parents were too distraught and left town shortly after the accident.

His head is pounding with his hangover, his body weak from the booze and coke he’s been pumping into it.

Stay out of trouble. That’s what his lawyer told him. But his court date is in a couple of days and he’s done everything but. This is the first time he’s come to your grave and he feels like a piece of shit for waiting so long, but he couldn’t do it.

He never deserved you. A piece of him knew, gnawed at him, that you’d realize he didn’t measure up. But he was ready to try, for once in his life, to be better.

And then, you were taken from him. And the idea of paying his respect to a girl who’s nothing but a memory now is not for your benefit. It’s for the grieving, and while he’s not worthy of that relief, he came to the cemetery in case he won’t get the chance again for a long time.

He’ll likely be going to prison soon. His lawyer said the best case scenario is a reduced sentence and a heavy fine.

Rafe’s numb to it. It’s why he’s been getting fucked up at parties, telling anyone who asks about you or him to shut up because he knows they don’t care. All he does is get wasted and open his wallet only to buy more shit to dull the pain.

You were a light in the clouds that always consumed him, and because you’d followed him after he’d gotten arrested, you died.

He’ll never forgive himself for the fact that caring for him is what killed you.

╰┈➤ one week later

It’s Rafe’s last night of freedom.

He was sentenced to 14 months. His life is fucked. All because he was an idiot who decided to sell coke.

Brading sat in the courtroom as the arresting officer, looking bitter, likely because his plan to get Rafe to crack about Porter’s case never worked.

His lawyer told him it was a win to get such a short sentence, as if living behind bars can ever be considered some sort of victory. He’s being locked up tomorrow, a nasty blotch on his record, a traumatic experience waiting for him.

He’s at a party on Figure Eight, dipped into a numbing high on a couch. Coke and booze coarse through his veins. He’s subconsciously been hoping that it’d kill him before he has to go to prison.

It’s been a month since you died. The hole in his chest only digs itself deeper, burying him alive. He ignores the people who pretend to care about him, remembering how they’d acted when rumors spread about him doing something to Porter.

He knows this will follow him forever, being suspected for Porter’s disappearance, being connected to you, the innocent girl who got involved with him then tragically passed away.

He doesn’t care what people think. He thought he was lethargic before. That was nothing.

He gets lost in the high, hearing the people and the music around him, catching flashes of phones in the crowd as people celebrate life while he wishes his would just end.

“What were you doing with her?”

Rafe’s vision blurs and refocuses until he can see who’s standing over him in the crowded living room. It’s Pope, his nostrils flared in anger.

JJ and John B stand close behind, disgusted looks on their faces.

“Fuck off,” Rafe slurs.

“What were you doing with her?” JJ shouts louder. A few heads turn at the noise.

Rafe’s jaw tenses in anger. His body is heavy, but he pushes himself off the couch, staring at your friends, knowing they have no fucking clue how badly he’s been suffering without you.

“She didn’t want to tell you,” Rafe mutters, “because she knew you assholes would make her feel bad about it.”

“She’s… she’s fucking dead because of you,” JJ says, his voice laced with tears. “She was on the road because of you.”

“You think I don’t know that?” Rafe yells. He swore on his life that you’d always be safe with him. He deserves to die.

He has nothing to lose. He shoves JJ down onto the floor, landing a single punch before he’s pulled back and struck in the jaw with a hard fist.

Rafe spits out blood, his neck at the crook of the couch, knowing no amount of physical pain could come close to matching how bad his heart hurts.

·········

When you see Rafe in the background of a Kook’s social media story, your breath hitches. He’s sprawled out on a couch, head tipped back, lips parted and eyes rolling.

You know it’s stupid. You know you’re putting yourself in danger by doing it. You’re not supposed to contact a soul from your past life.

But he looks near death in the video.

You go to Rafe’s account and start to type with trembling fingers. You’re using the burner account you made, a fake name with no photo, but you hope reminding him of something only you two would remember is enough.

It’s me. The girl you always gave a $50 to at the club. I’m okay. I had to go into hiding. I had no choice. Please take care of yourself and don’t tell anyone about me. I miss you.

You don’t see his reply until you wake up the next day. What kind of sick joke is this?

It’s not a joke, you respond. I used to tell you all the time not to call me a Pogue, remember? I know this is confusing. I wish it wasn’t like this. I’m sorry.

He doesn’t respond. You don’t blame him. He thinks it’s a twisted prank. But even though it was a stupid risk to take, you’re glad you tried. You just wish it worked.

A day later, you unsend your messages and delete your account just in case.

╰┈➤ sixteen months later

“It’s completely your choice,” the program agent continues, sitting in the living room of the home you still don’t consider home. “We set you and your family up for permanent placement, but the man you saw was captured with his associates and died in a shoot-out. We’re confident you’re no longer in danger. You can choose to stay here, or go back.”

You look at your parents with wide eyes, in utter disbelief. It’s been over a year. You all have jobs and friends and a foundation now, even though it’s built on lies.

But you’ve been aching to go home since the day you moved here. And you’re going back to the island, with or without your parents.

╰┈➤ three days later

The flight was painfully long. You came alone. Your parents didn’t feel the need to go back in time and come here. They don’t have the ties you do to home.

The fact that they could watch you leave was confirmation that all you shared with them was a last name. You always felt alone around them. You never had their love. Not really. It’s why you clung to your friends.

Kildare’s salty breeze is the same. Even the way the sun hits here feels unique. You keep the window of your rental car down as you drive through familiar streets.

You’d considered contacting your friends before finding them, but what happened with Rafe would likely happen with them. They’d think it was a cruel prank. They wouldn’t believe you.

It’s a sunny afternoon. You knock on JJ’s door. Your heart is in your throat. You’ve been discreetly keeping up with what your friends publicly post. It seems life here never changes much.

You crave the familiarity. The peace.

The door swings open. JJ stares at you like he’s seen a ghost. You expected as much.

“Hi,” your voice is thin, what you rehearsed coming out rushed. “I witnessed a crime and I was put into protection. They had to fake my death and put me somewhere safe. But I’m not in danger anymore. And they let me come back.”

He doesn’t have the words. You don’t blame him. He pulls you in and this is what you’ve been missing so agonizingly – feeling wanted.

He invites the guys over and after a tearful reunion and a long catch-up, you finally ask them about Rafe, terrified you’ll hear the worst, even though you’ve been keeping up with local news.

“He just got outta jail,” JJ says.

“For what?” you ask, worried he took the fall for what you did to Porter.

“Selling coke,” he says. “I think he got like, a year. I’m pretty sure his dad paid to get it scrubbed from the internet.”

“He kind of went crazy after you…” Pope trails off. “Crazier than usual. But since he got out, he’s not bothering us. He’s just quiet. He’s different now.”

You nod, desperate to go see him.

“What happened that night?” JJ asks. “Were you and him… like, a thing?”

“Yeah,” you say. “He’s… He wasn’t who we always thought he was. I was surprised, too. It happened really fast. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you guys.”

“That doesn’t matter anymore,” JJ says.

You give him a grateful smile, knowing it won’t take long at all to get used to this again, to being your old self with your old friends. You left, but your heart stayed here.

·········

Rafe’s sister is visibly in shock to see you when you show up at the Camerons’ doorstep later that afternoon. You tell her what happened, sure the gossip will spread before you even step foot off the property, and ask her where Rafe is.

She tells you he went out on the family’s boat. You thank her and head over to the marina.

·········

Rafe spent every day in prison thinking about those messages he got the night before he was put behind bars. The person behind the account knew things only you would.

It might have been a twisted joke or someone’s way of keeping him above water while he wished he could drown.

But nobody would care enough about him to do that. Only you.

He never saw a response after he replied, and fourteen months later, when he got his phone back, the messages and the account were gone.

It’s been nearly a year and a half since you left. Hope is a ridiculous thing. He doesn’t even consider it your death anymore. You left.

The only thing that kept him going through his monotonous, soul-draining time in prison was the nearly invisible shred of hope that it really was you who sent him those messages.

He wishes he could remember the account name. It was a random assortment of letters and numbers. Sometimes, he’s convinced he dreamed it, like his survival instinct kicked in and made him hallucinate the possibility that you didn’t actually die.

He gazes out at the deep blue water, white caps tumbling over the waves as the boat bobs with the tides.

After you, he missed the sea most.

You remember where his boat was parked. Every detail of that night is burned into your mind. Vowing to keep the secret in the beach house, dragging the body over the dock, planning your alibis on his boat.

There haven’t been any developments in the case. Porter’s body is still out there somewhere, your secret lying with him.

Your heart stops when you spot Rafe’s back as he pulls a rope on his parked boat. His hair is buzzed now, his back broader and his arms larger than you remember. You close the distance, almost falling off the dock when you approach his boat because you’re that awestruck.

You’ve dreamt of this moment. You weren’t sure it’d ever come.

He turns, wrapping the rope around the cleat of the boat, squinting under the sun. He breathes a quiet grunt as he tightens the rope, then stands and surveys it.

Something catches the corner of his eye. He looks up. And pure relief washes over his handsome face.

Rafe rushes towards you like you might disappear if he doesn’t reach you fast enough. He jumps off the edge and nearly knocks the wind out of you when he surrounds you in his heavy arms, squeezing you.

Tears prick your eyes, and suddenly, you’re sobbing. From disbelief. From relief. From love.

“I knew it,” he whispers shakily, nuzzled into your neck. “I knew it. I knew it. Fuck.”

Your eyes are shut as he holds you, both of you suspended, bobbing boats creaking around you, gulls crying in the sky.

He finds the strength to pull back, meeting your eyes. Those eyes. They never left his mind. He knew you were out there and he wondered what they were seeing every single day.

You gaze up at him, vision blurred from your tears. Safety. That’s what he feels like to you. Like nothing can hurt you.

“I missed you,” you say in a whisper, but the words can’t possibly represent how painful life has been, how much you’ve been worrying about him.

“Me, too,” he says, cupping your cheek like you might break, like you’re a dream that might slip away. “I can’t believe…”

You nod. You can’t believe much of what’s happening, either.

·········

You’re in Rafe’s arms until the sun goes down, sitting in the hull of his parked boat, not wanting to part for even a second to allow him to drive out into the water. You don’t need to go anywhere. You want to be rooted with him.

You sat here once before, in a past life of a past life, conspiring and coming up with a story to cover up the murder.

“I never forgot what you did when I got arrested,” Rafe says into your ear, your back flush against his chest, the sun an orange sliver on the horizon. “Yelling at that asshole not to hurt me.”

“It was horrible seeing him do that to you,” you murmur, remembering how hard Brading had pushed him against the car to handcuff him. “He eventually gave up, huh? I kept checking the news, but the case went cold?”

“Yeah. He left town,” Rafe tells you. “He had no evidence. We got rid of it all.”

You nod with a long sigh.

“How was it?” you ask.

You don’t have to say it. He knows you’re asking about prison.

“Knowing you were okay kept me through it,” he admits. You turn to meet his pained blue eyes.

“It’s all behind us now,” you say.

He presses his lips against yours, warm and tender and soft, dismissing the cold that’d been sitting in your soul since you were forced to leave.

Epilogue

You’ll always feel the void of the year and a half that you were gone deep in your heart. But as time goes by, it gets smaller and smaller.

You’d planned to stay with one of your friends while you found your footing to get your own place, but Rafe insisted he buy you a condo, saying it’d be the best use of his money.

He hadn’t expected to still have access to his family’s bank account, but his father seemed to see a difference in him after prison.

You see a change in him, too. You mention it to him sometimes, how his temper has completely faded away.

“Still like me, though?” he once asked, half-joking.

“I love you,” you told him. It was the first time you said the word and his heart felt like it was going to burst. He kissed you hard and told you he loved over and over.

Rafe comes over all the time, preparing meals together, making up for lost time.

One night, as he dozes off next to you in your bed, you realize you still don’t regret your crime and if you don’t by now, you never will.

Sometimes you wonder if you should be remorseful for taking a life. But that man was evil and the world is a better place without him. People die, but the past doesn’t, and while you may carry it with you forever, you wouldn’t take it back.

Your eyes slowly trail over Rafe’s face in the dim light, your heart pounding as you think about how you got here, two broken people who found each other on a terrifying night.

It’s all still so crystal clear in your mind. The blood on his face the night it happened. The way he held you when you told him what your real motive was. The tears in his eyes when he reunited with you.

You pull a blanket over him. He’s everything to you now. And like your love, your secret remains between you two, binding you together forever.

(the end)

[heavenlee773]

Fairly Odd Parents; A New Wish finale spoilers!!

Okay so am I the only one who didn’t like the fact that Hazel’s friends now know about the fairies?

Because like, how do you go on from that? Maybe it’s because I never really got attached to her friends the same way I did with Dev, but it’s just racking my mind over how the episodes in season two will go.

It kind of feels like them knowing about the fairies will only cause troublesome situations like “oh it’s fine! Hazel can just wish us out of this mess” or “Hazel can you wish this for us please?” Which will probably cause a lot of problems, and there’s no going back from that.

It could be because on every site I watched FOPANW for free, it’s missing “The Wellsington Hotellsington” episode which I’m pretty sure is the episode where Winn gets formally introduced, and the trio’s friendship cements. I’ll probably have to buy that episode since websites don’t want to add it for some reason…

But now Season 2 most likely will be focused more on the trio and their shenanigans, so I don’t knowww… I’m really biased though, I love Dev as a character and I love his and Hazel’s dynamic (before the whole taking over fairy world thing)☹️

I like Jasmine and Winn but I just don’t care for them, you know?

And onto Hazel’s brother Antony, he’s cool and all but why does he need to know about the fairies?

Like I know this makes it SO much easier for Hazel, and it’s basically a huge weight lifted off of her, but story wise?? Eughhh I don’t know😖

I mean, if they explore his and Deja’s relationshipppp hmmm okayyyy😋😋 But I just know how they’d segue way into that, and thinking about it makes me uncomfortableeee!!

Basically what I’m saying is, I CAN’T WAIT FOR SEASON TWO AND I HOPE THERE IS MORE DEV CONTENT!!!

PLEASEE don’t have Dev just be a one off antagonist☹️☹️

The theory that Dev keeps his memories because of his shades (and also his similarities to some other rich kid that was in the original series of whom I forgot his name) is cool, but also awkwarddd— because what does he do with that information?? Like okay buddy, you remember. Now what? He never had the best relationship with Peri in the first place!! I’d prefer if maybe season one went on WITHOUT Irep interfering or at least appearing but not appearing again until the next season, because THEN Dev and Peri could’ve connected at least a little, and Dev could have more realizations about “maybe I don’t need my father’s approval” or something— then in season two when Dev goes on a spiral or something, let’s say his dad ticks him off;

Dev tries to have a heart to heart with his dad after Hazel and Peri push him to,

“I feel like you don’t care about me, and all I want is for you to be proud of me—“

And his dad is like,

“Come back to me when you do something I can be proud of.”

SO THEN he becomes bitter at Hazel and Peri for “making” him go do that, and turns to Irep to take over Fairy World.

Eughhhh but this is a kid’s show after all, and they want to cater to their attention spans so a show that takes a while to fully flesh out their characters would probably go right over some kid’s heads (or not, they could probably become smarter.)

I still love the show, and fanfiction exists for this exact reason—

I guess that’s enough of my Ramb-Lee’s for now, if anyone wants to talk about FOPANW, I’m here😝.

(Dev looks so CUTE in this scene🥺)

Peace!!

-🤍

[saphronethaleph]

Perfect Hiding Spot

“I don’t like you either!” Evazan said, getting into Luke’s face to make his point. “You just watch yourself. We’re wanted men! I have the death sentence on twelve systems.”

“I’ll be careful,” Luke promised, as he turned back to his drink.

“You’ll be dead!” Evazan replied, grabbing Luke’s shoulder to spin him around again.

“This little one’s not worth the effort,” Obi-Wan chided, with a genial smile. “How about I get you something?”

Evazan made a keening noise of frustrated rage, and this time when he grabbed for Luke’s shoulder he yanked the young man bodily backwards. Luke staggered back, then fell, and knocked over a table with a clatter.

Every eye in the cantina turned towards the confrontation, and Wuher dove behind his bar with a panicked shout. “No blasters, no blasters!”

Obi-Wan’s lightsaber flashed out as Ponda Baba drew his blaster, and a moment later the aqualish was missing both the blaster and an arm.

For at least five seconds, there was complete stillness in the room.

“...Master Kenobi?” one of the duros asked, in a brittle voice. “You survived?”

He glanced around the bar, nervous. “I thought I was the only one-”

“I thought I was the only one!”

The speaker that time was one of the Modal Nodes, and all six of his bith bandmates looked at him.

“You can’t mean you’re a Jedi?” Figrin D’an asked.

“You’re a Jedi as well?” three of the other Modal Nodes said, before glancing at one another.

Luke raised his arm, hesitantly, then the duros jedi pulled him upright.

“Thanks,” he said. “But, I mean… how many people in here are Jedi?”

Forty-six lightsabers came out.

“In the name of the Krayt, why?” Luke asked. “Why are you all in hiding here?”

“I thought it was the most out of the way place in the galaxy,” Kardue’sai’Malloc volunteered.

That was hard to argue with, as far as Luke was concerned.

“I came here because I heard a rumour that Darth Vader hated sand,” Hem Dazon said.

Fourteen other people said out loud that they’d heard that too, and another ten nodded along with it.

“We’re touring?” one of the bith musicians asked. “Shavit, that’s a coincidence.”

“Who else picked it off a list when they tried to go into hiding?” Momaw Nadon asked, getting several more raised hands or similar manipulators.

“Why are you here, though, Master Kenobi?” Lak Sivrak asked.

“For the same reason as all of you, I think,” Obi-Wan answered, deactivating his lightsaber, because Evazan and Ponda had run away while he was distracted. “To hide, from the reaches of the Empire. This is the one place that Darth Vader would never come.”

“...who’s the kid?” the duros Jedi asked.

“My name’s Luke Skywalker,” Luke said.

“...was your father Anakin Skywalker?” BoShek asked. “Damn, kid.”

He paused. “Wait. How come Master Kenobi needs passage somewhere, anyway? He was almost able to keep up with Anakin, and Anakin was the best pilot the galaxy’s ever produced, by my money.”

“I dislike flying and I don’t currently own a starship,” Obi-Wan replied. “I believe you were introducing me to someone who might be able to arrange one?”

He looked around at the bar. “I may need to ask him how many passengers he can handle.”

“Well?” Stormtrooper Sergeant RF-345 asked.

“No sign of anything in the south sector,” one of his troopers replied. “I’m tagging the doors that don’t open for a later check.”

“Good,” RF-345 assessed. “Second company is moving to secure the docking bays. Watch out for anyone trying to move ahead of the cordon – stay alert for any surprises.”

Then a tidal wave of Jedi came pouring out of Chalmun’s Cantina, waving lightsabers and stampeding in the direction of Docking Bay Ninety-Four, accompanied by a wookie, a kid and a very surprised scoundrel and pausing long enough to pick up a pair of droids from one of the nearby houses.

RF-345 and his squad kept looking in that direction for at least ten full seconds after the stampede had vanished.

“...like that, sir?” trooper AK-707 asked, in a fragile voice.

“Like that, yes,” RF-345 agreed, then blinked a few times. “At least, assuming it was real, and not a hallucination.”

“It might have been a hallucination,” trooper ED-321 conceded. “We have been out in the sun all day.”

[mvltisstuff]

how to never stop being sad - e.b

summary: bucks parents believe they can just forget what they put him through as a child, but y/n won’t let them.

evan buckley x reader.

og gif

a/n: i realized that buck found out about daniel way later than i thought… my image was the dinner for buck begins, and then my dumb brain thought he knew abt daniel for a while 😭 just pretend he knew while you read :))

bucks mother and father somehow think that evan doesn’t remember everything they did. they think he doesn’t care about every scream, every argument, every neglectful moment between him and his sister. but, really, buck remembers all of it.

he loves his parents and he always has, but he doesn’t understand why they make it so hard to like them. he craved love and affection from them, only to be met with their hand in his face and their words in his mind. he knows all about grief, it makes you a different person. he feels awful for his parents, but he wishes they could deal with it better than leave him in the dust.

on a brighter side, buck was finally able to stop begging for adoration. when y/n came into that station, his entire purpose was changed around. he knew he was made for loving her, and he was finally accepted. buck finally felt smart, loved, important to someone.

y/n left a mark on buck from the moment they met. he could tell by her bubbly but confident personality that they’d fit together like stars in the sky. whenever y/n was around, he never once felt like he was asking for the compliments or love she showered him with. she looked genuinely proud to call him her boyfriend, and it melted the heart of the little kid inside of him that just wanted someone to tell him that he was important.

she gave him everything his parents never did and she never once complained. y/n have buck a definition of love, and when someone asked him what it meant, he’d say her name.

now, even years after they’ve been dating, y/n never once spoke to bucks parents. maddie had told them he was in a healthy, happy relationship, but they never cared to check in on him. the days had drastically changed, along with the life of his sister.

she’s becoming a mother, so their parents are becoming grandparents. y/n didn’t really think it would be a problem that they came to visit, until it quickly backfired.

buck quickly realized that they weren’t here for him, and they he barely existed in their book. he hoped that maybe he was overthinking it, but noticed the lack of care they had of his life and the severe amount of judgement in their words. it’s like when they walked in the door, buck felt like the small boy standing at the top of the stairs for his parents again, or the teenager sitting at the table taking every insult they had.

their parents pulled out maddie’s “baby box”, but they must’ve left bucks at home to collect dust, if there was even anything to leave. they crazed over maddies belly and the life she was carrying, praising her for the life she had built for herself. buck just sat there, just wanting to go home and lay in y/n’s arms and get his own comforting.

the night of the dinner came rapidly, buck critiquing everything about himself in the mirror before he went, perfecting his words and his appearance before y/n came grabbing his hand. “it’ll be ok.”

“i know, it’s just been so long and i don’t want them to be rude to you, too,” buck sighs, turning to face y/n.

“they don’t hurt me, you know that. i just don’t want you to get upset.”

“let’s get this over with, yeah? and then we can come home?”

“don’t have to tell me twice.”

y/n and buck arrived soon after his parents, seeing them stand from off the couch with his mothers hands clasped together in front of her. maddie pulls y/n into her grasp from not seeing her due to a busy schedule. chimney and buck hug casually, even though they’d just seen each other. he notices his parents standing there, looking at y/n as she cautiously steps over.

“oh, mom, dad, this is y/n,” buck tells them, his hand landing on her waist. “my girlfriend.”

“it’s nice to meet you guys.” y/n says, exchanging awkward glances with his parents. they nod politely.

“y/n, we got your favorite!” maddie grins, holding a bottle of wine in her hands and looking at it long-fully. y/n laughs, walking over to take the bottle from her as they converse.

“maddie, i’ll make the table for you, sweetie.” their mother says, grabbing plates and napkins for everyone as she starts placing them by the seats.

“here, mom, i’ll help you,” buck says, offering a hand to his mother as y/n stands besides his father.

“so, y/n,” the tall man with the glasses speaks. “what do you do for work?” he asks, sipping his beer.

“oh, i work at the fire station with b-evan and howie.” she remembers the little things, the dislike of nicknames and how buck and maddie never had one. y/n can see the slight disappointment in her fathers face, but can’t quite place why.

“i see.” he says, his voice raising slightly but she can tell he’s slightly unimpressed. y/n just keeps pouring wine into her glass. maddie can already sense the tension, silently cursing her dad for the reaction he had.

“dad.” maddie whispers so buck doesn’t hear.

“yes, maddie?” he questions back, not understanding his tone toward the woman besides him that he’s known for twenty minutes.

“nothing, it’s fine.”

“hey, honey,” buck whispers in y/n’s ear, placing his hands on the counter in front of him.

“hi! how are you feeling?”

“i’m fine, it’s only been like a half hour.”

“i know, just checking in.” she places a hand on his cheek, making maddie smile at the affection she has toward buck.

the food had eventually been delivered, and everyone sat around the table to finally eat. buck pulled out y/n’s chair, letting her sit and then taking the one next to her. chimney sat with maddie, and then their parents took the other end of the table.

the conversation turned almost immediately into the subject of work, maddie talking about some of her calls and chimney speaking about paramedic duties. it seemed they had no interest about buck, not finding much impression in the details about his job, despite it being one of the strongest.

“well, speaking of hospitals, i’ve heard that evan has been spending a lot of time in them.” bucks dad speaks up, placing his napkin folded on the table.

“you’ve heard?” buck mutters under his breath, not wanting to cause a scene but secretly hoping they heard it. y/n could feel the burning tension between buck and his parents, so she ran his hand over his thigh, trying to find his hand that rested near his knee before locking fingers with him. “you could’ve seen for yourself.”

“oh, evan you know how-“

“you don’t like hospitals, got that.”

“i don’t like seeing my children in them.” the womans eyes start to water, thinking back to all the horrific times in the hospital. maddie mumbles to her mother before shaking her head, bringing her moms statement to a close. “we never lost hope on you, evan.”

“yeah, like you did on maddie?” he snaps, leaning back in his seat and staring down his parents.

“evan, let’s not do this.” maddie says, the discomfort clear in her face as everyone’s heart races, fearing the conflict in the room.

“you guys didn’t even go to her wedding, let alone go back for her when she made a mistake and you cut her off!”

their parents barely look at buck. “maddie, we didn’t know he was hurting you, i swear-“

“you should have! you should’ve known, but it checks out because you never knew what was going on even when we was living with you!” he stands up.

“buck, c’mon,” y/n speaks, attempting his hand before he gets too far away. he manages to slip out of her grasp, leaving her to rest her head in her hands as he continues.

“you think my job is dangerous- i have walked through fire every single day of my life because of you. that is why i’m in therapy! because nothing i ever did was good enough!”

“we tried! you guys didn’t make it easy on us” their dad speaks up, making y/n shoot her head up at the older couple at the table next to her.

“we were supposed to? we were kids.” maddie says sadly.

so, buck stands there, begging for love in the center of the room, feeling like a circus act. if he didn’t know better, he’d think they’d all be pointing and laughing at him. besides one. y/n sat there, staring at his parents before looking back at him. she stands up, letting buck try and grab her hand and walk out. if he wants to leave, she will always follow him.

he opens the door, and he steps out, unable to hear the next sentence from his mother.

“neither of you think about how hard it is for your father and i! you only think about yourselves!”

y/n stops in her tracks, “buck, go wait by the car i’ll be out in a minute.” he just goes out, not wanting to waste another minute in that room that he could be spending alone with y/n. “only think about themselves?”

“what?” their mother whimpers out.

“you’re insinuating that you have selfish children, and it honestly checks out considered how much you’ve missed. did you forget what your kids do? did you forget about the lives they save on a daily basis? maddie is the reason half of our calls come out successfully, and buck is one of the highest ranked for his position. and you want to call him selfish? you don’t get to call him anything until you take an actual look at his life. you don’t see him walk out of these buildings with scared and hurt children or people yelling in pain and he can somehow manages to give them hope! you don’t see the effect you have on him and it honestly breaks my heart for him. you don’t see how you casually ripped him up and expected other people to put him back together. you don’t deserve to just come back here and act like you’re completely innocent! you sit here and act like you are angels. truth is that evan did everything on his own and didn’t deserve the shit he got from you. the person he is today has nothing to do with you and you don’t get any credit for how he became the man he is.”

y/n doesn’t stay long enough to see the effect of her words on his parents. she can imagine the tears from the confrontation that their mother can’t handle. it infuriates her that they think they can fix the damage they did in a day, if they even think they did any.

she storms down the stairs, eager to see buck outside and make up for all the loving he missed previously. she sees him leaning against y/n’s passenger door, staring at the concrete with his arms crossed. his hair is lightly blowing in the wind along with his sweater being pressed against his body. y/n can see the subtle shimmering in his eyes as he looks at the ground and she can almost hear the cracks in his heart. it’s like they managed to add another wound to him, just confirming that they didn’t care about him.

y/n steps on the cement sidewalk toward him, her heels clicking loudly against the ground so he could hear her coming. he doesn’t look up. he keeps his eyes glued to the ground in almost a shameful way. he hates that he can’t stand up to his parents, and he hates that y/n had to do it for him, but he needed it.

“let’s go home, baby.” y/n says, standing at the front of the car. “buck.” she speaks his name again, anger still radiating off her body as she waits for him to look up at him. his head tilts up, looking at her as her gaze softens at his expression. she doesn’t hesitate to walk over and grab onto him, letting his body fall into her, taking some of the weight off his shoulders.

“i know, it’s ok.” she whispers into his ear sweetly as the tears run down his face. he doesn’t want to be sobbing in the parking lot with in his girlfriends arms, but he can’t help it.

he doesn’t bother to say anything, he just lets himself feel. he lets himself feel her hand rubbing his back and the other wrapped around his shoulders. he lets himself listen to the gentle words escaping her lips and allow them to soothe his mind. he lets himself tower over her and almost fall into her grasp and he lets her take over. he knows that she has him, and the safety net beneath him was built by her.

he might not have his parents support or their faith through his life, but the surplus that y/n gives to him is enough to fill every ocean in the world.

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Ok but Arthur Morgan as a girl dad. I’m a firm believer in any of my Arthur lives AUs that eventually he does have children, and when he does…they’re all girls. I feel like he would completely embody this song as a parent.

Anyway here are some HCs for girl dad Arthur.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

⋆˚✿˖°When he first found out his partner was pregnant he was obviously a nervous wreck, but also cautiously optimistic. This was his second chance and he intended to go all in. Then he found himself with a baby girl and he was stumped all over again. He never saw himself as a soft man, not a man to raise a little girl but the second he laid eyes on that little face he was besotted, and nothing could change that.

⋆˚✿˖° Puts his babies footprints, name and date of birth in his journal, sketches them constantly—I don’t make the rules.

⋆˚✿˖° Learns how to braid very quickly. Sure he could braid a horse’s mane or tail but being gentle for a tender headed squirming toddler?? That’s an entirely different beast. Many times did he have to listen to “ow!” A million times over as he worked only for the braid to come out a mess with pieces left out all over the place in his pursuit of being as gentle as he could be. Now he’s a pro and when he sees any of his little ones brushing their hair out of their eyes he’s quick to move over and get it fixed for them.

⋆˚✿˖°He’s a HUGE softie. He can’t bring himself to scold his girls, ever, even if they deserve it. He’s terrified of turning out like his father, an angry, violent man. He wants his girls to trust him, to see him as a source of comfort and stability, not a dictator or someone to fear. With his first he got frustrated after a fit that seemed to never end and gave her a swat on the bottom, he felt so guilty he cried that night and hasn’t laid a hand on any of his girls since, cycle breaking takes time, and usually comes with a few bumps.

⋆˚✿˖°HATES the “I bet you’re wishin’ for a boy!” Comments. He’s always quick to shut it down, especially if he’s with his daughters “Nah, reckon my girls are just fine…Ain’t wishin’ for nothin’.” He never wants his girls to feel less than, and is very adamant to them that he doesn’t need a son to be happy, he’s just happy to have them.

⋆˚✿˖°His daughters would 100% have unique, nature themed names, Aurora, Willow, Aspen, Lily—or on the flip side they’d be named after women in his life that had passed on at some point: Beatrice (after his mother), Bessie, Susan, even Eliza.

⋆˚✿˖°Is absolutely not above playing with his girls, though I feel like rough housing and wrestling is definitely on the table he’s attended more than a few tea parties in his time, as well as being locked out of rooms in his own house with the claim that it was “girls only.”

⋆˚✿˖°his journal is filled with not only milestones, and little stories but also toddler scribbles and drawings. Blobs of shape and color that they would affectionately say was a drawing of him or some animals around their farm. He’d always make sure to write what they said it was under the drawings for when they’re older.

Extra: Arthur is 100% the dad that throws his kids way too high in the air to give his partner a heart attack, when finally they say something his girls are so used to being rough and tumble they’re the one to negotiate one more time with their worried parent.

· · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · · · · ─ ·𖥸· ─ · ·

This is probably bad but I think I might do more head canons both SFW like this and NSFW. Asks are open for requests! :)

[bananadramaaa]

Idk if you’ve got any ideas or backstory for Alastor’s sisters, but I love the designs for them and have kind of taken some ideas about them and ran with it, mostly about the eldest, Adeline, though:

• Adelice was definitely a protector of the whole bunch. Alastor helped protect the younger sisters and worried a lot about his older sister, but Adelice would make a target out of herself to make sure the younger kids faced as little of their father’s bad days as possible.

• Leonore and Bertilda (the younger two) still experience a lot of the family drama, but it’s a little less than what their older siblings do since they try to keep them out of the fire, so while the older two seem to mature way too quickly, the younger two stay kids for a bit longer. This, however does piss off their father, who takes every moment to ridicule them on their inability to act like their older siblings when their older siblings aren’t able to keep them out of the fire.

• Adelice also gives off Tiana from Princess and the Frog vibes. She’s got a Dream and she’s gonna work hard every day to make it happen.

• Alastor Worries™️ and thinks she’s pushing herself too much, taking on the brunt of their father’s anger, taking on so many jobs, and trying to get as much of an education as she can for as cheap as she can get it. So he becomes her Distraction, constantly dragging her off to parties and out drinking and listening to music. Anything to get her to chill tf out.

• He’s also a hypocrite though, considering he takes on a ton of “side jobs” by the time he’s 15 before he starts working in radio to try to help out their maman. He somehow manages to get all the fun jobs though. She’s out here working in restaurants and factories and he’s playing piano at the speakeasy and working at a nearby gator farm during the summers. And even the jobs that shouldn’t be fun, he manages to turn into a blast, like apprenticing at the butchers or working the graveyard shift at the cemetery. He thinks he’s so damn funny, while his bosses low-key wanna strangle him. This somehow makes him more likable as a radio host.

• Eventually, Adelice manages to find herself a nice, rich, Creole man who she and Alastor run through the wringer trying to test just how wholesome of a man he is before she’ll accept his hand in marriage. This man is confused, but he is dead set on winning her heart. He offers her the money to achieve her dream, he offers her the happy and stress-free life that New Orleans won’t afford her, he offers a life where she’s free and not trapped by anybody, himself included, and most importantly, he offers to take her whole family away from their father and the impoverished life that keeps them with him.

• Their maman can’t fathom a life without her husband, but she can see why they’d want to leave.

• Alastor doesn’t want to lose his sisters, but he knows someone has to watch out for their maman and he’s far to attached to New Orleans to leave it now.

• Before all his sisters leave, Adelice jokingly says she’s gonna name a son after him and he politely declines the offer.

• They move to Alabama or something and he never sees them again, but Adelice has a bunch of happy children that she loves who know all about him :)

• Bertilda also gets married, but Bertilda and her husband find themselves unable to have kids so they adopt a cute little red-headed girl and her green-eyed little brother.

• Leonore dates a lot of people before she finds the perfect gal for her and they move in together as “friends.” Their maman was a bit progressive in some ways and taught them not to judge, where most others would do when Adelice and Bertilda don’t make a big deal out of it when they find out about it.

• All three of them keep an eye on the news regarding New Orleans and whatever can be said about their famous radio host brother from far away.

• The only times the lot of them return to New Orleans is when they hear about Alastor’s death and their maman’s death.

I've talked briefly about them in this ask :3 And I really enjoyed reading your version of their story. It seems more wholesome compared to what I have in mind for them (like Adelice definitely won in this one) XD

[dellalyra]

Imagine the continue of your latest family formation where reader has high fever and starts crying in her sleep because she's seeing satoru get killed by toji again

The kids getting worried aick because "when did gojo die?!"

And satoru not knowing how it still haunted you even after so many years

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long!! I wanted to think it through but I hope u like it bc I loved writing it!!

CW: hints at ptsd, mentions of blood and canon typical violence and sickness, angst but not really? Soft soft soft soft

Family Formations • Kind

You were tossing and turning in your sleep, fever from the flu still wreaking havoc on your body. Satoru was worried, but luckily, he had Shoko on speed dial – and she would never let anything happen to her precious best friend. You had kicked the sheets off long ago, and the mumbling had started rather funny.

“Satoru you can’t take home a seal from the beach.”

“Megumi let go of Satoru’s hair.”

“Get that stick outta your ass Nanami – you used to smoke blunts on the school roof.”

He was loving it; it was like a free stand-up show!

But then, you started to whimper. He had fallen asleep, and it took some time to rouse him from his slumber but what woke him up was you sobbing in your sleep.

“Please no, please don’t take him from me. Please, not him. Not again. I can’t watch ‘Toru die again, please god NO NO NO NO!” At this point he was kissing your head, whispering your name to wake you from the fever dream, tears in his own eyes because he knew what you were dreaming of.

You gasp awake and bolt upright, wrapping your arms around him.

You stay sobbing in his arms as he consoles you.

“It’s okay, Princess - I’m here. It was just a dream, I’m safe, you’re safe, and the kids are safe. Nothing gonna happen again, okay? He’s gone. Nothing can take me from you again.”

You had been there; you had seen the father of the kid in the next room over. You had heard the burst of the blade through your love’s pale throat, the ivory skin turning crimson red in an instant as he gasped and choked. He had died in your arms. You had screamed and cried and managed to lodge a vine through the shoulder of the man who had done.

But he was here. He fought his way back to you.

You ran your shaking hands over his face and torso – as if checking for injuries.

“I saw it all again, he came back. He had you and he did it again and I couldn’t move and then you were dead again.” You sobbed into his shoulder. He hated seeing you this way, he still had nightmares of the day himself – sometimes the true events, sometimes reversed.

As your breathing steadied, he unwrapped himself from you.

“I’m gonna make you a hot chocolate, okay? I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, sniffing into your Kurama plush.

Satoru opened the door to your room.

And he wasn’t prepared for two wide eyes faces on the other side looking up at him.

“Shit.” He spoke. He knew they’d heard, they’re faces told the whole story.

“You died, papa?” Tsumiki whispered.

Your head perked up at the voice.

“Shit.” You agree.

Megumi’s wide eyes and uneasy stance mirror his sisters.

There was no avoiding this conversation, even at 2am.

Satoru looks at you, you echo his panicked look. Fuck, you two are only 21! How do you explain all this.

“C’mere, come sit on the bed for a minute.” You were past the infectious stage now, so it didn’t matter if they got close. They did as say. Tsumiki crawling up to sit facing you and Megumi dragging his frog plush up to sit beside you. Satoru takes his own side of the bed.

“I’m sorry you guys heard that. I was having a really bad dream which made me feel a bit scared.” You pet their little heads.

“Did you really die?” Megumi pipes up, eyes focused on Satoru.

“Yeah, kid. A long time ago. I got pretty badly hurt and I died for a minute, but I used my technique to bring myself back.” He softly says, and these are the moments that you realise how great a father he really is.

“How did you get hurt?” Tsumiki asks, quietly.

You lock eyes with your boyfriend. They’re too young for the truth right now.

“He got hurt trying to keep a little girl safe.” You add.

They’re silent for a minute.

“Who hurt you?” Megumi asked.

“A really, really strong man. I wasn’t as strong as I am now – and I was tired.” Satoru adds.

Another bout of silence.

“Will the man come back?” Megumi asks again. At this point, there’s fresh tears on your cheeks.

“No, baby. He’s never coming back.” You pet the boy's hair. You’re not going to tell him the man in question was his father, 8 years old is too young for the truth.

“How can, you be sure?” Tsumiki’s voice wavers, and she moves closer to Satoru. She’s worried, you can’t appease her worries by just saying he went away, a grain of truth will do.

“Because he died, sweetheart. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.”

“Are you sure he died? Because Satoru died but he came back.” Megumi questions, ever too smart for his age.

“Hey! I’m unique little man, only the strongest can do that.” He winks, but humour won’t work now.

“We’re sure he died honey.” You nod at the boy.

“How are you sure?” Tsumiki interjects, Jesus you’re getting the fifth degree here at 2am.

You both quiet for a second.

“Because I’m the one who did it, ‘Miki.” He grasped her little hand.

Funnily, that seems to ease both their worries. What these kids have been through, it astounds you – not that you or Satoru had it any easier.

However, it’s a testament to their trust in you both. They know that Satoru would kill for them, and you would too. They feel safest when you two are the ones handling the issues, because they will forever be safe with you both.

“And it makes you sad, because you were there Mama?” Tsumiki asks, petting your hair, as if she’s the one to comfort you.

“I was, angel. I was very scared, and sometimes when bad things happen your brain remembers them, and that’s why sometimes we have nightmares.”

“Were you hurt?” Megumi asks.

“No honey, I was just very scared and very sad. You see, I love Satoru so much that I felt like I was dying too, because of how much my heart hurt. Him and I are made of the same star, and that’s why we love each other so much. So sometimes I get bad dreams of it happening – but I promise you both. We’re all safe now.” You pull all three of them into you, whispering ‘I love you’ to Satoru.

After a minute of family hugging, Satoru leaps up.

“I’ll be right back, 4 cups of hot chocolate with extra cream for Tsumiki, extra cinnamon for Megumi, extra marshmallows for my princess and extra sugar for me!” He does a silly walk out the door to make the kids laugh – well, Tsumiki laughs, Megumi rolls his eyes.

They snuggle in between your pillow and Satoru’s.

“Does everyone get someone made of the same star, mama?” Megumi asks.

You smile at him.

“Some people get lots of people, some people get friends, some get boyfriends or girlfriends. There’s matches out there for everyone, in all ways. Some people know them forever, some people only meet when they’re really old. Your papa and I were lucky to reunite when we were so young.” You muse.

“I hope mine is a Prince, or a handsome King!” Tsumiki says.

“You’d make a great Queen, ‘Miki.” You giggle with her.

“I hope mine is kind.” Megumi quietly muses. Your sweet soft boy, so much more sensitive than he pretends.

The other half of your star walks back in at that moment, holding a tray of mugs – steaming and overflowing with cocoa.

You all curl up in your California King Bed that night, you and Satoru holding hands over the heads of the kids between you – Tsumiki by Satoru, and Megumi by you. You lock eyes and smile as they both fall asleep.

“Goodnight, Princess.”

“Goodnight, ‘Toru.”

7 years later, Megumi’s other half of his star came barrelling into his life, all smiles and pink hair and chaos – but as he had hoped, completely and utterly kind.

Recommended Listening:

Matilda - Harry Styles

[thewritetofreespeech]

Can I request Benimaru introducing his long lost brother Hiiro to his wife and child.

You had been taking care of some household chores while the baby napped, when you heard the familiar sound of the gate and Benimaru call your name.

“Honey! I wasn’t expecting you so…” Your voice trailed off when you saw that he wasn’t alone. “Who is this?”

“This is my brother, Hiiro.”

You were shocked at Benimaru’s news. “I didn’t know you had a brother?”

“Well, we’re not really brothers. Not by blood anyway.”

“Good as!” Benimaru clipped at Hiiro’s reasonable clarification. “We grew up together in the village, and he was always with us. He protected and looked after us younger kids, so we called him big brother.”

You let out a soft ‘ah’ in understanding. If he hadn’t told you, you wouldn’t have questioned that the two of them were actual brothers. The two of them looked more like siblings than he and Shuna. “Well, welcome to our home. It’s an honor to meet you. What brings your to Rimuru City all of a sudden?”

“It’s a long story.”

The three of you sit in one of the open living areas, and Hiiro tells you the story of his life and how he came to be known as ‘Hiiro’. It seemed a fitting name. As you suspected, Benimaru had never mentioned him because he thought he was dead or something had happened to him, which was why he didn’t come back when the village was destroyed. And vice-versa. This must have been a wonderful surprise for your husband then. To find his long lost friend, comrade, and more or less family member after all this time.

“What about you [Y/N]-sama? What is your story to get here?”

“Oh…it’s a very long, and unpleasant one.” You rebuff while scratching the back of your head. “I don’t want to bore you. And, you can just call me [Y/N]. No need for the honorific.”

“But…you are the Young Master’s wife….”

“Here we’re just [Y/N] and Benimaru.” He told Hiiro. Who still seemed unconvinced, but willing to accept your wishes.

“Well then, if not the whole story, what do you do in the city? Benimaru said you are very capable and had a very important job when we walked over.”

“Did he?” Benimaru grinned at you. “Well, I was an ambassador to the human cities. Acting on diplomatic relations with some of the neighboring countries. But recently—”

As if on que, a sharp cry came from the other room. “I’ll get them.”

“No, stay.” You insist when Benimaru moved from his seat. “You two talk. I’ll get them.”

They seemed to want their mother anyway as [B/N] immediately stopped crying from their nap and reached for you. “This has been my job recently.” You said as you came back into the room with the baby in your arms. “Hiiro, this is [B/N].”

The other kijin seemed mesmerized by the bundle in your arms. You have to wonder if it’s surprise in his brother had a child, or that he perhaps thought he would never see another ogre infant again. “Congratulations brother. They are beautiful.”

“Aren’t they!” Benimaru agreed. Beaming with fatherly pride. “That’s all [Y/N]. Without them, they’d have my ugly mug.”

“Everyone knows how handsome you are, Benimaru. No reason to fish.” You scold him.

[B/N] fidgeted a little, then opened their eyes to the world. The maroon orbs blink as the focus on Hiiro in front of them. Then past Hiiro to their father. Then back to Hiiro again.

Suddenly they were crying.

“What’s wrong?! What did I do?!”

“I think they’re just a little confused on why there are two of you.” You tell Hiiro. Who looked absolutely crestfallen that his brother’s child might not like him. “This happens with mirrors sometimes.”

Hiiro seemed to understand, but still seemed very upset. Who wouldn’t be? Children are inherently innocent. So when one is upset you believe you’ve done something wrong, because what possible wrong could they have done.

Trust in this, it was a peridox you had gone over & over in your head for months since your child was born.

“Come brother. Let’s give them a minute to calm down, and we’ll introduce you properly. I’m sure the next time will be better.”

“Of course.” Hiiro got up with Benimaru, and the two went outside together.

The second time did go better. Until [B/N] started pulling on Hiiro’s hair. He laughed it off, and commented on their strong grip.

You could see why Benimaru and the others thought of him as a big brother. And it was nice to see your family growing even further.

[x]

[rewritingcanon]

Do you have any thoughts on scorbus kids king (beyond Albus insisting that they’re all named after stars and constellations and the likes) because in the same way that they’d get married at like 18-19 a la ‘traditional’ wizards i think they’d be the couple to turn up to christmas one year with a baby without telling anyone (nobody knows how they got the baby and theyre not saying shit) and boom. The first wotter-malfoy grandchild

oooooh! hmm! i actually go back and forth on scorbus children a lot. like i dont have set ocs or anything for them. i can see them with or without kids. i can see them with many or just one. i can see them as boy dads and girl dads. i can see them as all adopted or as donor-conceived. likeeeee i can see everything tbh. but i can tell you what i’m usually set towards:

i reckon one of their babies (i’m thinking the second one if they ever get so far) is sooooo weasley-coded. they don’t act like scorpius or albus but as their fucking grandma ginny. like they may not have the token red hair at all but they certainly act like one. and they’re a stereotypical gryffindor. (first gryffindor malfoy perchance)

i’m also thinking they need to have a diva daughter. like a mini narcissa/lucius just minus the moral abhorrence (they may or may not have a consumerism problem though)

one of the babies has to have the blond malfoy hair. preferably the eldest. idc if that makes me a stickler for tradition.

also i think they would pull the “my grandad is harry potter” “did you know i’m the chosen one’s grandkid?” “oh yeah just going to my pop’s place tonight… did i mention he’s harry potter?” ALL THE TIME 💀 like they would nottttt understand albus’ angst about it (at first) because they won’t experience the same type of pressure as being harry potter’s child.

i think it would be sooo funny if they had kids who are really popular in school and are super charming and good-looking and athletic and just very cool and easily liked. and meanwhile they’re dads are the biggest fucking socially inept losers.

if i was nice i’d give scorpius a bookworm kid. but i don’t think that would happen 😭 he’s fr cursed to be the only nerd there.

now here are some parent!scorbus hcs:

the whole misunderstanding angst between them is scorpius wants to rant to his child about the ottoman empire’s invention of major medical instruments and the child just wants to go play footy with da boys 💔

you best believe albus suffers the potter curse of just never understanding his child 😭 he would totally argue with them all the time. not to the point where they run away though.

i think albus would feel the desire to be a father more than scorpius would initially, but albus would be the strict parent. probably because he did shit like running away and deleting his family from the timeline so he doesn’t want that to happen again yk. how can you blame him

scorpius is the dad that spoils his kids rotten. like he’s NEVER mad. he’s always telling them how proud he is of them and how lovely and cool they are and he’s just constantly inflating their heads to the sizes of large balloons. he’s the dad they go to when they want to ask for something because he’ll normally give it to them. he’d rather they be brats then be unconfident and hate themselves.

also scorpius would get crazy separation anxiety. like it doesnt matter if his kid is 25 that’s his baby and they need to be in arms reach at all times

albus can be the type to freak out at his kids ngl 😭 tbf i dont think he’d do it without reason but he will definitely make them cryyyy and run to their rooms. yk when one of ur parents yells at you when ur a kid and u cry angry tears and can’t verbalise your feelings because you’re tiny and dont know the right words yet. and then you look to your other parent for help and they’re just standing at the side like “🧍‍♂️” yeah the one just standing there is scorpius 💀 no way he’s risking getting clocked too.

scorpius might not voice it in the moment but he’s very good at damage control and managing his family who probably runs quite high on emotions. also he’ll sneak his kids sweets to cheer them up even if they deserved to get yelled at lol

albus is the dad that cleans and washes and styles his daughters’ hair 😭 and he will do it aggressively too like he ties the cleanest but tightest braids and plaits and ponytails you best believe. also he doesn’t play around when his kids come home from primary school with a head lice notification slip. best believe he’s going to scrape through everything.

the kids definitely think scorbus are way too lovey-dovey with each other. cringiest parents ever.

albus is definitely the “how dare you talk to your father like that” kind of guy about scorpius.

albus would pack the most delectable lunch boxes ever and scorpius would write the sweetest daily notes for their kids and put them in the lunchboxes to cheer them

they do not play about bullying whatsoever. someone is getting right hooked if anyone dares with their kid. not hexed, right hooked

albus sobbed when he had to say goodbye to his first child for hogwarts. like he ugly cried right in the middle of the platform. almost collapsed.

scorpius is bombarding their kid with letters. like he’s writing them four times a day to ask how things are and how theyre finding classes and if their classmates are good to them?? and has to be asked to stop 😭

yk how harry was gassing tf out of hogwarts to albus only for it to be shit? just know albus is telling the biggest horror stories about the school to their kid only for them to go there and for it to be fine. this is the visual vibe btw:

albus’ favourite kid is definitely the one who is most like scorpius in some way. but he will deny it

scorpius still tucks them in every night no matter if they’re adults

albus is the type to bitch out alllll of his kids’ friends. “i don’t like [insert friend]” “why” “they seem very…. fake.” “dad you literally have zero friends besides papa why are you speaking rn”

scorpius loves hosting his kids’ birthday parties (bonus if he can make it extravagant) and albus hates it (he dislikes every other child except his own)

albus the type of dad to get the malfoy white streak and a beer belly and blame it on the stress of being a father (he loves his kid(s) heaps, just to be clear).

scorpius would tell his kids when they fell down and scraped themselves that his kiss could make it better. and when he kissed their bruise or cut he’d do a tiny healing spell and fix it so for yearssss these scorbus kids thought their dad was had super magical kisses (yk damn well albus took advantage of that excuse 😭)

if they adopted a kid of another race to them, scorpius is going leaps and bounds to understand his baby’s culture and raise him accordingly so they don’t feel too disconnected (albus will do so too but scorpius would be such an expert at it because he’s a research freak).

i think scorbus would generally follow traditional wizard norms but their kids wouldn’t. the kids are living in the house until they are 35 or something. reason is because their standard of living at home is amazing. albus cooks the best food. they get spoilt rotten by scorpius. they have the combined fortune of two of the richest wizard families… yeah life is good

i shall stop it there but lmk if you want me to yap more because i havent even started on aunt lily and uncle james or their crazy grandparents 😭

[the-blind-assassin-12]

What Can Still Be Known

A/N: This is my submission for @wannab-urs Hozier Drabble Challenge... which I meant to have finished weeks ago, but since it's May the 4th, today seems like a good time to post it even if it is later than I originally planned. Thank you so much to Gin for putting this together! I love music prompts, so this was right up my alley. I can't wait to catch up on the other stories written for this event! Make sure you all go check them out, too! You can find them here.

Prompt: My song was Butchered Tongue from the album Unreal, Unearth, and my character was Din. I was delighted to get this prompt, because that song speaks to my soul. It's melancholic and beautiful, and I think it fits Din so damn well, so I hope you enjoy it!

Warnings: angst, mentions of canon typical violence, mention of death of parents/family, you know, Mandalorian stuff.

Word Count: 3,545 (oops.)

Summary: Din doesn't remember much about his parents or his life with them... but that doesn't stop him from wishing it were different.

Nevarro’s sun burned bright and hot as Din crossed the scrubby stretch of flatlands that separated the town from the Mandalorian encampment. Shifting the crate he carried under one arm, he tilted his head down to where Grogu hopped along beside him, using the Force to propel himself every few steps to accommodate for his father’s much longer stride. The sight, along with the string of happy gurgles and babbles spilling from the kid’s mouth, made a smile sprout beneath the man’s helmet. 

“It’s good to be back, isn’t it buddy?” 

Grogu looked up at him and squealed happily, nodding and pointing one clawed finger at the semi-permanent settlement growing closer with every step they took. 

Though the efforts to reclaim their homeworld had been successful, a small group of Mandalorians remained on Nevarro during the rebuilding process on Mandalore - mainly those responsible for teaching and raising the foundlings and other young children that were not yet ready to start their trials. There were two combat instructors, two teachers whose focus was on the tenants of the Resol’nare, one additional teacher who was responsible for teaching Mando’a, as well as a dozen or so students and their guardians. Eventually they’d all join the rest of their people on Mandalore, but until things were more solidly settled there, Nevarro was as safe an option for an outpost as could be found in the Outer Rim. 

Din chuckled. “I’m sure your friends will be happy to see you again, too.” 

That response sent the kid bouncing with excitement, hopping high enough so that he could fit in a flip before touching down again, the rondel and small pauldron he wore clinging together like chimes with his motion. 

“Go ahead,” Din urged him, jutting his chin out in front of him. “You don’t have to wait for me. I’ll be right behind -” But the child was gone before the last word left his lips. He sighed and shook his head in amusement. “-You.” He watched through the tinted screen of his visor as Grogu darted towards the sparring grounds, no doubt in search of Ragnar.  

It had been a few months since they’d been back on Nevarro, Din busy taking Grogu through his apprenticeship, teaching him skills that he would need in order to move on in his training. Tracking, hunting, navigation, survival, negotiation, just to name a few. Every lesson took them to a different planet, some of them coming with the added bonus of coinciding with a bounty or paid favor. The most recent one, a lesson in tracking on Rodia, had resulted in uncovering a stash of beskar ingots that had been defaced with an Imperial stamp. 

Immediately after finishing up on Rodia - Din showing Grogu how to incapacitate an enemy without killing them - they’d taken the recovered beskar back to the Armorer on Mandalore, so that she could fashion it into new pieces for the foundlings. It was strange, but good, to see the glass encrusted planet so teeming with life. It was a relief to know that what his people had fought for for so long, what so many had given their lives for, was finally secure. Finally theirs. 

But despite the fact that the Mandalorian people finally had a safe place to call home, Din had yet to feel that sort of connection with the planet. Unlike Bo-Katan, he hadn’t been born there, nor had he spent any time there as a child. He’d heard stories about what the Great Forge had been like in its glory, how lush the gardens of Sundari had been long ago. But to him, a foundling Child of the Watch who had never set foot on Mandalore until he was a grown man, they’d always felt like stories about some fictional, far off place. He wondered if that would change, if he would ever feel at home in a place that brought him no nostalgia or warmth. 

A part of him hoped that it would. Because it wasn’t just Mandalore that he felt that absence of connection to. It was everywhere he went. A side-effect of losing every home he’d ever had, it turned out, was not knowing where your roots would grow if they could grow anywhere they chose. 

He knew he had a home once. A true home, one where he could have collected a whole life’s worth of memories, enough of them so that when he returned there they’d all come rushing to fill his heart with warmth and welcome. He knew he had a family before the Tribe had become that for him, too. A mother and father who loved him so fiercely that they sacrificed their own lives to save his. When he closed his eyes and concentrated hard enough, he could still find their faces. His father’s was easier to recall because he himself wore so many of the same features. Every time he saw his own reflection he was reminded of the man who carried him through the battlefield that their village had become. 

His mother’s face was more difficult to recall in detail, but that didn’t mean he had forgotten her. He remembered her thick, dark hair and the way it curled at her shoulders. He remembered the texture of the red robes she wore, remembered tracing the intricate pattern of woven stitching on the cuffs of her sleeves with the tips of his fingers. He couldn’t be sure, but he had the thought that he must have remembered these things because she was the one who comforted him when he was hurt, sad or scared. That what he really recalled when he thought of his mother was the feeling of safety and warmth that her embrace provided. 

He remembered the tone of her voice, soothing but strong. His father’s was full and confident and always sounded like a smile was about to appear. He remembered that the two of them sang often. Sometimes he’d be hit with a snippet of a melody, the lyrics lost, turned to dust and ash like the rest of his homeworld, but he’d find himself humming and realize that it was one of the songs his parents used to sing. 

The forgotten lyrics were only a small part of a larger loss, though. They were written in a language that had died when the population of Aq Vetina had been snuffed out. So he could remember his parents’ voices. He could remember the melodies they sang. But the things they said, the words they used, the meaning behind them? All of that was gone. For all the languages and means of communication he did know, the first one he’d ever heard and learned escaped him. And in all of his travels since leaving his homeworld in the arms of an armored stranger that had become his Buir, Din had never met anyone who spoke his native tongue. 

It made him wonder if anyone else had survived the attack on his home that day, or if he was the last living member of a completely slain culture. 

Before he could ruminate on that thought for too long, though, Azil, one of the combat instructors, saw him walking towards the sparring grounds and waved him over. “Olarom, Djarin!” He pointed at the crate Din carried, tilting his helmeted-head in question. “Gifts from home?” 

The contents of the box shifted as Din handed it over, newly cast cuiresses ringing together in answer to Azil’s inquiry. “New beskar,” Din responded with a nod. “Freshly forged on Mandalore,” he added in answer to Azil’s question about where it came from. “I was told to deliver them to you for distribution to your students.” 

Azil set the crate down and clapped one gloved hand to Din’s shoulder. “Vor entye, vod.” 

Returning the gesture, Din did the same. “This is the Way.” 

“This is the Way,” Azil echoed, and then immediately set about unpacking the box of armor, sorting it by size, leaving Din to see where Grogu had gone. 

It didn’t take long for him to find his son. The long, green ears were a giveaway, sure. But so was the small crowd of other children gathered around to watch him levitate a black chunk of volcanic rock while Ragnar Vizsla practiced blasting it with training darts. With each successful hit, the other kids would cheer, a collective sound of amazement coming from them each time Grogu managed to evade the blast by redirecting the rock. 

Din stood watching for a few moments, silently appreciative that these children had this opportunity to laugh and learn and grow together somewhere open and safe and free. He could remember playing similar training games and showing off new skills with the few other children in his covert, though then it was all done underground, in hiding. But he couldn’t recall the kinds of games he might have played with friends in his village. If there were any nursery rhymes or tall tales he might have known once, they’d long since faded from his memory. 

It made him wonder if he’d eventually forget what little he could remember about his native culture. Would he lose it piece by piece? Until not even a familiar tune or the color red or his own reflection sparked any feeling? He hoped not, but it seemed inevitable. 

At least, it had. 

Suddenly - from a different group of children than the one gathered around Grogu, much to Din’s relief - a small child went darting by his boots, arms outstretched in front of her, the distinct sound of sniffles and cries trailing after her. Turning away from the training grounds, he watched as the child was scooped up by a woman who had just stepped out of one of the tents. He assumed that whatever sent the girl running was just the result of one of the other kids being a little too rough. Or perhaps one of Nevarro’s reptilian species had frightened the child. Either way, it was clear that there was no real danger and that the woman had things under control, so he started to turn back towards Grogu and Ragnar’s shenanigans. 

But then he overheard the woman begin to soothe the young girl in her arms. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

It stopped him in his tracks and sent his head swiveling back in the direction it came from. His heart pounded beneath the elongated diamond stamped into the center of his chestplate as he felt something unlock in his memory. 

He’d heard those same words before. So long ago that he was stunned when he recognized the phrase. So long ago that the meaning behind them was lost. But he knew they were spoken to him as comfort. He knew that they were words steeped in love. He watched the way the woman cradled the child to her armored chest, his eyes catching on the piece of red fabric that was pinned to the cowl of her flight suit. 

No matter how impossible it seemed that the words he’d just heard had survived what a whole settlement of people hadn’t, no matter how unlikely it was that it was there of all places that he’d heard it, no matter how slim the odds were that the tattered scarlet linen was the same fabric that he remembered from his home, Din found himself drawn to her. 

To you. 

—  —  — 

You were rewiring the com device in your helmet when you heard Tira’s cry. 

Though you knew that she was probably fine - there were dozens of other Mandalorian adults present in the settlement, and you knew that none of them would allow any real harm to come to the children - you immediately set your work down and stepped outside, senses heightened. But as soon as you saw her running towards you, you relaxed. She wasn’t hurt or being chased. She’d likely just been knocked over by one of the bigger kids while they played one of their games. Tira was small, but didn’t like to be told that. And since her older brother had begun his trials and wasn’t there as often to make sure she didn’t get pushed around by the others, she’d been having trouble adjusting. 

It didn’t help that less than a year ago, she and Maj had lost both of their parents in the battle to retake Mandalore, which is how the children had come to be in your care. 

As a former foundling yourself, you were more than willing to step in and raise them as your own, just as the Mandalorian who rescued you the day your village was attacked and your parents were killed would have done had he not been able to reunite you with your kin. You’d been brought to Corellia, where your mother’s sister lived with her family, and they’d taken you in and raised you instead. It wasn’t until you became an adult that you rejoined the Mandalorians and took the Creed, choosing to commit your life to the very people who had saved it. 

But though you mainly spoke Galactic Basic and were muddling your way through learning Mando’a, it was still your first language that came to you when you scooped a sniffling Tira into your arms and cradled her to your armored chest. It was still the words your parents - and then your aunt - had spoken to you when you’d been hurt or scared that you used to comfort the girl. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

You’re safe with me, sweet one.

You knew Tira and Maj didn’t speak Aquitto. They only knew the meaning of that one phrase because you’d taught it to them. And since your aunt had passed away, you knew that you were possibly the only person left in the galaxy who would even recognize it let alone speak it. As far as you knew, there hadn’t been any other survivors from your village that day. It struck you that every time you spoke it could be the last time it was ever uttered. 

Pushing that thought from your mind, you focused on Tira, kissing her cheek and letting her clutch at the sculpted pin that held a piece of red fabric - a remnant of the hooded robe you’d been wearing the day you were rescued on Aq Vetina - in place on your cowl. The pin had belonged to your mother, the woman pressing it into your hand before disappearing to go try to fight off the monstrous machines with the rest of the village. As a child you would trace the design on it with your fingertip whenever she held you, whenever she made the same promise you were making Tira. 

“Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

By the time you’d said it a second time, the girl had stopped crying. The words themselves weren’t magic, but the sentiment in them was. Even if they were the last scraps of the Aquitto language to live on, you hoped that one day Tira or Maj would pass them along to a child who needed to hear them, too.

Whatever had brought on the sudden storm of tears had passed, and Tira wriggled in your hold as she caught sight of some of the other children watching as the Jedi foundling levitated chunky rocks for Ragnar to blast with darts. You chuckled at her eagerness to get back out there with the big kids. “Okay, necta. But watch out for yourself, got it?” You set her back on the ground, stooping down to her level and ruffling her hair. “I know you’re a tough one, but you still have to be careful.” 

She nodded enthusiastically, telling you that she would be, and then she was gone, scurrying back across the crusty flatland towards the other kids. When you stood back up, you were met with the dark visor of Din Djarin - a man you’d never personally met, but who you’d heard a great deal about from the others in the settlement on Nevarro. You knew he was the Jedi foundling’s adoptive father. You knew he had previously wielded the Darksaber and that he was instrumental in helping Bo-Katan Kryze and the others take back Mandalore. You knew that he was responsible for reclaiming the beskar that your armor had been forged from. 

– – – 

“Oh, hello,” you greeted him, a small laugh in your voice that he figured was a result of the way he’d caught you off guard. You lifted a hand and reflexively tucked the piece of red fabric at your collar into place. “It’s Din, right?”

“Yes. Din Djarin. I’m sorry I don’t know your name, I-” 

You waved him off and introduced yourself. Smiling, you pointed in the direction that the little one you’d just set down had run off in. “That’s your son over there, isn’t it? Tira was excited to see him.” 

Din turned his head to follow your finger, though he didn’t need to look to know that you were indicating Grogu. “It is,” he confirmed, facing you again with a small shrug. “He likes to show off.” 

You laughed at that. “I would too, if I could do what he can.” 

“He’s a special kid,” Din replied, and you smiled again. 

“He is.” You nodded, and it was clear to him that you were still unsure of why he had approached you. “Is there-”

“Can I ask you something?” He tilted his head, hidden eyes fixed on the fabric at your neck - and on the sculpted pin that held it in place, the designs so familiar to him he could feel them on his fingers. 

You furrowed your brow, expression turning serious. “Of course. Not sure if I’ll be able to help you with it, but-” You held your hands up, palms to the sky. “Ask away.” 

“The words you just spoke to that little girl… Tira?” You nodded so he went on. “How do you know that language?” 

He watched your eyes widen with your blink. “You… You’re familiar with Aquitto?” 

Din sighed, giving a slight shake of his head. “I didn’t even remember what it was called, but… Yes. Or, that phrase, anyway. How do you know it?”

You let out a breath. “I… I was born on Aq Vetina. It was the language my parents spoke. It…” Again your fingers came up to the pin and the fabric that it secured. “It was my first language. I was lucky that my aunt knew it, too, or else I would have forgotten it completely after our village was destroyed and-” Something dawned on you and your eyes widened again. “You said you were familiar with it?” He nodded. “How?” 

You asked the question in a way that made him think you already knew the answer, but you needed - or wanted - to hear him say it. So he did. “Same as you. I was born there. It was my parents’ language. But I haven’t heard it spoken since the day droids raided our home.” He blinked, somewhat stunned that only moments before he had been mourning the loss of his native language and culture only to find a source of it right in front of him. “I didn’t know there were other survivors.” 

Your mouth fell open slightly as you stared up into the visor that hid his eyes from view. When you spoke again it was quiet, your words equally full of disbelief. “Neither did I.” Your lips twitched into a small smile despite the way your eyes had started to water. “I’m glad we were both wrong, Din.” 

“I am, too.” He felt a tightening in his chest, but it was unlike anything he felt before. It wasn’t from sorrow or anxiety, it wasn’t to alert him to a threat or caused by regret. It felt more like a connection forming - like meeting you had brought him closer to his own heart somehow. Instantly, a thousand questions popped into his mind for you, and he imagined you might have had some for him as well. But there was one thing he needed to know first. “Can you tell me what it means? What you said to Tira? My… I think my parents used to say it to me, and…” He trailed off, waiting for your response. 

“It means, ‘You’re safe with me, sweet one.’” You smiled again. “It literally translates to ‘You’re in my heart’ though. It’s… It’s what you say to the people you love most.” 

Just then, Grogu and Tira came tearing over, Din bending down to pick up his son and you settling your hand on the little girl’s head as she clung to your side. “Hey, Buddy. Remember when I told you about my parents and what I remembered about where I came from?” 

“Patu.” His head moved up and down, ears flapping with his nod. 

“Well, this lady comes from the same place that I do, and she just taught me how to say something in my old language. You wanna hear it?” 

“Patu!” He spread his clawed fingers over Din’s chestplate. 

Din looked over at you - at the warm smile on your face as you smoothed the little girl’s play-ruffled hair and gave him an encouraging nod - and then back down at Grogu. “Ny mo yariin, necta.” 

.

.

.

Thank you for reading! If you would like to be added to or removed from the taglist for this or any of my stories, please feel free to let me know in an ask or message, or you can fill out the form on my masterlist! :)

tags: @something-tofightfor ​ @pheedraws​ @beautifuldesastre​ @alraedesigns @valkblue

@dihra-vesa @marauderskeeper @littlemisspascal @mishasminion360 @stevie75

@nyctophiliiiiaaa @practicalghost @tanzthompson @harriedandharassed @woodlandmouth

@thescarletfang @trickstersp8 @imtryingmybeskar @wildmoonflower @mswarriorbabe80

@hp-hogwartsexpress @theredwritingwitch @silverstarsandsuns @competentpotato @pedro-pedrito-pascalito

@jedi-in-crocs @hannahkatharinee @anoverwhelmingdin @chiyo13 @myloveistoolittle

@severin-proud @vickie5446 @jessthebaker @ael_xander

[venusjeon]

faith

a rock god drabble

jungkook drags you back to the convent after having some drinks.

♔ PAIRING: rockstar!jungkook x novice!reader

♔ GENRE: 80s au, angst, fluff, humour

♔ WORD COUNT: 1k

♔ WARNINGS: religious themes, drinking, swearing, referenced non-consensual sex

♔ AUTHOR'S NOTE: 16.3k wasn't enough for these two so they're back! i actually planned this for the main fic but bc i felt it was getting too long i discarded it. here it is though<3 it takes place sometime before that fateful mass...

1986

The cloister looked so beautiful at night with the moonlight raining down on the grass, the crickets singing, the columns’ shadows dancing on the floor… Wait, how were they dancing if they were the columns’? Oh! That shadow was yours, and that one Jungkook’s.

You pointed at them, slurred, “They’re ours!”

Jungkook chuckled, “Nothing gets past you, Sherlock. But keep your voice down and let’s go.”

He was dragging you by the hand through the convent, having previously dragged you from the car and before that from the venue where he performed hours ago. Jungkook had insisted you snuck out to see him again, and you had to say, this time the show had been nothing short of stellar.

“I think I tolerate your music better like this.”

“What, wasted?”

“Let’s go with merry.”

It was your first time getting drunk. The venue had stayed open after the concert—drinks on the house for Bangtan since they’d lured in so much clientele—and when your face expressed hesitance Jungkook promised fun, that he wouldn’t take a single sip to drunksit you and later drive you to the convent. Accepting had proved to be a good decision, even if right now you couldn’t remember half of the night. The one clear thing in the mist of your mind was the seductive way that guitar player had eyed you through Rock God.

“Y/N? Jungkook?” A voice made him halt and curse under his breath.

“Is it Father Jimin?” you asked in what you’d intended as a whisper. Jungkook shook his head, so you turned around to be met with Sister Daeun walking over, and started giggling at the fact that you’d confused her voice with the abbot’s. Obvious you were drunk, the shock on her face at the two of you being out of bed at such hour turned into outrage.

“What in God’s name is going on?!”

You gasped. “Oh my god, I’ve never thought about that... What is God’s name?”

Jungkook would’ve normally laughed, but this time led you to the stone base between the columns some footsteps away and had you sit, lean on one. “Stay here,” he ordered calmly and you nodded, then watched him return to Sister Daeun. “I can explain, aunty.”

“How can you possibly? You took her out and got her drunk!”

“She’s fine, she just had a few drinks. I monitored.”

“Have you forgotten she’s a novice? And what if it had been Father Jimin that woke up for a glass of milk and not me?”

“Father Jimin is not a glass of milk man.” Jungkook assured her, and you burst into giggles again.

“Tell me the truth, Jungkook.” Sister Daeun hugged herself. “Where were you taking her?”

“Well, to her cell. Where else would I–” He saw in her eyes a glimpse of the apprehension she was trying to suppress, and it took him aback. “Nice to know you think me capable of that. What, is it because I have tattoos? Because I’m in a rock band? I guess I was fucking stupid to believe you’re any different to mum and dad.”

Half of Sister Daeun felt ashamed, but the other half jumped to argue, “I see you dragging a drunk girl in the dead of the night, what do you want me to think?”

“That I’m looking out for her!” Jungkook shouted without thinking, his voice echoing across the cloister. Sister Daeun closed her eyes and prayed he hadn’t been as loud as to wake anyone up, but he didn’t care, scoffed at the lack of a response. “If you don’t trust me, take her to her cell yourself, then.”

He turned to leave and with a sigh, his aunt held out a hand to you. “Come with me.”

“No, I want Jungkook…” you whined like a kid, rushing to his side to curl your arms around his left one. Despite how mad he was, he didn’t shake you off or snap at you, instead stopped walking not to pull you into tripping.

“Y/N…” It didn’t take her long to realise separating you from Jungkook would take at least three nuns. “Fine. But we’ll have a word tomorrow.”

She left and Jungkook led you away, hands held softly but a tension lingering in the air—and not the fun one he so liked to summon. You wanted to make him feel better, but it was hard to think straight, and before you knew it you were entering your cell in pitch-black darkness.

“Goodnight,” he whispered once he’d found the bed by touch and helped you lie on it. You reached for his hand in time and pulled, forcing him to sit down.

“Don’t go yet…”

He chuckled lowly, “Scared of the dark?” and you giggled again. Gosh, why was everything so funny when drunk? Well, if you thought about it, you always found Jungkook funny. Sometimes it seemed he went out of his way to make you laugh. He was so nice to you… “Hey, YN…”

“Huh?”

It was dark, but you didn’t need light to see he was nervous. “Listen, I’m sorry about before. Maybe I shouldn’t have pushed you to drink. I’m not the best influence…”

You started playing with his hand. “You didn’t push me. I had lots of fun with you and Bangtan.” Especially when Hoseok and Taehyung kept insisting you sainted them, and you kept explaining that it was sadly not in your power to do so. “I’m glad you were watching over me, because I trust you.”

Jungkook didn’t say anything else, just caressed your hands back. Only once you’d fallen asleep did he leave, the pain in his heart from earlier somewhat lessened.

Hopping into his bed, he thought it was crazy that you had that effect on him. Well… not so crazy. He’d allowed you to have it, given it to you, the one person who seemed to have faith in him. It made him scoff, how ridiculously head over heels he was, and as he thought of that he finally drifted into sleep, a comfortable smile settled on his lips.

[unicoo]

Everyone always says “The Conquerors would’ve supported Rhaenyra” (and the “justification” are always the same too)

• “Rhaenyra’s more Targaryen than Aegon”….I mean yeah but like if Visenya & Aegon & Rhaenys would hate Aegon for being half Hightower than wouldn’t they have also hated Aemma for being half Arryn, which in turn would mean they’d also hate…Rhaenyra?

•“Visenya hated Hightowers.”…..yet she let her son marry on & try to have children with her for years….I doubt she’d give af that Aegon is half Hightower (tbh I think her & Maegor would’ve liked Aegon for scoffing at the Faith of the Seven….)

•“Rhaenyra’s the eldest & rightful heir!”…..Visenya was the eldest & yet she wasn’t Queen alone, she was Aegon’s wife the queen CONSORT. We don’t know if she fought for her birth right or not (Dragonstone) but if she did I think it would be mentioned & Maegor probably wouldn’t have taken the throne because he’d have Dragonstone.

•“She’s also a woman so Visenya wouldn’t have stood for that!”….someone I follow @silvervvings made a good point not many people bring up, but it deserves to be talked about more. Visenya sat by while Maegor tortured, raped, kidnapped, & beat at least 2 of his wives. She also didn’t stand up for Rhaena being Queen. If she gave a damn about women & inheritance she would’ve acted for her granddaughter like Alysanne did for Rhaenys. I don’t think Visenya cared about feminism, and my theory is because she was never treated like a woman. From her dad, to Aegon, to the citizens of King’s Landing, Visenya was never much of a lady in their eyes. I personally can see Visenya thinking “If I can do it, they could too” - meaning she wasn’t going to help women who weren’t “helping themselves” (once again this is my personal opinion)

•“She’s a woman so Rhaenys wouldn’t have stood for that!”…. (Another personal opinion) the way Rhaenys & Rhaenyra are described I don’t think they’d like each other 💯 I think there would be a weird sense of competition between them, rather it be their own thoughts or outside influences.

•“Aegon I wouldn’t like Aegon II because of the kind of person he is!”….y’all do realize that Aegon grew up on Dragonstone where “First Night Rights” were seen as blessing & not what they really were RAPE. Sure some women might’ve been okay with it, but not all of them. And also I don’t think Aegon cares who takes the throne as long as they are of his blood. Plus Aegon I would love seeing a boy named after him, in his crown, with his sword, on the throne he built. Aegon II also wasn’t a bad king (despite what some say) so Aegon I would have some respect, even if it was only because his ability as king.

“Alicent’s kids are only half Targaryen”…..and so was Orys, a bastard at that, possibly their fathers. I don’t think they care about the half of the blood that isn’t theirs lol. They would’ve simply married Aegon, Helaena, Aemond, & Daeron to other Valyrian’s to “purify” the blood again somewhat. But like if they did, they wouldn’t like Rhaenyra OR HER SONS either because her mother was a half blood lol & those boys are too. If this is the case then why was Visenya okay with Maegor marrying people who weren’t of their blood? Because it wasn’t that deep for them. Like do y’all think there weren’t other half blooded Targs? Do y’all just think that the Targs between the doom & conquest didn’t marry outside the family or have kids with people outside the family? Let’s be so serious….

•“They would’ve liked Rhaenyra more because she’s just better.”…..first of all that’s objective to YOUR opinion, not everyone likes Rhaenyra & as I’ve said previously I don’t think Rhaenys would’ve liked her, maybe they would’ve started off cool, but I don’t think it would’ve ended that way. Aegon, I don’t see him caring about her much tbh, she of his blood, that’s all he’d really care about. And his son had a daughter who should’ve been heir, yet there’s never any mention that Aegon backed Rhaena’s claim. Aegon was the first king & knew of Westeros’ law of sons over daughters, so if Aegon wanted to see a queen, or lady, in power why didn’t he make it so lawfully? As for Visenya, I don’t think she’d like her at all. Rhaenyra and Visenya were complete opposites, Rhaenyra was girly & spoiled, Visenya was tough & strategic. I think Visenya would dislike how Rhaenyra can’t fight for or defend herself, Visenya would likely see Rhaenyra as the “Weaker” choice, I don’t think she’d be over the moon with Aegon either though (tbh I see Visenya backing Aemond & that’s something I can talk about separately because there’s just so much to back this TO ME lol).

Maegor is where I find myself conflicted. Would he pick Rhaenyra or Aegon? He was the first person to make a girl heir, but he thought he’d have a son soon & he obviously only really cares about one women, his mother. So idk if he’d support Rhaenyra, especially because he’d related to Aegon about being the passed over son. (I too believe Maegor would support Aemond, mostly because his mother does lol)

I don’t think the Conquerors would’ve cared about Rhaenyra’s “bastards” but I also don’t believe they would’ve been okay with them inheriting anything, especially over true born Valyrian featured children, especially the sons (Aegon, Aemond, Daeron) (and before it’s said “But Orys…” Orys was rewarded for his service he didn’t just expect to be given anything. Orys started a new house & married the heir of those lands to seal his Lordship, he also didn’t “steal” the seat from any true born Targaryen kids so….

I also don’t think the Conquerors would have hated Alicent & her kids or Rhaenyra & her kids. They probably wouldn’t exactly LIKE them, but they wouldn’t hate them.

I think they’d save that hate for Viserys, which is who we all should be giving our hate to because the Dance is his fault. His children & grandchildren died because of his decisions. The realm suffered & so did his house because of his choices. Picking green or black & completely forgetting about the main villain is crazy work.

THIS IS JUST MY OPINION SO IF YOU DON’T LIKE IT HIT ‘NOT INTERESTED’ 🙂👍

[vinylfoxbooks]

June 29 - Complex | @jegulus-microfic | wc: 624

James loves nights like this. Where they’re laying with Regulus in their arms, it’s calm and quiet outside, their friends are all out so they’re not being bothered. It’s the perfect formula for the best possible night, rare but absolutely lovely. 

Regulus is sitting up, leaning against the headboard with a book in hand while James is laying with their arms around the younger’s waist and with their head resting on one of his thighs, one of Regulus’ pale hands running through James’ hair and slowly untangling it. It’s nights like this where James doesn’t feel like they need to do anything. They don’t feel like they need to talk to fill the silence for fidget as a way to occupy their mind, they can just lay like this with Regulus. No pressure. 

Eventually, Regulus finishes up with his reading, whether he’s done with his book overall or just for the night James will probably find out later, but they don’t care to ask right now. Not when Regulus is sliding to lay down in their hold properly and resting his head against their chest. 

And James was honestly expecting Regulus to fall asleep soon after, so they just closed their eyes and allowed the serenity of the night to wash over them. 

That is, until Regulus speaks up, “I think someone in my Care for Magical Creatures class has an Oedipus Complex.” And James freezes, their arms tensing only slightly before they open their eyes and catch Regulus’ striking gray ones. 

“What?”

“There’s a kid in my class, I don’t know their name but I think they’re a Gryffindor, that I’m sure they have and Oedipus Complex.”

“And you figured this out, how?”

Regulus shrugs with one shoulder, “Just the way that they talk.”

“And you’ll have to remind me what an Oedipus Complex is for me to fully understand what you could mean by that.” 

The younger sighs, but from the fond smile playing at his lips, James knows its purely for show, “Oedipus was the king of Thebes that killed his father and married his mother. It was made into a play called Oedipus Rex and that’s how most people know about the story. He was constantly denying the prophecy about it and at the end of his life, when they learned that the woman he married was, in fact, his mother, she killed herself. In the play I think he gouged out his eyes but I’m not sure that’s the actual story.” 

“Alright, so you think this person has an Oedipus Complex because they talk too affectionately about their mother?”

“And very scornfully about their father.” Regulus nods, “And I understand that you can have different relationship dynamics with your parents, but usually and Oedipus Complex comes from someone having repressed feelings about their mother because they don’t want to face the wrath or scorn of their father. Usually they’re punished a lot by their father.”

“That would make sense either way.” James shrugs, “If their father is abusive, they’d lean towards their mother and I could imagine some getting the delusion that they’d be a better husband to their mother than their father…”

“Or their father getting upset because they learned the nature of their feelings.” Regulus hums, nodding, “Though it can be the same thing for daughters and their fathers, but I feel like you don’t notice it as often.”

“Hm,” James hums, closing their eyes once again, “Well, that's a wonderful little revelation, but I’m tired.” Regulus laughs and tightens his hold on James, once again burying his face in their chest and allowing the two of them to finally fall asleep, attempting not to think about the whole Oedipus Complex thing that Regulus has now proposed.