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kiame-sama · 4 years ago

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28 Years (5th Pregnancy)- Yandere!Silva x Reader

Warnings; yandere relationship, yandere tendencies, yandere behavior, yandere, mention of past trauma, pregnancy, c-section, more arguing, vasectomy, Zeno is so done with his son's bullshit

"No. We are not doing this again. I won't allow it!" "Hey, I told you how to fix this from ever happening again." "I did use protection. It clearly didn't work." "I didn't say 'use protection' did I? I said you should get a vasectomy since it's clear that regular protection and emergency medication doesn't work!" "I shouldn't have to-"

"ENOUGH!"

You and Silva fell silent at the firm and loud command from Zeno, looking over at the frustrated elder assassin. He happened to be holding young Alluka in his arms while the infant whined and cried from all the noise, compelling you to take the young child and set to comforting the infant. Alluka quickly quieted once in your grasp and allowed you to return your attention to the matter at hand, the new heartbeat that originated from within you.

You had been trying to avoid a third pregnancy given your prior back-to-back pregnancies and your already fragile health, yet here you were with another infant growing within you. You assumed something like this would happen, given your past attempts with contraceptives and how little they actually worked. Naturally, you suggested Silva have a vasectomy as it was not only a surefire way, but also a reversible surgery.

Originally, you suggested getting your tubes tied despite the danger that came with it but Silva quickly shot down the idea with his usual explanation of not wanting to lose you. Silva knew somewhere in him that the typical contraceptives wouldn't work, given the fact that he had used several similar methods to trigger a termination of prior pregnancies you were unaware of. He had hoped in some way that your body hadn't built up a resistance to them, but he also knew it was going to happen eventually.

He did plan on undergoing a vasectomy when you had first suggested it, but he quickly forgot about it in favor of getting to finally fuck you senseless now that your body had somewhat recovered after your most recent pregnancy. He had just been so relieved you were able to be brought back from your cardiac arrest following his mistake of once again taking your child away, and couldn't help himself from indulging in his favorite pass-time; fucking you. It was clear to everyone how addicted Silva was to you, in the way he would always return to your side after a job, how he would guard you jealously from anyone other than himself.

He was so whipped for you.

But now, you had a serious choice to make for your future and the future of the life already growing within you. It wasn't hard to guess what Silva wants to have happen, and some part of you agreed after enduring all that you had. Yet... You still felt that maternal connection already forming, wanting to protect all of your children from Silva, even the new child within you that had yet to take even a first breath.

"You're not keeping it." "Yes, I am." "No. I won't tolerate this again!" "Good thing you aren't the one who has to tolerate it. Last time I checked, its my body that goes through all the strain and effort of pregnancy, not your’s." "Are you doing this just to hurt yourself? To try and exhaust your body to the point of death?" "... Again, last time I checked, I wasn't the cause of my heart stopping." "..."

Silva stood silently, passive expression on his face as he wrestled with his own mind over the matter at hand. On one side, you were right; he was the reason he almost lost you, he's been the reason every single time. Even if it was complications during birth, it was still his fault entirely for getting you pregnant in the first place. On the other, he knew the immense toll another pregnancy will have on your body and the chances of you dying during birth increased with each one. The odds were not good.

It was then Silva spoke, his voice gentle and not at all like what you were expecting him to growl out with. It was the voice you scarcely heard on those far and few between days Silva would be truly gentle in every way, usually reserved for when he decided to honestly apologize to you for something. He was proud and cold, but there were those moments when that pride was set aside, when he would actually explain how he felt instead of leaving it at short sentences that never offered answers.

"(Y/n), don't do this again. Don't stubbornly hold on to this one. I know you already love it, as you love all of our children, and you will always fight for their safety no matter what, but for once you need to let me win. Let it go." "... If I say 'no', will you take it from me anyway?" "(Y/n)..." "Are you going to take my baby away from me again, Silva?" "..."

A soft sigh left Silva's lips as he frowned, knowing you were going to win the argument regardless of what he said or did. He knew he owed you more than he could give and there was no way he would force you to give the child up. If you truly wanted to keep it, he wouldn't be able to convince you otherwise. Still didn't mean he had to like it.

"There is no sense in saying the obvious or telling you the risks you run having another baby so soon after your two prior pregnancies." "I know..."

Zeno hummed in a contemplative way, knowing Silva would refuse to go out on a job while you are pregnant and he had already refused to leave the Zoldyck estate in favor of keeping an eye on you. Given how intensely and fiercely he protected you, Zeno knew the immense toll the pregnancies have taken on Silva as well as you. But no one in the family wanted a repeat of the events that took place after Silva had taken Alluka away from you without telling you.

It was going to be a long eight months.

~~~~Four Months~~~~

"You need to sleep, (y/n)." "But what if something happens?" "Nothing is going to happen." "You don't know that..."

Silva frowned as he watched you pace in front of the couch in your shared rooms, chewing on your lip as you cradled your youngest in your arms. The child had already fallen asleep in your arms an hour ago, yet you still held on securely and refused to set your baby down for even a moment. Silva had seen the way you reacted to Illumi being taken and the subsequent over protective behavior you showed once you got him back in your arms.

Your behavior now was similar to how you behaved then, refusing to let your infant out of your sight to the point of impacting your health negatively. Silva knew you were reacting the way you were because of how he had managed to take Alluka from you in the first place. He had taken Alluka while you were sleeping even though you slept with the infant swaddled in a pile of blankets in your arms, so now you refused to sleep in fear Alluka would disappear from your arms once again.

Now he had to face the lasting consequences of his actions in the form of soothing you to the point of trusting him once more. It was going to take a while, however, as Silva had broken your already fragile trust yet again by stealing away your newborn, so it was unlikely he would be able to get you to trust him completely any time soon. Instead of the trust he once had, he had to watch you slip away into anxiety driven behavior due to his careless and selfish behavior.

It was driving him mad to watch you slip into such frenzied behavior, especially given the fact that you were enduring your third pregnancy in a row. Not only did you need sleep now more than ever, but you also had been refusing food in favor of feeding Alluka instead. It infuriated Silva to no end, as he had no choice but to let your anxious behavior play out until you calmed down once more. He wasn't going to chance doing anything that may be upsetting to you, but that also meant he wasn't going to force you to rest no matter how much he wanted to.

"At least sit down, (y/n)." "With you? No. No, not again." "I swear to you, I won't take-" "You've said that before, and it didn't stop you from taking Alluka away from me." "I'm aware I made a mistake, but I assure you-" "No."

It was going to be a long four months until you gave birth again and potentially trusted him once more.

~~~~Six Months~~~~

You hummed as you looked down at where your darling Alluka slept, curled up and held securely in the arms of Illumi. Silva had reached a breaking point when it came to your anxious and stressed behavior, deciding to allow Illumi to be by your side consistently so you would finally relax and get some much needed sleep. The presence of your eldest nearby did wonders to soothe you, trusting in your son to take care of his little sibling and keep Silva from stealing the infant away.

Though Silva disliked the fact that he had to share your attention and affection with his eldest son, the alternative was far worse in his opinion. You had gotten to the point of rarely sleeping so you could ensure Silva could not steal your baby away, draining yourself immensely in the process to the point you were not only rapidly losing weight, but you were becoming far less coordinated by the day. When enough was enough, he consulted his father on what his next step should be and the answer was obvious; let Illumi help take care of your wellbeing.

Your eldest practically jumped at the chance to spend unlimited amounts of time with you, not even perturbed by the fact that he had to take care of his youngest sibling. An extra cot was added into the bedroom, allowing Illumi to be present for around the clock assistance in child-care and to give you the added comfort of having your most trusted son nearby. You ensured to teach him how to properly hold an infant and how to soothe Alluka's fussing relatively quickly, only strengthening your motherly bond with Illumi by allowing you to put full faith in him with Alluka's well-being.

For once, Silva's plan worked like a charm. Not only did you finally start catching up on the rest you needed, you began to eat your meals with Illumi and therefore began to eat regularly once more. Along with your physical health, your mental health began to improve as well. You started smiling and talking more, resting with surprising ease in the arms of the very man you refused to so much as blink around only weeks prior.

Thanks to your teachings, Illumi was a rather brilliant nanny in your stead. Alluka would hardly make a peep when held in the comforting arms of Illumi and similarly, Illumi would make little to no noise while caring for his sibling. Even if he had more responsibilities with taking care of Alluka, Illumi wouldn't trade that time for anything in the world. He could spend time with you, talk with you, relax in your maternal love and affection.

Truly it was a win for all three of you. Alluka was always cared for. Illumi was finally able to spend more time with you. You were able to relax for the first time in who knows how long. Even Silva had relatively few losses, given how much more affectionate you were with him now you knew your infant was safe.

~~~~Eight Months~~~~

Silva paced outside of the delivery room, looking up almost every minute to check the time before resuming his endless pacing. He was much like a caged lion or bear, pacing just to pass the time and to do something other than sit still. He certainly was far more dangerous than any of those animals combined, only serving to add a rather pointed reminder to any doctor of what their fate would be should they fail.

But that was the whole purpose of this endeavor, to ensure nothing failed. Surely nothing could have gone wrong with all the precautions that were put into place.

Surely.

Either way, the long time it was taking only served to make Silva more anxious and his presence all the more intimidating. It in truth had only been a few hours since you went under so the doctors could perform a c-section to safely deliver what would be your fifth child. After the close calls with both Killua and Alluka as well as the fact this was your third back-to-back pregnancy, Silva wanted to take no chances with your life.

A c-section was how Killua and Alluka ultimately had to be delivered despite the fact you were able to have a 'typical' birth with Illumi and Milluki, so naturally it would only make sense for your fifth child to be delivered via c-section. It didn't sit well with Silva, however. Nothing would sit well with him until you were safely out of surgery and in his arms.

But what was taking so damn long?

"For fuck's sake, Silva, sit down. Pacing doesn't make it go faster and intimidating the doctors will only make it more likely for them to mess up." "Their lives are forfeit if they so much as make a single mistake." "And they know this. They've known this. All you're doing is adding another element no one wants to deal with."

Despite his father's chiding words, Silva continued to pace and glare at nothing in particular. Where it always seemed as if the man had a scowl on his face, it seemed ten times worse given he was actually scowling. The moment the door opened, Silva was pushing past the frightened doctor and into the room where his wife lay motionless.

For a moment, Silva felt an honest pang of fear in his chest when he saw you were not awake, the ever present beep of the EKG soothed him to know you were still alive and merely unconscious. The doctors all scattered like frightened rats, scurrying away from the intimidating mountain of a man who silently pulled up a chair, sitting by your side and refusing to take his eyes off of you.

Zeno, Maha, Milluki, and Illumi entered the room in a much calmer manner as they also came to stand around you. Alluka had been moved into Zeno's care given the impending delivery of the new addition to the family, and Illumi stood ready to receive the newborn and care for it while you recovered. Everyone had been preparing for the newborn in their own way, from the butlers ensuring the utmost safety to Zeno taking over Alluka's care, it seemed everything was finally prepared for and taken into account.

Meanwhile, in the past month, Silva had finally undergone a vasectomy so there would be no further chance of yet another pregnancy threatening your future with him. It was possible that it could be reversed and so it was the only surefire way no unexpected pregnancy would happen again. Where Silva felt he would have no reason to reverse the change since he already had five children, the option was always still available should something ever come up.

Perhaps finally there could be peace in the house. At least, peaceful enough no sudden pregnancy could threaten your life. Now all that needed to happen was getting the new infant out before Silva could finally have you all to himself once again.

He could wait. He could wait as long as he needed to. Because in the end, you would always be his.

#x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #female reader #reader insert #yandere silva #daddy silva #yandere silva zoldyck x reader #yandere silva zoldyck #yandere silva x reader #28 years story

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dreaminginvelaris · 3 years ago

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A Response to a Feyre Anti

I made a post recently explaining the dread of having to watch Feyre be abused by her sisters and father, in the Tv adaption. And a Feyre anti made a response, to something that should not be criticized at all considering what I said was just the truth? Feyre was abused. Not only that but they went on and completely twisted the narrative to fit their own ideas and in the process made Feyre out to be cruel and Nesta a saint. complete bull.

I will not be tagging the anti bc they have me blocked (shocker), but also I do not want anyone to go after them, if you come across the post, I don't want it to be through me. it's as much respect I can give to them.

I usually do not respond to those who have something to say with a post of mine or are blatantly talking about me on their blog, unless they're just spreading absolute lies about me or what i "said", it's usually a waste of time to do so. but this post attacked Feyre with outrageous lies and a complete backward interpretation of what actually happened in acotar, so as respectful as I can be, I will be analyzing the anti-response and what truly happened in acotar.

"the audience will only see two sisters fighting-not abuse" "it’s not Nesta you need to worry about. It’s audiences calling Feyre a big dumbass and a bitch" -from anti

if the audience has basic human compassion and empathy for humans IRL or fictional, they will see what's obvious from the start. Feyres abuse. how is it going to look, when they see Feyre walking through the woods, shaking from the cold, starving from hunger, and struggling to find food for her family? only to later see Nesta's treatment of Feyre?"

in the anti's post, they said Feyre was just as "heinous" to Nesta.

is Feyre the one calling Nesta a pig? a smelly pig? ordering her to take her clothes off?

no, it's not, it's dear Nesta. the text goes as "I took my time, swallowing the words I wanted to bark at her" oh yes... how cruel of Feyre. how heinous of Feyre to...stay quiet... at the verbal abuse.

in the same image we see Feyre ask Nesta to do something (kindly might I add) and then inquire why she didn't chop wood like she needs to.

what does Nesta do? acts like a brat and insults Feyre...once again.

considering I'm going off by the story and not the actual screenplay, and assuming they stay true to the story; will the audience not be disgusted by Nesta's behavior? I mean they just saw Feyre struggle to find food and they expect Feyre to go home to a family happy and appreciative of Feyre but instead, they get this familial abuse.

the anti said Feyre basically tells Nesta this:

"If you keep bitching at everyone like this no one will want to be around you or you can’t marry this guy because you’re a waste of space to me"

but what do we see?

"Believe me... the day you want to marry someone worthy, I'll march up to his house and hand you over. But you're not going to marry Tomas."

the word worthy, did that not catch your eye? Feyre said Nesta will have to marry someone worthy, someone, who will treat Nesta kindly and give her the life Feyre thinks her sisters deserve. bc Feyre does think that IDK why anti feyres think Feyre despised Nesta so much, Feyre loved her sisters.

what the anti fails to realize here is that Nesta marrying Tomas would have been actually pretty great for Feyre. in the sense that, Feyre would no longer carry the burden of her sister. Feyre would not have to worry about feeding one more mouth. or worrying about Nesta's constant stealing of Feyre's money. Feyre does not think Nesta is a "waste of space" to her, if she did, it would have been easy for Feyre to discard Nesta, and allow her to marry Tomas. the anti has that twisted.

but that is not even the worst part of the scene. did you see the shameless slut-shaming that came out of Nesta's mouth? how will the audience take to that? do you think most of the younger generation will take it lightly to see a sister slut-shame a sister? a woman putting down another woman? in this social climate? where the feminism movement is alive and flourishing. will they be okay with it? will they still blame Feyre and be mad at her the way the anti says they will be? I hope not otherwise I'm losing faith in humanity.

Lovely words Nesta spews at Feyre. I admit Feyre should have told her then and there that Tomas is abusive. but let's think: Feyre is 19 years old, the youngest, has never had any raising by a parental figure, has been neglected by her whole family, where would Feyre learn to calmly talk to an overgrown brat like Nesta? Feyre telling Nesta who Tomas truly is the duty of a parent, not a sister. I will not condemn Feyre for not knowing that was the perfect time to tell Nesta who Tomas is. especially when Feyre is being tormented and verbally/emotionally abused, its kinda hard to think about something else while you're being told all these horrible words. to us its easy to see where Feyre went wrong but unless you're in the exact position Feyre was in. no one has any room to talk. and even then, every person is different in situations like these.

this part was me analyzing the interactions between Feyre and Nesta since anti had reasons to believe Feyre was just as bad to Nesta and that the audience would see that and hate Feyre. I am now going to respond to the second part of the Feyre Anti's response.

"How will an audience of non-fans react to her not reaching out to her family to tell them she was okay after the reconciliation between her and Nesta? Or not inviting them to the wedding?"- from anti

moving onto acomaf now.

Idk maybe the audience will see Feyre, a depressed, lonely, individual in an abusive relationship while being manipulated by other individuals she called friends, and understand and empathize with her. all throughout the beginning and half of acomaf, Feyre is in critical depression. she wholeheartedly believes she should not be alive. that she is not worthy. she doesn't eat, all she does is sleep, self-care is not important to her or others so why would letting a family know she's okay, a family who BARELY ever cared about her, be a priority? it doesn't seem like Nesta or elain or her father was really fazed by Feyre's lack of communication. her father left on a trip, elain got engaged and Nesta, well we didn't see a tearful welcoming to Feyre on Nesta's part did we?

anti, where is the outcry of her "family" not even really caring if Feyre was safe or not, of what happened to her? it's not like they thought she had died, otherwise, where was the mourning or funeral? no, they just didn't care.

see this is where I know when anti is just full of bullshit. why, WHY, would Feyre invite her family to wedding full of fae? the creatures elain and Nesta fear and hate? for all the talk many anti's spew about Feyre being inconsiderate to Nesta, to her family, you would think Feyre maybe just knows a fae wedding would be the last thing they would want? even then, does Feyre owe them an invitation to her wedding? does she owe them an update on her life? nope. Feyre owed them nothing.

"How about her shit-talking Nesta to a bunch of strangers then having the audacity to ask her to get involved in a war. Oh! This is after she comes into her house and insults their hospitality." - from anti

I hardly think Feyre confiding in individuals who she learned to care about and laying out all the trauma Feyre endured with her family is "shit-talking" but for argument's sake, let's say it is. I still don't see what's wrong? after years of pent-up anger and hurt, would you not let go of everything you withheld inside and explain what was done to you? how you felt? Feyre telling the IC her life story, which contains Nesta's abuse and her family's neglect, was a form of therapy for Feyre. I never read a line where Feyre calls Nesta a "cold-hearted bitch" or called elain "a lazy ditz" she just said the truth. no added embellishments. Cassian was the one who shit-talked Nesta during the dinner scene, never Feyre.

I still don't understand why antis are so against Feyre asking her sisters for help? like the war didn't involve them? they're humans, and you know what the war was about? Hybern wanting to take control of the human lands like they once did and turn them into slaves. those humans included Nesta and elain.

"They could have left the continent" correct, except elain was engaged and refused to leave Grayson. which meant Nesta refused to leave elain. but even so, isn't it the duty of humans to band together and work to overthrow a race of people who want to torture and keep them as slaves? the queens certainly weren't doing their jobs. Feyre asked to use "their" house to meet the queens bc where else would they do it? the queens trust the fae less than Nesta or elain did. but even so, Feyre asking to use their house was a courtesy, that house is rightfully Feyre's. she is the one who sacrificed herself to leave with Tamlin. she did it bravely, courageously, and they got that house thanks to her. they owed Feyre everything. and the only one who acknowledged that was Elain.

that war involved elain and Nesta whether they or Feyre or the anti's liked it or not. not even considering that Nesta and elain are Feyre Archerons sisters, yeah, their family name alone puts a target on their back.

How did Feyre or the court insult Elain's and Nesta's hospitality? You mean when Feyre realized human food differed from fae food? something she did not know about bc she's barely been turned to fae and only had eaten fae dishes? Feyre's grimace towards the human food was an involuntary reaction to someone who is still learning their new body. or was it when Cassian called out Nesta for her cold treatment towards Feyre? if that's the case then fuck decency, I would call out a fake bitch in my presence from minute one. you cant call what Nesta did "hospitality" when all she did was insult Feyre when she didn't even care that Feyre had died, or lost her love bc of abuse, or that her body was changed against her will.

hospitality: the friendly and generous reception and entertainment of guests, visitors, or strangers.

did y'all read something different bc this for sure was nothing Nesta gave to her guests?

----

the rest of the anti post moves towards Rhysand and his actions UTM which I won't go into because I'm mainly just addressing the false interpretations this anti had to say about Feyre and her family.

I'm not sure how to sign off now lol, but I guess just that I hope this was enough to show how this anti's arguments were completely ludicrous and have absolutely no compassion for Feyre, and instead all the compassion for Feyre's abusers. This anti had a real spin on what the actual story was, and I hope the evidence I provided was enough to show that. Anyways yeah my brain is fried, and I'm done arguing with Feyre anti's for a while now, I need to go praise my queen Feyre so I can receive some semblance of peace.

anyways, stan Feyre for clear skin xx

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bazzybelle · 3 years ago

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Magical Equality Within The World of Mages

I’ve been thinking a lot since I finished reading Any Way The Wind Blows, and there are SO many things that I still need to process. I took my time with reading it, I’ve listened to the audiobook and I plan on re-reading it several times, once I move into my new house and have THAT stress done and over with. I cannot wait to re-read it on my back porch with some iced tea and a notebook to annotate and comment on pretty much everything that gave me feelings.

But for now, there is one massive issue that I want to address, and it plays into the plot for all three books.

Warning for those who have not read Any Way The Wind Blows, this post contains spoilers, so proceed with caution. I am tagging this appropriately, but adding an extra warning just in case.

Huge thanks to @carryonsimoncarryonbaz for reading this over and making sure I didn't sound like a rambling mess.

The World of Mages is an incredibly toxic place! This is especially true for anyone who isn’t a magical powerhouse, or stupid rich.

I’m going to not focus on the obvious socio-economic bullshit, because I’m not familiar enough with the British class system to properly comment on it. But if anyone wants to add onto this with a whole meta like that, please do so!

Instead, I’m going to focus on magic use and how detrimental it can be to grow up in this world if you aren’t one of the few who are blessed with the RIGHT kind of magic (I say right kind of magic for a reason, and I’m going to come back to that). I want to focus my attention on three characters (two of whom were drawn into Smith-Richard’s fake promises, and one who was just fed up with it all): Martin Bunce, Daphne Grimm, and Agatha Wellbelove.

1) Martin Bunce: We first hear about Martin Bunce in Carry On. He’s Penny’s dad, a renowned scholar and is leading a team researching the effects of the Insidious Humdrum. He’s a highly respected individual, in his own right. Penny adores him, she only speaks his praises, and I get the feeling she gets along better with Martin, then she does with Mitali. When Penny needs help with Shep’s curse, she trusts her dad to help her after her mother flat out refuses.

While Martin is respected in the community, he isn’t a magical powerhouse. In fact, he isn’t very powerful at all. Baz makes a cheeky little comment about how he must have come from mundanity with a name like “Bunce”, and he doesn’t teach any magical classes at Watford, he focuses mainly on Linguistics.

Professor Bunce is one of the people taken in by Smith-Richard’s message, and I’m kind of glad he is. It shows that Smith-Richard’s message can reach anyone, even someone as scholarly and learned as Martin. Martin Bunce is intelligent, loving, devoted, and the apple of his family’s eye. But, when push comes to shove, all that does not matter because in the end, he isn’t as magically powerful as his wife and kids. How many times has Martin been compared to his wife? How many times has he been compared to his kids? What was it like going to Watford and having to hear about how you barely scraped by in the magical classes? His whole family is obsessed with magic, his daughter's best friend is the Most Powerful Mage. Martin is constantly surrounded by people making comments about power and magic and being strong enough as a magician.

That stuff stays with you... So when you see someone performing magic that can pull you to your full potential, of COURSE you grab onto it and hope that it’s a real thing.

Something interesting to note here; Towards the end of AWTWB, Martin casts a drinking spell, and Baz makes a comment about anyone who could cast that spell in quick succession doesn’t need a power-up. Now, was Martin truly not powerful, or did he just not have the right type of magic? Could he have been a better magician if he was able to find the right situations where his magic responded better? If he was allowed to learn in a way where his magic could have reached its full potential, without the use of a horrible curse?

I have a teaching background, and I’ve worked with a lot of kids in Inclusive Education. I’ve had to differentiate practically all of my lesson plans so that all the kids in my classroom would understand the lesson and be able to reach the goals outlined for them. Admittedly, it’s been a while since I’ve taught, but I look at stuff like this in the World of Mages and my teaching ear perks up.

2) Agatha Wellbelove: Another person who comes to mind, especially with not having the right kind of magic is Agatha Wellbelove. Agatha does not see herself as a very strong magician. She tells Simon that magic for her is like holding a muscle. Pair that up with a mother who is OBSESSED with magic and power and who’s got the most power, and which magical matches will bring about powerful children, and you get someone who becomes resentful of the whole effing thing! I’m not even going to touch the whole “dating the Chosen One” thing because that’s a whole other can of worms.

When we first meet Agatha, she’s already fed up with magic, and wants nothing to do with it, and I can’t say I blame her. She spends all of Wayward Son running away from magic, and meandering through life, being still so unsure of herself and of her place in the world. She calls herself a poor excuse for a magician, yet she manages to save both herself and Penny from the NowNext by summoning fire! That’s a huge flipping deal! Not everyone can do that, yet Agatha is able to summon the power inside herself to do so! Imagine the wonderful magic she could have done if she was taught in a way that spoke to her.

In AWTWB, she is the ONLY person who is able to get through to the Goats. Her magic seems to be connected to nature (if I had to guess). The Dryad, all the way back in Carry On, tells Simon that she and the others find Agatha “peaceful”. That’s her magic. Agatha was able to come full circle by finding peace with the magic she has. She was able to find a place for it. What’s sad is that she felt the need to run away and not want to have it in her life anymore. Her magic is beautiful, yet not enough.

3) Daphne Grimm: So, this is the character that stood out to me the most. Daphne is the reason I even wanted to write this commentary. Those of you who know me, know that I adore this character. Partly because, I’m obsessed with the idea that Baz has people looking out for him and who care about him.

Anyway, Ms. Daphne Grimm is the apple of my eye essentially. I love her, I adore her, and she is treated SO UNFAIRLY by the World of Mages.

What do we know about Daphne? She is Baz’s stepmum, and has four kids with Malcolm. From the first book, there are snarky little comments about Daphne’s lack or power and magic. Baz himself makes a shitty comment about how Daphne’s “blood is as thin as gruel”, even though Daphne goes out of her way to make sure he’s got food sent to his room. She’s extra careful in making sure Baz feels safe in his own home. She suggests to Malcolm that Baz should see a therapist for everything he’s been through, making her the ONLY parent who not only acknowledges her child’s trauma, but tries to do something about it!

She is a GOOD mom!

Ok, we know that Baz wears a ton of masks of indifference in Carry On, and he softens up tremendously in Wayward Son, calling her lovely while teaching him to drive a car.

We learn a lot about Daphne in Any Way The Wind Blows. Namely that Fiona has some pretty nasty opinions about her. (That comment about her kids not being legitimate, and that she’s as “thick headed as she is thin blooded”. Now, imagine you’re Daphne, and the widower of the Great Natasha Pitch asks to marry you. That’s already some MASSIVE shoes to fill. You accept, and you do the best you can, taking care of his son and being a positive presence in his life, meanwhile going to all these posh functions where EVERYONE talks about power and magic. Then to have the sister of your husband’s first wife make snarky comments about your level of power and magic.

That stuff sticks with you.

Daphne doesn’t want her kids going to Watford, the ONLY magical school in the UK (as far as we know). She wants her children to succeed and be known for everything they are capable of doing, instead of being ridiculed for all the ways they’ll come up short. According to Baz, the only reason Daphne graduated from Watford was because she was smart enough to pass every exam (yet, Fiona still makes snarky comments about her intelligence).

Daphne is well aware of how painful it can be to live in the World of Mages and not be a powerhouse magician. Like Martin, she takes matters into her own hands and seeks out a way to make herself more powerful.

It is heartbreaking to look at these three amazing, beloved characters, and think about the suffering they have had to endure by their peers. Both Daphne and Martin get frustrated when those around them question their choice to follow Smith-Richards, stating “you don’t know what it’s like”. Luckily for Daphne, Baz makes an effort to actually understand her, and doesn’t judge her. Even when Fiona mocks her, Baz defends his stepmum. When Daphne berates herself and compares herself to Natasha, Baz reflects on how Natasha would have killed him (something Daphne would NEVER do to any of her children).

We know that Watford did not allow magical creatures, or differently-abled magicians (I use this term for a reason) to study there until the Mage came around and allowed everyone into Watford. This was a great thing, because now, every magical child was given the opportunity to learn how to speak with magic.

However, it should not have stopped there. I spoke earlier on differentiation and on finding the right place for everyone’s magic. What if magicians like Martin, and Daphne, and Agatha are all powerful in their own right, and they just haven’t found their place where their magic fits? Instead of finding the right way to teach these magicians, they are left to struggle and ultimately resent their magic and the magic of the world around them.

Do I hear a social commentary on the state of standardized education? I can’t really comment on the British Educational System, nor the American one, as I am Canadian. What I can say, from my own experience in Canadian classrooms, is that for all the talk we do on making education inclusive, there is still a big push from higher ups for high grades and standardized testing. If any of my followers are British or American and care to share your two cents, feel free to do so. Let’s keep the conversation going!

I think this post might have gotten away from me. I think my point was to act as a defense for people like Daphne and Martin who found themselves fished into a scam all for the promise of feeling like they are enough in their world. I also wanted to defend people like Agatha, who did all she could to run away from all of it, only to find the place where she (and her magic) belonged.

I remember having this discussion on Discord, and one of the points that came up was that maybe The Greatest Threat to the World of Mages was this deeply ingrained prejudice over magicians with different sorts of magic. Magicians who need that extra bit of help to find their way.

We’ve seen in this series how these prejudices can threaten to split the World of Mages apart, and it looks like magicians like Penny, Baz, and Agatha are learning from these mistakes. Only time (and us fanfiction writers) will tell how they end up shaping their world for the future generations.

#any way the wind blows spoilers #awtwb spoilers #meta #is it though?#I mean I GUESS #the simon snow trilogy #the simon snow series #magical equality #the world of mages #this is really just a defense for Daphne

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nothing-but-dreamy · 3 years ago

Text

MISTLETOE

Pairing: FFXV! NYX ULRIC x GENDER NEUTRAL!READER

A/N: I always wanted to write something for Christmas. Failed many times. Maybe I could overcome my kind of trauma.

Words: 1.448

Warnings: none

Summary: Nyx isn't too fond of celebrating Christmas. You get that regarding his loss but you're also a big fan of the most wonderful time of the year so, you create something that reminds Nyx that he isn't alone, at all.

Kingsglaive. An honorable troup of adorable dorks who were fighting to keep other people safe. You were one who got kept safe by them. Being close friends with Nyx and the whole gang gave you support and love and everything you needed and wanted. The others felt the same as you. They could protect you. Watching out for you. You were there for them as everyone else had left.

At least, that was what Nyx saw in you. The closest he had left he could call family. In the beginning, he had been distant to you. Keeping you at an arm's length. To keep you safe and to keep himself safe from catching too many feelings just to lose you once again.

But you had been determined in your kind of treatment and slowly but surely, Nyx grew more fond of you than he ever wanted to admit. He saw himself as bad luck. Bringing death to his family and friends. And yet, you found a way into his heart. You were sweet, smart, beautiful... You had just one, big flaw: you loved Christmas.

You lived long enough with your friends to know how their reaction would be the moment the first Christmas light would get lit. So, as the calendar changed from November to December, you turned on all the lights you could find.

As the Glaives entered your bar, they all stopped, staring at the decoration and groaning at the same time while you approached them with the biggest smile on your lips you could even produce, "And? What do you say?"

"It's bright.", Pelna said, trying to sound diplomatic.

"It's... It's sweet.", Crowe said and shot you an apologetic smile.

"It's a bit too trashy for my liking.", he said, "But you did great.", Libertus said, trying to make up for the rudeness before.

Finally, your still sparkling eyes landed on Nyx. The last one of the group. He took a breath. You never were sore about their comments but Nyx knew how much this time of the year meant to you so, he tried his best to be a bit more polite, "You did a great job with the decoration. As always."

You raised a brow questioningly while you were smirking, "Liar. You also don't like it.", you said, leaning closer.

Nyx sighed, "It's not the decoration. It's what comes with it. This whole circus reminds us what we have lost. Our friends. Our family. Our homes.", he said softly.

You nodded, "I get that. Trust me. Don't forget that I also have lost everything before I came here."

Nyx' eyes grew big with shock as he realized that you were right. You cared so much about everyone around you that he and his friends totally forgot that you also just were a refugee. Just like them. You had left your home as Niflheim took over the control. Nyx was about to apologize, feeling bad about what he had said.

But you cut him off, "It's ok. I know you didn't mean it like that. This time of the year always gives me warmth. Even after I've lost so much. It still has the same effect. But maybe we could start seeing us as some kind of new family instead of just mourning the past.", you said softly, still with a smile on your lips as you left.

Nyx stared after you. His blood was running hot and cold. You could endure so much of their bullshit. You always accepted the worst jokes. You never complained about their bad mood. But Nyx was sure, one day, you would have enough and then they would lose you. He could lose you and that was the last thing he wanted. He just needed to find a way to show you how he felt for you. A different way than just words because obviously, he wasn't good at that.

By the time your planned Christmas party was around the corner, you even had decorated the Glaives HQ much to Drautos' dismay but he let you do. You even behaved yourself with the lights - not to stress the Captain's goodwill too much - just enough to illuminate the darker hallways and the common room. The windows were covered in fake snow where real snow slowly took over the corners from the outside.

At the evening of the Christmas party, everyone you had invited came into your bar. Quickly, the small room got filled with laughter, the smell of alcohol and warmth because all your friends had found their way to you as planned - enjoying some quality time together.

Nyx stood in a corner, watching you chatting with Cor and Drautos while he let his fingers drum on the table's surface.

"What's the matter, hero?", Crowe asked, slightly swaying from the egg nog she almost devoured cup after cup.

"Nothing.", Nyx answered, trying to ignore his friend.

"Yeah...no. I know this face you make. It's your 'something bothers me face'. So, what is it?", she asked with a grin as she saw that she was right.

"Really, it's nothing."

"Oh, if I have to guess, it's something with YN, right?"

"Could you please guess somewhere else? Thank you.", Nyx said more serious, looking Crowe straight in the eyes.

Crowe patted his shoulder, "As you wish. But you really should talk with them about the feelings you harbor for them."

But before Nyx could ask anything else, Crowe was gone. And he was alone again with his gnawing thoughts if he would do the right thing or not.

Around five in the morning, the bar emptied itself finally and you walked around, collecting glasses and bottles. You were tired but happy because the party had been successful even if it had been Christmas themed.

You placed a bunch of new collected glasses on the bar counter as someone stepped next to you, "Nyx? You're still here.", you stated surprised. Somehow, you had expected him to be gone already.

"Yeah, I would never leave without saying good night to you.", he said softly, showing you a gentle smile as your own lips curled up. Some colorful fairy lights were illuminating your eyes in a magical way and Nyx knew the time was perfect. He stepped forward, getting closer to you and had your whole attention. It was the best feeling he could ask for as he saw your eyes fixated just on him. Slowly, Nyx looked up, "Oh, look what we have here.", he said, eyes directed at the lamp above the counter.

You followed his glance with a frown, "What do you mean- hey! I didn't put it up there.", you said. You liked mistletoes but you had avoided decorating them so no one was kinda forced to follow the tradition to kiss someone just by standing underneath it.

Nyx watched your surprised expression and smiled, "No. I did."

"You? But why?", you asked surprised, big eyes and a frown displayed on your face.

Nyx scratched the back of his neck. Now, there was no turning back, "You know, there's something I wanna tell you. But I think words aren't really enough, tho. The mistletoe gives me the opportunity to do this.", he said with a shy smile before he leant in, cupping your chin between thumb and index finger to kiss you gently.

You still swooned as Nyx leant away from you a few moments later. As you opened your eyes, you saw his blue eyes sparkling, "Why do you stop?", you whispered, missing his warm, perfect lips already.

"Well, I also wanted to say that this is the best Christmas for ages. Thanks to you.", Nyx whispered, leaning against your forehead with his own.

"Maybe it's just a Christmas Wonder.", you whispered with a soft smile and your heart racing in your chest.

Nyx pulled you closer, relaxed about the fact that you seemed to want him as well, "Maybe. But maybe you're just the wonder I fell in love with after all the time I have known you.", he breathed and waited for your reaction.

"Y-you do- what?", you asked startled, looking at the Ghaladian man in front of you but instead of saying something else, Nyx just cupped your face with one hand, chuckled softly and kissed you once again.

You leant stronger against him, searching hold in his clothes, pulling him closer before you snaked your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss even more. While inside the bar the situation became a bit more intimate, the first snow of the year fell silently in Insomnia, covering the city in a white coat.

Maybe, it was, in fact, just one of these Christmas wonders.

#final fantasy nyx ulric #kingsglaive nyx #nyx ulric x male reader #nyx ulric x reader #nyx ulric #final fantasy 15 #final fantasy xv #libertus ostium #crowe altius #titus drautos #pelna khara #winter #christmas #the most wonderful time of the year #snow

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ice-cream-nekogirl · 4 years ago

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you didn’t mean to say “I love you” (Bakugou Katsuki x Reader)

“I love you...”

“What...?” You asked incredulously, disbelief even in your expression as Katsuki just stared at you angrily, form trembling as if even he couldn’t believe the words he just said to you. But then his crimson eyes widened when he heard a snicker leave you as you chuckled and shook your head.

Summary: After everything that’s happened from the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front and after yet another brush with death, Katsuki finally tells you how he feels about you.

Pairing: Bakugou X Reader Warning: Language, angst, mentions of mental health issues, spoiler alerts for the recent chapters Word Count: 11.4 k

Happy early holidays y'all~. Been forever! But I managed to freaking do this! Let's see what else I can write out. :3

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Fvj6PE3gN4o

You couldn’t stop the loud yawn leaving you as you fought your way out of a sleeping spell, because you reminded yourself that you couldn’t just fall asleep in a public park especially since you were out with your friends Izuku and Shoto, along with your puppy Taromaru. Whom looked up at you with a concerned little whine.

“Are you tired (Y/N)?” Shoto politely asked, just as concerned as your little puppy was because that was about the fifth time you’ve yawned, and yes, he kept count of it. “A bit… but that’s pretty normal for me.” You gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged your shoulders, even though that didn’t ease his concern, or Izuku’s as he looked at you with worried eyes. “Have you been sleeping well (Y/N)-chan?” He’s been one of your best friends alongside Katsuki, the three of you practically grew up together, and while Katsuki liked to keep his distance, you stuck by Izuku and gladly invited Shoto into your friend group and you liked to hang out with them. Katsuki on the other hand? As much as you adored your boyfriend, you knew that he preferred to be by himself and was easily annoyed whenever Izuku and Shoto were around, and with you especially. It’s been like that lately, but you didn’t get it, you just assumed Katsuki was being Katsuki. “Oh honey I haven’t slept well since I was in kindergarten.” You chuckled lightly, even though Izuku looked a little bit serious, and that made you sigh. “I know, I need to work on it… but honestly it’s just… a lot right now you know? Tests and… stuff… after everything… Guys… it’s been what? 6- or 7-months tops since we got out of a fucking war? And we’re still doing this bullshit? I just wish they’d give us a break but they’re not… makes me wonder just… how long and I keep going… in fact… sometimes I don’t even think I can… I can’t keep up with you guys… and that just… really makes me feel like garbage, worse than that… I just… if I close my eyes, I wish I could close them and skip through all of this…”

Averting your eyes, you stared at your lap when you spoke up a little bit about how exhausted you were and how stressed out you had been feeling because it’s been too much for you. You and your friends literally survived the war with the Paranormal Liberation Front, and not everyone came out of it unscathed. There were things you were never going to unsee, your friend’s terrified faces, Aizawa-sensei’s prosthetic limb after cutting off his own leg, and then your Izuku and Katsuki barely coming out of it alive when the smoke eventually cleared.

You almost lost your best friends; you almost lost your Katsuki… There’s no way you were okay, and it was so hard to go to sleep at night sometimes when you thought too hard on it. It was so hard to even look at your boyfriend without thinking about the horrible, traumatic things he had to endure. Even before fighting Shigaraki. It was just hard, hard to acknowledge that you almost lost him. “Aroooooo…” You only perked up when Taromaru whimpered, nuzzling against your leg as if trying to comfort you as you looked down at the sweet pup, unable to help but smile at him and reached down to pet his head. “It’s okay (Y/N)-chan.” Izuku seemed to follow Taromaru’s lead as he gave you a soft smile, wanting to reassure you even though you were sad, he wanted to make you feel better somehow. “I… I understand what you’re saying, and why you feel the way you do… Believe me I’m… still trying to readjust even after all of that. It was… scary. We got out alive, but it’s almost like it happened yesterday… and I think about our friends, how we fought so hard just to stay alive and keep everyone else alive and-.” As he spoke, you put your arm around him and rested your head on his shoulder as a way to comfort him. Even if Izuku wasn’t the most expressive when it came to his own horrors, he still understood why you felt the way you did. However, you still knew that deep down his own suppressed trauma was starting to emerge so you offered him some comfort, and distracted him as he squeaked at the closeness and began to blush heavily at the feeling of your skin on his. “(Y-Y/N)-chan…!” “I’m so glad we got out alive… all of us…” You said softly with a little smile, that’s one thing Izuku was right about. All of you were alive, and all of you made it out alive. Just not quite the same, everything returned to normal, but some were still having nightmares after the war. Naturally, you gravitated towards the ones who needed the comfort because it distracted you from your own inner turmoil and because you were more worried about your friends than you were yourself. “(Y/N).” It was Shoto’s turn to say something, and you looked up to see him and pay attention, “Midoriya’s right. It is okay, but… it’s also okay, if you’re not okay. What you feel right now… it’s okay. Although… you will need to get more sleep, it won’t be okay if you fall asleep in class, or in a park…” Shoto knew how to reassure you, which surprised you but the boy was more empathetic than people took him for. And he made you smile because he was so understanding, that you felt a little more validated, glad to know that it was okay that you weren’t in the best spirits as of now. You picked your head up, giving him a nod and a smile. “Hee-hee… if I fall asleep in this park… I got you guys to wake me up don’t I?” You made a small joke, and made the two boys chuckle and smile at you, and Taromaru happily barked with a cheerful ‘arf’! “And we have Taromaru to be on guard for us.” Grinning, you pat your lap to gesture Taromaru to do jumpies, as the little pup leaped up and sat on your lap, earning a bigger smile from Izuku as he pet the small pup. Something Shoto couldn’t help but find very endearing, while he’s petted more cats before, Taromaru was a sweet dog, and he took a liking to the little guy as he gave him a small pet on the head. Only to cringe a little bit when he felt the little pup’s warm tongue lick at his palm. But this just made you and Izuku laugh out loud when you saw the look on his face, neither one of you seeing the light pink tinting his cheeks. And neither of you saw nor sensed that Katsuki was around and paused just in time to see you, Izuku and Shoto just talking about things, about how all of you felt, and then he watched the three of you just laughing and smiling together… He watched the scene with an indiscernible expression. He wondered where the hell you were at, and Denki said that you were with Izuku and Shoto at the park with Taromaru. Which alone infuriated Katsuki because you didn’t even bother telling him where you went and he had to have Denki tell him. Now you were with Deku and Icyhot? That didn’t surprise him, but it still bugged him. You’ve been doing that for far too long, and Katsuki began to wonder why them? And why not him? Was it because he wasn’t the best boyfriend sometimes? He had a feeling that had to be why, but it still bothered him. He’s known about your terrible eating habits, sleeping habits and poor health overall. You weren’t the best at taking care of yourself, he knew whenever you were down, and he called you on your bullshit several times, and even though you opened up. You didn’t open up nearly as much as you did to Izuku and Shoto. But why? Why couldn’t you open up to him? Why couldn’t you give him that kind of attention? Why didn’t you talk to him? Why couldn’t you confide in him when he knows damn well about what you were talking about too? All of you were there during the war and witnessed horrible things happening and experienced physical or emotional pain, so why weren’t you talking to him about it? He understood, he really did understand so why didn’t you come to him? These thoughts were screaming in his head as he narrowed his eyes, just seeing you laughing without a care in the world with those two, playing with your dog and probably forgetting that he even existed. He couldn’t take it anymore, he clenched his fists and sucked in a breath before leaving in a huff. You remained oblivious for some time until you and the guys decided that it was a good idea to get back to the dorms. Maybe a good nap would also help, and you had your Taromaru to make you feel comfortable too as you, Izuku and Shoto walked you back to the dorms. “Well… I’ll see you guys later okay? Tell your mamas I said ‘hi’ okay?” Izuku and Shoto told you on the way that they were going to visit their families, they had been doing that a little more as of late but especially after everything that had happened. Which you understood as they both smiled at you and nodded, reassuring you that they would definitely tell them that you said ‘hi’ as they both walked away and waved at you. Smiling, you waved at them as they left and walked back into the dorm building with your eager puppy following you with his tail wagging. Perhaps you should have gone home too, but once you got inside the building all you wanted to do was just go to your room and go to sleep or maybe just nap in the common room because it was closer. Maybe also ask Katsuki how he was doing, since you kind of forgot to tell him where you were going today. Not that you were obligated to but you knew that he would get worried about you and liked to make sure that you were okay, and while you appreciated how much he did care, there were some things you just didn’t and wouldn’t bother him about. Your problems were your problems, not his, he had plenty of problems and you weren’t going to drag him into any of them. So, you gave him his space, and you valued the space you had to be by yourself and just enjoyed your own company, or maybe one or two of your other closer friends simply because it was comfortable. You didn’t want to bother your boyfriend, and you knew that he preferred to do his own thing, even after everything that’s happened, it was just more comfortable knowing that he had his act together. Yeah that’s it, it made you feel better and less concerned as you sat down on the couch and let your puppy jump on with you. Time to either fall asleep or watch Netflix to fall asleep to. “Oi, Shitty Girl.” You perked up however once you heard a voice, Katsuki’s for that matter as you looked around and saw him leaning against the wall of the hall, hands in his pockets and with his signature scowl that made you smile a little bit. “Oh hey Kat… didn’t see you there.” Your tone was way too casual for his liking, and he hated the way you said it. You didn’t see him? He knew it, he knew you had been ignoring him. “Tch, I was standing here the whole time dumbass…” He indignantly remarked, but you just brushed that off as his typical brashness as you chuckled and shook your head. “Hee-hee, that’s my bad… but uh… hey I just got here, was gonna head up to my room but… don’t feel like it, I think I’ll just chill down here… feel free to sit with me and chill too.” It was almost a flirt as you smiled at him, but he wasn’t looking at you for some reason, instead he stared at his feet. As if he were trapped in the mindset where all of those thoughts were screaming at him to fixate on them instead. “Where did you go?” That’s all Katsuki could bring himself to ask you, even though he knew the answer because he was there and he saw you. Except you didn’t know that, and he bitterly thought that it’s because you ‘didn’t see him there’. “Oh… um…” The more you thought about it though, the more you started to feel bad since you normally did tell him where you went, but had started forgetting lately. “Nowhere really, just the local park nearby.” You shrugged it off though, since that’s where you liked to go there often. You and Katsuki liked to go there, just to walk around, but not as of late. Instead you went with other friends, including Izuku and Shoto and he was aware of that because he saw the pictures on your Instagram page of the places you went without him. “Did you go alone?” Katsuki knew the answer too, but he needed to hear what you had to say, hope for some kind of honesty from you, or just to get you to say more to him. Although you were starting to feel kind of nervous about his questions, and you started to wonder if he was feeling okay, but before you could ask, you answered his question. “No, no I wasn’t alone… I had Taromaru with me. And also, Izuku and Shoto had some free time so I let them tag along because I thought I could stand to get up out of here a little bit and I did, just to unwind.” So you could tell him that much? He wondered to himself, but just hearing Izuku and Shoto’s names and the fact that you were just so damn blasé about the entire thing and not even reading in between the lines was enough to set him off as he grunted aloud in pure aggravation.

“Deku! Deku! Deku! Icyhot! Icyhot! Icyhot!”

He shouted it out, the two nicknames of the two people that he couldn’t bear to even hear at the moment and hearing them leave your lips just completely enraged him.

However, his sudden outburst startled and made you gasp with wide (E/C) eyes because you didn’t expect that at all. And you had no idea why he just got so pissed. He looked so pissed, more so than normal but you didn’t even know why as you looked up at him with shock and confusion, but that just pissed him off even more.

“DAMMIT!! You don’t even fucking think about ME anymore!” His trembling fists clenched at his side as he looked at the bewilderment all over your face. Unable to believe that you were that oblivious to him.

“W-What?! What the hell are you talking about…?” You didn’t get it, why was he so pissed off? What was he pissed off about now? Just because you spent time with Izuku and Shoto. They were your friends and you could spend time with them whenever you wanted.

“Are you mad just because I was out with them?” You sighed when you assumed that he was probably just jealous as he normally was. “Katsuki I know you have a bug up your ass when it comes to Izuku and Shoto but honestly you need to grow-.” He seemed to drown out what you were saying, ignoring how much it was starting to sing but that didn’t matter. What mattered is that he wanted to know why you kept ignoring him. He wasn’t even jealous, or at least, it wasn’t typical petty jealousy, it came from a place of hurt.

“What’s the deal... going to places with them? Telling them all of these important things...” He cut you off and asked you straight up why you felt so comfortable talking to them, but not him. He was your boyfriend, while he’d never force you, it still hurt knowing that you didn’t open up to him the way you could to other friends.

But you didn’t know what the hell he was talking about, all you could tell was that he still seemed upset for some reason. “Oh... right, the park… well hey I mean... it’s not like the places I go with them to are places you’d even like, literally you don’t like the theater, you’re not a fan of the pet store and you’re not... wait, what are you getting at?”

At first you were confused, but now you were starting to listen to what he was asking and what he was trying to get across to you.

“You’re struggling in class! And your health! I already knew but dammit... why don’t you tell ME these things?!” He was terrible with his feelings, but he thought he at least got his point across about how much he cared about your health and it hurt knowing that you didn’t tell him about anything you had an issue with.

This you were partially aware of though as you almost looked ashamed for a moment because he was right. You had neglected to tell Katsuki about all of those things, both out of pride and out of shame, “That’s just because I don’t want you to worry Katsuki...” You said with a sigh, these were your problems. The last thing you wanted was to drag Katsuki into them because he’s been through so much and has fought so hard that you couldn’t and you wouldn’t just drag him into it. It was bad enough you made Izuku and Shoto give you the time of day over your dumb issues, you couldn’t do that to Katsuki too.

“Why?” But Katsuki still didn’t understand why you didn’t want him to worry, when he wanted to because you were his partner dammit. He wanted to worry about you because he cared about you, even if he had a hard time saying such a personal thing.

“What?” You perked up with even more confusion when he asked ‘why’? Why what?

“Why won’t you let me worry? When you’ll tell fucking Deku and Icyhot? Why do you let them worry about you? You just don’t care at all do you?” He looked away, fists still clenched and beginning to tremble at the feelings of anger and hurt twisting inside of his chest, and he couldn’t shake it off.

Katsuki didn’t show weakness, he hated it, he always put up a strong front, but the fact that you kept these important things from him, but instead confided in Izuku and Shoto of all people, that hurt. And it hurt even more that you seemed more concerned about them than him, and opted to just ignore how he felt after he had been through the same things they had.

“Katsuki... what are you? How dare you?! Of course I care!” You did care, of course you did, how could he even ask that? You were constantly worried about him; did you ask him about the things that bothered him? Well no you didn’t, but if he wasn’t so fucking proud, you’d ask him more. Except he didn’t, so you didn’t ask him that much because you knew that he’d just get annoyed with you.

“You have a funny way of showing it!” He quickly replied, tone not quieting down because he didn’t believe it. He knew he had this ridiculous pride that kept him from speaking up much, but he still felt ignored by you over the past couple of months. After all Icyhot was proud in his own right, but that apparently didn’t stop you from going over to talk to him about how he felt.

“Really? I have a funny way of showing it? Says the guy who’s ditched 2 of our dates and lets his pride and these dumb pissing contests with the guys get in the way of things. C’mon Katsuki, don’t be a hypocrite.” You almost got up, because you felt like leaving this dumb conversation. Sometimes you just could not with him, and right now you could not with him, especially if he was going to be this way as you shook his head, but Katsuki wasn’t going to let you just walk away from this.

“I get it! I know! But… you don’t even talk to me! You don’t come to me, you don’t tell me anything! I’m not stupid! I know you’re not okay when you say you are, I know you’ve been pretending to be okay for the past couple of months, and I know you haven’t been okay since we faced off the damn villains! And then you… you fucking…” He seemed to struggle at that last part; he was well aware that he wasn’t the best boyfriend to you, but he wanted to make an effort, at least as of late. He made sure you didn’t stay up too late, and also made sure you had a decent breakfast instead of junk food, but lately he felt as if he’s just been getting nothing from you in return.

“I what?” You shrugged your shoulders and raised your arms with an irritated look, wondering just what did you do this time to make him mad.

“You... you got that damn dog!” Katsuki practically shouted, his tone completely incredulous but still angry as said dog perked up a bit, tilting his head in confusion.

“What...? What does Taromaru have to do with any of this?!” You were straight-up offended though, why was he getting mad at your dog now? What did Taromaru ever do to him?

“Stop acting like you don’t get it! After… all the shit that we’ve been through… I know that you’re not okay, you say you are but I know its bullshit… and yet you got a dog to make you feel better! A dog (Y/N)?! Why not me?! You should be holding ME at night, not a dog! It’s ME you should come to if you’re feeling messed up! Not Deku or Icyhot!” Katsuki went on a small tangent, pointing at himself to emphasize that he wanted you to talk to him, to come to him when you weren’t feeling okay and yet still you got Taromaru for emotional comfort and talked to Izuku and Shoto about your problems instead of him.

He was YOUR boyfriend, he’s the one you should be able to trust enough to seek comfort and company from, and yet you’ve been just ignoring him for months.

Finding comfort and company from others. Including from a freaking dog, over him.

However, he winced ever so slightly when he heard a soft little whine coming from Taromaru and he saw the pup looking almost like he was sad. Bakugou wasn’t exactly as close to the dog as everyone else was, but while he didn’t like the affection you gave to the freaking dog instead of him, your boyfriend, it’s not like it was Taromaru’s fault.

“Unbelievable... is your ego really that fragile you pompous asshole?” You did understand, but because of the way he was acting and because you were getting angry, you could only reply back with annoyance and that just made him even more annoyed.

“Are you really that stupid?! Can’t you see what I’m trying to tell you, you idiot?! Do you really think that low of yourself? Or do you just not even care? Answer me that!”

“Stop saying I don’t care! I do! I care about you Katsuki!”

“Well I care about you too dammit!! Don’t you get that?! I know I can be a real shitty boyfriend and I know I have been, but… fuck!” He shut his eyes and shouted louder, seeming to be at war with himself until he opened his eyes and looked right into your (E/C) eyes. Eyes he had taken for granted as he took in your form, the parts he loved about you and the things he missed about you. The way you would smile at him or laugh, he missed that…

“(Y/N)… dammit… I love you...”

It’s not true…

“What...?” You asked incredulously, disbelief even in your expression as Katsuki just stared at you angrily, form trembling as if even he couldn’t believe the words he just said to you. But then his crimson eyes widened when he saw a small grin on your lips, a snicker leaving as you chuckled and shook your head in what sounded like amusement.

“Funny Katsuki... We’re not even half-way through our second year… I mean… no you can’t be serious… no... no way... I don’t... I don’t think that’s true...”

Katsuki was the boy you loved, but you weren’t even sure if it was that ‘real’ kind of love that people liked to shove down your throat. Saying you didn’t know what real love was, and you started to think that maybe they were right.

So Katsuki couldn’t have meant it when he said the words to you right? You were aware that he had been through one hell of an ordeal throughout his entire first year here at UA, so you wondered if he even knew what love was. Or if he was just saying that due to the fact that he was clearly very emotional right now and that this was nothing but another one of his impulsive outbursts that he would just take back later.

“...”

Yet once the silence became uncomfortably apparent you finally glanced at him, and blinked a bit, almost wondering if you were seeing this right but you couldn’t even recognize the expression on your boyfriend. His eyes appeared to be glistening ever so slightly along with a subtle quiver of his lips.

That was definitely not like the Katsuki you were used to see.

Bakugou was not quiet. Not often. He was known for being loud, opinionated and honest to a fault, and he let everyone know it. He could be quiet, but this was a different kind of quiet. It was still, tense and making you increasingly uncomfortable especially when he gritted his teeth as if to attempt to keep his lips from trembling.

“So that’s how you feel…?”

His tone was different, it wasn’t the usual angry, gruff tone. In fact, he sounded like he was almost hurt by what you said.

No… “W-Wha…?” You didn’t want to believe it, was your boyfriend really that upset? You wanted to ask but the blond just swiftly turned his head and took a few steps away from you, and your eyes fell on his back and you flinched as soon as you heard the smallest hitch in his breath.

“A-Are you… are you really crying?! Y-You don’t cry!” You didn’t mean to raise your tone, but you were genuinely shocked. Not your best choice of words, yet still you couldn’t fight the shock, because you haven’t seen Katsuki cry since he was 9 years old. And based on the way his body started tremoring, you were starting to think you were right.

“No!”

Katsuki only got more defensive, aside from feeling hurt by you now he just felt insulted as he brought an arm up to cover his eyes even if he had his back to you. God why was he so pathetic?

But he wasn’t going to let you have the satisfaction of seeing him like this. No matter how much his body and stupid feelings were making him. He hated this. He hated that he was being so weak and then he hated that he was so weak that he was outright showing this much weakness to you.

“H-Hey now… Kat…” You couldn’t lie, you weren’t comfortable with this, but at the same time you felt so bad for him, and then you were feeling even worse when it became apparent that he felt like you were ignoring him. And you wanted to say something and reach out for him, but as soon as he sensed you moving closer, he quickly backed away and glared at you with flushed cheeks and tears in his eyes.

“Dumbass!! Dammit (Y/N) you… you’re such an idiot!!”

He shouted at you, voice cracking slightly through his anger, and he quickly turned away to storm off away from you in a huff as he took off in a fast dash while you could only watch him with wide (E/C) eyes.

“Katsuki!” You called out for him, but the blonde left without another word and didn’t dare look over his shoulder as he just kept running. And you were left with your arm out in a futile attempt to reach for him as you just stood there with pure shock, confusion and guilt over what just happened between you and your boyfriend.

No way, you didn’t really make the ultra-tough guy, Lord Explosion Murder, up-and-coming rising hero Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, Katsuki Bakugou cry? How was that possible?

Tell me I’ve been lied to Crying isn't like you Oh-oh-oh What the hell did I do? Never been the type to Let someone see right through Oh-oh-oh

“What did you just do…?” You asked yourself, even though you were also wondering what did Katsuki just do? Did he mean what he said when he said ‘I love you’ to you?

“No way…” Shaking your head, you fell right back onto the couch to massage your temples when you heard him say ‘I love you’ again. It just happened, yet in your mind it was still happening. The three words echoed in your head like a sad song on replay and you couldn’t bring yourself to change it to a happier tune.

Katsuki wasn’t the kind of guy to just be so open about his feelings or emotions. Crying wasn’t something he did often, telling you his honest feelings wasn’t something he did often. If anything, Izuku was the one lucky enough to get that kind of sincerity from him, not you.

You accepted that thought, even if it still made you sad there was nothing you could do about it, so you thought. “Katsuki… you idiot…” You wanted to blame him for this, for making you feel guilty about something you didn’t want to feel guilty about. Even though you did feel guilty, you felt horrible in fact.

Of course, you knew your boyfriend would never guilt-trip you, Katsuki never played dirty like that in anything. Yet you still felt like one lousy partner, if he was so upset about this that he blew up to you about it because he couldn’t ignore his feelings anymore and call you out on it. You were the one who usually called him on his bullshit, so having it be the other way around was far from pleasant.

A small whine interrupted your thoughts as Taromaru jumped on the couch to sit on your lap, looking over at you with what you believed was concern as he even licked your cheek. “Hee-hee…” Giggling a little bit and sadly smiling, you pet the puppy on the head.

“Taromaru… do you think… Katsuki really meant that? Do you really think he meant to say I love you?” You felt ridiculous for asking a puppy such a complicated question, especially about your abrasive boyfriend that Taromaru didn’t even get along with that much. Yet still the puppy responded by giving you more licks on your cheek as his tail wagged happily.

Snickering, you almost forlornly wondered if that was Taromaru’s way of saying ‘yes’ because you knew Katsuki wasn’t a liar. He was an emotional young man, but he wasn’t a liar, especially not about how he felt about others.

“He didn’t mean that… no… he couldn’t have… why me…?” You wondered to yourself with your eyebrows furrowed as you walked back to your room with Taromaru following you. There was nothing else you could do other than stumble over to plop down onto your bed.

You felt weak, still in shock from the three words Katsuki told you not long ago. It just happened, but that’s why you were still in shock that it just happened.

Katsuki had to be joking, but he wasn’t the joking type. So why did you doubt him?

“I love you…?” You repeated his words with uncertainty, muttering them to yourself as if you were trying to find some other underlying meaning to how Katsuki said it.

You can’t take those words back once you say them. Platonically or romantically. Which was it from him

“I love you…”

Saying the words with a little more thought, you wondered just what did Katsuki mean when he said them. Love was scary, saying it was scary, especially to your partner. You knew you shouldn’t have felt so hesitant about it but you couldn’t help it.

Maybe won't you take it back Say you were tryna make me laugh And nothing has to change today You didn't mean to say "I love you" I love you and I don't want to Oh-oh-oh

So instead of figuring it out yourself, you called your right-hand man and another one of your best guy friends.

“(Y/N)? What’s up?”

“Hitoshi I need your help with something.”

Maybe calling Hitoshi was a mistake, because he wasn’t the most touchy-feely guy in the world but he had a soft spot enough for you so you kinda hoped that he would tell you some decent enough advice or even reassure you with a pretty good interpretation of what Katsuki could have meant.

“He said that?” Hitoshi sounded just as shocked when you told him that yes, Katsuki said those three little words that even made him feel nervous as you sighed, nodding even though Hitoshi couldn’t see it, he knew you were.

“Yeah and like… I don’t think I reacted the way anyone would want someone to… I said that… I didn’t think he meant it, he got upset and then he just left…” The more you recounted what happened between you and Katsuki, the guiltier you felt as you cringed a bit when you heard a little tongue click coming from Hitoshi.

“What’s that Hitoshi? That’s your judgy tongue click I hear…” You muttered in annoyance as Hitoshi scoffed in amusement.

“Look… Bakugo’s not my friend at all, and I’m not on his side at all either but… yeah that probably wasn’t the best way to react to those three words… and to a guy like him? Yikes… his ego is so massive I’m sure that gave it a serious bruise.” He answered pretty bluntly because while he didn’t see himself partnering up with anyone soon, he knew that if his partner reacted that way, he wouldn’t have taken it very well.

“I now right…? God… I just… that’s such a serious word to tell someone… I feel like… maybe he really did mean it… that idiot’s been through so much… he almost died, he still has his power and all and is in one piece but… there was a moment where I thought… what if he didn’t open his eyes? What if he lost the power he’s been so proud of and… what if he wasn’t the same when he came back and just… I don’t know… I really just… don’t want to even go back to anything like that, even if it was months ago it’s like it happened yesterday and…” As you opened up to Hitoshi about how confused you were about what Katsuki said, you also shared how you really felt about him, and he began to think maybe that’s why you didn’t believe him when he said he loved you.

“Now I see what he means, I’m doing it now… oh my god… you know… I’ve been worrying about literally everyone else… except for Katsuki… I mean I AM worried, I’m worried about him all the damn time but… I don’t know… somewhere along the lines I just… stopped showing it because I have… SO much on my mind, I’m SO fucking worried about my other friends and I’m not afraid of them pushing me away so it’s easier to show them but I… I shouldn’t have just ended up pushing him away in the process…” But then you realized that you were totally opening up to Hitoshi about your problems, and that was another reason Katsuki got upset because you could do this to other people but not him? Well, he did too but you assumed he never really opened up to anyone.

“Hey now… it’s fine really… I mean it’s okay that you feel bad about it, but you’ve been through a lot too, don’t beat yourself up. Look… I wasn’t there when all that stuff went down but… I see what you mean and it makes perfect sense. After everything you’ve seen and been through, the idea of loving someone becomes scarier. I mean… you said everyone came back in pretty bad shape… I remember how you were scared as hell, so… while it wasn’t the best way to react, I don’t blame you for how you reacted (Y/N). But… Bakugo is kind of an ass so… I guess you can explain it to him? Maybe give it a shot… and if he doesn’t get it, just let me know so I can kick his ass.” He and Bakugo weren’t really friends, so he wouldn’t have a problem brainwashing him and kicking him where it hurts should he hurt your feelings in any way.

You couldn’t help but laugh at the thought, even though if anyone could beat Katsuki, Hitoshi can. Katsuki literally can’t keep his trap shut so you were pretty confident that Hitoshi could beat him, but right now, you didn’t want it to lead to that. “Thanks Tosh… I’ll talk to him. I haven’t done that enough so… I will… thanks again…” Sighing, you smiled even though Hitoshi couldn’t see it, he knew you were smiling.

“No problem (Y/N). See you later all right? But… I guess… call me whenever you need anything else…” He ended on a slightly awkward note, but you knew that was just his way of trying to act all cool as you snickered a bit.

“Of course Hitoshi. Back at you… thanks again.” Your tone was amused as he just scoffed before the two of you said your goodbyes and hung up. Only you were left with disappointment to no longer have a friend to talk to and even more disappointment with yourself when you realized how you messed up with Katsuki.

You didn’t mean to; you really didn’t mean to but it was hard. After everything Izuku and Shoto had been through, you were scared for them and it was easier to get them to open up somewhat. Or that’s just what you told yourself, you felt more comfortable worrying about them, and not so much with Katsuki.

He was so proud and strong that you didn’t think you could hurt his feelings. But you did.

He told you he loved you, probably out of desperation to get you to see how he really felt, that he wanted you and needed you and you just laughed at it and didn’t even believe him.

“Katsuki…” You closed your teary eyes when you felt heat pooling in them and wiped any that tried to slip away and quickly went to his number. Calling him would be much too after what just happened, so you just left your phone like that on his number and tried to get your mind off of it by watching TV for a few hours.

You were terrified. You were terrified of talking to him about it, terrified to apologize after hurting him like that because what if he didn’t forgive you? What if he really was going to take it back? What if he was going to break up with you? What if you hurt him worse than you thought especially when he was clearly still traumatized from the war?

The more horrifying thoughts came to your mind, the more you felt almost dizzy as you just stared blankly with wide (E/C) eyes and you couldn’t even hear Taromaru’s barks. Until his paws on your legs made you blink and return to reality as his anxious whimpering and whines became more apparent.

“S-Sorry boy, I’m sorry, I’m okay…” You inhaled and exhaled deeply, remembering to just breathe as you pet the puppy with a shaky smile.

“I gotta talk to him…” Taking another deep breath, you grabbed your phone, it was still on Katsuki’s number and you didn’t call him, but you did send him a message.

‘I wanna talk to you.’

Those were the only words you could bring yourself to text, and of course you didn’t get a reply back. You knew you wouldn’t but you still hoped that he would reply to you back.

Waiting and sitting on your bed, your nerves were quickly becoming frenzied when the seconds and minutes felt much too slow. You could only anxiously await a message from your dear boyfriend if you would even get one as you lied down on your bed, eyes still glued to your phone just waiting for a vibration or the notification sound to go off.

Taromaru lied down right by your stomach as if he could sense how anxious you were, and all you could do to soothe yourself was stroking his fur and pet him gently.

A sharp gasp left you when the notification sound went off, and you instantly sat up from your bed, throwing your hand to your heart in alarm as you looked to see your phone glowing. You quickly snatched it up to see if it was from Katsuki.

‘Fine.’

Your breathing came out in soft little pants, a surge of relief slowly coursing through your being when Katsuki did answer you. But you blinked your tired (E/C) eyes in shock when you realized that at least two hours had passed by.

Taromaru whimpered up at you softly, rubbing his head against your side and reaching up so he could lick your face as if he was trying to comfort you. Smiling softly, you giggled and felt a smidgen more courage to reply to him.

‘First floor when everyone’s asleep? Or my room?’

Nobody was on the first floor at night-time, and you couldn’t be outside the dorm building now that the school’s security had been doubled after the events of the war. So you would have to either talk to Katsuki in private in the comfort of your room or the first floor.

‘Whichever stupid.’

He was clearly still mad and you sighed a little bit as you replied with a ‘My room’, wondering if that was the best choice as you petted Taromaru for more comfort. You were scared when the war between the villains happened, so why were you so fucking terrified to just talk with your boyfriend? It shouldn’t be that hard…

Up all night on another red eye I wish we never learned to fly I-I-I Maybe we should just try To tell ourselves a good lie I didn't mean to make you cry I-I-I

The rest of the day was awkward. Even on the moments you and Katsuki crossed paths, neither one of you could bring yourselves to say anything. You both agreed to talk in your rooms and that was that. Which is why having dinner with the others wasn’t very comfortable because you could both feel each other’s presences when you were in the same rooms.

You had to ignore it though, for now you had to pretend in front of your friends and classmates that everything was okay and that nothing was on your mind. Just as you had been for the past couple of months, so it shouldn’t have been hard.

Thankfully they all brought it, except maybe Izuku and Shoto, but this time they didn’t ask about it since they had the uncanny ability to tell that this issue wasn’t quite like the ones you shared with them earlier today.

Although you ate as much as you could, your stomach still had butterflies because you were finally going to talk to your boyfriend after what felt like months. Even the small talk the two of you made wasn’t much talking, the more you thought about it, it has been a while since you had a real, thoughtful conversation with Katsuki. And that was why he was so angry with you, something that still shocked you but that’s what it was.

You just hoped that Katsuki had cooled down somewhat after the argument you both had today. Once everyone else turned in, that was your cue to just go back to your room, with Taromaru in tow as he followed right by your side.

A small, but sharp gasp left you though as you picked your head up to see no one other than your Katsuki leaning on the wall right next to your door, just waiting for you. How long had he been there? You wondered, but now you were a mix of nervous and relieved. Nervous because you could still see the scowl on his face, and it made you wonder if he was still angry with you, and relieved because he was really here and had enough maturity to come to you despite his visible anger.

“Hey Kat.” You spoke and gave him a small wave when you got close enough to him, and although you didn’t expect an answer, Katsuki surprised you by giving you a small huff in response.

You opened the door for him to let him into your room, and you also wondered how long it’s been since you last had him in your room as he took a seat on your chair and you sat on your bed. How pitiful. Katsuki wasn’t a perfect boyfriend, and you liked to complain about that, but this just made you realize that you weren’t exactly an ideal partner either.

But that’s why you were both here, to hopefully talk about it in a peaceful manner without arguing. Taromaru was here to ease your anxiety, you just hoped Katsuki wouldn’t be bothered by that, but he was more mature than that despite what he said about the dog earlier.

“I think a talk between us is long overdue…” You spoke up to break the uncomfortable silence because you knew Katsuki wasn’t going to do that.

“Now you wanna talk?” He asked somewhat bitterly, hands in his pockets as he didn’t even look over at you as you crossed your arms nervously with a sigh.

“Yes… we… haven’t done that enough, and… that’s partially my fault…” Now you lost the ability to look at him, and of course hearing you say that actually made your boyfriend glance over at you. “I’m not… trying to excuse myself, at all Katsuki. What I said earlier, I meant it… the part about my problems at least, I thought… by not saying anything at all, would make it easier on you. You’re a very busy guy, you’ve been through enough already from last year… it’s been a few months but… I didn’t want to just dump all my problems on you…” As you began your explanation, you fought the irritation when you heard Katsuki scoff.

“Yet that doesn’t stop you from dumping all your problems on Deku and Icyhot, and the other extras…” He reminded you with a small growl, the truth was he didn’t see it as you dumping your problems on someone, instead he just saw it as you opening up to and confiding in everyone else but him. Your boyfriend.

“I know…” You didn’t want to fight with him, so you didn’t. He wasn’t wrong either way, “I hate thinking that’s what I do… but I know that I… confide in them more I just… I don’t know, it’s stupid… it’s not fair to you…”

Katsuki’s eyes narrowed, he didn’t want you to think he didn’t WANT you to confide in your friends, he just wanted you to confide in him a little more, “Those morons are your friends… I just can’t believe you don’t even think that you could talk to me too…” He grumbled in slight embarrassment, even though he’s embarrassed himself plenty today by nearly falling apart in front of you earlier.

However, those were the right words for you to hear as you couldn’t help but sigh in slight relief. You knew Katsuki wasn’t the type of guy to just tell you what you couldn’t do. So, he was just hurt, but because you were the one that he felt hurt by. You didn’t mean to hurt his feelings like that, but you did it.

“I can’t believe it either…”

“So what the hell (Y/N)?” He gruffly asked, awaiting your answer so he could know just what was so wrong that you felt the need to hide all of your problems from him and leave him out of important things that he DID care about. “Why are you leaving me out of things in your life that matter?”

His question stung as you knew you had to give him an answer, he deserved that much and you couldn’t just not talk when you said you wanted to have this talk with him. It didn’t make it any less nerve-wracking though as you inhaled and exhaled. You didn’t expect him to take mercy on you but you could see a glimmer of concern in his displeased expression.

“Katsuki I’m sorry…” You began with an apology, knowing that he did deserve an apology first, “I’m sorry that I… I made you feel like I was ignoring you… I swear I never meant to…” Shaking your head, you braved up to actually look him in the eyes.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care about you, I care about you… so much… I know it feels like I don’t, but I do… I really, really do and…” Swallowing hard, you had to calm yourself down so you could try and explain it to him.

“I just…” You sighed as you began, voice and figure trembling as you knew this had to be said, “I don’t feel like… talking to you about my problems is the right thing to do… to… tell you everything that’s wrong with me when… it’s hard… it’s hard enough knowing that you’ve gone through… so much worse than I have.” You averted his eyes for a moment, unable to see his slightly indignant look.

Maybe won't you take it back Say you were tryna make me laugh And nothing has to change today You didn't mean to say "I love you" I love you and I don't want to Oh-oh-oh

“Katsuki… you’re a proud guy. I don’t want to make you feel like… I’m undermining you or bruising your pride by making you open up too. Because… I’ve tried, and… when none of those attempts worked, I thought… it would just be better for me to let it be, and only give you what you needed when you came for it. I wanted to be… someone you could count on for a ‘pick me up’ or someone you can hug when you need one. And that’s what I did, but I never… sought you out because… I didn’t want to bruise your pride by doing that, I let you have your space, as you let me have mine.” You explained as best as you could only the first half as you finally glanced into his eyes. His expression hard to read although his eyes were still narrowed as he seemed to permanently looked irritated.

He probably was, but you didn’t know that he was taking your words into consideration. He was pissed at you for closing yourself off, but thinking about what you said just made him remember that he closed himself off just as much, if not more so than you.

“I thought I was putting you first, by giving you what you needed from me and supporting you from the sidelines while I took care of my own things, did things by myself so it didn’t… inconvenience you. With everything that was going on, I thought that I couldn’t possibly bother you with anything going on with me, I knew that you wouldn’t just brush off any issue I brought up but… I still didn’t bring anything up, I wanted to deal with my own problems, I wasn’t going to make my problems yours… and�� especially after what we have been through? No way… you’ve been through… too much for me to bother you… and… honestly that’s another thing…” Your (E/C) eyes dulled the more you thought about how the aftermath of the war had really impacted you and the fact that school hadn’t ceased to stress you out.

Katsuki was heeding your words, and as angry as he wanted to be at you for thinking that, he could tell that you really believed that you would just be a problem if you opened up about your problems. He was hurt, but now he had to take a little time to try and understand that. He knew he wasn’t the best boyfriend, he knew he had his own issues and that they had affected you, and that’s something you were afraid of which had inadvertently lead you to neglecting him.

“When… when you said…” You almost couldn’t speak though when you thought about how Katsuki said those words, a thought that made your face warm as Katsuki himself began to blush and grunt lowly. He still couldn’t believe he was dumb enough to tell you that…

“When you said that you loved me that just… that was really fucking scary…”

You were fucking scared. Fucking scared of the words ‘I love you’, because there was no way to take those words back once you said it. And Katsuki told them to you, whether he meant it or not, there’s no way he could take it back.

“Katsuki… I’m… fucking scared… when you say you love someone… and even if you mean it… it’s just so painful. After I almost lost you, I knew that… I did… I really did… l-love you a-and… when you love someone… i-it’s just something else you can lose… that war… really made me realize that… there’s no guarantee… what if I really had… lost you? I don’t… I don’t want to imagine it.” You willed your voice to remain steady despite the tears threatening to form as you inhaled and exhaled to keep breathing, something that didn’t go unnoticed by Katsuki.

“Loving someone changes things… it changes everything, after the things we’ve been through… and… it makes me realize… so many things that hurt and yet… I want that at the same time… God… it makes no sense but… Katsuki…” Biting your bottom lip, you wiped at your eyes to stop any tears that wanted to sneak up and fall.

“I’m afraid because I… I do love you too…” Your tears shined in your glossy (E/C) eyes as one traitorous tear dripped down your face as Katsuki’s eyes only slightly widened as soon as you said the same words. A little late, but still.

But he hated seeing you cry, he hated how miserable you looked, and he almost regretted making you talk to him like this. But he had been wanting to talk to you so he could make you feel better somehow and let you know that he does care about you and wants you to be okay.

“And I’m afraid of that…” Chuckling ruefully you tried to smile at him, but it was wobbly and weak as he scoffed in response. He didn’t want to be insensitive, but that was simply part of his nature.

“Because I’m a shitty boyfriend?” He asked you after your explanation, and you blinked some tears in bewilderment at his response. “You know it’s true.” He hated admitting it, but it was true. He shouldn’t have acted like such a jerk to you and pushed you away like he had done before, because while you were still with him, you ended up pushing him away too.

He knew that it was his fault too though, “I’m surprised you’ve put up with me for this long Shitty Girl.” He admitted that too, because he knew that he wasn’t the best partner to you, but the fact that you were still with him even after all of that meant that you meant what you had said.

You meant when you said that you loved him, just as he had meant when he said that he loved you.

“I hate… feeling so weak, more than anything… I can’t fucking stand it… the Sludge Villain, when the league of villains had me… when All-Might…” As Katsuki for once began to tell you even more about how he felt, you saw him grunt and struggle to even say how he felt at his lowest when All-Might had to retire. Because of his weakness, because he couldn’t even save himself and it caused his hero to go into retirement.

“When All-Might had to retire… because of me. Then… when damn Deku… went after that guy…” He willingly let himself get hit, to save Izuku and you knew it. But you couldn’t even look at him after he endured such a fatal wound that you were glad hadn’t killed him. Yet still, even in that moment Katsuki felt so weak for being unable to do anything else.

And now he felt so weak for even showing you a little bit of weakness, crying like an idiot and complaining to you about you not giving him attention when he didn’t give you enough attention either.

“I’m so fucking pathetic… it’s not even your fault…” He grabbed at his hair when he thought he was going to break even just a little bit, but then he felt your hand on his shoulder as you gave him a soft, concerned look.

“You are NOT pathetic… and you are NOT weak… everything that happened was beyond anyone’s control… just because they happened… doesn’t mean it’s your fault but Katsuki… it’s okay to FEEL weak… it’s not okay to think you ARE weak because you’re not… you’re the strongest man I know…” Placing your hands on his shoulders, you looked him in the eyes to tell him how much you admired him.

Katsuki was visibly shocked, touched, but also skeptical, like he didn’t or he couldn’t believe you. “Yes I am! I-I can’t even handle it when you don’t give me a little attention even though I’m the asshole who didn’t give YOU attention, dammit! I just fuck everything up…!” He raised his voice, but there was no anger towards you, it was all aimed at himself. There was anger, anguish and so much self-loathing it broke your heart.

“I meant what I said… I do love you but… you’re also right… I had no idea where you even were. I had no idea if you were even okay, if a damn villain got to you or not… when it was all over, all I could think about is that if you got hurt… it would have been my fault because I didn’t do a damn thing to help you…” Katsuki recalled what he could even though he faded in and out of consciousness after the war had ended and he remembered seeing your face when he and Izuku eventually woke up.

He was so relieved to see you alive and well with a few cuts and scratches, but what if it were worse? What if you had been one of the casualties and weren’t so lucky?

“I hate this feeling so fucking much… I hate that loving you makes me feel like this… it’s not even your fault… I-I just… I hate the thought of losing you… I hate being scared of losing you and I hate that I’m a shitty boyfriend who didn’t even help you when you needed it…” He willed back the tears, but they still dripped down his cheeks as your first instinct was to put your arms around him, holding him close as you shut your eyes. Your own tears streamed down your face.

The smile that you gave me Even when you felt like dying

“It’s okay…” You said to him softly, but those two words were enough to send Katsuki over the edge as he pulled away from you even though he didn’t want to leave your arms, he felt like he didn’t even deserve it.

“It’s NOT okay! How is it okay?! I shouldn’t… I should hate that!! I shouldn’t… I shouldn’t be so weak and-!” He wanted to scream more, he wanted to tell you that you shouldn’t even be with him anymore and that you were right to push him away, but you weren’t going to let him.

“No Katsuki it IS… you and I… we’re NOT okay… you’re NOT okay… and I’m NOT okay… that’s why we’re here though… because I should have told you that I wasn’t okay… yes… I wish you told me that you weren’t okay but now I’m telling you… it’s okay… because… I’m still with you because… I want to be… I understand… I just told you that I’m afraid too… and knowing that you are too… don’t you understand how better that makes me feel?” You asked him, the fear evident in your tone and the mistiness in your eyes visible for Katsuki to furrow his brows.

“I want to love you… because I do! I don’t want to be afraid… I don’t want to be afraid of loving the person I want to love but… I am… and yet… at the same time I feel like… I won’t be afraid because you are Katsuki Bakugo. You’re… You’re Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight, the strongest hero I know, the strongest man I know, and… with you I just… I feel like I won’t have to be afraid anymore… how can I be afraid? When I have a man like you in my life?” You smiled crookedly at him as your tears continued to fall, body trembling because even though you were still scared. Katsuki somehow always managed to make you feel safe, protected and at ease despite everything.

You couldn’t tell what he was feeling, you just saw him looking at you with a mix of slight awe, surprise and other emotions you couldn’t read. Katsuki just stared at you, he heard your words and listened to every single thing you told him, saw the look in your eyes the entire time as he could see the love, fear and determination swirling in those (E/C) orbs. He didn’t realize how much he needed to hear that from you, he had been wanting you to hold onto him for so long and yet he pulled away from you like the idiot he was.

So hearing you, seeing you stay with him and tell him how you still wanted to be with him even though you were scared, it made him feel like a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. He hated being weak, but he loved being with you, he loved how you made him feel. He needed to be better, hearing you say that you loved him, made him realize that he needed to be better for you.

“Tch…” He scoffed a little bit, making you perk up when you saw one of his trademark smirks even though you knew that he was still afraid, like you were. “You’re not wrong (Y/N)… loving someone is scary but… you’re also not wrong that you don’t have anything to be afraid of with me around… we’ll kill our fears together.”

He declared with his usual determination that made your eyes well up with more tears, a watery smile on your lips as you snickered and snorted at such a phrase. “W-What are you laughing at?!” However, Katsuki couldn’t help but flush in slight embarrassment when you were laughing at him again, except this wasn’t out of mockery he could tell that much. He still didn’t like it though.

“I-I’m sorry! It’s just… that’s… another reason why I love you… you’re right… I want to do that… kill our fears together… you and me Katsuki.” Your smile didn’t fade as you took his hand in yours, and Katsuki promptly squeezed your hand, his own smirk not leaving.

“Good.” He sounded satisfied, but mostly relieved. Relieved that you and him were okay, or that you were at least going to be together since neither one of you wanted to end this despite the issues that sprung up.

“Katsuki…”

But then he froze up as soon as he suddenly felt you loosen your grip on his hand, and he grunted and nearly exclaimed in shock when you threw your arms around him in the tightest hug he’s felt from you.

We fall apart as it gets dark I'm in your arms in Central Park There's nothing you could do or say I can't escape the way, I love you I don't want to, but I love you Oh-oh-oh

“I love you Katsuki…” You whispered quietly as your tears silently fell. The fear was lingering, but still made you feel safe enough that you held onto him tight. Unwilling to let go as Katsuki returned the gesture by embracing you just as tightly.

God, he didn’t know how scared he was to lose you until he thought of the worst that could have happened. He was still scared, still afraid to lose you and to love you even though he did love you. He really loved you.

“I love you too (Y/N)…” He said the three words to you again, and your tear-filled (E/C) eyes widened when you heard them again. Your heart pounding as they made you feel less afraid and more at peace as you warmly smiled, resting your head into his shoulders and softly smiling even as you felt your own shoulder growing wet from his tears.

You knew it. You truly did love Katsuki, even if you were afraid of the fact that you loved him. And you figured out that Katsuki was afraid of that fact as well. He loved you, it’s why he told you the words even if he didn’t want to.

He knew he had to because it was true, he loved you. It just freaked him out that he did, that he loved someone.

Yet Katsuki wasn’t going to change those feelings, he loved you and he was willing to face that fear if it meant getting to love you the way he did. And you were too, you didn’t want to stop loving him even though you were scared. At least you and Katsuki would be scared together.

“Aroooo~.”

But the two of you opened your eyes when you remembered that Taromaru was still here, resting at the foot of your bed and having woken up from his little nap. You couldn’t help but giggle a bit, even becoming aware of how dark it had gotten and how late it was. Or maybe it wasn’t late, but still you felt sleepy after those tears and emotionally opening up to your boyfriend.

“Taromaru has the right idea… Kat… spend the night here?” You asked him with those puppy dog eyes that annoyed Katsuki as he scoffed, but like hell he was going back to his room. He wanted to be with you.

“Duh. I’m not going anywhere…” He reminded you with a soft little smirk that made you blush warmly and grin at him. This was good, you felt so much better to be with him after you and him talked together and cried together and opened up about your fears of loving each other. And that the two of you would keep working this out together, overcome more fears together as partners.

Finally, you felt like you could sleep comfortably tonight as you were lying down in your bed, Katsuki’s arms were around you as the two of you spooned and cuddled, Taromaru still at the foot of your bed.

“I love you…” You repeated the words to him softly, the words you were still afraid of but because of Katsuki you felt brave enough to tell him that you loved him regardless of your fears. And Katsuki knew it was scary, but still, he wanted to love you, and he knew you wanted to love him too, so he wasn’t going to let a little fear stop him from telling you.

“I love you too.”

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consumedkings-archive · 4 years ago

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WITCHING HOUR, a john seed/deputy fic. chapter twelve: the desire to devour

word count: ~10.3k rating: m warnings: naughty language, .000002 seconds of spiciness (but not really), john goes "we were vibing, right? we had the vibes? right?" for like the entire last half. also mentions of self-harm and elliot's previous trauma. notes: hi friends! i hope you enjoy this chapter! this is going to be the last sort of in-between chapter before we really get into it, and from here it's going to go faaaaast. i had a lot of fun writing it and feeling out these different dynamics. not to mention john being a gigantic fuckhead (but like what is new, lmao). special thank you as always to my wifey and beta reader @starcrier for your impeccable eyeballs, and also to @vasiktomis and @shallow-gravy for lending their eyes as well because i did fuss a bit with this chap. i would be lost without y'all. thank you everyone for your love and support, esp with comments! it really fills my heart so so much to hear back from you, and i am always in the market for friends so do not be afraid to reach out to me <3

She is twenty-five.

She’s twenty-five, and it's her first full day of work. Or, it was; now, she's sitting in the Spread Eagle listening to Pratt talk about everything that's happened while she's been gone, because he'd said, c'mon, let me take you out tonight. He grins a boyish, toothy grin at her—the same kind that's mimicked in the multiple school dance photos her mother covets—and tries to sound nonchalant when he asks how she liked being in the city.

It's hard not to think about how this is the first place she had ever met John Seed, then-Duncan, and how it feels like it's spoiled the whole place for her.

Elliot redirects her attention as best as she can to what it is Pratt is saying. He's fishing for information. They've always been each other's safety net, the person they can fall back on when all else fails. School dances. Picking partners in class. Graduation walking buddies. He'd driven her to the airport when she left for the Academy, even. But even though she knows he's trying to figure out if she's still a safety net, Elliot can't disguise the way thinking about Mason makes her feel—disgusting—so she brings the beer bottle to her mouth and takes a swallow.

The result is her face scrunching up. Pratt laughs.

“Geez, Elli, slow down,” he says, his smile crinkling at the corners of his eyes. “Bet money you're still a lightweight. When'd you start drinking beer, anyway?”

“I didn't,” she manages out around the taste, swallowing thickly. “I just won't let your money go to waste.”

He shrugs, as if to say, could, if you wanted, and swivels on the stool a little. He wants to press again—she can tell—but seems to have the good sense not to, instead busying his mouth with his own beer.

“Mama said Whitehorse let you right on,” Elliot says casually, trying to ignore the twinge of envy in her voice.

Pratt shrugs again. “He's known my dad a long time.”

“Known my mom too,” Elliot replies, dry.

“Yeah, well.” Pratt pauses, and sounds a little smug when he says, “Just because your mama likes me doesn’t mean I don’t know how she is to everyone else.”

“Likes you, does she?”

“Obviously,” the brunette replies confidently. “She still keeps all those photos of us. Remember senior year, she had all of her gal pals over when we were getting ready for prom—”

“Ugh.”

“—took us about 45 minutes before we were exactly where she wanted to take pictures—"

She rolls her eyes. Pratt grins, and then bumps his shoulder against hers. He says, “Aw, c’mon. Not so bad, is it? Having your mom like me?"

Elliot can feel the flush spreading under her cheeks. Not because she's embarrassed, or flustered, but because the beer sitting in her stomach feels rotten, and because Pratt's looking at her with the same kind of eyes he did before—always, always there's the before—and she doesn't know how to say I'm not her anymore, I'm not that girl, I'm different and changed and I don't know how to go back.

It doesn't matter. If Pratt can see it on her face, he doesn't let it show; just pats her shoulder and pretends he doesn't see the way she flinches from his hand swinging into her peripheral, pretends he doesn't notice the way she covers it up by swallowing another mouthful of beer she doesn't want to drink.

“Hudson’s really glad to have you back,” he says after a minute, when she doesn’t confirm nor deny that it’s not so bad knowing her mom thinks he’s a fine enough person. “Been talking about it nonstop.”

A smile creeps its way onto her face. “I’m glad to be back. With her, especially.”

“Yeah, you two always been thick, huh?”

She nods, swallows more beer, and Pratt rolls his eyes and snags the bottle out of her hand.

“Don’t keep drinking if you don’t like it,” he tells her, and then finishes it off himself, setting the empty bottle on the countertop with a grimace. “Can’t have people telling Whitehorse I bullied the probie into drinking.”

“‘Probie’,” she scoffs. “I could kick your ass.”

“Bullshit!”

“Could’ve done it before, Pratt.”

“Now that is lies and slander.”

Elliot only grins at him, the only time since coming back sans Joey getting her from the airport that it’s been a genuine thing; lopsided and a little sloppy but a grin nonetheless. Pratt finishes his own beer now, coughing a little into his fist before he blurts out, “I’m glad, too.”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“That you’re back,” Pratt clarifies. “Y’know—nice to have my friend back. Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway.”

He doesn’t know. He can’t know, because her mother won’t talk about it and Joey would never divulge what it was that had brought about her speedy return—but even though he doesn’t know about the way she has to swallow back a flinch every time he waves his hand in her peripheral, or the way the smell of beer on a man’s breath makes her stomach clench with anxiety, or how her hands are so fucking cold all the time because her heart hammers in her chest, the way he says that (Didn’t like sendin’ you off to the big city, anyway) feels a little like vindication.

“S’okay,” she murmurs, nudging his shoulder with hers. “Came back in one piece, didn’t I?”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

The scent of roses wafted over her in waves. The sound of bathwater murmuring against the sides of the porcelain tub rippled each time she moved, each time she used the grip of her hands against the lip of the sides to sink herself under; her knuckles went cold with the ferocious grip, but when she went under she was submerged in quiet once more. Blissful, serene, quiet; just what she wanted.

Elliot pulled herself out of the water. Downstairs, she could hear her mother’s voice, spiking frantic even through the floors and the two closed doors that kept her separated.

“...years, Mr. Seed, I have lost years of my life agonizing over what she did to herself...”

She dipped below the water, closing her eyes. No sound; no shrill noise; just the heavy, bloated static that existed underneath the surface of the bath. Only her and the baby.

It occurred to her, absently, that she needed to start picking out names for the baby. Now that they had a guess at what the gender was, they’d have to decide about a name; not only a first, but a middle, too—the last name—

“...find it quite intriguing, actually, that the second she comes back to me after being involved with your kind that she’s got all this—this—”

Oh, don’t say it, Elliot thought tiredly, closing her eyes.

“—tear, just wretched wear and tear, Mr. Seed, don’t you? Don’t you find that intriguing?”

John was sitting down there, enduring a thorough verbal lashing, and she hadn’t even asked him to. She’d said, I don’t care if she thinks it was me, and he’d guided her upstairs and cupped her face and kissed her, long and open-mouthed, and swept his thumb over her cheek. Now, Elliot could hear the sound of his voice—calmer, empathetic, like just knowing that her mother was hysterical was giving him some kind of control over himself—but that he was speaking in a normal tone meant that his words didn’t come through quite so clearly.

She heard the sound of her mother saying, “I suppose you’re going to tell me why you’re not bothered in the least?” just before she dipped under the water again.

What was she going to name the baby? Did she even have an idea of what kinds of names she liked? Exhaustion pulled at the edges of her attention; she thought, I’m too tired to come up with a baby name, and gripped the edges of the bathtub harder. More fierce, more firm; grip and pull, maybe spill the entire bathtub over, tilt the clawed feet until it hit the tiled floor and the porcelain broke and the rose-scent water flooded the bathroom, her room, the hallway.

Then they’d have to leave. Then they couldn’t stay, surely, in a house flooded with rose water.

Fingers brushed over hers where they’d gone white at the edges of the tub. She pulled herself out of the water to find John sitting there, knelt at the side of the tub—not unlike the way he’d sat back at her mother’s house in Hope County, when she’d drank too much in the bathtub and said that he could mark her.

Because that’s what it had been. As much as she had wanted it, as much as she had enjoyed it, no matter what John said—he had been marking her as his. Like that Oscar Wilde poem.

The same sin binds us.

Elliot brushed the water from her eyes and settled her head back against the tub, regarding him. He looked less bothered than she thought he would, having sat through her mother’s grilling and interrogation—though he did look like he wanted to say something, like maybe it was sitting, burning into ash in his mouth, the way she could see the flex of his jaw and the way his free hand clenched and loosened.

Ignoring the nagging feeling that he wanted to ask her what she’d been doing under the water, and the even more bothersome knowledge that she had, at some point, become painfully aware of his body language, Elliot said, “We have to think of a name.”

John blinked at her. Less than an hour ago, he’d been saying Of course I’d come for you, I love you, with or without the baby I love you, and she’d been sobbing into his arms and clinging to him.

He said, “And a middle name.”

“I’m trying not to think about it.”

A smile finally ticked the corner of his mouth, his fingers uncurling hers from the edge of the tub. Reluctantly, she let him.

“Your mother’s upset.” He paused. “She still wants you to play nice for her Christmas party, but she’s upset.”

“I know,” she replied sullenly. The despair of her shame, which had at once both overwhelmed her and hollowed her out, had dissipated in the wake of her indignation. What would she know, that vicious thing inside of her said, replaying the way her mother’s expression had crumpled. What would she know of our suffering? What would she know of our pain? ‘Wretched wear and tear’, like we haven’t been torn up for ages, like she didn’t throw us to the wolves and scoff in disgust when we came back bloodied and battered.

She wanted to be angry, really angry, but like most things that had to do with her mother, Elliot found herself more exhausted than anything. Scarlet had always found it impossible to comprehend the scars she’d given herself, had always claimed to feel disconnected to the ways Elliot had searched out meaning and comfort.

Absently, Elliot wet her lips and let her gaze flicker up to where John had perched himself beside the tub. He looked mighty pleased with himself, having finally gotten his words out. I love you, he’d said, palm flat against her window, I love you, with or without the baby.

And John, I want a home with you.

And John, Marriage is hard work, but I know you’re just the woman for the job.

And John, No way baby, I’m fucking it for you.

Blood rushed through her head, thunderous. John was saying something to her, but the words felt distant, and far away, and everything felt like it was underwater when she moved—not just the parts of her submerged in the bath, but all of it, the air too-thick and dragging on her skin and pulling her down slow as molasses. She blinked a few times as she disentangled their hands and reached for the towel, but John pulled it off of the hook first.

She watched him. She watched his mouth move, and his brows pull and furrow together at the center of his forehead, and the way his breath rose and fell in his chest, pushing and pulling the Sloth scar scratched across his sternum. Just like me, dream John had said, gripping her blood-covered hands, you’re just like me.

His voice, muffled and bogged down by the blood rushing through her ears, quirked up at the end. Elliot’s eyes darted back to his, and she asked, “Sorry, what?”

“The water’s cold,” he replied, waving the towel a bit. “Aren’t you getting out?”

“Yeah,” Elliot murmured. She felt hollow. Her fingers itched. She wanted—

John caught her hand as she stepped out of the bathtub, steadying her while her free hand gathered the towel up against her front. Goosebumps prickled across her skin, the lukewarm temperature of the bath still lingering; his fingers interlaced with hers, and she used it to steady herself.

He was close. They were close. A part of her resented it—that she let him be so close to her, that she let him kiss her and fuck her but mostly that she let him hold her when she cried, miserably, that she wanted to go home. Because after everything, after all of it, Hope County still felt—

She closed her eyes. Of course it still felt like home. Joey was there; now she knew Pratt was, too.

And among all of that, if she waded through the weeds spreading in her mind, if she hacked and cut them away, there was John.

“What are you thinking about?” John murmured, his cologne washing over her, their noses brushing. Her eyes fluttered open and she let out a little breath, that wanton little creature in her head chanting it over and over. There’s John, there’s always been John, nobody will love us with this much red in our ledger. No one but him.

“You,” she managed. Her head felt swimmy, the words coming out of her mouth sounding like a stranger’s—thick with want. John’s eyes flickered up to hers, having fixed on her mouth.

“If you want something, Ell,” he rumbled, the pressure of his fingertips against the back of her neck guiding her forward just a little but not all the way, “you only—”

Elliot leaned forward and kissed him, her hand lifting so that she could curl her fingers into his hair, the towel slipping to the floor. His body had tensed, like he wasn’t expecting it—like he was waiting for something else—and she thought about the way he’d kissed her with Kian’s blood in her mouth, the way he’d been just rampant with desire, the way the way the way—

Her teeth caught his lower lip, a little sharper than she’d intended, and his hand gripping her wrist tightened and he moaned, and she felt that same little thrill as before surge through her. It’s my magic, too, the itch in her fingers subsiding when she dug her nails in and pulled his hair a little, parting her lips against his; John leaned into her, crowding her up against the counter in front of the mirror, the hand at the nape of her neck threading into damp hair.

“Ell,” he said against her mouth, his voice rougher than before and hands planted on the counter on either side of her, “what are you doing?”

She murmured, “Stop talking,” and kissed him again, fingers clumsily working through the buttons on his shirt—her voice came out even but everything else about her felt wobbly, unsteady, craving craving craving the way it felt to have him begging her. Anything, to feel in control. Anything, to feel whole. Dig, and dig, and when you hit the bottom you keep digging some more, right?

What do we do with grief, right?

Burn and erase the image of her mother’s disgust and horror at seeing a part of her she might actually like, scrape it from her mind, dig her trenches deep deep deep and hunker down where she could feel safe, where she could feel strong; soon she would be home and—

And John’s teeth snagged her lower lip in retribution, sparking violent and red-hot behind her eyes with pleasure lighting her neurons on fire.

“Off,” she ground out against his mouth, pushing helplessly at the shirt she’d only halfway unbuttoned. The brunette grinned; his hands resumed her work, and she instead devoted her attention to the belt at his waist, yanking at it as John’s face dropped to her neck, hot breath fanning across her skin teeth dragging against her pulse point to pull a moan out of her.

There was a split second between John discarding his shirt on the floor and gripping her hips to lift her onto the countertop, his mouth seeking hers out again as she wound her arms around his neck. She had never been completely naked and felt not vulnerable at all, felt more in control—but she did, now, when she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pulled and he moaned her name, a little frantic, Ell, Ell, hellcat, he said into their kiss, let me let me, greedy and wanting as he glided fingers up along the inside of her thigh.

He tensed, like he was going to drop to his knees, and she kept her hand in his hair and said, “Don’t.”

“Hm,” is what he replied, “pulling on my hair, ordering me to take my clothes off—”

“I’m about to tell you to shut up again.”

“—but won’t let me eat you out?” John grinned against her mouth, the scent of his cologne—expensive, stupid shit, but it never failed to feel like it was overwhelming her senses—washing over her. “What is it, baby? Want me to say please?”

Yes, something wicked inside of her said, John’s eyes lifting from her mouth to hers, narrowing playfully. Yes, I’d like that, I’d like to hear you say it like that.

“I know you,” he purred. He dug his nails into her hips, a sound—the wanting kind—trying to crawl its way up her throat. “Know exactly what you want from me. Yeah? So, Ell, won’t you please—”

There was a sharp knock at the door, a pause, and then: “Elliot?”

A near-silent laugh billowed out of John, stifled into her neck when her mother’s voice came through the door. Elliot’s eyes fluttered; her fingers, knotted in John’s hair, loosened and smoothed down the back of his neck, the intoxicating tension relaxing just a little. Heat had coiled in the hollow of her chest, spreading warm fingers at the same leisurely pace that John’s hand drifted up to her hip, his mouth finding the hollow of her jaw.

“I can’t believe her,” she muttered. “Yes?”

“Miss West is here, with her brother.” Scarlet’s voice was tight. “Returning your vehicle.”

Fuck. Elliot sighed, her eyes closing for a second while she tried to gather her thoughts. It was difficult to focus with John’s breath on her neck and his hands on her skin and that fucking cologne—and boy, did she not want to dwell on the fact that he’d shown up with barely anything but somehow also remembered to pack his stupid fucking cologne. But there was a different, special kind of warmth that spread through her when she realized that Sylvia was coming to check on her.

“Hair’s wet,” she called after a moment, “I’ll be down in a minute.”

“Fine.” There was another pause, and then her mother’s voice, scathing even through the door: “Ensure you are put together, Elliot.”

John murmured against her neck, “So no hickeys, then?” and she swatted his shoulder, rolling her eyes and sliding off of the counter. He seemed reluctant to let her disembark, thumb sweeping the slope of her hip before he dropped down—just far enough to plant a kiss on the gentle slope of her tummy. It was—sentimental, unseating her with incredible ease.

And then he ruined it by saying, “Your mommy won’t let me fuck her filthy, but I hear the second trimester throws a woman’s hormones through the roof, so we’ll see how long that lasts,” to her bump as he grabbed the towel from the floor to offer to her.

She snatched it from his hands, wrapping it around herself. “Don’t say that shit to the baby. You think I won’t end your life?”

“I wouldn’t mind,” he offered, head cocked to the side. “Leaving the hickeys, anyway, I mean. Well, and the second part too. About sex. Not the murderous part. Actually, you know I find it—”

Choosing to ignore the latter statement, Elliot narrowed her eyes. “You’d risk Via’s opinion of you dropping so severely?”

“You know what they say.” John spread his hands, almost in a gesture of helplessness; though she knew he was far from it. “Old habits die hard.”

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“She’s killing all of my angels!”

Faith’s voice was sharp, piercing; Isolde’s fingers fluttered over the bridge of her nose to fend off an impending headache, pen held poised above the notepad where she’d been writing down her thoughts but had paused in time for the girl’s interjection. She couldn’t stand a messy page—ink smears, jarred letters. Unacceptable.

Two hours ago, she’d had Jacob drive her out to where the service was strongest. A flood of emails and texts from her family had been waiting to overload her phone. Her dad, things are looking poorly, where are you?, her sister, I’ve been trying to reach you for days.

“Jacob,” the blonde plunged on, interrupting her train of thought, “you have to do something. They’re being—gutted like fish!”

“You should have locked them down,” Jacob told her. “And you’re not the only one losing things.”

“I put—” Faith cut herself off, clearly taking a moment to compose herself before she pitched her voice low and said, “I put just as much work into them as you do into yours.”

The red head’s voice bloomed with annoyance when he said, “Oh, did you?”

“No fighting, please,” Joseph called from where he sat next to her. His voice was even, elbows rested on his legs and fingers interlaced in thought. “I know this is stressful. But you must keep your faith in God.”

“Santi told me that—whoever she is has been leaving their corpses all around!” Faith’s voice pitched high with distress, now, sweeping around Jacob to come to where they had sat, big doe eyes wide. “We have to do something. Please, Father—I don’t want our people to wonder if they’re going to be next.”

Joseph paused, looking pensive for a moment; Isolde thought he might have been trying to figure out how he wanted to phrase something, but before he could speak, Isolde looked at Jacob and said, “You were going to hunt her down anyway, weren’t you?”

The eldest Seed’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t you start with me too, Sol.”

“Get some fresh air,” she replied curtly, “go for a drive, clear your head. Eliminate a problem. You’ve been wearing a hole in the floors anyway; put that energy into being productive.”

“P—” Jacob’s voice spiked, incredulous. “Excuse me?”

He was agitated. She could tell—Pratt, and the phone call with the deputy in Georgia, and the Hunter on some kind of one-man rampage. But more importantly, Isolde thought, Jacob was agitated because there had not been a single conversation between him and Joseph since their argument.

Well, not even an argument. Just a lashing. A public one.

Isolde scooted her chair back from the table that had been set up at the front of the chapel, setting her pen down and stepping away. Her hand landed on the crook of Jacob’s elbow as she passed, and though he made a noise that implied disdain, he followed—not without shrugging her hand off by the time they got to the front doors of the chapel, leaving the other two to talk in low, murmured voices.

“You have got to stop letting this get to you,” she hissed.

“Nothing is ‘getting’—”

“Listen to me,” Isolde interjected. “I’ve been keeping as close an eye on the news as I have been on you. Things are—” She paused, mouth twisting around the words. “There is no room for you lot to be bloody fighting with each other. Do you understand me? This has moved far past needing to prepare PR and build a legal defense.”

Jacob’s eyes narrowed. He looked suspicious. “So why are you still here then, Sol?” he asked.

The words burned insult in her chest. Why are you still here, stinging fresh and hot, because it was a fair question. It was the most fair question. Unlike any of these people, she had a family outside that she still loved. Her sister, and her parents. She should have told John and all of the Seeds to go fuck themselves, to enjoy the end of the world, while she went to be with her family.

But she wasn’t. She was here. Doing—this. Finding fresh new ways for Joseph to connect with his people to keep their morale high, keeping the infighting at bay to make sure they looked like a united front to everyone, second doomsday cult included.

“My parents will take care of Avery. You know they’re close with—government,” she replied after a minute, shaking off the unease. “And I told John that I would.”

He snorted. “John says jump, you ask how high?”

“No,” she bit out, “I say jump and you kiss the fucking ground I’m standing on because I cobbled together what the fuck is left of your congregation.” Before Jacob could say anything, Isolde added, “My hands are full, Jake. Do not add to my pile.”

Dark brows furrowed, his mouth thinning in disdain. He clearly wanted to say something. But true to his nature, Jacob straightened back and settled himself before he said, “Fine.”

“Fine?”

“Fine,” he reiterated with his eyes narrowed. “I’m going to the Veteran’s Center.”

“That doesn’t sound like where we heard about the killings happening last,” Isolde protested, eyes narrowing.

“But she was there,” he replied. “Or someone was. Someone was there enough to steal my files.”

“Your—” Isolde snapped her mouth shut, sucking her teeth as she glanced back at Joseph and Faith; haloed in the dim lighting of the chapel, she could see them looking back at Jacob and herself expectantly. She wondered how much they could hear, from there.

Turning her attention back to Jacob and pitching her voice down in volume, Isolde hissed, “I don’t think prioritizing files is the best move right now.”

“Thank you,” Jacob idled, “for your input.”

“Fuck you.”

“Have fun,” he added, opening the door and letting in a waft of biting, cold air, before gesturing to the Book of Joseph on the table that she’d had her nose stuck in. All the better to make Joseph’s sermons hit home harder, after all. “You know—with your light reading.”

Isolde narrowed her eyes, watching him trudge down the steps for just a second before she said, “Jacob—”

“Yes, Isolde?”

Her mouth pressed into a thin line. “Don’t get shot.”

For a moment, he looked almost surprised at her words—but it was only a moment before he said, “Don’t worry, I’m taking Vidal. He makes a suitable meatshield.”

“God, he’s a talker.”

A tiny ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Jacob’s lips, before he said, “John and the deputy should be making their way here any day now.”

Isolde grimaced. “I was there for the phone call.”

“Are you going to leave?” Jacob pressed, expression stiffening again. “When he does?”

She paused, clearing her throat and shifting on her feet. I should, were the words that wanted to come out of her mouth. I should go. I only came down here because John wasn’t here. I should go, and get back to my life, and maybe get to my family and try to stay out of the crossfire and—

After a heartbeat, she said, “I don’t know.”

Jacob shrugged, as if to say, see? Told you, though to what he could be referring to, she had no idea; she only knew that she didn’t like the way he swung around and sauntered out of the chapel, leaving her alone in the tepid warmth with Joseph and Faith’s eyes on her in favor of the blistering cold outside. Snow had continued to dump throughout the day and night, and had only just let up recently; the members of Eden’s Gate—those who had survived the Family’s relentless assaults, and those that had been pulled from the bunkers—had been tirelessly shoving pathways, only to have their work tidily undone each night.

Fingers brushed the palm of her hand. Isolde startled; she glanced back just as fingers interlaced with hers to be met with sweet, bright eyes and Faith’s adoring attention planted on her.

“It means so much to me,” Faith murmured, “that you would help. Not just me, but all of us.”

Soli watched the blonde for a moment, trying to gauge. The physical closeness was not something she was accustomed to; carefully, she disentangled their fingers, skin prickling with unease. When she glanced up, Joseph’s eyes were on them, on Faith’s fingers falling from her hand but skimming the inside of her palm in a lingering touch of affection.

He was always doing that. Watching. Watching, and waiting, and pinning each movement and gesture and thought and word out perfectly like the wings of a butterfly, just the color he liked and just the shape.

“Don’t thank me,” Isolde replied, mustering a smile and brushing the hair from her face.

“It’s my job.”

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“Hey, Miss Honey, John!”

Wyatt’s cheerful voice broke through the late-afternoon chill; the sun setting early, people’s breath coming out in puffs of smoke. It all felt oddly normal, given the circumstances of the morning and the way she’d forgotten to call Sylvia once she got home, and that her friend had fished up a reason to come by the house and make sure she hadn’t—

Well.

Still, if there was any remnant of the morning in Sylvia’s heart, it didn’t show in her face, and it certainly didn’t show in Wyatt’s. Instead, both blondes beamed at her, radiant, the second she came out with fuzzy, fresh-from-the-blow-dryer hair and swaddled up to her chin in thick fabrics to fend off the cold.

And, truthfully, to hide the bump. John had reminded her of it, and even though the moment had been a...good one, it had also reminded her she hadn’t expressed this truth to Sylvia or Wyatt. As John closed the door behind her and jogged down the steps,

“Howdy,” Ell greeted, albeit a bit awkwardly thanks to her stuck-somewhere-nowhere-sort-of-accent. “You didn’t have to drive it back all the way out here, you know.”

“Sure we did.” Wyatt chirped. “Wouldn’t be very neighborly of us if we let it sit and the battery died out, now would it?”

“No,” John demurred after a moment even as Elliot’s cheeks went warm, “I suppose not.”

“You all recovered from this morning?” Via asked cheerfully, purposefully avoiding the actual question. Elliot shifted on her feet. John’s hand skimmed the small of her back, and even through the layers of fabric, it felt warm; she wondered if this was what it would have been like for them, had their life been normal. Had John been truthful with her from the get-go. Now, with everything laid out between them—the lies unearthed and only the brutal, unapologetic knowledge that they wanted each other, in one way or another—it felt like they might have been normal. Sometime, somewhere, someplace else.

It was still hard to swallow, all of it. The lies and the now-truths and the knowledge that she did, in fact, want.

“Oh, yeah,” Ell replied faintly. “Took a bath and...” She tried for a smile. “Decompressed.”

“That what smells so good?”

“Y’all get that tired from dress shoppin’?” Wyatt tsked, having pulled his coat out of the jeep and started to pull it on. He grinned at her and skillfully dodged a side-swipe from Sylvia; he had a good foot of height on her—and Elliot—so it wasn’t difficult. The siblings fussed for only a moment before Sylvia managed to fetch the Jeep’s keys from Wyatt’s coat pocket and held them out to Elliot, puffing.

She was in the middle of saying, “Your keys, madame,” when John’s head tilted and he muttered, “Now what is this?”, drawing her attention to the end of the drive. A police cruiser made its way slowly down the drive, carefully pulling up behind the Jeep.

Not beside it. Not further up toward the garage, not on the other side of the four of them chatting. Behind it. Blocked in.

Sheriff Pritchard stepped out, shuffling a little as he adjusted the black, fur-trimmed jacket on his shoulders and closed the driver side door. He’d come alone, which made Elliot certain he wasn’t here to arrest her—and what a ludicrous thought, that he might have considered it a possibility, because the mere mental image of Pritchard grabbing her arm and keeping his eyes in his head made a hysterical kind of laugh want to bubble out of her.

Not me, not me and not my baby, that thing inside of her said, lifting its hackles and baring its teeth when Pritchard began to saunter over. Not my baby.

“Afternoon, you two. And Wests,” Pritchard greeted as he drew closer. He’d earned himself a curious murmur from Sylvia. “Havin’ a little shindig out here, Miss Honeysett?” Elliot opened her mouth to respond, but he lifted his hands quickly in defense. “‘M sorry, forgot myself. Mrs. Seed.”

It caught her off-guard, sucked the air right out of her lungs. It was one thing to hear her mother say John is Elliot’s husband, to hear her say John is my son-in-law, but it was another entirely to hear herself referred to as Mrs. Seed. It had never, ever been that she was John’s wife, except out of his own mouth, but now—

John seemed eager to engage with Pritchard, because he said, “Something that you needed, sheriff?”

“Yes, actually. Believe it or not, I ain’t in the business of drivin’ out to the rich part of town just for shits and giggles,” Pritchard replied coolly. “Your mama home, Elli?”

“Probably resting,” Sylvia offered, smiling politely. “We just finished dress shoppin’ for her Christmas Party not but an hour ago.”

“Yeah,” Pritchard rumbled, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it. “Heard about your little trip to the boutique today.”

John asked irritably, “Do you need to smoke that right now?”

Elliot swallowed thickly. Her lashes fluttered, eyes desperate to close; the warmth that had flooded her face now felt like it verged on feverish, threatening to make her head swim again. This was bad. This was bad-bad, chop her hair off and run run run again bad, the kind of bad that made a girl change her name and burn her birth certificate and make sure that nobody would ever be able to find her again.

“I don’t,” she began, “think mama’s feeling up to visitors right now.”

Pritchard eyed her, taking a puff of his cigarette while completely glazing over John’s pointed question. “Imagine not. You know, you been a hot topic of conversation lately, Mrs. Seed. Gotten loads of questions about you. Lady from out of town, Federal Marshals. I don’t like folks sniffin’ around my town, you know, especially not the fuckin’ Feds, but it’s gotta make me wonder.” The smoke curled out from his nose, the smoke of a lazy, self-righteous dragon wafting around her.

“Sheriff,” John continued tightly, clearing his throat, “you’re going to need to put that out.”

“We’re outside, Mr. Seed. You ain’t ever seen someone smoke a cigarette outside?”

“Do you make a habit of smoking around pregnant women?” John snapped viciously, and oh, she thought, oh, I didn’t even think of that, because her brain was too busy kicking into overdrive and parse out the absolute confirmation that Federal Marshals were asking after her and strange women, too. Oh, I didn’t even think about the baby.

And then Sylvia said, eyes wide as saucers as she laughed, flustered, “Oh, John, that’s very kind of you, but I’m not—” and her eyes landed on Elliot, and she blinked rapidly.

Wyatt was looking at her, too. Big, big eyes, surely having not only learned that she and John were married but that she was also pregnant in the span of only a few minutes. At least, Elliot didn’t think Sylvia would have divulged that information, and if the shock he was clearly trying to cover up in his expression was any indication, that gut feeling was right.

No, she thought, no, this is not what I wanted. This is not what I wanted at all. It wasn’t his to tell, it wasn’t his to tell, it was mine, my choice, mine alone.

Her gaze snapped to Pritchard. She said, “It’s time for you to leave.”

Pritchard lifted his eyebrows. “That so? Well, good for me I ain’t here to talk to you, missy.”

“Get. Off. My. Property,” she bit out through her teeth. “Scarlet isn’t taking visitors, and I’ll cut the decay out of my own teeth before she makes anything close to the time of day for you.”

Now, his eyes narrowed and the cigarette sat between his fingers, still burning amber at the end. “Excuse me?”

“And tell the fucking Feds whatever you want,” she snapped, fingers curled tightly around the keys until the metal edges dug into the nooks and crannies of her hand. “But whatever you do, get the fuck out of my driveway, sheriff.”

Something flickered in the corner of her vision. John started, “Ell,” and his hand went to her shoulder, but she jerked back from him before he could make much more than a brush of contact.

“Don’t,” Elliot snapped at him, her voice wobbling and the tears—shameful tears—welling up and burning, “touch me.”

“Alright, okay,” Sylvia murmured, “Elliot and I are gonna go inside, and John can—”

“Ain’t here to talk to Mr. Seed,” Pritchard drawled venomously.

“If you’re asking questions about Elliot,” Sylvia replied calmly, taking Elliot’s hand with a firm squeeze, “I can imagine there is no better person to ask than her husband, don’t you think so, Sheriff?”

Pritchard’s eyes were squinted into poisonous little slits, and he took a long drag of his cigarette.

“Mrs. Honeysett won’t be any type of cooperative if you get her up now,” Wyatt chimed in, eyes flickering nervously to Elliot—perhaps both because of the news and because of her outburst. But she didn’t have time to think much about it, because Sylvia was tugging her out of the cluster of folks, ginger and reassuring even as her brother plunged on, “I mean, sheriff, come on—you know how women can be when they’re gotten up too early, let alone they’ve been shoppin’ all day—”

And Pritchard said, “You want I should put my cigarette out now, Mr. Seed?” as Sylvia opened the door,

and John replied with a slick, charismatic kind of venom, “No reason to anymore, smoke to your heart’s content,”

and the door clicked shut behind her and Boomer scampered out from where he’d been snoozing under the dining table.

She had to leave.

She had to go.

She had to get out.

Federal Marshals and strange women asking after her, and now her only two friends in the whole fucking world—

(well, not entirely true, since we still have Pratt, isn’t that right? Isn’t that right, Elli?)

—had just seen her almost go fucking bananas on an officer of the law, had watched her demand he get the fuck out of her driveway for wanting to ask her mother about her, had seen her.

“Hey,” Sylvia said, “you’re alright.”

I’m not, she thought, dropping the keys into the crystal bowl by the door, smearing red against the glass. Her hand stung. She reached with the good, unmarked hand for Boomer absently. His cold, wet nose brushed against it, and he whined, feet tapping against the wood as he bumped her for her attention. I won’t go. I won’t fucking go. I won’t pay the price for what they did to me, what they made me into.

“I’m sorry,” she blurted out abruptly, her voice coming out tight. “Sorry that I didn’t—um, tell you. About the—”

“It’s okay,” Sylvia told her quickly, “it’s alright, Elli, it’s not a big deal. You don’t have to explain yourself to me.”

Elli, she said, without knowing what the nickname meant. Elli, Sylvia said, it’s alright, and Joey, right now we need to leave, Elli, and Pratt, geez, Elli, slow down, an affectionate nickname saved only for folks who considered her their friend. Sans Pritchard. Fuck Pritchard.

“Lots of people wait to tell,” Via continued, one hand coming to rest on her shoulder and jarring her out of her thoughts, which were quickly and rapidly devolving back into the urge to march outside and ensure Pritchard was obeying her command. Out out out, something vicious inside of her demanded, we want him out we want him gone.

Elliot said, “Yeah, you’re right,” but she felt far away—not lost, not gone from herself, but thinking. She could pack fast. She could pack fast, and John had brought barely anything, and they could leave right now, her mother none the wiser. They could leave now and be gone and Cameron Burke would have to—

But are we sure it’s Burke? Are we sure it’s Burke and not someone else, come to haul your ass to a fucking psych ward, for what you did in Hope County?

For what you did?

No. She wasn’t sure. She could only hope it was one singular Federal Marshall on her tail, and not an actual piece of the government body. That was all.

But whoever it was that was asking after her—strangers, government officials—it didn’t matter. That old mantra had kicked in again; something has to be done, the same kind of calm before the storm that she’d felt when Joey had been killed, something has to be done.

Something has to be done and I’m going to have to be the one to fucking do it.

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Pritchard dropped the cigarette into the snow and stamped it out with his bootheel, his eyes fixed on John. Sylvia had rushed Elliot inside, but he didn’t think that had been purely necessary—only in the instance they had wanted to keep Pritchard out of a blood bath. Elliot hadn’t been checking out, trying to keep herself together; she had been angry, and he’d had half a mind to let her say and do exactly as she pleased to the man now standing in front of him in the cold.

“She always been that volatile, Mr. Seed?” the sheriff asked.

“Not undeservingly,” John replied tartly, his eyes narrowed. “Did you have specific questions, sheriff, or did you just come by to terrorize my pregnant wife with your theoretical judgment of her soul?”

“More your speed?” Pritchard replied, lifting a brow.

“Pardon?”

“Heard about you Seed boys,” he continued coolly, “and your...” He gestured with a calloused hand vaguely, looking for the right word.

John smiled, with teeth. “Before I grow old, if you don’t mind, sheriff.”

“Proclivities,” Pritchard elaborated, “for religion.”

Fucking Burke, he thought, with no absence of venom; fucking Burke can’t resist the urge to try and fuck up my life when he’d be better off trying to find a place to hunker down for the end of the world.

“We’re red-blooded Americans,” John idled coolly, “freedom of religion goes hand in hand with that.”

“Mr. Pritchard, you wanna get that car started?” Wyatt cut in abruptly, glancing around like he thought maybe the rest of the patrol might be rolling in any minute. “It doesn’t sound like you’ve got any questions for Mr. Seed.”

“That’s sheriff to you, boy,” he snapped. And then, after a heartbeat, he fished his keys out of his pocket and said, “I s’pose I got all the information I needed, after all.”

“Mmhm.”

John had turned back to the house, spotting Elliot and Sylvia through the front window, when Pritchard announced, “You make sure Scarlet gives me a call when she’s recovered from your wife’s antics, Mr. Seed.”

His gaze returned to the sheriff, narrowed. “Certainly, Sheriff Pritchard.”

“But if I don’t hear from you, no worries,” the man continued, opening his car door, “I’ll make another special trip out here.”

“Goody.”

John flashed another grin when Pritchard’s eyes flickered over him. Wyatt said, “Have a safe drive,” and Pritchard slammed his door shut, his cruiser’s engine roaring to life before he began to slowly back out and make a u-turn to head down the long driveway again. There was a moment of silence, stretching between himself and Wyatt that he didn’t feel particularly inclined to break—after all, Wyatt had been taking liberties with Elliot that he shouldn’t have been—before the blonde finally broke the silence.

“Congrats,” Wyatt said after a minute. “About—uh, the baby, I mean. I didn’t know!”

Ah, he thought, feeling a strange little surge of pride at the way the man across from him shifted on his feet with discomfort, and that’s why Elliot’s mad I brought it up. Her friends didn’t know.

Well, it was better this way, after all. He wouldn’t have taken it back even if he’d gotten the chance, knowing what he did now.

“Thank you,” he replied amiably. “It’s certainly a blessing.”

Wyatt’s mouth twisted for a moment, looking like there was something he wanted to say specifically and didn’t know how to say it without foregoing social niceties, but the sound of the front door opening caught both of their attentions.

“Wyatt, you gonna stand out here like a lemming all afternoon or what?” Via called. “Get the car warmed up, you caveman.” She took a few steps down the front stairs and looked at John. “You’re wanted inside, Mr. Seed.”

A very polite way of telling him that Elliot, perhaps, was in the mood to throttle him with her bare hands. Though he didn’t really see the harm in spilling the news—perhaps with Via, sure, but Wyatt? The cowboy? Like that was ever going to be anything.

“Thanks for your help,” John said, clapping Wyatt on the shoulder before he made his way to the front steps. Via hadn’t moved. In fact, her normally polite expression was eerily cool—whatever amicable, feigned interest she had manicured for him in the past seemed to have evaporated in the wake of Elliot’s own fury.

As he neared, he said, “Something else you needed, Miss West?”

Via’s eyes narrowed. She looked at Wyatt, now inside the car, and then back to John. “You must think I’m mighty dumb, don’t you?”

John lifted an eyebrow inquisitively. “If you think I instigated that little outburst on purpose—”

“What I think,” Via replied, “is that you know exactly what she’s capable of handling. Just because you didn’t do it on purpose doesn’t mean you weren’t thinking of letting her physically assault a police officer.”

His easy-going expression flattened. Sylvia, and her seeing, the same kind of uncanny people-reading skills that Joseph had, too. Seeing his delight at knowing that Elliot would have taken on a man a foot taller than her, pregnant, if it meant keeping him away from the baby, if it meant keeping herself out of the grip of a greater power that wanted her in a psychiatric evaluation.

“I want to like you,” Via continued, taking the steps until she reached the bottom, “and I thought maybe you were here to make a real effort. But it seems like you’re the same person you were before, John Duncan.”

The name sent a jolt of red-hot anger flushing down his spine, filling him up suddenly with a sort of molten rage that only the reminder of his adoptive parents could have inspired in him. When Via went to move past him, he snatched her elbow, holding her in place.

“And where,” he ground out, “did you hear that name, Miss West?”

“It’s called a web browser, John,” Via replied coolly. “You ever heard of Google? Imagine how many John Seeds there are in Hope County, Montana. I don’t need to tell you that the articles regarding you and your brothers, though a bit old, are unflattering. And all I want you to know—” She paused, arm still in his grip. “—is that we’re aware of each other, and that I don’t want anything happening to Elliot.”

“Neither do I,” John replied tightly, “and I especially don’t want someone digging trenches where there’s not a war zone.”

Via regarded him with an even gaze for a moment, glancing back at the car where her brother sat, before she murmured idly, “Kindly take your hand off of my arm, John.”

“Ellliot’s already aware of the any of the information in those articles,” he continued lowly, “just so you know.”

“My point, John,” Via replied casually, “is that I know, and I can—and will—deal with it as I see fit. Now, you gonna take your fuckin’ hand off of my arm, or are we going to have a problem?”

He watched her for a moment—just long enough to consider the dopamine rush of killing her, grabbing a fistful of her hair and slamming her face into the top of the porch, doing something, anything to ensure that Sylvia West was not capable of messing up anything that he was doing—and then he planted a big smile on his face and dropped his hand from her arm.

“Careful,” he said, louder now so that Wyatt would hear, “it’s icy.”

The blonde didn’t respond. Instead, she brushed her hand absently where his had been, as though to brush herself free of his touch, and picked her way across the driveway and to the truck idling just on the other side of the jeep.

Well, that would be one less problem to deal with, in the end.

John made his way inside, closing the front door quietly behind himself and taking a moment to gauge. Just to see what was going on. The house itself was quiet, and Boomer’s little footfalls were nowhere to be heard, and Scarlet wasn’t sipping her vodka in the living room—so.

So.

Taking a breath, he started up the stairs, turning into the hall to find Elliot’s bedroom door halfway ajar. He paused in the doorway; she was rifling through drawers, pulling sweaters and long-sleeved shirts and jeans and sweats out and dropping them into a duffel bag, furious little exhales occasionally coming out of her.

“I was told I was being summoned,” John said, Elliot’s attention razor-sharp and snapping to him immediately.

“Pack your shit,” she said briskly, “we’re leaving.”

He blinked. Taking a step inside, he glanced at Boomer—perched protectively between himself and Elliot—and said, “I thought we were waiting until after the Christmas party?”

“You’re not fucking deaf, John, you heard Pritchard,” she snapped. “The Feds have been asking about me. The only reason they don’t know exactly where to look—whoever it is—is because Pritchard’s a fucking asshole and likes to be as obstinate as possible.”

“And if we sprint out of here,” he replied, “you’re just going to draw their attention.”

“It’s what Pritchard wants.” Elliot zipped the duffel bag shut and then brushed past him into the bathroom, gathering up her toothbrush and toothpaste and the sleeping pills. “For me to be gone. He’ll piss off if I go. And there’s no way he’s going to put up a big fight to cozy up to the government.”

“Elliot.” John watched her furiously gathering things up, and then when she came by again he caught her with his hands. “Ell, just slow down—”

“Stop,” she bit out, “stop telling me what to fucking do, John, and—I told you not to touch me.”

He lifted his hands from her, but not far enough that she could duck past. “Are you that mad about Sylvia and Wyatt knowing you’re pregnant?” When she didn’t answer, and instead hauled the bag over from the other side of the bed to be close to her so that she could dump the collections from the bathroom into it, he sighed. “I didn’t know you hadn’t told them, but I don’t understand what all of the secrecy is about. The baby isn’t—”

“I felt normal!” Elliot replied sharply, her voice pitching a little higher now, and John heard the wet wobble in it too—the way the timbre of her voice thickened and rounded out with the threat of oncoming tears, her cheeks flushed with anger and maybe shame and pain, too. “Okay? I felt—I f-fucking felt normal, for once, and it was enough that Sylvia knew you and I had been—that we’re married, which I don’t even want to dig into right now, but it was another to be like—yes, the father of my fucking child, who I’m actually married to even though I didn’t want it, is here and oh, by the way? He’s part of a cult. Yeah, a fucking doomsday cult. I’m carrying the child of a doomsday cultist.”

“How was I supposed to know?” he demanded. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t want Sylvia and her brother knowing you were pregnant? You never said. And what does it matter?” And then, feeling the petulance well up inside of him: “I know it probably felt nice, to have Wyatt giving you attention—”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” she asked, incredulous. “You’re really pulling that now? So, what—you dumped the news because you wanted to make sure my friend found me as off-limited as possible?”

John crossed his arms over his chest. “I know this may come as a shock to you,” he said, feeling the tension peeling apart behind his eyelids, “I really didn’t want Pritchard smoking near my baby.”

“My baby.” Elliot jammed her finger into his chest, just above his heart, her words vicious. “It’s our baby, or it’s my baby, but there isn’t a single fucking universe where the only person this baby is beholden to is you.”

“He’s,” John corrected, tartly. “He’s our baby. And at the end of the day, whether you like it or not—”

“Have you ever,” she cut in over him, biting the words out between her teeth, “done anything for me that wasn’t for you too?”

Watching her, the words sat sticky in his chest. His instinct was to say, of course I have, but that wasn’t true. Of course it wasn’t. And he wasn’t going to pretend like it was, either—because he wasn’t ashamed that everything he had done had been for them, that if Elliot wasn’t his then there would be no point in it, that it was a zero sum game where he either had her or he had nothing.

He said, evenly, “No.”

Elliot looked unseated by his honesty. She swept her fingers across her forehead tiredly and turned back to her bag. “Then do me a favor and pack your shit so we can go.”

John sighed. “Don’t you think—”

“John,” she bit out, “I am making an executive decision.”

“Alright, Ell.”

“And—”

John had turned to the door to go gather what few of his belongings he’d had when Elliot cut herself off, drawing his eyes over his shoulder to her again. She looked unwell—stressed, feverish, her hands buried into the duffel bag maybe to hide the shaking and her face flushed and her brows furrowed together.

“Thank you,” she managed out after a minute, “for being honest. For once.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Pratt brushed the snow from his hair, teeth chattering as he waded through knee-deep snow out towards the water. It had been three days, and Helmi had told him to meet her out there—how she was going to get past the compound’s security, Pratt didn’t know, but he also thought it probably was best not to dwell on the things that Helmi would do (and could do) to get where she needed to be.

Which is why he found himself less and less surprised to find her standing at the edge of the water, in the middle of the night, swathed up to her jaw in dark, heavy fabrics. The only part of her that wasn’t covered were her hands; the closer he got, he could see she was turning a smooth, dark rock over and over in her hands, passing it between them as she watched him come nearer.

“You remembered,” was how she greeted him, most of her face cast in shadow thanks to the high position of the moon behind her. Pratt shivered and jammed his hands into his coat pockets.

“Yeah, well, kinda hard to forget,” he replied. “Considering it’s been looming over me for the last few days.”

“Poor thing,” Helmi agreed, not sounding sympathetic at all. “Did you call her?”

Pratt paused, clearing his throat. There was something that didn’t quite sit right with him, knowing that he had called Elliot not out of a cry for her help—not really, anyway—but because this other cult wanted her. This cult, which had tore its way through Hope County splitting and gutting its residents, wanted her. And Helmi didn’t seem keen on telling him why.

“I did. They just got word that she and John are on the road now,” he said after a moment. “What, uh—do you want her for, anyway?”

Helmi quirked a brow at him, the corner of her mouth tilting upwards. “Shouldn’t you have asked that before making the phone call, if it was going to bother you?”

A little lick of shame and embarrassment crawled red-hot into his cheeks, and he scoffed, turning his face away. “Well, you said you wanted her alive. Can’t say the same for the Seeds.”

“She’s carrying John’s child,” Helmi pointed out. “You think they’d kill her still?”

Pratt grimaced. It was still hard to stomach—the idea that Elliot was with John. Or had been, at one point. It didn’t sound like things were going great, and he could only imagine why. Still—

Still, he thought there was a lesser of the two evils, and Helmi sounded like it. Maybe not the others, but Helmi.

“They don’t have a problem killing babies,” Pratt replied after a minute. “What are you going to do, once she gets here? They won’t let her leave, and they definitely won’t let you in.”

Now, the blonde grinned—pearly teeth in the dark of the night, surprisingly satisfied with herself. “Big one’s pissed at me, isn’t he?”

“Yeah. Well, you know, Faith too. You've been killing her angels.”

She shrugged. “I’ve got a plan. You know exactly as much as you need to know right now. Are you eating?”

The question came so quickly that Pratt didn’t have time to register the oddness of it, replying on automatic the same way he had been with Arden’s consistent, gentle pestering: “Yeah, I mean—don’t have much of an appetite, but...”

His voice trailed off and he glanced back at the woman. Her head was cocked and her eyes were fixed on him expectantly. “What?”

“Eat,” she told him. “Take advantage of as much as you can. And most of all, listen. Any information you can get will be helpful.”

Pratt’s throat felt a little tight. He kept thinking about the way Jacob had grabbed his shoulder, laughing when he’d insulted the woman doing the heavy lifting for Joseph—grinning like a fucking wolf, like he was going to be dinner, next.

He managed out, “He’ll kill me. If he suspects. He’ll take—everything, from me.”

Helmi planted a hand on his shoulder. The gesture made him want to flinch, but he bit back the urge, and he thought maybe she’d seen but didn’t say.

“He already took everything from you,” she replied lightly, “and do you know what that means?”

The dark of her gaze was intense, piercing even in the late night; it made it hard to look away. Voices echoed back in the compound, and briefly, he thought maybe they’d noticed his absence—but he only shook his head.

“It means you have nothing to lose,” Helmi murmured, “and everything to take back from him.” Her hand moved from his shoulder to the back of his neck, the pad of her thumb sweeping up to his pulsepoint pensively. “See? Your heart is beating, and hard. Your blood knows it’s what you want, even if you don’t yet.”

Swallowing thickly, he nodded his head once. Nothing to lose, and everything to take back. Could he? Could he get things back? Is that what Helmi had done? What Elliot had done?

“And don’t fuck it up,” she added, dropping her hand from his neck and zipping her coat up. Leaving so soon. She grinned. “Or I’ll gut you myself. And I guarantee, it won’t be an Återfödelse.”

A nervous, almost hysterical little laugh bubbled up out of him. Helmi shot him a look and then brushed past him, heading back into where the brush became the thickest, calling over her shoulder, “See you in a few days, Staci Pratt.”

A few days. A few days, Elliot would be back, and John Seed would be back, and Helmi would be seeing him. Seeing them. Maybe it would be better to make a break with Elliot, once she got in—but what if she didn’t want to? What if she was one of them?

Pratt let out a puff of hot breath, digging the heel of his palm into his eyesocket while the pain bloomed just there, turning and beginning to trudge back to the compound before anyone noticed his absence. Each scrape and puff of snow fell in line with his heartbeat, the mantra on and off again.

Nothing to lose.

Everything to take back.

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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

A Punchable Face That I Want to Kiss, Ch. 1 [NSFW/18+]

Chapter 2 ->

Summary: You can’t stand Frederick Chilton, but after he’s tortured and left scarred by a former patient, you are afflicted by an irrepressible desire to get him in bed.

This has been posted on AO3 for awhile, but I thought I’d post the chapters here! (Took the liberty of fleshing out the short smut a wee bit.)

2,380 words

Dr. Frederick Chilton was arrogant and unpleasant.

Everyone thought so, but most would dance around their hostility toward him with subtle digs couched in polite conversation. Not you. You weren’t shy about saying it to his face.

As he exited the courtroom doors, Dr. Chilton saw you waiting in the hall to ambush him, and braced himself for another soapbox diatribe.

Such a shame, he thought. He recalled how he had tried to make a good impression when you first met, but all his charm kept backfiring, and now you patently despised him. His failure to curry favor was nothing out of the ordinary, but unfortunately, he still had to deal with you. You were one of Crawford’s lackeys, and had made yourself inescapable since Will Graham’s arrest.

“You conniving, idiotic, condescending weasel!” you exploded upon the man with an expensive suit and gaudy cane. “How could you get on the stand and make that bullshit testimony? You don’t know anything about Will!” You withheld the fuck-you’s that time, out of professional courtesy.

He brushed you off and continued walking briskly down the hall, cane tapping on the polished floor, but you followed and walked alongside him.

“Do I need a restraining order against you?” Dr. Chilton said, bored.

You crossed your arms. “Oh, hah-hah.”

“What is it, then?” he sighed, slowing down. Trying to outpace you was more trouble than it was worth, thanks to the pinching of scar tissue in every stride. “I am extremely busy.”

“‘The confused man Will Graham presents to the world could not commit those crimes, because that man is a fiction,’” you quoted his testimony.

“Correct. Is that all?”

“Did you ever consider it’s because he didn’t commit those crimes? You know, being the only one who thinks Will is a psychopath doesn’t make you a genius, it makes you an idiot. Or do you know that, but you’ve just been pining have him locked up so you can study him?”

“Incredible. Mr. Graham has found a truly gullible fool to place under his thumb. I have never met anyone so susceptible to his manipulations. Have you ever been tested for personality disorders?” He regarded you like you were a lab rat with a lot of audacity to be squeaking at him (though to be fair, that was how he looked at almost everybody).

You burned to keep arguing, but he walked down the courthouse steps and got into an obtrusively fancy classic car. Your heart was racing. You weren’t finished with him.

*****

You seemed to be the only sane person aware that the sweet, empathetic, dog-loving Will Graham was obviously being framed, and did your best to visit him as often as possible at the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane.

Unfortunately, that meant dealing with its chief of staff.

Every time you visited Will, you ended up clashing with that pompous buffoon and his perfectly coiffed hair. He was notorious for his unethical practices, but since rich white assholes were incapable of being fired, it was your self-appointed job to protect Will from him.

Though, recently, you had to admit two things.

One: you may have been the tiniest bit biased by your fondness for Will, and two: your feelings toward Dr. Chilton had been softening.

Not long ago, Chilton had barely survived being tortured by a former patient, Abel Gideon. The sight of him on a medical gurney cradling his own internal organs in his arms was a horror that would be burned into your brain for life. He may have been an incompetent jerk whom Gideon had every right to want revenge on, but he didn’t deserve that.

You didn’t think he would survive, but in a few weeks, like magic, he was back to play Will’s jailer, a cane in hand but no other sign of the trauma he endured.

Too little sign of the trauma he endured, honestly. After all, he was only hurt because of his own meddling—using psychic driving to convince Gideon he was the Chesapeake Ripper in order to achieve the fame and glory of having treated the Chesapeake Ripper.

But no, he was still bursting full of egotistical remarks and ambition, if a little short on organs.

“I see the experience hasn’t humbled you one bit,” you commented upon his return, when he gloated about the accolades he would receive after writing a book about Will Graham.

“Funny, it almost sounds like you wanted me to be gutted,” he retorted in a pleasantly upbeat voice with a sharp undercurrent.

His rich-boy superiority complex did make it tempting to punch him in the face… but disembowelment was going too far.

Something changed after that. It used to be that you couldn’t wait to get away from him, but now you found yourself wanting to stay and fight longer, your cheeks burning with indignation. Days you weren’t visiting Will, you went to the mental hospital to crusade against Dr. Chilton over ethics and his lack thereof, just for the excuse to see him.

The two of you exchanged cutting banter the same as always, but you found yourself being more civil... or, at least, your heated arguments felt more playful. Sure, you still called him a dirty slimeball, but now it was a friendly roast and not because you hated his (slightly damaged) guts.

It was strange. Every time you argued your heart would pound against your chest in anticipation, but you couldn’t figure out why.

Your breaking point came when you barged into his office and discovered him spying on patients’ private conversations with visitors—headphones on, feet up on his desk, holding a Montblanc fountain pen in his mouth and swirling it with his tongue.

He didn’t startle at your unexpected entrance, as a person who feels shame might do when caught in the middle of something so sleazy. He was completely unrepentant about it. Sliding a headphone off one ear and picking up a glass of top-shelf scotch from his desk, he took a slow sip, and smugly asked, “Can I help you?”

What could you say to that? You felt your face heating up, so you turned on your heel without a word, and left. You finally understood what you had been feeling.

You always took him for a coward—the type who runs crying to mommy the moment his knee gets scraped. But he’d been tortured, brutally, and still wasn’t running away. He got more than what was coming to him, but he didn’t change his manipulative psychiatric practices or grating personality at all.

As infuriating as it was… his resilience was sexy.

Like a switch was flipped, every time you sniped insults at each other, instead of picturing strangling him with his tie, you imagined blindfolding him with it, tying him to a bed and spanking him with his cane. He had the cutest way of shimmying his shoulders when he was trying to be coy about a secret, and that smarmy little crooked smile he made when he thought he was winning used to infuriate you, but now it caused an aching between your thighs.

After weeks of this, he cornered you in an empty hallway. “Do not think I haven’t noticed you are here far more often than you need to be. You didn’t even talk to Will Graham the last two occasions you paid a visit. What is it, then? What’s your angle? Keeping an eye on me for Crawford?”

“Isn’t it obvious?,” you scoffed. “I want to fuck you.”

“Huh,” he vocalized with detachment.

You’d expected him to be flustered by the bold declaration, or to jump on you immediately. Not to coldly look you up and down like you’d handed him a strange puzzle piece to analyze.

It must have been a long time since he’d been intimate, considering his reputation as a Grade A piece of shit. But apparently he wasn’t that desperate.

To be honest, you weren’t even sure what his orientation was. You may have been completely off base.

“Fascinating, really. For someone who called me… what was it? A ‘morally corrupt assclown,’ you must be in a dire state to consider propositioning me. You know, as a respected psychiatrist, I can recommend some literature on sexual dysfunctions.”

A cold, satisfied smile spread over his thin lips and you realized if your attraction was one-sided, he held all the cards. You made the mistake of delivering him a massive advantage over you, and you were going to make a fool of yourself. He was relishing the power.

There was still time to backtrack on the vulnerability you’d accidentally exposed while he was still trying to figure out if you were joking. But you were around profilers, psychiatrists, and investigators with hidden agendas all day, and you grew weary of conversations having ten layers of meaning and obfuscation.

The honest truth was, it would be nice to get laid.

“Well? Are you interested or not?” You dropped your voice and stepped closer to him, inches from his face. He smelled so clean, like hospital antiseptic and spicy aftershave. His breath hitched as your leg brushed the inside of his thigh—that’s it, that was the reaction you wanted. “Do you want to fuck me, Dr. Chilton?”

Oh, he did.

A barely audible whine rose from the back of his throat, and his hands were around your waist. “I suppose so,” he said, still a little too clinically, though a hard bob of his Adam’s apple betrayed him. His eyes met yours. They were the color of an ocean wave crashing on the beach; an honest, North Atlantic wave that you might find at Chesapeake Bay—not some perfect crystal-blue wave from a tropical paradise. “It couldn’t hurt to let off some steam.”

“Precisely,” you nodded. Just two adults doing the logical thing. That’s right. No squishy vulnerable feelings that could be used against you. Just relieving tension.

He grabbed you by the wrist and dragged you hastily into the nearest unoccupied space. The door to the cramped supply closet clicked shut, and he leered at you with eyes that seemed to glow with hunger in the dark. You felt pleasantly like a small animal trapped with a wolf about to be devoured. A shiver of anticipation ran down your spine and sent heat rushing between your thighs. Before you knew it you were flipped standing with him pressed against your back, pumping into you with muffled moans—as frenzied with desperation as you’d fantasized he would be—as you braced against a metal shelf crammed with pens and packs of post-it notes.

He was strong. You had expected his suit to hide the flaccid body of a sedentary academic, fragranced of old books, but when he pulled your hips into his your body moved.

After finishing inside you with a ragged, tortured breath (barely choking back a too-vulnerable moan), he hastily zipped himself back into his pants and left you to clean yourself up on your own, without so much as a nod to ceremony or pleasantries. That was the end of that, you figured—exactly what you asked for, no more no less. Little did you know, Dr. Chilton had no intention of leaving things off at one quickie in a closet.

Before you left, he pulled you into his office and provoked you with lewd remarks about fucking you on his desk—so you knocked the clutter off it onto the floor to make room. He shrieked like a toddler as his very important papers and very expensive office décor went flying, having neither thought through the actual consequences of desk-sex nor expected you to call his bluff. His beautiful seawater eyes went wide as you pushed him back on the broad mahogany surface and climbed on top of him. Then you were riding him, chasing your climax with his well-manicured hands kneading your ass cheeks, pulling you deeper and deeper with each stroke of your hips. And still you wanted more. You wanted to fuck him into next week.

And then you were in his unreasonably lavish home, in his unreasonably, decadently oversized bed, his mouth feverishly working your heat, and you repaying him by making him come over and over until it was torture, until he could no longer hold back the whimpering sobs of pleasure as he fell apart, and he passed out from fatigue. You collapsed next to him on the bed, panting, sweating, and shaking with over-stimulation.

For a moment you considered the snoring body of an unsavory man you had exhausted into submission, lying naked and leaking fluids onto two-thousand-thread-count sheets, and briefly considered calling a cab. Then you went to the bathroom for a towel to wipe him off before curling yourself around him under the covers.

*****

Morning found you nestling in his soft light brown chest hair, tracing your fingers along the raised red scar that divided a third of his torso like an autopsied cadaver. He flinched a little when you touched it, but remained impassive. A reservoir of sympathy swelled up within you.

“You pity me. That is why you wanted to sleep with me all of a sudden,” he said, deciphering the meaning of your look. “I’m not complaining. Apparently, to be fortunate in bed requires only that one be tragically disfigured. You are drawn to wounded birds.”

The corner of your lip screwed up like you swallowed something bitter. It’s… probably not healthy to desire someone purely out of pity, but he was right. You never felt anything for him until you felt sorry for him. But that wasn’t all there was to your relationship… was it?

“The instinct to nurture and the instinct to hurt are both strong human emotions. They’re primal,” you speculated.

“Trying your hand at psychoanalysis? I would leave it to the professionals, darling.”

“Would you?” You tilted your head innocently. “Then how come you’re still practicing?”

He clutched his chest and feigned being wounded.

Grinning, you buried your face back into his hair. “Arguing with you was always exciting… trying to land a stinging blow. Now I see you hurt, and I feel the need to protect you, too. You tickle my instincts, I suppose. Like cold ice cream on hot pie. What can I say?”

“Hmm, a plausible hypothesis,” he nodded idly at the ceiling, one brow lifted. “I’m not sure that that is any better, but as previously mentioned, your motivations are not of particular interest to me.”

“Charming. Let me phrase it another way, then: You have a very punchable face, but since you’ve already been eviscerated, it takes the fun out of it.”

“Well, and I was going to offer you breakfast…”

#frederick chilton #Frederick Chilton x reader #Raúl Esparza #Hannibal #my writing #very excited to start the sequel sooooon!

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tanadrin · 4 years ago

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I suppose because politics is what means I have no future of any kind left, so it's hard to be silly about it. And I seem to have landed myself in a sector of social media filled with people who are very smug about how smart and nihilistic they are, and I hate all of you with the hatred that only a miserable, powerless person can feel.

I don’t buy it. Unless you are quite literally scheduled to be executed at dawn, “no future of any kind left” because of politics is catastrophizing. People in very dire circumstances the world over often manage to build some kind of life for themselves; it may not be the life they want, and the suffering they endure because of the circumstances they are limited by should not be dismissed, but to say that someone in such adverse conditions has no future is to infantalize them and deny them the agency they do have to shape their life to some extent.

And this is an insight I’ve found important when dealing with depression in myself: even if one’s catastrophizing is not irrational (say, you’re a queer person stuck in an extremely homophobic environment, at minimum for the next 5-10 years), that does not mean it is useful. To put it another way: circumstance might justifiably make you angry and sad and frustrated. That may be rational. Deciding, in the face of that anger and sadness and frustration, to surrender to it is not rational.

So--assuming that you are not a political dissident due to be executed, nor suffering from a terminal illness which somehow for political reasons cannot be cured (if either of these things are true, you have my sincere condolences)--I have to say, this ask reeks of someone who’s depressed. If you are depressed, you will always be able to come up with reasons why happiness is unattainable for you, due to circumstances entirely out of your control. This is not a crazy thing to think, because if you are depressed and not treating that depression, most if not all the things you try to do will not solve your unhappiness because they are usually orthogonal to what is making you unhappy. Your very ability to accurately imagine future happy states and what might bring them about is suppressed by depression; for instance, you might, if you are depressed and you know it, rationally understand that exercise often helps with your depression, but be unable to motivate yourself to exercise because the intuitive link between if I do X I will feel better is broken by an internal forecasting system that refuses to spit out predictions other than “nothing I do will help with anything.”

A depressed state is not a psychotic break--it doesn’t cause you to lose touch with reality--but I think depressed people would sometimes benefit from treating it like one, because it does subvert your ability to accurately model the world, and therefore you can’t trust your own ability to reason or intuit about certain topics. I have both experienced this from the inside, and seen it from the outside: friends whose depression causes them to believe they are unlovable, and thus that nobody loves them, even when told (and shown) repeatedly that they are very much loved, and very important to the people around them.

In fact, you remind me of this post: depressed and anxious people who notice politics is depressing and anxiety-inducing, and that depressing and anxiety-inducing problems confront the world and society, and therefore conclude that their depression and anxiety are a rational and reasonable response to the world. But that doesn’t follow at all! A lot of responses to a depressing and anxiety-inducing environment are more useful that shutting down and withdrawing, or letting yourself be paralyzed; and even if there are negative external factors in the world affecting your life, if you have nothing in your life that is a sufficient source of joy to offset these things at least somewhat, then you have problems sufficiently severe that I don’t think your depression or anxiety can be laid at the feet of the world at large alone; more likely, you’re dealing with shitty personal circumstances, and these are far more likely to be tractable to your individual capacities than, like, all of climate change. And if you do have some sources of joy in your life, you can cultivate those further.

To put it another way: humans are very bad at reasoning about things on large scales or over large timelines. One reason we’re slow to solve problems like climate change is that we tend to be pretty blasé about remote and impersonal problems, which is actually often useful as well--because it means we’re capable of adjusting our hedonic barometer to create joy even in catastrophic circumstances. If you are constantly worried about big issues like climate change or the Trump presidency to the point where you can never do that, then the conclusion you should draw isn’t that you’re a uniquely rational human being with a uniquely accurate worldview, it’s that your brain is broken and you should not trust your intuitition.

Emotional states are not rational models of the world. They are tools our brain uses to motivate certain kinds of action. They probably have their origin in our social evolution, but this means they are extremely untrustworthy when it comes to complex, large-scale, philosophical, or impersonal issues, because these are not scenarios our brains evolved to handle before the advent of high-population, highly-stratified societies.

Now, I realize it’s hard to convince someone they are depressed and/or should seek treatment by rational argument (lord knows I’ve tried in the past!), because after all, if we were being perfectly rational, we would not feel depressed. We wouldn’t feel anything; again, emotions are contingent tools, not highly rationalized responses to the world! So I won’t belabor this point any longer. Instead, now I’m going to get annoyed with you.

Because here’s the other thing depressed people do--and I have done myself. They see people who are not depressed, whose hedonic barometers are functioning normally, and capable of experiencing joy even in arguably (or inarguably!) shitty circumstances, and they get mad at them. How dare you be capable of laughing at a joke, or sharing a meme, or having a nice day, when everything is so bad!

This is a common response, not only from depression, but also I think from grief, or fear, or trauma, or lots of other things. But it’s bullshit. I’m sorry, but you don’t get to demand that everyone feel your suffering as acutely as they feel their own. You don’t get to demand that just because you’re a pessimistic ball of frustration and anger that everyone else be, too. You get to--and ought to--demand that people treat you with empathy and respect, but that doesn’t mean they don’t get to make jokes about topics you find depressing as hell. Yes, even topics that personally affect you, and may not personally affect them (though, of course, a lot of times people assume the person making the joke isn’t personally affected by the topic, when in reality they are and the joke is a way of relieving stress and coping with frustration).

That calvin and hobbes meme I reblogged is an extremely generic political compass meme; the only relevance it has to the world today, I suppose, is acknowledging that, like, politics is a thing that exists. If you’re upset by that--how dare people laugh at politics, the source of all my problems--you’re being a dick.

And this leads my to my final point, which is this: while we are all of us owed compassion, we also owe others compassion. And people caught up in their own anxiety and depression and anger often don’t see the way their emotional states impose costs on the people around them. They often treat the people around them badly--worse, at any rate, than they normally would--and react defensively if this is pointed out to them.

I’ve done this. I have friends who have done this. I get it. It doesn’t make someone a horrible person! It doesn’t meant they deserve to feel the way they do. But it does create the second half of a twofold moral obligation. You see, I believe that the, call it “utilitarian selfishness” view, is essentially correct: if all humans are of similar moral worth (they are), and you can only help one person (often true), and that person is yourself, it is no less moral to help yourself than it is to help someone else. This is usually framed as a grant of permission: “you are allowed to be selfish sometimes.” But it’s also an obligation: “you should not be a dick--even to yourself.” You have a positive obligation to care about your own suffering! And you have a positive obligation to try to reduce the costs your suffering--your bad mood, your depression, your anxiety--imposes on the people around you.

Because I’m not a smug nihilist. I actually believe, with embarrassing intensity, in a large number of abstract principles. And while I believe circumstance or injustice can conspire to make people feel miserable and powerless, and I have the utmost sympathy for you feeling that way, no one is so omnipotent as to be able to truly excise our power to do something with our life that is rewarding to us, no matter how modest. Your subjective feeling of misery is not license to be a dick to people, or to misrepresent them or their motivations. And if reading my tumblr (or anyone else’s) makes you miserable, you have a positive moral obligation to stop, because you’re being a dick to yourself, which is no more justifiable than being a dick to me. And being a dick to me because you don’t like my Tumblr, because you’re miserable and I’m not, is pants-on-head stupid.

I, too, have been so convinced of my misery and powerlessness, and so utterly convinced of my inability to make improvements in my life, that I have yielded utterly to the feeling of myself as a despised, helpless, wretched thing. You can spend years in that state. A lifetime, even. I suppose it relieves you from the burden of having to try, which is a tiny shred of comfort when the climb up the hill seems so steep. But I have found that in the long run it brings no other relief; there’s no regression to the mean, just an endless prolongation of misery. It required some courage, and not a little determination, to try to climb out of that pit. Sometimes you struggle. Sometimes you fall back in. Sometimes it’s easier to believe there’s nothing beyond that place of unhappiness. But there is, and you can get there, and the choice of whether or not to reach it lies only with you.

#if you are in fact due to be executed ignore this #and you have my deepest condolences #but in that case how did you get on tumblr???#Anonymous

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tros-for-dinner · 4 years ago

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Like, okay, I need to talk about trauma a second

I’m reading The Body Keeps the Score right now - it’s a pretty comprehensive book about PTSD and trauma, and treatment of trauma-related mental illnesses and, like, I just keep thinking about Kylo (Ben)

In one sentence: Kylo is a deeply traumatized man and I can’t stop thinking about it.

As a general rule I don’t care about the ancillary materials, but “absentee parents” and “being left with droid caretakers that tried to kill him” is trauma - he didn’t have someone to comfort him and his usual caretakers weren’t safe. He probably started acting out, as what happens to kids that go through that. He was also deeply empathetic (metaphorically represented by being strong in the Force) so every lie that was told to him, every time someone feared him because of his ancestors, every time someone tried to use him because of his family - those are all wounds, too. Then, maybe because he was acting out, maybe because he was a deeply religious kid, he goes to live the ascetic life with his beloved Uncle Luke.

And I know this is my own headcanon, but knowing what I now know about trauma: he was still suffering the emotional effects of trauma. The fear, the mistrust, the anxiety, the anger - his fellow Force-sensitive students (and Luke) could feel those emotions. In the Jedi tradition, you either shut that shit down or you’re assumed to be on the road to the Dark Side.

Here’s the problem: the fear, the anxiety, the anger triggered by the pain of trauma can’t just be meditated away. It’s fight/flight instinct; it’s literally the oldest, most sub-conscious part of the brain reacting to the memory of pain and trying to prevent future pain. You can’t control it. You can’t reason with it. You either heal it or it controls you.

Luke can feel that his methods aren’t working but he hasn’t been trained in psychology so he has no idea how to fix this problem. Luke is deeply afraid of the Dark Side, and he was taught that emotions - a deeply-rooted function of the brain - are inherently ‘evil’ and cause self-destruction for the Jedi. Luke has a “all or nothing” “either I do it all or I’m a failure” mindset so he starts feeling despair at the bitter taste of failure. One night, out of pure fear, he takes an uninhibited look into his nephew’s mind (notably, without his consent) and sees how bad things could be in the future. For an instant, he honestly considers killing Ben to prevent that future from happening.

Here’s a question: what would you do if you woke up to a trusted, beloved family member pointing a loaded, safety-off shotgun at you, and you could feel without a doubt that they were definitely ready to kill you?

You would feel abject terror. Wounds from trusted loved ones can be the most painful, and this was a wound that eclipsed every other in Ben’s life. He escapes, and then falls into the hands of Snoke.

(I hate how the ancillary materials totally erased Ben’s agency by making Snoke influence his mind even before he was born. Grooming from a young age? That would have been fine. But as it is, it’s a supernatural element that oversimplifies and makes unbelievable a story that could have been more powerful.)

In my mind, Snoke doesn’t even have to be Force-sensitive: his gift is that he can tell what people wants, and he controls those people by promising what they want (and getting his victims just close enough to what they want so they keep coming back for more).

So he sees Ben and sees the perfect mark: someone who believes they’re inherently a bad person (drowning in shame, an instinct that is extremely self-isolating), enraged with pain, who has been indoctrinated into black-and-white thinking by the culture/religion he grew up in.

Snoke promises Ben 1. respect (i.e. a form of connection in which you don’t have to be vulnerable) and 2. power (which appeals to Ben’s helplessness).

All of us wear different “hats” depending on the situation we’re in: at work, we wear Customer Service or Manager hats. At home, we wear Caregiver or Partner or Roommate hats. Walking out to our cars in the dark, or taking the bus in a bad neighborhood, we might swagger with a Don’t Fuck With Me attitude. We hide or reveal parts of our personality depending on the tools we need in the situation.

Ben creates a persona to hide his shame, protect himself from vulnerability, and deaden the part of his conscience that objects to being part of an organization that is hurting people like his family was hurt. This persona is named Kylo Ren, and it uses the mask and robes like a magic spell to summon the gravitas and influence of his ancestor. But most importantly, the mask and robes shield him from the outside world as protection, but also to hide his shame and any emotions that aren’t ‘acceptable’ (’acceptable’ being anger, mostly).

The thing about shame is that it separates us from the people around us, preventing us from making meaningful connections. This is devastating to the human mind, because humans survive in groups (and our brain evolved to seek groups out). Bringing shame out into the light in the presence of someone you trust is usually enough to exorcise it.

Kylo doesn’t have anyone he can trust, and he is drowning in shame. He is totally isolated and knows he’s nothing but a weapon in Snoke’s hand. Snoke cultivates his shame and isolation because it makes Kylo easy to control. But then, totally by happenstance, Kylo meets Rey.

I hear people talk about ‘the power of love’ and I used to think it was total bullshit. I realize now that’s because visual media usually simplifies ‘love’ into ‘physical attraction’. In reality, love contains a spectrum of elements that are essential to a healthy, functioning mind. Specifically: a place you feel safe (a place where you feel trust, where you feel genuine connection, where you feel wanted, where you feel heard and seen and understood). The entire spectrum of intimacy (emotional, physical, and sexual) spans this need for a place to feel safe and known.

So Kylo meets this girl and a couple of things happen. 1. he realizes he isn’t actually alone. There is someone in the whole of the galaxy who might be his equal. 2. Totally inadvertently, Rey exposes his deepest shame (that he can’t live up to the legacy, that he is hurting himself for nothing) and brings it out into the light.

And, like, all of that would be disrupting enough, but then something even more important happens. See, Snoke built the expectation in Kylo’s mind that if Kylo cut away everyone who loved him, Kylo would be stronger, would be more powerful. Kylo gets the opportunity to cut away his father in the most final way - to kill him - and he takes the opportunity.

As soon as he kills Han - the very second after he ignites his saber - he realizes that Snoke was lying. It didn’t make him more powerful, it just makes things worse.

So while he’s reeling from that realization, his mind instinctively reaches out for connection, for people who might understand. I once read a meta that the Force Skype scenes in TLJ are initiated when Rey feels lonely, which I totally 100% buy into, but I’d suggest the connection happens when both of them are feeling lonely or hurt.

As far as I’m concerned, they bridged their own minds - Snoke took credit because he knew that would be devastating to Ben. Ben and Rey experience emotional intimacy and through their connection, they both start to heal a little from their individual traumas.

I went on a bit of a tangent there but here’s what I’m trying to get to: trauma doesn’t just go away. You don’t just flip a switch, forget about the past, and move on with your life. If you don’t heal, then that trauma and the damage to your brain persists. It takes time and an enduring safe place to heal. So I’m sitting here, trying to imagine what that healing could look like in-universe. And I’m just thinking about the fact that Episode 9 could have been about healing. They gave Rey the gift of healing. The moviemakers had a love story all wrapped up in a bow that could have been a metaphor for the healing power of love. They had all these traumatized characters that could have experienced healing. We, the audience, could have experienced the healing power of catharsis.

And in conclusion, I’m just thinking about Adam Driver performing this incredibly relatable character and TLJ’s Reylo and Luke&Rey plotlines being what they are - and just feeling deep gratitude.

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werewolfpdfs · 4 years ago

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What's the version of Yuri that lives in your head and how would you have re-written him?

oh lord that’s an excellent question best friend!

tl;dr: the bones are there in the story, but it feels like leigh built this skeleton of a really fascinating character and then almost,,,forgot to fill in the blank spots?? so if I could rewrite yuri the main job would be fixing those and extending what’s already there.

(this got...long so i’m putting it under the cut lol)

the thing about yuri is that I have so many questions about not only his motivations (all we know is that he thinks the darkling saved him from his abusive uncle and the fold expansion...give me more) but his justifications for everything??? in KoS it’s basically just platitudes about the darkness and everyone yelling at him for being wrong. like, give me a ten page thesis about what the darkling represents to him and why that’s worthy of worship. or, don’t do that, but there has to be something there!! why does the good outweigh the bad?

for the yuri that lives in my head, it’s because he truly sees something to emulate in the darkling. he sees someone who survived when it would have been easier to give up entirely. it’s relatable. KoS touched on this a little (with nikolai manipulating yuri lol) but i’d love to see the driving force of his character be this desire to be what he sees in the darkling, to be a saviour that does whatever it takes. a little bit of that ✨darkness inside all of us✨ you know? have him praise what the darkling represents, really use him to punch the point home that the way people view saints is different from how they were as people.

the yuri that lives in my head is more angry, honestly. he’s a radical. he knows the darkling saved him from the fold and he knows it was for a reason and he’s furious about the trauma he endured from his family. and that yuri, fundamentally, can’t understand why someone like zoya isn’t on his side, because he’s been searching for a safe place for his whole life and feels like he finally found it in the darkling, and that, to him, feels like something to connect with her over.

maybe he still doesn’t know about all the crimes the darkling committed and the context around that, but...i would like to see him hearing about all of it and still trying to empathize with the most unforgivable things he did. like, wasn’t it worth it for what he achieved? weren’t the sacrifices made worthy of his goals?

honestly i just want to see the same yuri that marched up to the palace gates with a crowd of cult members and demanded the king elevate the darkling to sainthood. less skittishness and more absolutely bullshit confidence in his cause, if not in himself.

(which like, again, most of this stuff is already there. i don’t have more issues with yuri’s character traits than i do with any other character, i just wish what was there to begin with was expanded and treated seriously by the narrative!)

(sidebar but imo the constant falling to his knees to pray/general freaking out about the darkling that was supposed to make him look like a fanatic (GOOD TRAIT WE’RE KEEPING THAT) was simply?? annoying??? i’d love to see him in a context where that’s not all he does but there’s still and emphasis on some level of fanaticism. I’ve got this image of *him* preaching to the Cult of the Starless Saint on where the fold used to be instead of the darkling using his body to do it which is simply...maybe i’ll write it one day)

#i would also like to see emotions other than fear and ~starstruckism~ in him #i want pain i want anger ahhhhhh #grishaverse #yuri vedenen #auri rambles #u know what it wasn’t that long but i will spare the rest of you my bullshit anyways <3

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years ago

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Hewitts / Pleasant Valley x Fem!Reader || Oneshot

Title: The Multiverse Theory and the Horror Fandom

Notes:

I don't really know what it is, but I enjoyed creating it, so I’m posting it! If I get an idea as to what might happen next, I’ll probably add a part two.

Its crack

Plot:

Okay, you are from this universe and you are your Slasher fucker self. But you’re transported from your home, to the universe that the Slashers live in, specifically 2003 Texas Chainsaw Massacre. They capture you of course and decide to keep you.

Now the Hewitt’s have decided to go on a roadtrip and are of course taking you, their hostage, with them.

They end up staying in Pleasant Valley, despite your warnings not to.

Warnings: Mention of real life people, breaking of the 3rd wall, if you look then there is some hints towards sexual assault cursing. Its comedy though mostly, so its pretty okay

~~~

“We’re lost.”

“No, mama, we not lost. We’re just taking the scenic route… “Hoyt transparently bullshits, looking around completely lost at the surroundings that we pass at a 100 km/h. Nothing but wheat fields and cows as far as the eye can see. Georgia is even more boring then Texas had been.

Luda Mae rolls her eyes, not taking any his shit after 6 hours in the car with him just today. God, I’m on her side. Can we stop somewhere just for a little bit? I mean, I don’t have to pee anymore since I held it for so long that the urge went away, but I’d still like to try because now I feel like I’m going to explode at any time. “So, we’re lost.” She announces, leaving no room for argument.

“Definitely lost… “Monty, in the seat beside me in the back seat of Hoyt’s tiny sheriff car, agrees with his sister, also watching the fields go by moodily. Why didn’t we take the goddamn truck, anyway? I would rather be tied to top of that, then squished back here between Thomas and Monty. I mean, there’s not even any doorhandles in the back here! Why did I have to be in the middle? Its not like I’m going to throw myself out the window! Sometimes I think Hoyt’s paranoid. And I hate him. And his ego’s too big.

Of course, Hoyt snaps back at Monty even though what he said was so mellow. It certainly didn’t have the amount of pent up frustration that Luda Mae’s had behind it. “We ain’t lost, goddamn it- Look! There’s a town. We’ll stop there and ask for directions if you really want. Just to make sure we’re going the right way, which I’m sure we are.” I look up from my hands, bruises all over the wrists from Hoyt and the ropes, and cuts all over the fingers from cooking with Luda Mae… and jagged fingernails from before I gave up. When I was still scratching at the walls and floor and Thomas, wanting to escape this mad family.

My fighting spirit isn’t completely crushed, now… but it has been a while since I screamed for help. I’m waiting for the moment, the right moment to try and escape. Of course, I don’t know if that moment will every come… but I still hope. And that’s something.

Now, looking up out the front window to see the town Hoyt’s talking about, I wonder if this will be the place that I’ll escape in.

Then we rush past the sign and I do a double take.

What did that say?!

I glance at Thomas, my designated warden to see what he’s doing now since he had been sleeping for most of today’s trip- yesterday he had stayed awake and alert, but today it seems that he decided I wasn’t about to crawl over anyone and creep through the window so it was cool to nap,- to see he’s alert, and when I look at him he turns to look at me back. I flash him a fake smile and turn to Monty, because he speaks. And he’s on the right side of the car, so he would have seen the sign.

“Hey, what did that sign say?”

“Why are they talking again?” Hoyt pipes up in the front as we get nearer to the town and I start to feel sick in my stomach. I raise my eyebrows at Monty instead of answering Hoyt’s goad.

Monty shrugs, leaning his back on his hand and looking out the window again. “Uh, Pleasant Valley.”

Oh my god.

It cannot be possible that more then one Horror movie exists in this world… right? I’ve been through enough trauma; I do not need to endure Robert Englund’s trademark craziness- oH, or Bill Mosely’s either. Oh god, - and his band of confederate lunatics. Do not do this to me, universe.

My heart’s beating faster then a bullet train as I wait, still as a statue and straight backed, for any more hints that I am where I think I am.

Thomas watches me with a hard stare, alert and suspicious about my odd change in posture and body language. I try to ignore him, which is of course hard, but I make do.

Then we start to pass people in this town, and they’re men in overalls and women in the most era-incorrect costumes I have ever seen. And they’re smiling and waving at us.

And I feel sick, and sink back into my seat so nobody outside can see me through Monty or Thomas, hopefully.

“Hoyt,” I call, quietly for the ‘sheriff’s’ attention. My voice doesn’t lift even to a normal volume, I’m so scared so he either ignores me or really doesn’t hear me. I try to be louder. “Hoyt!”

“Yes, hostage?”

“I think we’re going the right way as well; I saw sign on the road a few miles back that said so. We should just keep going.”

“What?!” Luda Mae turns in her seat to look at me furrow her eyebrows- she doesn’t believe me one bit. “What are you doing, slouching in the back like that? Sit up!”

“Are we stopping?”

“Uhh… “She turns to look at Hoyt, and he nods. “Looks like it. About time, too. I need to stretch my legs, and we obviously need those damn directions.”

“We do not need the- “Hoyt sighs, exasperated, then furrows his eyebrows as he focuses on something in front of the car. “What the fuck are these wackos all doing out there in the middle of the road? Get outta my way… “

Mow them over, Hoyt! MOW THEM OVER.

Of course, he slows to a crawl and then a stop, and I thank god that the back windows don’t open, lest I feel any more in danger. If they were open, I definitely would have feared scary ghost cannibals would stick in their hands. As it is, cross my arms and let Hoyt do the talking. Of course, I mean. What else could I do?

I can see full frontal the mess that we’re getting into, which once upon a time in a different world -my world. Oh, how I wish I was there right now, - would have been a good sign. Seeing Kane Hodder, Robert Englund and Lin Shaye and the ‘Guts and Glory Jubilee’ banner would be a sign I’m about to have a good night full of horror movie enjoyment and probably fanfiction as well. But now I see it and I wish to never watch that movie again, much like the Texas Chainsaw Massacre franchise.

Hoyt puts his hand on the car door handle next to him. “No, no, no, don’t get outta the car!” I exclaim, quietly and reaching to grab him back but he looks over at me, gives me a ‘I do what I want’ kind of look and then gets out of the car.

“Good afternoon, sheriff! Welcome to our Guts and Glory Jubilee! You’re our honoured guests!”

Oh, dear god.

Hoyt slams his car door shut and Luda and I wince at the sudden noise. “What the hell are you people doing out here in the middle of the road??! Me and my family are tryna get through here.”

“Aw, my bad sheriff! We’re just so tickled to have you with us this fine day!” Buckman doesn’t seem stirred that Hoyt’s clearly southern, and therefore ‘confederate’, like him, as far as he’s concerned which is what I was hoping for, so I decide to blow this whole situation out of water- I have no choice.

And what, in hell’s name, could I possibly lose at this point?

I lean forward in the car, keeping an eye on the scene, to talk to Luda Mae. “Hey, so this may be a bad time to mention this but, uh.” How do I break this news? “Well, I’m from a different universe. That multiverse noise? That’s real. Anyway, more importantly, I’m from a world in which you and your sons, and Monty, are just movie characters. Your movie is called ‘The Texas Chainsaw Massacre’, Thomas is the Texan Chainsaw guy and he is called Leatherface.” Luda’s slowly turning her head to look at me like have 7 eyeballs. I keep talking through, quickly ad feverishly, desperate. “I know it sounds crazy, and you can ask me any question about ya’ll’s passed if you want as proof but just get your son back in this car please. This place also has its own movie, and its even less pretty then what goes on in your house.” I look pleadingly at her, hoping to God, by some miracle she believes me.

“Sit back down!! I’ve been in a car with 3 sweatin’, stinky men for 6 hours now today and I am in no mood for your stories.” She turns back in her seat. “God.”

“Oh Jesus, you said it… “ I whine, plopping back down in my seat, looking at Hoyt and Buckman who have now met in front of the car and aren’t yelling at each other across the road and immediately assume the fucking confederate mayor is successfully feeding the fucking fraudulent sheriff’s ego, and drop my face into my hands. A few minutes pass, and I stay like this, occasionally making frustrated crying sounds without really crying, and getting annoyed groans and ‘shut up’s from Monty beside me, until a hit to the car jolts me up. “What! What? What’s happening- are they attacking!?”

Everyone who heard, ignores me and I see it’s just Hoyt coming around the car opening Thomas’ side. Oh god, breeze has neve felt so terrifying. “Come on out, family. We’re stayin’ the night! I can’t tolerate settin’ in this car with you people anymore.” On no. No, no, no. STAYING?

Thomas gets out and Luda Mae follows, opening Monty’s door for him and letting him out onto his wheelchair that Thomas gets out of the trunk for him and unfolds. I cross my arms and stay inside. When Hoyt realises this, he leans down to peer inside the car at me and thrusts a thumb to point behind him. Slowly, menacingly he drawls. “Get out of this car.”

Oh, what is he going to do? What could he possibly do that he hasn’t already done to me.

I stubbornly look away. “You said family, I’m not family. I’m not leaving this car, no way. You can’t make me.”

“You wanna bet, sugar?”

He reaches in, wraps a calloused hand around one of my arms and starts pulling me until I topple out of the car, into the dirt. He lets go of me and immediately slams the car door closed again so I don’t slither back in.

“Fuck.” I mutter, glaring up at him from the floor. He locks the car in front of my eyes.

“Now, when you’re feeling more like an adult and not a child, you can come on to our room- that building over there. “ I feel like running after him when he walks off to the building, but before I can get myself out of the dusty, beige dirt, a hand enters my vision and I follow it up and scream on the inside. Mayor George Fucking Buckman.

He smiles so charmingly… you could nearly believe he isn’t depraved. Then I see the eyepatch and I’m reminded. “Would you let me help you up outta the dirt, little miss?”

Mmmm, I guess.

Best to stay on his good side, I think as I take his hand and he hauls me up. I don’t want to be on the receiving end of one of those glares that the whole town like to take part in with him. Noooo thank you. Not for me.

“Thank you.” I say quickly, looking to get out of there and find the Hewitt’s. They’ve all disappeared into the building Hoyt went towards a moment ago now. I brush the dirt off my pants and then clap my hands off of each other to get rid of the dirt that’s on them now, and any remnants of feeling Buckman’s hand, then flash a tight smile in Buckman’s general direction and escape towards the building.

They have to listen to me!

I burst into the place and see Thomas trailing behind the rest of that devil family down a hallway and run down there. “Thomas!” I pant, because that was a long hallway. Where are we now?! The Overlook hotel!?! “Thomas, what kind of warden are you? Please, don’t you ever leave me alone with that man ever again!” Thomas narrows his eyes suspiciously at me above his normal, leather mask -Luda and Hoyt had decided before we left their murder mansion that the human flesh mask would probably not fly in normal society, so he swapped it in for the old one,- then nods in front of him for me to walk there where can watch, and I gladly go there.

___TIME SKIP: A couple hours later___

All day, I have been trying to persuade the Hewitt’s that I’m not from here. I described Texas Chainsaw Massacre: The Beginning in explicit detail, including of course the Sheriff Hoyt thing, the Eric/Dean confusion, Bailey, Monty’s legs being chainsawed off… I even recruited some comic book information about Hoyt’s time in the Prisoner of War Camp and Sargent Chow, but they just think I’m a stalker now.

I mean, why the fuck not? Why wouldn’t I stalk these freaks? Truly, being around them has been a joy filled time.

I don’t throw back at my face that I watched their movies religiously, readers. That’s was when I thought they were fictional! (Yeah, I know you’re there reading this. This sure feels like a fanfiction to me, and as a fangirl, I’m an expert.)

So, I’ve decided I have one more option. One more chance to survive.

Hopefully this doesn’t go worse then plan A did.

Through pretending like the rope around my wrists was too tight when Hoyt tied me up by the hands to his bed frame, when really in truth it was a bit loose, I manage to make him think I’m stuck for the night. So, when he falls asleep – I know he’s asleep because he snores like a feral racoon… that also has rabies… (He drools) – I carefully, quietly, I struggle out of the ropes and carefully put them on the floor. Then turn to the window.

We’re on the second level of this building, but the possibility of a broken bone or two will not deter me from getting out of this mess. Especially since Thomas is waiting in the hallway outside this room for any sign of me trying to escape and getting hurt from falling out of a window is much preferred to meeting the business end of his chainsaw.

Not that I’ll be out of danger when I get out… as I’ll still be in Pleasant Valley… but I will have completed Level 1 at least.

Opening the window, I wince and look back at Hoyt to make sure the gentle rubbing sound the window makes against the frame doesn’t wake him, then turn back and immediately get to crawling out. Once I have succeeded in getting onto the ledge I hold on to the gutter - hoping beyond hope that it’s sturdy, - and reclose the blinds and push the window closed as well again. Covering my tracks.

Then I start the perilous journey down the building, which somehow, I succeed in! When I finally drop down on the dirt again and turn around though, I nearly out loud this time. “Miss Shaye! -“I stop myself, making an ‘Oop’ sound. You would think I would stop making these mistakes- I have been tortured and keep prisoner by the Hewitt family. Certainly not the late R. Lee. Ermey or Andrew Bryniarski either. The Hewitt’s. - But alas, I am still making this mistake apparently. “Sorry, you remind me of someone else!” I smile at Granny Boone, who must have been standing there watching the whole time I conquered the hotel building, stands with her hands on her hips and one eyebrow purposely halfway up her forward. She’s waiting for an explanation. “I didn’t want to wake up my family, and its time for the midnight stroll. Couldn’t sleep!”

My heartbeat races in my chest, because I have every confidence that this woman could kill me with her bare hands if she doesn’t like my answer. For a few moments, she makes me wait as she does looks at me suspiciously like Thomas. Oh god, are you going to eat me or not, ghost lady!?

“Oh, well that’s very considerate of you! Could I join you on your walk? I’m in the same boat.”

Oh, for fudges sake.

I smile politely though, and we start walking side by side down the middle of town. Silence hangs between us, but as we walk, I start to think this could work. I was planning on finding Buckman and telling him my story to see if he would believe me and do something because this whole town is supernatural and hard to believe, but I actually think this may have worked out in my favour! Maybe. He’s a sexist, chauvinistic bigot. But at the very least Boone’s a woman like me, with less of a boner for authority so hopefully she’ll at least listen. So… maybe…?

“So… “I start, sounding loud since it’s so quiet out here. “Can we talk? Woman to woman? I don’t know, you just seem trustworthy!” Oh, puke. What am I saying? “Sorry if I’m out of line, but… something crazy’s going on in my life.”

“Oh, trust me. I know crazy.” I side eye her as she smirks ‘mysteriously’. Oh, I know you know crazy, lady. I know. I know it all. You know crazy intimately. “Uh but go on. Sure thing. What kind of good Christian lady would I be if I didn’t bend an ear to our esteemed special guests?”

… Uhuh.

Well, okay! Works for me. “Thank you.” I clap my hands together. “Well. It started a month ago now, I guess… Haven’t really been able to keep up with time. First, I should probably explain the multiverse theory…”

#Oneshot #Horror x Reader #Texas Chainsaw Massacre 2003 #texas Chainsaw massacre: The beginning #2001 Maniacs #Sheriff Hoyt #Charlie Hewitt #Luda Mae Hewitt #Monty Hewitt #Thomas Hewitt #Granny Boone #Mayor Buckman #x Reader #Horror Oneshot #Slashers

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