#and I spend half my life with pneumonia

[themoderngogoworld]

I’m still alive but at what cost lol

[sinkingquail]

a ramble about taliesin's spoon-feeding line

cw: caregiver burnout, dementia hi @dynamite124 please let me know if you want me to take the audio file down!

i was thinking about how taliesin really would take care of the ldb for the rest of their life if they happen to be unable to take care of themselves after reading the elder scroll

aka rambles from someone working as a caregiver for people with dementia and how fucking meaningful this is

(this is half me being amazed at tally, half me explaining the horrors of dementia)

tl;dr: i believe that by the time taliesin says this line, he genuinely loves the player. like so, so much i can't even begin to describe it.

to preface this, i've been working in memory care for about half a year now. it is so fucking heartbreaking, guys.

for those unfamiliar with dementia, it's a very slow, insidious disease that results in memory loss first and foremost, but can also lead to paranoia, aggression, loss of motor function, inability to process sensory info, aspiration pneumonia (this is usually what kills people with dementia - it's important for people that have trouble swallowing to be on a puréed food diet and let me tell you, it looks fucking terrible)

here's a few examples of the people in my care. note that these are people that families have decided they can no longer take care of and pay a LOT of money for their care, so they tend to be in the later stages of dementia:

guy that is just constantly walking around the building. his eyes don't track you, he doesn't react to most stimulus, when he talks it's nonsense. he's in his 70s.

lady that says her dog is running around, she can see her in the hallways. her dog is over the rainbow bridge as of last year. she is also one of our most independent residents

guy that i'd transfer from his wheelchair to his chair. after he sits, he would touch the wheelchair and ask me what it is

the one i want to talk about the most, a husband and wife that have been married for 60+ years. the husband is cognitively intact and very independent (he can drive) and the wife, well... she's absolutely dependent on us

anyways, here's the exact quote taliesin says when the dragonborn messes with him and pretends they've actually gone insane from reading the elder scroll:

"You had me half worried I'd have to spoon feed you for the rest of your life. And that is NOT a kink I am into."

(leave it to tally to use humor to deflect again) i cannot stress how insane this is.

anyways, the husband that i mentioned previously has essentially halted the rest of his time on earth to take care of his wife, who he's been married to for over 60 years. it is simultaneously heartbreaking and beautiful just how much love the husband has for this person.

i'd like to compare that to taliesin, who will say this after... how long of knowing the ldb? like a couple years, max?

(this is not to downplay the husband's sacrifice, but rather to give a comparison of the sheer amount of love that goes into making this kind of decision)

i argue that by the time this happens in-game, taliesin truly, truly loves the player (whether platonically or romantically is up to interpretation). he'd have to love them, to genuinely want to spend however long the ldb has left to take care of them.

it's even more meaningful when you remember that taliesin wants to see the world. by taking care of you, he's most definitely giving that up. and he'd do it in a heartbeat. there's also a matter of how long tally would act as caregiver for. i don't know how old they are but altmer live a fucking long time (i think like... 300 years?), and depending on the race of your ldb, this quote can be that much more meaningful. (it's still super meaningful even if the ldb would die in a year, tbh. tally had basically just gotten the chance to escape the thalmor)

and of course, what does the ldb's insanity look like? no idea. but i can tell you that when people's dementia progress, their personality changes. they can become more irritable, lash out, get violent. now imagine what that's like if you're taking care of the freaking dragonborn instead of someone that's 80+ years old.

not to mention how fucking exhausting caregiving is. i've been only working this job for half a year, part-time and i'm so tired. i also work a little less than 20% of the hours in a week, these people need 24/7 care. the work is insane, and tally is insane for offering to take this on. especially without help.

does taliesin realize how much work it is? would he tap out after a bit? im not sure, but to even offer such a thing in the first place just goes to show how much love he has for the player. and i think that's beautiful

(this was a very long-winded way of saying that taliesin's gesture is genuinely born out of love for the player. i'm also very passionate about the work i do, please feel free to message me if you have any questions about dementia, or just need someone to vent to.)

[k-nayee]

Phantom Code Alien Romulus | ii

wc: 1.3k a/n: Just a heads-up! This mini-series was originally a one-shot but ended up longer than expected. So once I post the final chapter (when Andy chases Navarro and Bjorn after the facehugger incident), that will be the end of the Phantom Code series. Hope you enjoy and thanks for reading!

Traveler M.List

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ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˏ⸉ˋ‿̩͙‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙.·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙　✩　*̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ‿̩̥̩‿̩̩̥͙̽‿̩͙ˊ⸊ˎ

After that night, your parents reluctantly agreed to help Mr. Carradine.

Your mother, with her skills in engineering and maintenance, took it upon herself to make sure he stayed functioning.

She would spend hours reading over schematics; surveying the company's scrap yards, marking down the locations of parts that could be used to keep him working.

Your father also played a part in keeping Andy safe.

He and Mr. Carradine would go out at night, scavenging for the parts your mother had identified, risking everything to ensure that Andy stayed hidden.

It was a dangerous game, but they played it for the sake of family.

You ended up spending a lot of time with the synthetic, learning everything you could from your parents.

They taught you about his systems, his coding—everything they knew—so that you could if they were no longer around.

Soon you became proficient, able to handle most of the routine maintenance on your own.

As for the crush you had on him, it faded as all childhood infatuations do. You grew older, wiser, and understood that Andy was a synthetic being—an android, not a human.

But that didn't erase the fondness you felt for the android. You found yourself flushing at the small, thoughtful gestures he made, even if they were merely a result of his programming.

Life at the moment was getting better...

...until it wasn't.

It was a bitter winter, the cold seeped into every corner of the colony.

Pneumonia claimed your mother and the Carradines; leaving behind you, your father, and the Carradines' daughter—Rain.

As for her, she had become more distant after that, retreating into herself.

The reminders of what she had lost were too much for her to bear, and the bond between your families began to unravel with each passing day.

Your father did his best to fill the void left by your mother's absence, but it was clear that he was struggling. He became a sort of pseudo-guardian to Rain, checking in on her when he could, trying to keep the connection alive.

But Rain wasn't interested in the connection. The only thing that kept her tethered to you at all was Andy.

After your mother's death, you inherited her role of maintaining.

You would visit Rain's home, check up on his functioning and giving her the occasional lesson in how to care for him herself.

These visits were often brief, filled with awkward silences and the ghost of what had once been.

Like now: alone with Andy, muttering to yourself during a tricky repair—a habit gotten from your mother as a way to keep thoughts organized as you tinkered with circuits and lines of code.

"W-why...do you talk...to yourself?" Andy's voice stuttered, catching slightly before he could finish the question.

You blinked in surprise and looked up. He was already staring at you—his eyes, usually still, flickered slightly.

The intensity of his dark gaze seemed to pierce through you, making your heart skip.

"I... uh..." You stammered, feeling heat creep up your neck. "I-I guess it helps me keep track of what I'm doing. Talking out loud, I mean. It's easier for me to...organize my thoughts that...way?"

Your explanation felt clumsy, and you half-expected him to nod and move on, but he didn't. His stare remained unbroken.

"I... see," he said with a noticeable pause between words, voice crackling as if struggling to process each syllable. "C-can you... explain... what you're doing?"

His request caught you off guard, and you weren't quite sure how to respond. It made your stomach flip in an unfamiliar way.

"Um... y-yeah sure," you finally said, offering a small, shy smile as you tried to ignore the way your heart was racing. "Yeah, I think it would help."

So you took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you turned your attention back to the task. You began to explain what you were doing, talking through each step in greater detail than before, as if teaching him as you went along.

It was awkward at first; your words came out stiff. You stumbled over explanations, acutely aware of Andy's gaze on you.

But then, something shifted.

As you got deeper into the explanation, the nervousness faded and was instead replaced by the familiar focus you always felt when working.

The more you talked, the more you lost yourself in the technicalities of the process. And soon enough, you found your rhythm again.

"So that's why we need to adjust this part here," you continued as you worked, "If we don't, it could lead to a power imbalance, which would mess with your central processing unit."

Andy said nothing, simply watching as you spoke. There was no reaction from him, other than an involuntarily twitch of his fingers and the occasional sudden jerk of the head.

Suddenly aware of how much you were talking, embarrassment crept in, he probably didn't understand half of what you were saying.

"I-I'm sorry for rambling! I didn't mean to go on and on like that. I know it's probably boring to hear me—"

"Don't... be," Andy interrupted, his flat and stilted tone cutting through your self-consciousness. "I... like the... sound... of your voice."

The words jolted you.

You knew he meant it innocently—he was an android, after all, and couldn't possibly understand the implications of what he'd just said.

But that didn't stop the shiver of excitement that ran down your spine, the way your heart seemed to flutter in your chest.

"O-Oh," was all you could manage, your face getting hotter by the second.

]You tried to brush off the feeling, to remind yourself that he was just a machine, but it was harder than you expected.

Because, despite everything, Andy was attractive—stunning, even.

The way his dark smooth skin contrasted with the gentle coils of his hair, the way his (kissable) lips parted ever so slightly when he listened—it was impossible to ignore.

Then there were his eyes. Oh, his eyes.

Always seemed to hold more than they should, that he was seeing something in you no one else did. It was enough to make your breath hitch.

To make you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than you'd known.

But what you didn't know was that Andy was learning. Every word you said, every concept you explained, he absorbed it all with the precision of a machine.

He wasn't just listening to the sound of your voice—he was processing everything, storing the knowledge you shared, and soon enough, he understood coding just as well as you did.

Maybe even better.

════════════════*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═════════════════

Your relationship with Rain was...complicated.

It was one of those things that fell into a comfortable middle ground—neither too close nor too distant.

You weren't best friends; not the kind who shared secrets and dreams, who leaned on each other through thick and thin.

But you weren't strangers, either.

It was a kind of relationship that only existed because your parents knew each other, a connection formed out of circumstance rather than choice.

And so, most of your interactions with Rain were brief—exchanging greetings in passing, a nod, a polite smile.

Rain had her own life and friends—Tyler and his sister Kay, Bjorn and his adoptive sister Navarro. They were always together, a tight-knit group that seemed to share everything with each other while you stayed on the outskirts.

You didn't mind; being on the outside let you to observe without getting too involved, and that suited you just fine.

You actually got along with them all—except for Bjorn that is. You never particularly liked him.

He was brash, loud, and often rude with a temper that flared up at the smallest provocation. He seemed to delight in teasing you, making offhand comments that would get under your skin.

To you, Bjorn was an asshole, plain and simple. And you did your best to avoid him whenever possible.

But life has a way of forcing people together, especially in the wake of tragedy.

[the-tzarina-alexandra-paracosm]

Ok I have a small free time window in between exams which can only mean one thing:

MY PERSONAL PARACOSM - MASTERPOST

(An almost complete list of all narrative projects I've ever done in my life + personal commentary as I think back on my own writing. Documenting my personal evolution as a writer. From oldest to newest per each category.)

COMPLETED

NOVELS

Aside from my 3 chapter attempt about a year or two previously, I never wrote a novel until the age of 12 and a half, going on 13. It was one of the biggest milestones I had ever hit, and I wouldn't have gotten the confidence to start if it weren't for my mentor who encouraged me, using The Book Thief (1st the movie and then I read the book too) as a prompt. Alexandra, whatever you do, write, write, write! And so I did.

The Image through the Thick Glass (ITTG) - September 2013 - summer 2014 (aged 12-13)

My very first novel ever. 53k words.

The plot revolves around a certain Kaito Hayashi, whose life is genuinely miserable from start to finish. First he's an orphan, then he's bullied (because he's a weird kid, but also a child savant or something), then he suffers in love as it were, aka feels very rejected, he is in poor health and almost dies of pneumonia at some point (hiking trip gone wrong??). He eventually gets with the woman he loves (whose name is Kata but that's not an actual Japanese name)))))) but she kind of stops loving for some very arbitrary reason again relating to his health (ableism???). At this point they have a young kid so it's very sad too like the kid is like wants to spend time with his dad but his mom is like no, and at the end he dies... but it's not completely tragic I guess because some people do mourn for him namely his son and his brother.

The side characters are interesting too like Kaito's older brother, Chang (again that's not a Japanse name but ok) is very protective of him and generally a likeable character, though a stereotypical aloof type etc. And he even has a "meet an adventurous girl and learn to have fun" arc so he's got that going on for him. Kata has a sister, Miku (you can see my inspiration) who is married to an American guy, who is Christian which is a plot point but also kind of not. Like the Japanse characters are vaguely non-religious. Kata and Miku's grandpa is a recurring character; he lives in the mountains but for his granddaughter's wedding he does come to the city, and quite dramatically while he's at it.

Kata also has a neighbour kid who has a weird relationship with her as in... the kid remembers her fondly but Kata literally treats the kid like some sort of ghost because due to some misunderstanding she thought she had died (instead what happened is she got into a car accident and was hospitalised for a while... poor girl...). This was supposed to show how Kata had a crippling fear of death, which would be why she left her husband when he was at his worst health wise. But that's still very selfish??? But I think the other characters do call her out for it. Anyway she herself was disabled (had a severe accident as a child and her legs never healed the right way and she alternatively uses crutches or a wheelchair) so I don't even get where her attitude was coming from.

Kaito himself was my personal blorbo for my entire preteen section of my life. Although in retrospective he's just... sad. Like literally just miserable all the time except select scenes. In the first draft I remember having written him attempt suicide but my parents were like what! You know nothing about things such as depression and the such. And yeah they were right. So I didn't have him do that anymore. But he was still... depressed? And his only support was the fact that at least his brother cared for him, but even said brother, being a responsible adult TM didn't have much time. And Kaito had a job too I guess. He was supposed to be an architect. And as a hobby he was an artist and was a very creative person in general.

Some things I'm still pleased with to this day: the scene in which his bullies, now adults, randomly meet him again and see him spending time with his son, and they straight up apologise to him. And they even socialise in a friendly way with the kid. They had jobs and stuff etc. I like that it was neither the "bullies remain nasty abusive people forever" trope nor the "bullies are punished by fate by becoming homeless jobless deadbeats etc" trope. They just moved on with their lives, happened to meet the kid they used to bully and apologised. I think I wrote that because especially at that age, being bullied a lot, I secretly desired to have that kind of closure.

Another scene I like to this day is the "vacation" episode in which Kaito's son comes to visit him and they play in the snow and have an overall good time together, bonding time etc, but a shadow of sadness looms over because Kaito thinks to himself that he's getting worse with his health etc, but at least for the moment he is happy etc.

Another scene I find wholesome is Chang's date with Yume (that's the name of his girlfriend). Very nice dynamic between him who is very serious and stoic and her who is, to put it this way, office worker by day, adrenaline junkie by night. Her hobbies are very sporty and she even takes him out for a parachute ride of all things! The other side characters all have good relationships too. Miku and her husband get along great, and have a nice peaceful scene together (he comforts/ encourages her about something?? She is a doctor so it might've been her stressful job?). Only the main couple is kinda toxic. Though back in the day I liked drawing them together a lot.

The relationship between the main couple felt very much like. Him trying his best to win her love and her... straight up not doing the same. Like sure during the hiking trip gone wrong episode, she has one of those "Oh no you're hurt so now I realise I've loved you all along" moment, and there are times when they genuinely get along. And she even apologises to him at some point towards the end of the story (for not having been by side during his hospitalisation and other issues etc). But the lenghts he goes to just to impress her and... not even that... just to make her notice him, are quite staggering.

One very painful such episode is towards the end, when she's distancing from him a lot. She's doing laundry etc and some dress or whatever just flies off the window onto a tree or whatever. And here we have a (contrived) chase scene, in which he is very dramatically running after a flying piece of clothing, tripping (and hurting himself in the process) until he finally retrieves the dress. And she's like smh my head, it's dirty now. And man the book is full of such tear jerking scenes. (Another example is a scene in his childhood when he falls face first into the ground but it's treated realistically and he ends up splitting his lip open... which man why friccin describe how he was bleeding like that dude...) Like see how miserable this dude is? Even when he has what he wants it gets taken away from him, nobody loves him and he's dealing with chronic illness on top of it all!

And genuinely. What, girl... Like I appreciate the fact that it was my first novel, and I'm always glad I wrote it. I'll always cherish it and treasure the memories. But the story is not good, though. Or at least not as whole. The message at least is pretty messed up if you try to extract one. Like what is even the message? Fate is cruel? Life is meaningless? Or idk maybe some people live good lives but there are some particular people that literally nobody will love and that's just the way it is?

Thinking of it in a meta way. I think the message, subconsciously, was the last one. In life there are certain people that people arbitrarily will never love, or even outright hate. And yes this story was heavily influenced by the media I was consuming at the time, namely anime and more specifically very dramatic tear jerking anime like Clannad (after story was my main inspiration I think, especially for the latter scenes in which Kaito spends time with his son, but is also slowly dying etc). But even deeper in my subconscious than just my immediate memory of what I was consuming, there was the desperate cry of unloved unloved unloved. That's plastered all over this story. In September there'll be 10 years since I wrote this. It'll be interesting to see the retrospective. A mentor figure I had at the time told me this story feels like it was written by a very lonely person. At the time I rejected such "criticism". But girl that was NOT criticism. It was the truth. The whole story reads like a cry for help. No wonder my parents didn't want me writing this dude contemplate suicide.

Overall self assessment: nostalgia value because it's my very first long form original work, my first novel, my writing debut as it were. There are individual parts of the story that are really beautiful, but as a whole, it's a hopelessly bleak story without much of a purpose than venting, subtly crying unloved unloved unloved from between the lines.

The 5 Books of the Immortals - June 2015 - February 2016 (aged 14-15)

My second ever novel. 73k words. My beloved!!!! The characters from this work were my absolute blorbos, and sometimes still are. This is genuinely a monumental improvement over the 1st novel.

Debriefing. This is not a fantasy, despite the title. It was meant to be an illusion. Start as a fantasy and slowly fade into the real world as the "game"/ innocence of childhood faded away and was replaced by horror. The concept of course is great, and it still lives rent free in my head. One day, I hope to execute it in a way that does it justice. The fact that I didn't manage this is one of the biggest flaws of the novel ofc. But let me talk about the positive things because I genuinely loved writing this so so so much.

The story starts in a college in what we later learn is late 1930s Britain. The main character, Len (should more accurately be Lev but you get the point) is an extremely ambitious chemistry student, the "wizard" among his peers. Except for the dean's son, Zephyr, who is also a genius, but more serious, a foil to Len's rambunctiousness. They become besties tho, and as you can imagine Len gets his friend into trouble a lot. Zephyr has a tense relationship with his dad, which is explored later. Len also meets a girl, Eyline (supposed to be Eileen but bear with teen me and her name giving habits lmao), with whom he is soon quite smitten, and tries a lot of wacky magic tricks to catch her attention (magic tricks = chemical reactions and stuff. On the hallway????????) She's a med student. This info is a tool that we will use later *winks*. She's quite the introvert and a very serious person but she does like him too and find things in common with him. And they become friends which inevitably means wacky shenanigans, and fall in love over the course of the following college years. The scenes between them are just adorable, like one day they stay up late in the library and she just falls asleep with her head on his shoulder etc.

There is one scene at this point which I would totally change now because it went too far in terms of stakes. Len's hubris gets the better of him and he accidentally sets the friccin lab on fire????????????? And it's a very dramatic scene and apparently his sister (coincidentally his lab mate for said project) died?????? And he survived but... he got away with that like. 1 legally and 2. without crippling trauma?????????????? By all accounts this makes no sense and if I were to write this again I would never. I'm not saying he was not affected at all. He's very distraught and gets his own come-to-Jesus moment but... why have such a situation in the 1st place given the drama that is coming for these characters outside college. Anyway. What I was trying to show is that yeah Len is very wacky silly and fun as this over confident character, but his self confidence can get the worst of him and make him do stupid and dangerous things.

At the end of college he marries his beloved Eyline and they have a nice little 1st year of marriage, which to this day I love that montage I did. And now comes the "fantasy fades away" moment. Not by them falling out of love ofc. The fantasy is actually violently ripped away from them as Eyline sees Len, holding his head in his hands, burdened, looking at a letter. He was drafted!!!!!!!!

Because it was actually 1939 all along. Yeyy? And so he prepares for war but Eyline pulls a Mulan and is like no, I'm going to fight alongside you, I cannot be separated from you etc. And he's like nooooo that's very dangerous etc honey you don't have to do this for my sake but she, the original girlboss, is like no, I'm coming because I want to be by your side. If you're going to die at least we die together (or something along those lines). So they went together. And they meet up with Zephyr too ofc. And then another character is introduced, Glinda, who registered as a volunteer out of personal conviction. Later down the line they meet a teen boy who totally lied about being 18 and now they adopt him. I don't make the rules. Adopt as in the found family sense, you get what I'm saying. They're on the battlefield still.

A lot of battles and stuff go down. There is this recurring character Gus who has a vendetta on them for whatever reason and honestly I would remove this character if I wrote this nowadays. This creep follows them around sometimes. Anyway I guess his whole spiel was to be the type of person that views war as licence to kill but... it doesn't really go that well idk. At some point they meet some girl who used to have a crush on Len and she works in the factory to produce weaponry now (which would be the 1st genuinely historically accurate detail so far lmao). But again why is this girl meddling like. This guy is taken. And also this drama has no place during... a war....

Anyway at some point Len catches a stomach disease and is bedridden for a while, which is very much treated as an almost death. Like he has a sort of going-to-Heaven type dream too. Anyway it is during this time that the others get to meet war veterns from ww1, who just so happen to know Zephyr's dad (also a vet). They get some neat little backstory with this occasion. It is also during this time that they meet the teen boy, named Günther (he is half German; he ran away from home for a yet undisclosed reason).

One interesting episode is when Günther meets a girl his age. But as it turns out, she had been coerced into becoming a spy (for the Germans that is), so this was all a ploy. Except she genuinely likes Günther and is friends with him so now he wants to protect him. But she gets caught by both sides as a spy. Günther is helpless to rescue her and she is killed off screen. Again I would write this differently nowadays. It was meant to be a shocking scene like oh no, this is what happens to a double agent. But poor girl was genuinely a victim of circumstance here. Günther is understandably extremely distraught by this.

One of my favourite episodes: Christmas time is coming, which means the soldiers stop by some village and camp etc. They are intent on celebrating. Zephyr meets his cousin, Miles, and they just so happen to stop by his hometown so they stay at his house. Miles is a skilled piano player. The gang has a bit of a breather moment, they play with snow like little kids and have an overall great time. Then ofc the scene gets dramatic real fast but the way I imagined it was always so cinematic. I even imagined using this scene as the trailer for the movie adaptation!!! Miles is playing a familiar Carol on the piano, the camera as it were zooms in on his hands and its almost silence and then BOOM. They actually get bombed, which is supposed to be this shocking scene but also one that (for the purposes of the trailer) sets the tone. Everybody survived except Miles, because that's the part of the house that collapsed. Ok again I would not kill him off if I wrote this today. After finding shelter from the raid etc the characters basically immediately have to go into battle again. It gets dramatic real fast.

Eyline is seriously injured and remains in the hospital for a long time. Len sulks, extremely worried, for a while, but at some point he gets the opportunity to volunteer to fight I'm Stalingrad.... being an ally and all... but remember he himself was Russian (yeah. See the above comment that he should be named Lev for accuracy). So it gets kinda personal. The chapter in which this happens is named... drumroll... the Land where winter never ends. Sound familiar? I thought so. Anyway my dude fights until a heavy snowstorm overcomes him and he gets lost. He remembers a lot of stuff, in a sort of life flashing before his eyes montage? He remembers a lot about his childhood etc. Anyway he survives this ordeal because his (not elderly enough not to fight) uncle was also there, in time to rescue him.

He spends some more time there. Meets a boy about Günther's age named Ivan, to whom he becomes a bit of a mentor figure. Ivan gets killed before his eyes which again is supposed to be for shock value bit dude this is a bit much. Len eventually returns, and, much to his delight, Eyline is alive and also managed to heal in the meantime.

Günther finds his hometown completely wiped off the face of the earth which is understandably very traumatic for him. He assumes both his parents died and deeply regrets having run away from home. He had run because he failed 10th grade + was expelled?? and was too ashamed to face his parents ever again (and he had been a problem student for a while already). I'm not sure I actually wrote this but in an adjacent comic I hinted that his getting failed was more or less due to his teacher being Antisemitic (in the actual text his mother is hinted to be Jewish. But like living in Britain I guess). But the real twist is that his father had gone away from home the night his son was gone in order to search for him.

Guys this is hands down my favourite arc in this story. Like I really like the wife so loyal she'll join the army arc too ofc. Chefs kiss. But father travelling the war torn country, putting his own life in danger to find his son who he has no evidence is even alive anymore? Crying on main my friends... Anyway his dad is crazy dedicated to his pursuit. One day he searches through a forest and falls into a valley, but a lumberjack living there rescues him in time, and takes care of him until his broken bone (arm??) heals. The lumberjack tells the story of how he isolated himself from society once he discovered his wife just up and married somebody else as soon as he was (falsely) declared dead back in the day. And now he's a miserable old man etc. But he is genuinely inspired by this father searching for his lost son, and examines his cynicism a bit.

Zephyr receives a letter from his dad which explains a lot about his own experience during ww1 and basically serves as an attempt to reconcile with his son. There is a nice moment in which Len and Eyline hide from the elements (it's raining hard etc) and have a moment to reflect on the past few years, how they met, how they ended up both going to war etc. It's maybe cheesy with the line delivery but I love the moment itself. They're just genuinely just grateful for each other. There is an interesting callback to a very early scene. Len is all like yeah falling in love is literally just chemical reactions (at the beginning of the story) and now he's like but staying in love that's a choice right here. And he is just genuinely so grateful that she chose to come with him. And she's just glad to be by his side through thick and thin. Guys I'm telling you, one of the couples of all time.

The war eventually ends. Len and Eyline go back home and have a cozy life for a while. They visit his parents (which again is weird in terms of historical accuracy because it wouldn't be very safe to just go to 1940s ussr but ok...). They make several plans for the future etc. Eyline is pregnant etc. Günther is staying with them and tries to find work etc (just what I was saying about them essentially adopting this kid). And everything is normal until suddenly that minor character Gus from earlier comes back with a vengeance and... out of nowhere, stabs Len when he sees him. Eyline and Günther try their best to get some help in time but Len dies and quite dramatically too. Eyline has to deal with the completely unhelpful doctors, and has to assert herself, because they don't take her seriously at all until they learn she was no ordinary doctor but a war medic veteran too. There's an extremely sad flashback/ dream sequence she gets immediately after dealing with his death, with of course the added stress of being ignored like that by the doctors etc. The following scenes are very sad too but I think I at least managed to show the mundane ways in which the characters deal with Len's absence in a meaningful way. The funeral scene is also very sad and Eyline's speech at the end is quite emotional etc. Zephyr crying over the death of his friend, too. But all is not bleak because it is during this event that Günther finally reunites with his dad, and honestly this scene is probably the most emotional of all.

The other characters move on with their lives step by step. Eyline gives birth to a daughter and raises her alone etc. Günther gets a job and takes care of his father as he ages etc. Glinda I think ends up travelling the world or some such. Zephyr reconciles with his father and continues his studies in order to become a professor. There's this moment of parallels between the old generation and the new one (and its more or less the same structure between Zephyr's friend group during the war and his dad's own friend group during the previous war, including the one of the friends dying tragically etc).

Overall assessment: in retrospective, this story was needlessly dark at times. Why kill off characters so quickly and just for shock value??? If I wrote this today I'd change many things, including never even making Gus a character in the 1st place. If Len has to die, it would be in battle. But I'd tend towards him not dying at all tbh. Because I remember quite clearly my mindset as I was writing this "it's not realistic if nobody dies, or if all main characters live". So I was equating tragedy with realism, as well as basically feeling pressured to write a sad ending to make my story more "meaningful". No man it was meaningful enough with its having a group of friends who genuinely love each other a lot, a main couple who are very loyal to each other and a father relentlessly searching for his lost son.

There is so much love and beauty in this story, and it didn't need to stoop to the common denominator of haha sad ending smart. Come on. The meaning is not in the tragedy, it's in the love. What I appreciate is that this story is by a large order of magnitude better than my first in terms of overall feel and message. The plot is more complex and interesting. It's an extremely dramatic story too. It wouldn't be a story written by me if it weren't. But it doesn't feel meaningless anymore. It still does reflect a very key flaw in my minset though, namely the believing that happy endings are too good to be true and in life you just have to get the rug pulled from under your feet just when you're the happiest. Also that happiness is unrealistic and tragedy is realistic. This is a mindset that I'm still trying to unlearn a lot, and it's obvious through the way I used to write and maybe even through the way I write now that I'm an extremely pessimistic person. But overall, this story was a beautiful one. Obviously it had its flaws. Just now I cringed at the sheer teenage way of wording my stuff. I understand that many parts are written immaturely, but hey I was literally 14-15. I love the characters first and foremost. The ideas for the plot could use some work but it's something to start from, its workable etc. I'm extremely happy I wrote this when I did.

My main inspirations were the sheer volume of war movies watched with dad as a child and teen. So any cliche present in those was here too. Also The Book Thief, my beloved!! I loved that book so so much. Generally I was quite happy at that age and I think that translated clearly into the overall tone of the work, as well as the choice of main character (very extroverted, confident, playful).

The Land of Eternal Winter (draft 1 - December 2019 - July 2020 - aged 18-19)

Anatoliy, a prince, namely the king's middle child, takes revenge for his father's death, but he kills an innocent person. This sends him completely spiraling, and he becomes desperate to fix what he did, and also to receive forgiveness from God and the people he's hurt)

Draft 1 available on deviantart and my sideblog in full (written directly in English). Main inspirations: draft 0 (yes, it's a self fanfiction as it were lmao), Hamlet, Crime and Punishment (but at the time I wrote these I basically only knew the sparknotes ver, not having read the actual books until later 2020). My mental space at that time was one of recovering from my depressive episode and finding hope, happiness, peace again etc. And also not having as many horrific intrusive thoughts and constant guilt. Especially my very recent experience with crippling guilt helped me write a guilt torn and forgiveness starved main character. 100% convinced my psyche always heavily influences my writing a lot. That's OK though. This book is very hopeful actually, not hopeless, and sends a good message. I'm currently working on rewriting this from scratch aka draft 2.

NOVELLAS AND SHORT STORIES

With the caveat that short stories is what I've been writing since the day I learned to write, buy actually even earlier because I think oral tradition counts too. As a small child, most of my storytelling was play-based, of course. In about 2009, aged 8, aka about the 2nd semester of 1st grade, I got my first notebook, on which I wrote my very first original pieces. Most of them are very very short but I want to mention a few that were more significant in my development as a future writer.

Short stories from my very first "writer notebook"

Very whimsy page long tales, usually about the "secret life of animals" (anthropomorphic bears, storks, insects and some are just random and others try to mimic a fable structure - mirroring the texts I was reading at school mostly. Many stories are blatant self inserts- a spy story which is just me and my baby brother, or one called "The Storyteller" which is about dad, which I find sweet (irl dad would always tell me and my baby brother all sorts of wacky insane stories that he just made up on the spot and we remembered them and it was a whole cinematic universe as it were). Many stories are very very very closely inspired by stuff I read or watched, like a longer story (3 pages))))) about mini planets which was a lot like Little Prince. Gradually I started doing actual fanfiction, long before I knew what that was.

Vasile Moldovenescu's life story (around 2012 - aged 11)

This was my second attempt at writing a play. It was a comedy. Basically this dude, who talks very much like a Moldovan stereotype (sorry guys I was 11 don't cancel me, love you). But Vasile, despite being seemingly dumb, is a very lovable character. He randomly runs into a pair of spies, Violeta (Romanian) and John (British), who are searching for Anonymous. Vasile is kind of clingy to them and they're annoyed at first but they let him follow along eventually. They also meet a woman only written as "the blonde" in the character list (she later introduces herself as Miruna, and she is rather stereotypical too, but not so much in the dumb sense as much as very tacky.

Vasile gets approached by his "ex" (woman he used to have a crush on) and she tells him he is literally wanted (in the way a criminal would?) in his home country. Vasile talks at lenght about his personal life, some details being inadvertently relevant, but the others assume he's just speaking nonsense. The man seemingly had a million different jobs in the past (he swears he never caused that inundation oh no! And also he is also doing translations from Chinese).

I'll take this moment to mention that John speaks fluent Romanian, but at some point another character enters the scene, tagged first as "The American", (and he later introduces himself as George; he is a fellow spy and works with John and Violeta) and he speaks in English. I was quite good at English even then lmao. George came to announce that Anonymous escaped and they have to catch him etc, with a sense of urgency.

Vasile annoys them one last time and they want to kick him to the curb, and Violeta, in a grand reveal, yells at him that they were secret agents all along. To which Vasile casually replies, oh I was in the FBI once, I have a timed bomb in my cellar btw.

Suddenly Vasile is reunited with his brother Ștefan, who he intentionally avoided all this time etc, they throw a random party (?) and play pocker etc but the brother leaves again. As if that wasn't enough, Violeta mean spiritedly tells him that if she were him she would just go far away such as Egypt, and he, with his bags already made, promptly does so. Violeta hurries to catch up with her teammates to catch Anonymous etc but suddenly receives a letter.

It is literally a letter of complaint on behalf of literally all citizens of Moldova, saying that, because of her, they lost their president, who was none other than Vasile. Curtain falls. Etc.

It is funny, especially by 11 year old standards lmao. But ofc more than that it's a charming story, because it's obviously written by a child. I had much fun rediscovering this one. I was also surprised by how much comedy I was trying to write as a child and how much I just... stopped. That says a lot about me I think.

Oh and see below for my 1st attempt at a play. Yes I did try to make my classmates act it. It didn't work out.

___

The next big step in my development as a writer was a shared imaginary universe between my boy cousins and I, which we used as a backdrop for our stick fights. So basically a sort of DnD. But the cousins only provided very basic details of the plot and their respective characters, while I actually took it very seriously and started writing actual narratives about it. My cousin called our paracosm The Immortals and he even designed an admittedly sick logo, and I kept that name. I was very into FF at the time so I was daydreaming about creating a never ending RPG game franchise. That is why the following are called just The Immortals + their respective number. Only a few have I actually completed, though I had planned like 20 entries for this franchise. At this point I barely took input from my cousins.

The Immortals 3 (summer 2013 - aged 12)

A story I wrote integrally on a sketchbook. A general, named Marshall, is sent out on some sort of rescue mission for a lost princess, which turns out to have been a scam, which annoys him very much. He is, however, stuck with the random girl he mistook for the princess, and they continue their journey together. She, named Barbara, is very much a sort of manic-pixie-dream-girl, and he very cold etc. Also I think there was quite the age gap between the two which... yeah. The two have a sort of enemies to lovers arc but not enemies, more like annoying strangers to lovers. The core conflict is less between the main couple, as between the two students (subordinates), one of them being his ally, and the other having rebelled against him and become the main villain (who lured his old mentor into a trap in the first place, and now intended to kill him). The last scene is a battle, and the heroes get injured etc but survive. The main character is like very regretful about the whole situation, feeling somewhat responsible. But other than that, he and his love interest basically live happily ever after.

The Immortals 4 (August-September 2013 - aged 12)

A stereotypical vampire story that I had very very much fun writing approximately late August - early September 2013. The story centers around a rebellious vampire prince, Vincent. His grandfather is the king, and he is evil. One day the grandfather captures a human girl, Ivy, and has her do menial tasks I guess. Vincent and Ivy have a bit of an enemies to lovers arc but again not at all enemies, they're actually each other's only allies, but in the sense of she doesn't trust him at first due to prejudice against vampires etc. He did like her from the first meeting and was kinda flirty from the start.

Anyways the two gradually become friends as they interact more. And ofc discover that they are allies against the evil grandpa. There are several "funny scenes" such as one day Ivy practices her combat skills aka shooting an arrow and Vincent volunteers to be a target - with an apple om his head. He was ofc overconfident etc. He promptly gets shot and Ivy nurses him back to health as it were, which is a bonding moment. They fall in love etc. They prepare to fight the evil grandpa but Vincent gets caught up in the sun because they didn't make it to the dark inside soon enough. So he literally burns up (not described in a gore way because I was 12 but yeah he doesn't just turn to dust but literally burn). But he dies in her arms so it's this tragic romance moment. And the sequel hook is that she has to fight the evil grandpa alone.

No I have never read twilight and at that age I think I would've actually been banned from it.

Train of thought (2015 - aged 14)

A short story in comic form, written in full on one of my sketchbooks.

This is a world in which the 4 Temperaments, as well as other categories (Pessimist, Optimist) are personified. There is more than one entity per category, and people are grouped into countries based on their category. The story starts with the Realist cynically observing the Pessimist and the Optimist waiting helplessly on the train tracks (both free, not tied up, also standing etc). The Optimist foolishly convinces himself no train will come, and the Pessimist is convinced they will die anyway so what's the point anyway. They get run over offscreen. The Realist, who is an absolutely emotionless being (he is supposed to represent Reason and is completely removed from and opposed to Emotion), so his reaction to seeing those two killed right before him looks like indifference, although he pities them (though with a bit of an attitude of superiority).

He was called to sort things out between the Temperaments, who have some level of international conflict. Specifically Choleric and Sanguine aren't allied anymore and are in some sort of conflict. Realist sides with Choleric and helps him rationalise the whole situation. Choleric comes to his senses and sorts things out with Sanguine and reconciles with her etc.

The problem is that the seemingly extremely rational Realist has been hearing voices all this time, and they grow louder and louder, and suddenly this world doesn't seem real anymore. The scene shifts immediately. It's a hospital room, and a man with the same physical appearance as Realist is in the hospital bed, looking as if having suffered a grave accident. The voice echoing is now clear: it was his wife calling him by his name, Richard, name that he doesn't recognise because he lost his memory due to his head injury.

Once awoken, he learns several shocking news regarding what had happened. The train he was on got derailed, causing a devastating accident. He is suddenly curious to know the other patients in the hospital (which is full of the injured from said accident). He meets at least 4 people with whom he is able to communicate and learn more about what happened. Those are Cole (the Choleric), Sandy (the Sanguine), Melvin (the Melancholic) and Felicia (the Phlegmatic). All four were businesspeople heading to a meeting in which to discuss the relationship between their respective businesses and negotiate trade etc etc.

Richard talks the most to Cole, with whom he is both annoyed, due to his abrasive attitude, but also gets along with eventually, finding a lot in common. Richard also gets a lot of information about everything, but is unable to actually remember it, which frustrates him. Richard falls asleep/ unconscious again and dreams the continuation of the same dream. The Choleric gets shot by somebody trying to overthrow the current government, but doesn't die. Despite the controversy, he once again allies with Sanguine. The Realist doesn't find his place in this world. Richard wakes up. He doesn't find his place in the real world either, with his not remembering anything, except the facts others tell him, which he has to take at face value.

During the following days he befriends the other patients and learns about their lives too. For example, Cole and Sandy were actually together but had a fight about something. Of course now that it was a life vs death situation, they put aside their differences. Richard himself finally gets his memory back when he remembers his wife, Sophia (who also appeared as a constant background character in the dreams too). She is very happy to have him back as it were, but she leaves eventually, in order to let him rest.

This time Richard cannot dream anymore and instead is plagued by (traumatic) memories. He remembers exactly what happened during the day of the accident. His co-workers (and friends, who in the dream appeared as the Optimist and the Pessimist) had actually died right then and there, in a thoughtless attempt to escape. This memory disturbed him a lot. He also remembered having interacted with all 4 of the survivors (that he had talked with at lenght) while on that train ride, as they were seated very close one to another and they even exchanged some words, enabling him to make a first impression of them (and explaining why he even dreamt about them too - for example in real life Richard directly saw how Cole was injured).

The next day they even watch the news and see that the accident is still being discussed. The others, such as Sandy, have other concerns however, such as Cole being rushed to the emergency room again (I'm not good at medicine and was even more so at 14 but bear with me) because his injury either got infected or there was some internal bleeding etc. Although the scene is kind of dramatic, he survives and makes a recovery.

All of them heal from their wounds over time, and, having become friends during this time of hardship, keep in touch etc. Richard ponders upon his tendency to judge people based on first impressions and stereotypes etc etc. Eventually he too goes home, happy to reunite with his wife.

My main inspirations include Inside out which I just saw recently at that time and was very normal about, thank you very much. I was interested in stuff about personality types and read a lot about it (and did every test out there lmao - yes MBTI too - I always get different stuff between INTJ, ENTJ, INFJ, ENFJ so for me it's not accurate but its fun as a concept). The actual starting point for my writing it was this dark joke I heard at the time: in a tunnel, the Optimist sees the light at the end, the Pessmist sees the dark, the Realist sees the train lights, and the train conductor sees 3 idiots on the train tracks. So yeah hearing that joke + my "psychology phase" at the time made me go into a several day writing binge. Ah those are always fun. I get struck by an idea and come back with a fully formed short story.

(Unnamed) - what I now call draft 0 (may 2019 - aged 18)

The first story I wrote after my hiatus/ writer's block/ mental health break. 14 handwritten A4 pages so I'd say... 5k-7k words?? As an estimate.

A young, Elena, princess falls in love with her servant, Kęstas, who secretly turns out to have been a foreign prince all along. The two run away together from her dictatorial brother, the king Anatoliy. Once in the forest, Elena learns the truth about Kęstas, namely that her brother killed his parents, conquered his country and took him prisoner. The two get married in secret, but they cannot hide forever so they return, backed by the people, who revolt. Elena also frees her older sister, Svetlana, the rightful monarch, and they remove Anatoliy from power, sending him into exile. They reunite years later, Anatoliy now a humbled pig farmer. His older kneels to hug him, showing her forgiveness towards him. He sincerely apologises, saying he had been a madman.

The sole inspiration for this was the Hetalia fanfic A Blend of White and Red by SweetVerses (on ffn) that I read in April or may 2019 and it changed my brain chemistry. I was obsessed especially with the winter vibes and tried my best to emulate that. I rewrote the fic as a royal AU as it were, added some other details until it was my own thing and boom. Narratively satisfying ending too. That was certainly very procrastination fueled + inspiration of the moment. But it had been years since I'd last written a full story, and since I had allowed myself to just write without being perfect, so writing this was the single most liberating writing experience of my entire life.

Available on my sideblog but it's handwriting only so I summarised the complete plot here.

The Keeper of the Underwater Graveyard (2023 - aged almost 22)

My most recent piece of writing + most recent feverish writing binge. 20k words.

Žadgailas, a young merman, is treated as if he is a demigod, ruling over the sea and the dead buried in it, but he begins to doubt this and tries to learn the truth. He is very fascinated by the human world above, which he first ever visits on his 15th birthday, meeting a human girl, Lærke, to whom he swears he will never forget her and even search for her again. The two remain loyal to the other, eventually having to suport the other in finding some horrific truths.

Since this was written directly in English and is very available to read, I won't spoil anything else. The main inspirations are Eglė Queen of Serpents and The Little Mermaid, although I changed quite a lot and idk how much it can even be considered a retelling. But I was in a combination of extreme inspiration and extreme procrastination so I just cranked this in like a week. Oh well it happens to the best of us. I think it's a beautiful story in its own right but I think I'm going to inevitably find it flawed soon but oh well.

FANFICTION

I will first say that I've been writing fanfiction since the very beginning. I'm not sure which was first. I scrapped a lot of stuff I did as a tween, because in my early teens I was embarrassed of it, but now I really regret it. During about 2009-2010 I wrote one of my 1st fanfics, namely a Transformers (the Michael Bay one) rewrite + prequel + sequel. Told oh so so dramatically, but also kinda ironically. And a spin-off. I especially insisted upon the sibling rivalry dynamic between Skits and Mudflap... childhood blorbos lmao. I was also doing a lot of comic format fanfics, namely various scenes with Mario characters. One I loved very much but I can never find again, namely their playing football with FF1 characters. And another I even forgot the plot but at the time I was so so excited with it I could literally recite it to my brother.

The coolest adventure of Mario (2011-2012 ish? - aged 10-11)

My very first attempt at writing a play. Mario characters in a mega crossover with other characters, including Lego Ninjago, Transformers, Sonic etc. Peach and Daisy meet in a high-school setting and become friends. They are the popular girls. Kai (ninjago) gets in a fight with Bowser. Mario meets Kirby etc.

Peach throws a party and the villain characters aren't invited etc. The Paper Mario villains show up, as well as the fanon ones. Shadow Queen kidnaps Peach. Mario and Luigi learn of this and go save them etc.

Now the characters being in a more peace time, they go swimming at a water park. Another time they dress up as mafia guys (that one paper Mario thing etc). They compete in the Olympics etc.

But their fun doesn't last because the villains come for revenge so all the heroes team up, but the villains even brought Megatron??? Rosalina appears to help them out at some point. And they use all skills and tools from before, and all characters show up and contribute etc which I find cool. Setup payoff + that's what crossovers are for. Also Optimus casually destroys Megatron with a bazooka. Mario and Peach kiss , curtain falls etc. + party montage lmao.

I took this so so seriously. I did cast my classmates. Really did want to organise this. Some wanted to participate, others backed down. I casted myself as peach and my crush as Mario. The guy was creeped out at the last scene. A lot of kids already thought I was weird so. But hey at the time I did have the guts to straight up write a fanfic play and force my classmates to act in it lmao.

Unnamed FF13 fanfic (late 2012-early 2013 - aged 11-12)

Various retellings of Final Fantasy plots and characters. First one with White Mage and Black Mage from FF1 (as per that game with a Mario crossover). I shipped them a lot frrrr. My blorbos. Basically fluff + Mario crossover. Also a bunch of random drama.

The FF13 again mostly a retelling, but also mostly ship focused. A lot of Lightning + Hope (yeah bro I get it that it's problematic and nowadays I cringe at myself, but I didn't at the time) especially as per FF13-2 etc, a lot of them involving Lightning dying etc. Very dramatic overall. I scrapped a lot of it like legit ripped the pages, cut them up etc.

In my very dramatic phase, which translates into the type of story I liked to write. See my first original novel.

01&02 (2015 - aged 14)

Vocaloid fanfiction in comic form, all on my sketchbook. 50+ pages of comic pages of my longest running comic ever.

The Vocaloids are sentient robots living alongside humans. Rin remembers how she and Len were made by the same inventor a long time ago, and he gave them hearts, metaphorically speaking, as in made them sentient. This was later applied to all Vocaloids.

Fast forward much time later. They live their lives normally, being mostly preoccupied with their performance arts (singing + acting). Many vocaloid songs are reinterpreted as plays they perform, but some get integrated into the main plot. The robots are regularly maintained by the humans, and got them out of trouble etc. These humans were descendants of the original scientists (several generations down the line).

Rin is a gamer/ streamer and makes several online friends, including getting herself a boyfriend (a human tech nerd). But they eventually break up and it ends up badly down the line. In the meantime, Len has a crush on Miku, but she is seemingly more interested in Kaito etc. They even play in several plays together though (like Servant of Evil etc). At some point Miku is also with the same guy Rin used to be with and again it's not good for her etc. However, over time, Len and Miku get along increasingly better, and collaborate on some song/ ad (SPL) and Miku realises she likes him too etc so they get together too.

At this point the story seems like it's mostly romance drama but suddenly they realise something is wrong. The human guy was never so much interested in actual dating as much as gathering data. Now that he had all his resources, he created a virus that affected the vocaloids quite irreparably. It was quite slow acting, however. The human scientists try to find solutions but they don't really manage, despite their best efforts.

Len, Miku, Rin and the others spend a lot of time together like before, but are now more aware of their mortality as it were. Miku one day starts to feel the actual effects of the virus when her voice cracks and it's this shocking emotional moment etc. Len and Miku get married etc and this again is this emotional scene etc. Miku legit just dies. And soon enough every single one of them is infected with the virus with no hope of a cure and they kind of just die one by one. The humans are helpless to find solutions. And the vocaloids are just devastated at their newfound sense of mortality + loss of their friends.

Len dies too, and this affects Rin a lot. She knows she will die quite soon, too, so she sets out on an existential journey. She finally finds the place where her inventor first made her and Len. She looks through his old papers and computers etc, with no hope of finding a cure. She locates her "father's" grave and contemplates her life, the memories she formed with her friends, the miracle of having had this Heart, as well as appreciating life, as she feels closer and closer to death. She falls off her feet, on the ground, next to the graves, but she is smiling and seemingly shedding a small tear.

My main inspirations were: vocaloid songs: Kokoro + the Disappearance of Hatsune Miku, and also a film I saw as a kid about a robot who got more and more human organs until he became human and died. Permanently changed my brain chemistry etc (I loved that movie despite at the time being terrified of robots). I spent like all summer writing and drawing this fanfic, and had great great fun. Literally unrestrained summer fun.

Frozen Parody (april 2016- aged 15)

Frozen retelling as a modern ice skating competition. Comedy/ satire. Only like 10 comic pages so quite short.

Elsa is a child prodigy in ice skating, earning the title of the Ice Queen. However, she has a strained relationship with her sister Anna because of a childhood accident caused by her negligence. While ice skating, Anna broke her back (?) and remained paralysed from the neck down.

Now as adults, they are more independent etc. Elsa runs away to her castle which is actually a private hotel (??) .

Hans is introduced as a "villain" but only in the sense that he's a direct competitor and maybe overly confident that he will win/ a huge sore loser. His main characteristic is not being in power and manipulating others into thinking he's a nice guy, instead being characterised by over competitiveness. He and Anna are in a relationship, but it's very short lived because Anna herself is quite flighty (immature, indecisive) about relationships in general. She almost immediately gets with Kristoff after breaking up with Hans, which makes the latter very jealous.

Desperate to win the contest (as well as maybe out of petty revenge??) Hans cheats by creating a hidden hole in the ice. During the competition, it is Anna who falls in, Elsa having to jump in the cold water to save her (as Anna absolutely cannot swim etc). The day is thus saved. Hans is disqualified from the competition altogether.

Quick flash forward to the future, Anna and Kristoff are married, Elsa happy for them etc. They live at the Ice Hotel (r) (hotel firm owned by Elsa). I just found the notebook at man it's a bit of a mean satire but one joke that stands out is that the trolls (love experts) are refered to as Kristoff's doctor-therapist-fortuneteller parents. I think that should set the tone for how this story is like.

Yeah I was in my "Frozen is cringe and for kids" phase I guess. Ok though but nowadays I like it unironically. No need to mock it lmao. But I'll say only one thing. I gave Hans a more believable motivation in this spoof fanfic than the actual movie lmao.

Do you know what it feels like? (July 2019 - aged 18)

Hetalia human AU, mostly a LietBel ship fic. 14k words.

Two lonely and miserable people meet and think they can fix each other, which temporarily seems to work but it ultimately leads to a very toxic place. Available on my deviantart, ffn and tumblr, so not giving away more of the plot.

I wrote this right in between writing draft 0 and starting outlining draft 1, which was a nice breather (as well as a nice writing binge - I got this out in the span of about 2-3 weeks). I had just read seemingly all fanfic of this ship on ffn (not a lot of it) and was struck by an Idea so I had to write it down as fast as possible. I was in a good place at the time (was writing this in the week before and the one after I got baptised, and I was finally in the summer vacation after a brutal school year namely 11th grade). I think that this reflects in the fact of my writing a story with an optimistic ending, and, while very dramatic because it wouldn't be written by me if it weren't, still full of wholesome moments etc.

UNFINISHED/ ONGOING/ PARTIAL/ ABANDONED

NOVELS

Love is a Choice (summer/autumn 2017- abandoned sometime during mid/late 2018?? - aged 16-17)

My 3rd novel, but it never saw the light of day. It was supposed to be a Christian Victorian romance novel. I only wrote the first 2-3 chapters + a lot of disconnected scenes, outlines (redoing those outlines many times), research sheets etc, concept art etc.

The plot takes place in 1845, in a unnamed town in southern England, not very far from London. The main character is one Ernest, a 30 year old bachelor, the youngest son of a family from the lower nobility/ gentry (so upper middle class to upper class). He is made to marry a certain Jeannine, who comes from a seemingly poorer family but otherwise of significant aristocratic origin (her grandfather was a French marquis but fled France in 1793 due to very obvious reasons). Jeannine was 25 I think and her family was rushing her to get married too etc. Anyway they end up married despite being strangers etc. Ernest is a very neurotic individual, with a clear perfectionistic tendency and general "weird" aura about him. Jeannine is herself very shy and introverted (especially in comparison to her twin sister Georgette), but otherwise a much more relaxed person in comparison to Ernest. He is nerdy and he likes building mechanical stuff like cuckoo clocks etc and Jeannine has more artistic leanings.

Now the main plot was supposed to be their falling in love etc but try as I might I literally couldn't... write anything in the middle, at least not the main plot. There was zero actual chemistry between the two aside from my drawing cute art of them. But I wrote very extensively about the side characters which there were many of. Ernest had several servants, all of which had their own backstory, personality etc, and all of them got along with him very nicely. The main housekeeper/ admin was his old nanny, who just so happened to also be a French immigrant with a sad backstory like Jeannine's grandpa etc. She never had children of her own, but basically adopted Ernest. (The idea here is that Ernest's family was quite bad actually. The mom and dad hated each other. Ernest was never loved by his mother, despite that not being the case with his older siblings, and their father was very absent etc). The cook was married to the gardner, and there was also another couple among them (one of the maids and the stable keeper I think??). The cook's apprentice is an orphan teen that got taken under their wing (Ernest is a teacher figure to her, but he didn't adopt her etc). Generally the household is kind of a found family which is very wholesome. This is meant to contrast the tense situation of Ernest's biological family.

He also has a close friend, Jasper, who is a small business owner (he has an antique shop and I think that's actually how the two met because Ernest was trying to recondition an old clock and looking for parts). He has a wife Gabrielle (you guessed it - also French - I genuinely spent a lot of time researching every detail and yes apparently in the 1st half of the 19th century, it was not uncommon for there to be French immigrants in England, with the French Rebolution + subsequent revolutions + religious persection of the Huguenots) who is a seamstress. (OK now that I mentioned my very specific real world details that I included because I did some research: I imagined Gabrielle was raised Catholic and her parents gave her quite a hard time for having married a Protestant and herself having converted etc. Jeannine and her family I imagined to have been Huguenots - which are basically just Calvinists. Ernest I imagined to be a member of a Reformed Baptist church (at the time it was called Particular Baptist), despite not having been raised that way and ofc, that's just one more thing that his parents would give him trouble for. Given the time + location + already mentioned details, you can safely 100% imagine Ernest would attend Spurgeon's sermons in person).

Ernest had 3 older siblings, two brothers and a sister. The oldest, William, was 40 years old, had a wife Sophia and 5 kids. He was the owner of a factory and very financially successful, but, not unlike his father, was much more caught up in work rather than family etc. He also hung out the wrong kinds of company (doing gambling I think??) and was very much a smoking addict. At some point in the story his health takes a turn for the worse (he faints at some point and he fears that he is developing a heart problem, which scares him back to his senses as it were. He has his come-to-Jesus moment, and then tries to reconcile with his wife and children etc. There's even a montage in which he tries to become healthier so he runs around to lose weight or whatever). The other brother, Frederick, is 38 and is also married, to one Olivia, with whom he has 2 or 3 children I don't remember. He is a believer but his wife is not and that's the beginning of their conflict, but at some point she actually just... cheats on him with some dude. Undergoes a full on Hosea + Gomer arc (and quite explicitly based on that mind you). She realises that the lover she ran away with actually wants to harm her etc so she runs home to her husband, literally in rags etc. And of course he forgives her etc. The sister, Amelia, is 36 and she actually lives far away from the other siblings because she married a northerner. They also have several kids etc, and among all of the siblings, Amelia has the happiest marriage. She was meant to be the good example to the others as it were. During childhood, she was the closest to Ernest, the brothers being rather bullies to him (during adulthood their relationship improved however). The mother was very miserable and bitter despite living a life of comfort and luxury. The father was suffering from some sort of terminal disease (I imagined something like stomach cancer and yes I did google whether they knew cancer was a thing back then - turns out they did but ofc the only solution was to physically remove the tumour by surgery and hope they got it all out basically). The father had also been a very bad parent but now that he was closer to death he was reflecting on his life and feeling regretful etc.

Jeannine's family was much more normal. She had a twin sister, Georgette, who was also unmarried etc (but for some reason nobody rushed to find her a high-class match???) but at some point she falls in love with a gardner/ farmer guy and marries him. The parents were in a good relationship, and were reasonable in the way they raised their daughters. They had no other children aside from them (due to how complicated it was to give birth to twins??). I was undecided in my outlines whether to write the grandpa as still alive or not. Either way he would've been quite elderly at this point. His name was Yves and he ran away because of the Revolution, only fleeing once the king had died (he was very loyal etc). Jeannine's dad was his youngest child (or second to youngest - he had a large family) and he was raised in England his whole life.

Anyway, eventually Ernest and Jeannine fall in love and are finally more of a real couple etc. Part of what drew her to him was the closeness with his servants, and how by being Mistress of the household, she got to be part of this large family too. Most of Ernest's internal conflict was like "this woman I was forced to marry is objectively a good person in every single way but I still can't force myself to fall in love - am I in the wrong here and am I a terrible person for this etc? And he was generally very very very overthinking. Very perfectionistic. Also spending a lot of time feeling guilty over stuff and yeah. More on that later.

The big twist at the end, when Ernest's dad dies (and has a deathbed conversion), is that the reason Ernest was so marginalised as a child is because he was actually his mother's illegitimate son. His "dad" was resentful towards him because his wife cheated on him etc, and his mom hated him because he was a living reminder of her "helpless condition" (cannot just run away with her lover but has to raise child while still living with the husband she despises). However, re: deathbed conversion, Ernest's dad apologises to him and reconciles with him. Some time after the death, Ernest finds that he actually not only is part of the inheritance, but got an equal part to his siblings.

That's where the story ended, and the sequel hook was Ernest finding his biological father etc. On my sketchbooks I drew many scenes etc. But many were of the next generation as it were. The adventures of Ernest and Jeannine's children (4 of them: Alexander, the responsible eldest son, Ada, the rebellious daughter, Justin, also a kind of rebellious son, and Irene, the very sweet daughter. Alexander ended up getting married to Edith, one of Jasper's daughters. She had a crush on him since childhood etc. Irene, maybe by virtue of being the youngest, was closest to her parents. Justin, after finally becoming a responsible adult, got into Law school. Ada, after sorting out her vicious sibling rivalry with Alex, as well as becoming a responsible adult etc, got into journalism. She married a young widower and single father Frank, who ran an independent newspaper. Everybody kind of gets paired off together in some way. Justin is revealed to be the grandfather of Zephyr, from my 2nd novel. Talk about literary universe. Ernest builds a school whose principal he becomes etc. He teaches maths and physics, Jeannine teaches French and History (and over time they get more teachers to hire).

Aside from the unending family trees, the sequel gets very depressing very fast, as all beloved characters just die off one by one. William dies of a heart attack when he is in his mid 50s (despite all the changes he made to better his health??!!!), with a very emotional and gut wrenching scene in which his wife laments how others only find it tragic when a recently married wife gets widowed, but one that was married for 30 years, not so much, despite hurting her much more to know she lost the one she spent 3 decades with. Frederick dies in an accident (gets thrown by his horse). Ernest, now himself middle-aged, with his children grown up (some of them as I said rebellious in their youths, which makes him feel like a bad parent), and both his brothers dead etc, falls into a very deep depression out of which nobody can take him out, not even his beloved wife etc. There is this very dark scene in which he faints due to burnout from how much he had been over working himself, and Jeannine finds him unconscious on the floor etc. But due to how absolutely hopeless and miserable he had acted lately, Jeannine just immediately jumps to the conclusion that he committed suicide, which everybody else believes until Ernest himself wakes up to explain was not the case as he only just fainted after having been awake for several days in a row. He eventually heals after spending some time by the sea and relaxing from his work etc. But I never found a satisfying ending to the sequel. Is that all? Everybody is dead and Ernest doesn't get along with his family anymore? He only barely gets over his depression by hanging out by the sea for a bit?

And this is the moment where I analyse this from a meta perspective. It's almost embarrassing to what degree Ernest's development over the year that I wrote this mirrored my own mental state. At first, I focused on his attention to moral integrity - good! I too was trying to be good. Then I focused on his perfectionism, and guilt. He was feeling guilty for not being able to force himself to fall in love. He was very strict with every detail of his life - in one scene he rearranges his entire library because a book is out of order. Even though he literally commits absolutely no sin whatsoever during the entire narrative, he still acts so guilty like WHYYYY. Why make a character who is morally impeccable but still has the behaviour of one guilty for existing. Oh well he did have a bit of that illegitimate child complex but he didn't even know he was illegitimate until the end so like??? But now in retrospective I'm like oh. Oh. I was very well behaved, unnaturally well behaved for a 17 year old, and still felt the weight of the world with how guilty I felt all the time. I was dealing with horrific intrusive thoughts on the daily, on the hourly basically. I suppose I was aware even then that my Protagonist was basically me in many ways. But I never even allowed him bad thoughts!!! Not even a tiny little "but what if I just stabbed somebody" and have him react in horror or whatever. Which would've explained his guilty attitude etc. But no that's not clean enough for a Christian romance. Yes in hindsight I censored myself a lot in order to fit into that label. Very squeaky clean. No real conflict aside from the side characters who were interesting because they were allowed to have flaws and an actual character arc. But then I started getting art block. Writer's block. My head was literally empty. Except it was very full of all sorts of bad thoughts. But it was empty of my usual ideas etc. I began finding no purpose much less pleasure in my otherwise extremely treasured hobbies. When I did "get inspiration", it was to ruin my main character's happy ever after, make his siblings die tragically, his family life become dramatic and divided, and him be miserable, depressed, overworked and with a middle age crisis, and contemplating suicide. Although he didn't even do that. It would be too inappropriate. So he just fainted from exhaustion I guess. I wrote that scene in December 2017. And then in 2018 didn't manage to come up with much new. I stagnated completely, and almost completely stopped writing and drawing altogether. As you might already know 2018 was the worst year of my life. So it's no wonder I was literally unable to create anything. Sometimes I get sad when I look at my folders and see stuff like 2016 (70 items) 2017 (60 items) 2018 (30 items) 2019 (50 items) etc. Like the decline is so obvious and I know why. But at least, as that "if you have art block that's your brain trying to tell you to do studies", while my original stuff was plummeting, I have some genuine bangers in terms of studies from the summer of 2018.

Overall, the story was supposed to be heartwarming but ended up depressing. It does have all the blueprints to be a beautiful and uplifting one though! The love between characters is still palpable. It only needed to be more real ie not so censored that the main character literally has no flaws, and more of a conflict. Also the sequel was just literally me ruining the source material so I would completely scrap that or at least change it a lot. I'm sometimes very emotional about this unfinished novel. Oh, it was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Its development mirrors my mental state at the time quite accurately. One day I wish to rewrite this. Maybe when I get all my existential questions sorted out, and being more mature I am able to look back at all of this and make sense of it. But I would make it a less squeaky clean story too. I would make Ernest have serious questions about his faith, not this lowkey legalistic lifestyle being treated as "just being a good Christian, let's not ask many questions etc".

The main inspirations were all those period drama films where the woman is married to a husband she isn't in love with so she cheats on him with somebody she is in love with. Trying my absolute best to go the opposite direction of that. Had been reading the Rose of Versailles manga at the time + watching a lot of period dramas. Inspirations from the history I read etc.

NOVELLAS/ SHORT STORIES

The Hacker (October 2013 - with the last additions during spring 2016 - aged 12-15)

A movie script idea I had been writing on and off.

The main premise is a hacker (for whatever reason) trying to create a virus that infects the whole Internet, but one day he passes out in exhaustion in front of his computer and suddenly finds himself in the virtual world. Every app has a human form etc.

The main character, villain-protagonist is a guy named Hans, and the antagonist, arguably a more moral individual, is the mysterious Mr. G. The latter is supposed to be a representation of the entire Internet but a later reveal is that everybody in that virtual world is an isekai'd actual human. And the elusive Mr. G? Is Hans's programmer neighbour, Gerhard. (At first I chose Hans' name arbitrary but then I decided this is actually taking place in Germany because one of the songs I was listening to a lot for inspiration was Berlin by the Piano Guys).

In the virtual world, the virus created by Hans took actual form (it was a black goo/ wave that engulfed everything it touched, destroying it. Whatever it touched, started glitching green then black 0s and 1s, making the characters turn to dust not unlike in infinity war + endgame). The problem was that Mr. G and the others were basically convinced that if they got infected by the virus they would get killed irl too. Said Mr G had two children (teens - the girl representing social media and the boy representing video platforms). Over the course of the story, they both get engulfed by the virus, basically dying. The boy, right before his father's eyes, and the girl, right before Hans' eyes, and he is helpless to stop it, although he had made the virus in the first place. The scene of confrontation between Mr. G and Hans (which I wrote in 2016) hits extremely hard. The rage I drew on his face, as well as the sorrow like man... and if you think about it yeah, this dude really killed Mr. G's children...

At any rate both remember their lives back in the real world (in an early version there was a memory room which showed their flashbacks in video format). Gerhard was a single dad, his wife having left him for whatever reason (mostly to do with his workaholic tendencies). Hans had a girlfriend too and she does make an appearance in the virtual world too, as a sort of mercenary figure (she kind of opposes Hans but not really. She tries to help Mr. G's daughter too but with no success). At the very end, the virus spreads so far that almost everything is destroyed. Mr. G is dying (literally fading away) and shares some last words with Hans. He dies immediately afterwards too.

The two wake up back in the real world, their respective computers not only completely ruined, but literally on fire too. Thankfully, their death in the virtual world doesn't translate into their death irl. But the two still are in danger because the apartments caught fire and they have to escape etc. They make it out alive and mostly uninjured. Gerhard reunites with his children (and his ex is there too, to tell him he cannot look after the kids etc but that gets solved too). Hans goes to prison etc. However, fortunately, it is clear to him that Gerhard finally forgave him. It is implied Hans will get out eventually and resume his life etc, and they'll be friends etc.

The main inspirations were (movies that I had watched for the 1st time in my life at the age of 12 and literally had my mind blown) the Matrix + Inception. I already mentioned the song Berlin by the Piano Guys being used as inspiration etc. And most importantly, because I wouldn't have started writing it if it weren't for reading those, two short stories I read in a Romanian Christian magazine for college students from the early 2000s. One of them was about hacking and the other was about a college student metaphorically rotting away in his dorm room for decades, which to me seemed both horrifying but also a great source of inspiration for the "darker tone" I was going for with my story.

It is unfinished in the sense that I never actually sat down and wrote the script itself. But I finalised the outline back in 2016 so...

Fairy worldbuilding project (starting 2017 ish - aged 16)

Not much of a story but I loved doing worldbuilding. There are fairies who are based on several insects, and each species has a country, its Queen etc. Butterflies are considered frivolous etc but they carry the textile industry. Bees are the hardworking ones etc - food industry. Flies, Moths and Fireflies are nocturnal so they hold meetings at odd hours in order to adjust to the timezone of the others. Ie international meeting between Butterflies and Moths: 10 am but its very early for the Butterfly and very late for the Moth etc. Ladybugs!!! Just all bugs basically fall here. Including scarabs which are like super buff. Actual bugs are stereotyped as dirty etc. Flies are kinda tricksters etc. They get along ish but not really.

The plot if it had one would be internal political conflict in the Butterfly Kingdom. The Queen refuses to step down and let her niece rule. Matriarchal society etc. The Butterfly Queen rules over the others Kingdoms as well etc so it's kind of an Empire. But Ants for example, being mostly terrestrial and wingless, are separate.

This mostly makes sense by looking at the actual artwork. Not much else here. Ongoing forever maybe, it's just for fun. My baby cousins loved watching me draw these.

VAGUE IDEAS

NOVELS

Yet unnamed (January 2023 - aged almost 22)

I wish to rewrite that fanfiction Do you know what it feels like? as an original piece.

NOVELLAS/ SHORT STORIES

Many ideas throughout 2016-2019 but ofc not only.

Untitled medieval story (summer 2019 - aged 18)

Arranged marriage between a prince and a princess. They don't get along at first but eventually fall in love. He was a bit arrogant at first but got better. He had some scars from smallpox as a child etc which is how she gets him to talk about his backstory. He even gets wounded in battle at some point, and by that point she already cared about him etc etc.

In Memoriam (2020/2021 ish - aged 19-20)

A story from the perspective of an old woman seeing her whole life before her eyes. She faints/ almost dies of a heart attack when she looks at the 21 December 1989 memorial, and has a lot of flashbacks in chronological order or not. We learn that she was fervently loyal to the communist party and there seems to be feeling subconsciously guilty over something. The rest would be a spoiler - I genuinely want to write this one day.

I want this to be part of a volume for other short stories, Red Shadows, all in some way related to Romanian communist or post-communist history, all of the characters being at least tangentially connected in some way, thereby unifying the narratives within the volume.

FANFICTION

Untitled (2016/2017 ish - aged 15-16)

A Derpy and Dr. Whooves ship fanfic. Basically combining a human AU with the Pony world. The two meet irl, him being a time traveller, fall in love etc, start a family, but the interdimensional police eventually come after him and catch him, forcibly separating the two. She ends up in the pony world and spends many years there, raising Dinky etc. But one day she manages to reach an interdimensional warp zone and find her long lost husband etc but the police kill him. Thankfully by now she already knew to operate time travel tech so she rewinds time etc before he gets shot and by a combo of time stops, also redirects the bullets etc. They manage to escape from them forever, and live happily etc.

I wish I had written this when I first thought of it, but I basically just daydreamt it and left it.

Betrayed (2018 ish - aged 17)

A Hans fanfic (Frozen) which recontectualises his villain turn not as a random thing neither as a planned thing, but as him going insane from so much betrayal during his lifetime. He tells Anna if only there were somebody to love you not to be cruel, but to make a bitter jab at the fact that he believes her to be cheating on him with Kristoff. Basically Anna's engagement song is taken seriously and not as a joke and Hans is like how can you abandon me so fast etc. He does succumb to madness as it were etc and the events go down and he gets imprisoned etc see the Frozen fever short. So the story would end tragically with him catching some sort of disease, a literal deadly fever, and some nurse being the last person he sees. For a brief moment he remembers the good times with Anna and as he lay dying he calls her name. The nurse, for the sake of comforting a dying man, pretends to recognise him etc and tells him some encouraging words etc. He dies but kind of imagining a more happy version of events in which he just happened to fall sick but at least he saw his fiancee during his last moments.

I did make myself cry with this concept lmao but I never sat down to write it.

The Red Plague (2019 - aged 18)

Hetalia historical fanfic. There is a mysterious lab disease called the red plague. Russia is the first to get sick etc. The plague is supposed to mirror the spread of communism etc and the symptoms are supposed to be both physical but especially psychological, the other characters being horrified at how much their friends chanted for the worse etc.

Yet untitled (january 2023 - aged almost 22)

Maybe I will try that Hamlet with a happy ending lmao why not. I should at least try

____

Of course, there are so so many more stories I have not included, especially the older ones. I will update this every now and again. I hope you enjoy this. I will post pictures too. This masterpost is merely an introduction.

[sushiwife]

***Warning: talk and description of death***

At 10:25 pm on October 31, my dad began showing signs of a stroke. He'd had a few over the years, so my mom was atleast able to figure out that he was having difficulties.

I had stepped out temporarely to assist someone at my job, and was back only minutes later. As I walked up to the door, I noticed that the t.v. was off and mom was sitting in front of dad. After spending the majority of my life helping my mom take care of my dad, I immediately knew something was wrong.

The very first thing I noticed getting into the house is that my dad looked like he had melted into his chair. That the best way to describe it. Poor posture, glassy eyes, slow to respond, drool coming out of the right side of his mouth. There was blood too. I started to assess him, asking him who, what, where, and when. He answers all of those correctly. We take his blood pressure, it's normal for him, a little on the high side. He complains that he can't move his right leg. Mom points out he can't move his right arm either. We spend just a couple minutes trying to figure out what was going on and we determine that he is absolutely have a neurological episode of some sort. To what degree, we weren't sure.

The funny thing is, if you have had any sort of neurological problem, sometimes having an infection or even pneumonia starts off looking like a neuro episode. It makes you feel real stupid when you call 911 and it turns out he just has a bad UTI.

Either way, there was a problem and we couldn't get him to the car with the way he was. I call 911, and dispatch guides me through another assessment. She tells me that an ambulance is on their way. What clued me in that this was different than any other time, is that she tells me to stay on the phone. Usually they ask if it's okay to end the call as someone was on their way. She asks me more questions.

My husband has come upstairs at this point. I told him I was on the phone with 911 and he immediately begins to help me clear the living room so that the EMTs can assist my dad with less difficulty. He tosses the cat in the bathroom. Mom starts to grab her things, phone, tablet, charge cords, it's gonna be a long night.

EMTs arrive quickly. They begin to do their own assessment, asking us questions, asking dad questions, taking his blood pressure, checking his glucose ( he's not diabetic). The get what I call 'The Chair'. It looks as the name suggests, but it also has straps, handles, and wheels. They get dad situated.

One EMT has sleeve tattos. I hear my dad say "Nice tats." It's slurred at this point. My bloods begins to run ice cold.

The get my dad loaded up, I help mom pack her to go bag. Once they begin to roll away, I notice that they left their medic bag. I hear that it's bad if they do that, and I get it, with all the stuff in there, however I don't feel it to be unprofessional. I feel like it shows how focused they were on my dad and making sure that he was tended to in a timely manner. I tell mom to let one of the nurses know that the EMTs left the bag. They will know how to get a hold of them.

Mom heads to the hospital. I don't go because of COVID. The whole ordeal takes place in about 20 minutes.

Mom calls me a very short time later. They hadn't put him into a ER room yet, he went straight to CT. Mom tells me it's not looking good.

The EMT comes by to grab his bag.

Mom calls again, dad is being transfered to the nearest Trauma 1 center, an hour and a half away by car. He is being airlifted. She says once he gets loaded onto the helicopter, she'll head home to get clothes and other toiletries. She's called my brother, he's coming to drive her. She says it's really bad, but he's still awake and talking. I start gathering her things, then my things. I tell my husband to get his things.

Mom gets back from the hospital, they had to sedate, then intubate him because he started retching. She tells me to wait to drive. Come after you've gotten rest, she tells me. There's no point in both of us being exhausted. My brother shows up and they leave.

I switch between packing and panicing. I barely get three hours of sleep.

I fucking book it to the hospital. Exhausted, worried, I didn't know what to think. When I get there my mom gives me a hug. She asks me if I want to go see dad. I say yes. She walks me to where the unit is. We have to be buzzed in. She shows me the way to his room. I walk around the corner and into the room I go. And my heart just breaks.

There is my dad. Laying there, tube down his throat, leaning to the one side, not awake. I break down.

Mom tells me that we are now waiting for my sister to get here so we can have a meeting with the doctors. My heart sank.

It was a short while later that my sister arrives. Mom alerts the doctor and we all go into a little conference room. He's had a massive stroke. There is significant damage, substantial bleeding. If he makes it, he will never walk, never talk, need 24/7 care. He would have to be place into a long term care facility. That was if he made it. The first order of business, they have determined that the bleeding had stopped, but the blood might still be spreading. If the blood reaches to certain parts of the brain, it is 95% fatal. There is a surgery they can perform to alieviate the blood and pressure (because there was a little bit of swelling in the brain), but it would not have any affect on his quailty of life. If we wanted them to, they would perform the surgery, and it could possibly extend his life, but to an unknown degree. They weren't sure if he would survive the surgery. The other options we were given were wait and see if he recovers any functionality or we discuss removing the tube. We opt to wait and see for a day or two, and then discuss our options from there.

Thus begins the worst and most devastating week of my life. We immediately opt out of the surgery, because we felt it would do no good. There is no recovery. We've all come to the same conclusion. Dad was not coming home with us. We decide to remove the tube, but we are able to wait a few days so people can say their goodbyes.

Sunday comes and they remove the tube. He continues breathing on his own. We go in to see him several times. I get an opportunity to talk to him alone, tell him I love him. Talked about everything that had happened and that our options weren't good, that he wouldn't want us to let him live like that. I told him that I wished there was another way, another option, a miracle, because I wasn't ready to let him go, but I knew that we needed to.

They moved him to palliative care, we wait while they get him settled and helped Mom get situated. My husband and I stay at a nearby hotel as we planned to visit the next morning. I am absolutely miserable. We get food and I barely eat a third of it. This whole time, I had been messaging with various people in our lives, letting them know what was happening. There was one I had forgotten, a friend from high school that got on really well with my dad. I told her what had happened, what was going to happen. I told her I didn't want her randomly find out down the road.

Eventually I ready for bed, making sure I was wearing clothes that I could roll out of bed and leave in. We sleep, but only for a few hours as my mom calls me just before 3:30 am. It's time, but she's not even sure that I will make it before he passes. I jump out of bed, glasses, shoes, jacket on before the minute was up. Husband yanked on pants, shoes, and jacket and then we are off. I speed to the hospital, no one on the streets. We get to the hospital and through the checkpoint faster than I thought possible. Keep in mind, this hospital is massive, practically a city all on it's own. We find the right elevator, get up to the floor and to his quickly.

I walk into his room, prior to this, I didn't think he could look any worse. But he did. He wasn't breathing, mouth still open, pallor had turn yellow. His hands were still curled and stiff, but even puffier than before. While no one would confirm this, I'm sure he was already dead. Mom just sat there, just as shell-shocked as I was, wondering if this was really happening. After several minutes, two nurses came in with a heart monitor. This was palliative care, so rushing wasn't going to be a thing. They hooked him up and after a few more minutes they inform us that they no longer detect a heart beat. That he had passed.

They give their gentle condolences, tell us that a doctor will be in shortly to pronounce the time of death. They tell us that there is no rush, that we may spend whatever time we need with him. They leave and then the doctor arrives shortly after. He introduces himself and that he was going to exam my dad. He does so and officially announces that he has passed. The Dr gives condolences and an apology, but he has questions he needs to ask us. Would we like an autopsy (he didn't recommend as we knew the causes), informs us that the donor network would be calling us within two hours to ask questions, and a few others that I don't remember. He then excuses himself, repeats what the nurse had told us. We all just sit there. We quietly talk, mostly about nothing. My mom asks me to call the funeral home we had planned to use, and request the pick up.

After a little back and forth, mom and I confirming with one another that we are indeed ready to leave. As ready as we would ever be. Afterwards was blur, going back to the hotel, getting breakfast, the donor network called and asked invasive yet necessary questions for an hour an a half. My brother and sister in law show up, eventually we decide it's time to go home and face the music.

[whumpitywhumpwhump]

👀 favourite whump scene from a movie/tv show/book/etc :)

Ok so this is so clearly etched into my mind--in the second book in Alexandra Bracken's Darkest Minds trilogy, Never Fade, one of the main characters, Liam, has like, induced memory loss, and spends like half the book nearly dying of pneumonia and being confused and angsty and so deeply unwell--it's incredibly whumpy and I used to reread scenes from it constantly.

There's also a scene that I only half remember but I know I loved, from the Ranger's Apprentice series, where the main characters got forcefully addicted to a drug and then when he got rescued the other main character was alone with him in the middle of nowhere trying to get him through the horrible withdrawals and it was sooooo good and honestly the more I think about it, the more I should go back and read that series again

And lastly (sorry I have a bunch), in VE Schwab's Darker Shade of Magic series, there's a part where Kell is in handcuffs that are completely suppressing his powers, and he literally wrenches at them so hard he smashes the bones in his hands/wrists to escape and he's just terrified and hurting (and he can feel his brother dying because they have a magical life force connection so there's extra emotional damage because if his powers stay suppressed his brother will literally die) and it's just *chef's kiss*

Also all VE Schwab books have so much whump tbh

Anyway can you tell books are my favorite medium for whump??

[travelingturtles]

And remember dear ones, if you’re reading this, the adventure begins at the bottom and you have to work your way up. Unless, someone knows how to turn it all around, then do let me know.

I’m sitting in my dear old friend’s sun room in Clinton, Connecticut. Could it be that I sat here almost seven months ago trying to decide whether or not to continue our journey home with Clifford? Time, as we all know, is so incredibly illusive. Time, when epic life changing events are staring you in the face, is bewildering. Last Oct, Sue dug a quarter out of jar and asked me to choose heads or tails. She said, “Heads you leave Clifford (our big red van) here and fly home, tails, you continue your journey.” When she flipped the coin, she didn’t show it to me but asked, “What do you hope it shows?” That was the moment I knew for certain and quickly made arrangements to park Clifford and fly home. Another dear friend graciously offered a spot on her property to park our van and gave Eddie and me a ride to the airport. The blessings of friends does not go unnoticed.

Flash back to early October: Eddie and I drive to Bennington College, my mother’s alma mater, and my sister calls to say that Mum’s in the hospital and they are recommending hospice. I call my mum and let her know where I am, that we are wandering around the campus, her campus, and trying to decipher where she may have parked her beat up old jalopy that she sold for a dollar to her brother, Alan, where she may have stolen away to make out with her old boyfriend, Gus, where her life as an adult began. Talking to her in that moment, I thought, she is the ever-ready-battery, she weebles and wobbles but will never fall down, she has come back from pneumonia and cat scratch fever and falls off of mopeds in Greece and too many trips to the emergency room than any of us can count. I also had a moment with her before we left on our journey where she said how much she loved me, that she may not make it until we return. I thought we had had “completion” and that would do. Thank goodness for quarters and perfect friends guiding you home.

I’ll leave the story of the five and a half precious weeks that I spent with Mum before she passed for a different time. This is after all “The Adventures of Clifford, the Big Red Van” and as much as Mum would have loved to have joined us on every one of the adventures we’ve taken, she’ll have to enjoy her journey through the DNA that I carry of her.

After reuniting with Clifford at Nancy’s house we found no rust, no rats, no mice or mold and one turn of the key and he started right up. Good Boy!

There’s nothing like being with an old friend of 49 years. Laughing and crying in equal measure, reminiscing and discussing and discovering new aspects of each other, opening up from where we left off and delighting in knowing that our friendship is still golden. And to have this occur with both Nancy and Sue is a gift beyond measure. Suffice to say that Eddie had to contend with lots and lots of gabbing.

After spending a few days walking on the beach at Sue’s, sharing time and stories and sea glass, Sue got many of our Byfield Bunch (Byfield Lane was where my family lived for 5 years) together for a reunion. We literally took a walk down memory lane, knocking on the doors of our old houses and introducing ourselves, a group of 7 sixty something year olds, to the inhabitants of our old digs. We learned that my old house was still occupied by the woman who purchased it 44 years ago and looked as old and in a state of disrepair as she did. She reminded me of the old lady in Princess Bride that lives in the tree with Miracle Max pronouncing Westley as “almost dead”. We learned that Sue’s house was torn down a long time ago, that the field behind John’s house, where we played flag football, was much smaller than we remembered and that the pond at Carole’s old house hasn’t frozen up enough for ice skating in years. Many shared memories of playing ice hockey, skinny dipping in other neighbors pools (even though we had a pool, the thrill of sneaking onto someone else’s property was much more fun), snow mobile rides on the golf course beyond the woods of Sue’s house, first joints puffed, wedgies at the bus stop for the more unfortunate, hitch hiking to school when we missed the bus, music jams and parties in Sue’s basement…. What a privileged childhood, minus the wedgies of course.

While with Nancy, I got to crash a reunion of a group of women (dubbed “the chain gang” in 6th grade by a teacher) that have been friends since grade school (I didn’t meet them until 7th grade). I hadn’t seen them for 47 years! Amazing how we get older and hopefully evolve, but at the core we are who we are who we are…. So special to have the opportunity to reconnect.

Nancy, Andy, Eddie and I took walks, played music, worked in their garden, talked politics and plants and all manner of experiences concerning our raising of our children and letting go of our parents who had been good friends when we were kids.

With sad farewells and the promise to see one another again soon, we departed and headed towards Gettysburg to feed Eddie’s childhood passion for all things Civil War. It so happens that my great great grandfather fought on both sides of the Civil War, first, reluctantly as a Rebel and then after being treed and convincing the Union army with his northern accent that he was indeed not a Confederate soldier despite his uniform, they conscripted him into the Union Army where he was eventually promoted to Colonel.

I’ll leave you here to ponder the past and hope you’ll return to read the next post of our adventure.

[roolsilver]

3:45am-I wake up for work. At work, I am assigned to train a new temp. The new guy spends his shift telling me how the deli chickens were talking to him when he puts them in the oven. He is apparently unable to follow simple directions that do NOT come from a chicken carcass, because he is useless in my area.

9:40am- 5 minutes before the end of my shift, my sister calls me in a panic. She is at a vet 40 minutes away, her cat had an abscess rupture on a preexisting tumor last night. They're working her in, but she's about to be late for work. The friend who was supposed to help her has not answered his door being beaten on for 20 minutes. I get there in 30 minutes, and receive her cat Biscuit, who I've met maybe twice. Biscuit makes his displeasure with my presence known for the next half hour from inside his carrier.

10:38am- When we are finally called into the vet, I am questioned multiple times about this being an outdoor cat(he's not). Biscuit has had a hard life- when my sister found him several years ago, he came with a shredded ear, facial scarring around his mouth, and FIV. He looks like she pulled him out of a dumpster, and that honestly would not surprise me, but his owners are the people promoting indoor cat life on Facebook as a hobby. The vet finally reads his history file and believes me. I cannot stress enough that this is not my cat, not my vet, not my rodeo.

I stand next to the giant sign that says 'Let our staff handle your pet during the exam for their safety, DON'T do it yourself', and I successfully hold my face in as the vet directs me to physically hold and manipulate this cat that isn't mine and knows it, instead of either of the professionals in the room doing it. I successfully avoid being bitten, using the carrier towel as a magic carpet to remove and replace the extremely offended kitty while he is distracted with treats. I am surviving despite the judgement of the vet, who thinks the tumor should be removed despite the strong opinion of the last vet who examined the tumor, AT THIS PRACTICE. I promise to pass on her opinion, as I am, for the fifth time, not the owner of this cat.

11:16 am- Visit successfully completed, I drive another 40 minutes to return Biscuit to his home. He is thrilled to never see me again. Emergency handled. Now I can go back to my actual plans. Back across town.

12:14pm- I pick up my brother and take him to the convenient care. Several people in my family have recently been diagnosed with Pneumonia, and my brother has a persistent cough. As the 2nd oldest of 7 siblings, I have a habit of feeding the others, so we get burgers. Surely now I can relax.

12:32pm- my child's school calls. Child was out all but one day last week with Pneumonia, and today is the first day back. It is the counselor telling me they're sending home completely unrelated paperwork.

12:42pm- my child's school calls AGAIN. this time it's the nurse. I forgot to send a doctor's note, and child is insisting they can't do gym. I approve skipping gym, and finally drop off my brother.

While he's waiting at the urgent care, I run to the plasma center, my ACTUAL plan for the day. I foolishly tempt fate, joking with the staff that nobody else is allowed to need me today. I will regret this.

2:28pm- as I am walking out of the plasma center, FINALLY able to get a cup of coffee without it risking the $50 payout from donating plasma(no high BP) my grandma calls me. She has been sick in her car and needs help getting in her house. She was half-carried out of the local Cracker Barrel and to her car by the staff. I work part-time because I am frequently her caregiver. My brother is still in the convenient care. My child gets off the bus in 1 hour.

2:46pm-my youngest brother, a recently hired hospital orderly, has agreed to help grandma. He gets her from car to house in a wheelchair, with a blanket to cover her. There is no remaining mess in the car. Grandma is now feeling fine, is able to clean herself up, and does not need me to come. I go to Dunkin Donuts.

3:15pm- my brother exits the convenient care. He does not have Pneumonia! He's coughing because he's not taking an allergy pill. I didn't know there was anyone in my family NOT taking an allergy pill. Both of us are frustrated, because he has just wasted his money because I didn't think to ask a very basic question when he was asking me for advice. I drive him home.

3:31pm- my child calls, unhappy because I want home to receive them. Dad was home. With a chainsaw and headphones. I arrive home in time to start filling out school paperwork that involves knowing child's weight at birth, and other such information I have long forgotten.

4:30pm- homework time.

Approx. 5:20pm- I finally sit down and take off my shoes for the first time in about 13 hours. It has been something like 3 days since 3:45am.

this isn't critters related (or is it) but in my dream last night you asked me to take a small orange kitten to the vet and I had to go on a grand journey through a half-abandoned mall with this kitten tucked under my arm but I just wanted to let you know we made it and he was fine

I have so many thoughts - I'm in your dreams!! - WE SAVED HIMMMM - dream cat distribution system - I wanna play this game on switch

[imaginethebeautifulworld]

Have you ever played Stardew Valley before? I feel like you might really enjoy playing that game 😁

Hello, Lovely~

I've heard a lot of good things about it, but I'm sorry to say that I don't actually game. I truthfully don't even own a gaming platform of any kind. ^_^;

I did play a few different games during my college years; a lot of my friends brought game systems with them, and I was able to borrow them. I played some GTA, LoZ: Wind Waker, Mario Kart, Dark Souls, that one that starts after a nuclear war with a 50s/60s vibe?

Never really had money for them as a kid, and now as an adult I find it's not really my cup of tea.

Out of curiousity though: what's the game like? I do like learning about the plots and world building behind games, even if I never get to play them. They're their own kind of art form, and I have a lot of respect for their entire creative teams.

[noceurous]

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞

summary: there are situations in life when you get desperate to get help... and this was one of them

warnings: smut(18+), degradation kink, praise kink, (yep two of them are together), unprotected sex, swearing, pet names, minors dni, car sex.

a/n: thanks to @nsfwsebbie and @buckycuddlebuddy for their inspirations!

It was raining cats and dogs; a perfect timing for you to break up with your boyfriend and step out of his car in the middle of a road. You were always impulsive and this was one of the times you were paying it. You didn’t want to spend a single second with him when he finally confessed that he was cheating on you with his coworker. You hated lying, and he when you found out he had been lying to you for months, you made him stop the car.

Thankfully you were on a highway, not the middle of nowhere but again, no one was stopping for you. Since this wasn’t the 60’s and nobody wanted to stop for a stranger.

Your thumb was sore from raising to the air for at least half hour, and you were sure you could not feel your arm anymore. You were about to give up when an old truck stopped right in front of you.

“You got lost?”

“Oh, something like that, I tried to get help but my battery died.”

“Where are you going?”

“Not somewhere close. I was going to walk until I can find a motel or a diner at least, do you know any?”

“Yeah, but you cannot make it on your feet in this rain. You’re gonna get pneumonia first.”

“Oh, I thought it was—“

“Just hop in, there’s one on my way.” He said as he unlocked the passenger seat. You hesitated to move first, he kinda looked irritating.

“Uhm...” You mumbled, this situation was not your ideal but did you have any other choice?

“‘don’t bite, if you don’t—“

“Thank you.” You quickly said as you got in his car, thankfully the seats were leather so you would not leave marks.

“Let me turn on the heater alright? Don’ wanna see you sniffin’.” You nodded as his hand went to the adjustment on the heater, you could see his eyes wandered on your open thighs even it was just for a milisecond. “That should do...” He mumbled under his breath without looking at you.

“What can possibly wait for you in Louisiana?”

“I thought the journey mattered more than the destination?” He laughed at your answer, nodding his head.

“Right... What made you take this journey then?” You smiled at him and looked towards the road.

“Nothin’ just wanted to see an old friend.” You were going to meet with your boyfriend’s parents but now that was out of the picture.

“I see...” He said, turning his head to see you. He saw the goosebumps forming on your naked legs, you were so soaked that your dress sticked to your chest, he could almost see your nipples.

“There is a blanket at the back too, ‘can use it to dry off maybe?” He said as his eyes looked at the back from his rear view mirror. “The small one.” He added.

You reached there and saw how he turned there into a cozy sleeping space. It had blankets and fluffy pillows.

“You must be travelling for a while.” You said as you tried to dry your legs and arms.

“Yeah, couple of days.”

“Where are you headin’ LA?”

“I’m actually just driving around, wanted to take a road trip.”

“Doesn’t it get lonely?”

“Everyone needs a break.” He answered as you wrapped the damp blanket around your shoulders after turning it other way around.

“If you say so...”

“It’s Bucky.”

“What?”

“My name, Bucky.” You smiled mimicking his name on your lips quietly like it was your first time speaking.

“Nice to meet you Bucky.” You said as you reached out your hand through the blanket. He chuckled before shaking your hand, trying to keep his eyes on the road.

Bucky was right, it took more than an hour for him to make a stop, you were half asleep by then, with the heater working on maximum and the blanket really helped that.

But it was better than getting sick, so you had no complaints.

“Wakey, wakey.” He said as he slowly shook you by your shoulders.

When you opened your eyes you were first greeted with the neon signs of the diner. “Let’s get you something warm to eat.” He said as he opened the passenger seat.

“You don’t have to be nice to me. I just need to charge my phone so I can call someone.”

“It’s almost 4 in the morning. Your only choice is me for now.”

You decided to leave the blanket in the car and now you regretted it. “You can’t be still cold.” He protested, but when he saw your state he felt bad. Your clothes and hair were still wet.

“Okay, I have some spare clothes, you can change to those at the toilet of the diner.” He said as he walked around his car, picking out a sweatshirt and some sweatpants.

“They’re gonna be a bit large but still better than your clothes.” He said as he handed them to you.

You rushed inside to find a place you could change as he sat down on a booth. You quickly changed and discarded folded your wet clothes under your arm before you tried to dry some of your hair with the hand drier.

When you got back and sat across from Bucky He gulped when he saw you like that, he didn’t expect to get turned on by seeing someone wear his clothes. “You look nice.” He said as went back to eating.

You looked down to see the tea in front of you. “Did you order for me?”

“I didn’t know what you’d prefer, didn’t want to give you something you don’t like or alergic to.” He explained as he dug in his soup.

“Thanks.” You smiled before you signaled the waitress and ordered your food.

The scene you were in felt normal, like you haven’t met him few hours ago. After you were finished with your meal, you were feeling better. The reason which put you in this situation felt less important but still bothered you. He ordered both of you some tea, saying that it will warm you on the inside better.

“So can I ask you why you were in the middle of the highway, in the pouring rain?”

“I’ve got in some sort of an argument—” You remembered how your ex accused you for his affair, saying you weren’t there for him. When the truth was he was the one who was always busy with work. “—and I wanted to leave.”

“Despite the rain?”

“I’m a bit impulsive.” He chuckled at your comment.

“What kind of argument can make someone step out of a car in a highway, middle of the night?”

“The one where your boyfriend blames you for his affair.” You confessed, looking down at your mug.

“I’m sorry to hear that. Nobody should be treated like that.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled as you took a sip.

“There is a motel in one or two hours away, I can drop you there if you’d like to. You can get some sleep and rest before you can call someone to pick you up.” You nodded slightly, you didn’t want to call anyone. You didn’t want to go back to work and your friends just yet. But you didn’t have any better choice.

“Sounds nice, thank you.” After he insisted to pay for the meal, saying you needed to pay for the motel already. It’s at least I can do. He said before giving the money to the waitress.

When you got back to his car you were feeling better and not like you could get sick. He really took care of you. “Finally raining stopped. We’re in June for god’s sake.” You huffed as you looked outside, it was really dark and all you could make was the shadows of the trees along the road.

You were occasionally looking at him, and somehow you noticed the leather glove on his hand. “Why are you wearing that?”

“It’s just...” You turned towards him, it was normal for you to not notice it before, since it was the further one from you. “... not nice?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He sighed.

“I’m injured.” He confessed, looking at your face for a second before going back to the road.

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.” You said, now feeling guilty about it.

“ ‘s okay, don’t bother. You’re not first one to ask.”

“Still I know how it feels when someone asks you a question about something you don’t want to speak about it.”

“Is this about my questions?” You chuckled shaking your head.

“Nope.” You blurted as your phone buzzed, showing you that it finally charged enough to open.

When you entered your password, it showed 13 missed calls from your ex, and some messages of him accusing you of acting like a child.

You pressed on one of the circles of his text chain.

Where are you? You rolled your eyes, probably he still wanted to introduce you to his parents, so they will be relieved that their son didn’t turn out to be an ass. He was a manipulative and you knew if you let him talk to you he would persuade you to get back to him.

“Your boyfriend?” Bucky’s voice distrupted you from your thoughts.

“Ex boyfriend.” You corrected him as you put your phone on the coffee-holder. “I don’t fuck with cheaters.”

He chuckled at your statement. “That is one way to put it.”

“He was nothing good, I should’ve known better.”

“Don’t blame yourself.”

“No but there were signs, he stayed too late at work, we were getting into fights a lot, we even haven’t have sex for a while.” Bucky tried to hide his smirk.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, I was really surprised when he came up with meeting the parents plan actually.”

“Well, if you ask me he must be an idiot, to leave a girl like you. I’m sure he would try to win you back, affairs don’t last very long.” He tried to comfort you by placing his hand on your thigh, but for a reason his hand stayed there and you felt yourself getting aroused.

It had been really long for you.

As if that wasn’t enough he drove over a bump, car jumped and his hand moved closer to your heat. You opened your legs without realising. But he did. His hand tightened on your thigh, now that his touch lost its innocence.

You gulped when you looked at his hand on your thigh, you shouldn’t have liked to feel his touch on your body, but the morality was already out of the picture.

He was good looking, and was really nice for you, what else you could possibly want? He was already better than your ex.

He turned to you to see your reaction, but the way you opened your legs to him without hesitation told him everything.

His hand lowered on your thigh until it reached to your mound, fingers pressing onto you through sweatpants. A simple moan escaped your lips as his fingers brushed along your swollen clit.

His hand went back up and dived into your pants, when they found your clit you buckled your hips to his touch. His fingers were cold but it didn’t matter to you. “Fuck! Look at how wet you are, kitten.”

The pet name made you want him to touch you even more. “All wet for me and I’ve barely touched you.” He said as his finger played with your clit, drawing circles around the bud.

You moaned again as your hand went to the handle of the car door for support, and he pushed his fingers inside you. “Bucky!” You tried to protest but it felt so good, it was bigger and thicker than you used to but you didn’t mind the pain of them stretching you.

“So tight.” He said as he slowly pumped them inside you, trying to focus on the road. You could feel the tension building up.

Before you could notice he parked the car and turned towards you. Slamming his lips to yours. The kiss was no way romantic or soft, it was rough and animalistic. “Get to the back, kitten.” He said as he broke the kiss.

Seconds later you were lying down on the pillow nest he made for himself, your clothes were discarded like his jacket and his zipper was down. He was on top of you kissing your naked chest.

“So beautiful.” He mumbled and his hands toyed with your breasts, squeezing them. You could feel his stubble scratching your skin as his kisses found your thighs, kissing and licking each of them. “I’ve wanted to touch you since you got into my car.” He confessed as his fingers played with your folds, pushing two of them inside you again.

“You were really looking for trouble, weren’t you?” He asked as he curled them inside you. Your back arched as your hands hold onto the pillows for support. “That dress you had, sticking on your body, I could even see your nipples through them. Like you wanted me to fuck you.” He said as he curled his fingers again.

“Oh! F—fuck!” His hand went to your neck, holding you still.

“Be a nice girl kitten; don’t cuss!” He said as he pulled out his fingers and slapped your thigh. You palmed him but he was already hard as a rock, pulling down his boxers and pants.

“I want you Bucky.” You whimpered, hand closing around his cock.

He placed your hands next to your hand. “I want you too kitten, but patience is a bliss.” He said as his lips moved around your neck, licking until he sucked on your pulse. Your hips jerked again, you were rubbing yourself on his bulge.

He chuckled at your state, “so desperate aren’t you kitten. Such a dumb needy girl you’re....” He whispered to your ear.

Your walls closed around nothing, when he said those words. Why something like that made you feel so horny? “Please Bucky.” You whimpered under him, he wrapped your leg around his waist.

“This may hurt a bit.” He added as he pushed himself in one move. You cried with the pain, he was much bigger than your excuse of a boyfriend.

He kissed your temple as he wrapped your legs around his waist, started to move inside you softly. “You’re so tight kitten, your ex doesn’t know how to fuck.” He said, getting faster as you crashed your lips to his. You moaned into the kiss as his tongue found yours, licking.

His hand went to your breast, pinching a nipple. You jumped with the his pinch, his hands went to your waist, making you lie still as he fucked you. The pain already lost its place to the pleasure and you were moaning under him, fingers pulling down his black henley.

He chuckled to your state as he took it off, tossing it to the ground. Your eyes met with the shining dark metal in the dimmed light. You raised your hand to touch it, but he stopped you. “Don’t.” He said, “It ain’t pretty.”

“Bullshit.” You said as you took his metal hand into yours kissing along his digits. “It’s beautiful.” He pushed one of his fingers inside your mouth, watching how you sucked them with pleasure.

Something inside him switched when he saw you like that, his movements got rough. Car was filled with the sounds both of you were making, you had no shame, you’ve never felt this full before in your life.

You kissed his neck as your hands hold onto his back, fingers digging into his skin. You were definitely leaving a mark. “Shit look at you,” He said as his metallic hand now pressed against your belly, “I can feel myself.” He said as he applied more pressure.

You moaned again as his dog tags moving between your breasts, you tangled your fingers along it. So he was a soldier.

You pulled him closer to you by gently pulling the chain, giving him a kiss.

Your phone buzzed again, you rolled your eyes and he slowed down. “Wanna answer that, could be important.” He said as he reached to your phone, and handed it to you.

You sighed as you saw the name of your ex on the caller id. He understood who was he by studying your face. “Answer it?” You frowned when he said that but he just smiled.

“Answer it and make him find out how much of an idiot he is.” He said, pressing on the green circle and speaker icon afterwards.

“Sweetie?” You rolled your eyes at the nickname again. He only called you by that when he did something bad.

“Yeah?” You said as Bucky placed one of your legs on his shoulder, hitting you with a new angle. “Oh fuck!” You screamed out.

“You okay? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong, stop calling me!” You yelled towards the phone as Bucky kept pounding to you, making the car shake with his thrusts.

“Good girl.” He whispered to your ear, “but not loud enough!” He said as he increased his speed, making you cry out with pleasure.

“Oh, Bucky!” You whimpered once again,

“Who the hell is Bucky? What’s going on Sweetie?”

“That’s me, hey I have a question, was she loud with you like that too?” You giggled at Bucky’s question mouthing the word No.

“What? What kind of a game you are pla—“

“Don’t call her again! She’s with me now!”He said as he ended the call, making sure he heard your moans one last time.

This was the first time you’ve had a sex in the car, your boyfriend always said it was something unnecessary and thought it wouldn’t be comfortable.

“You feel so good wrapped around me kitten. I’m sorry your boyfriend didn’t know your worth. But you have me now.” He said pulling out and turning you around, your face met with an pillow and he started thrusting into you again.

“Look at that ass!” He said as he slapped it. You moaned again but he pushed your face down on the pillows, fucking you through oblivion.

You knew you were getting close, the pressure on your lower abdomen became unbearable. “B—Bucky! I’m close.”

“I know kitten, I can feel how you squeeze me.” His metal hand slapped your ass again, you bit down the pillows to not scream anymore.

His cold fingers found your clit, playing with it to drive you to the edge. “Come for me kitten, make a mess on my cock!” He groaned.

That was all you needed to cum, you moaned out his name, feeling the sweet ecstasy capture your senses. He pulled you by your hair, giving you a slow kiss.

“You look so good when you cum kitten, I can get used to this.” He said as he gave you one more kiss. He didn’t stop after you cum, he even got faster, your sore walls were more sensitive now.

You could feel your second orgasm building up. He turned you to your back again, “I want you to look me in the eyes when you cum.” He explained.

You looked at his soft blue eyes, when you came down, and he followed you soon after, making a mess on the sheets.

He pulled out with a hiss, he already missed the warmth of your walls, collapsing next to you. He pulled you close to him by hooking an arm around your waist.

“So you’ve said I’m with you now...?” You asked as your fingers played with his little chest hair, moving to his scars on his shoulder to give ot a gentle kiss.

Your movements were making it hard for him to focus, and not to kiss you again. “Shit! Uhm, well if you want to—”

“I’d love to,” You answered him. “besides there’s nothing waiting for me back there anymore.” You said as you kissed him.

———

a/n: feedbacks are appreciated please don’t forget to reblog/comment!!!

[camillafanfiction]

Love changes everything - Chapter 2

When Charles arrived at Bolehyde Manor one and a half hours later, he found Camilla in a state he had never seen her before. Her usually sunshiny face was pale and grey, the sparkle in her eyes that Charles so loved was gone - her face was flooded with tears instead. 

She hadn’t opened the door, so Charles had used the spare key that lay under the big terracotta pot right next to the front door and went searching for her in the house. When he finally found her on the cold kitchen floor she sat there stock-still with a cigarette in her hands, only tears pouring down her face. According to the ashtray and the empty cigarette packet she must have smoked at least ten cigarettes within the last two hours. Charles wasn’t quite sure if her body still consisted of anything else than nicotine and smoke. He tried to suppress coughing to not scare her, but failed miserably. However, she still didn’t take any notice of him.  

“Camilla?”, he tried for the second time, but she didn’t respond. “Darling?” Charles sat down on the floor, right next to her. “You need to get up. You will catch your death of cold on that floor.” Only secondarily he noticed that this probably wasn’t a very tactful way to put it in this very situation. “Ducky? Please say something.” Charles felt helpless. What should he do if Camilla was now suffering some sort of trauma?  What if she would remain that apathetic for the rest of her life now?

Finally, Camilla opened her mouth, but no words seemed to escape it. She moved her head slightly, looking at Charles. “He is dead.”, she sobbed. “I’m all on my own now.” Her heart raced and her mind was filled with the wildest thoughts while there was a suffocating emptiness inside of her, too. 

“You are not alone. I am here and I am not going to ever leave you again. You’ve got Tom who needs you and you’ve got your whole family supporting you. We’re all here for you.”, Charles replied with his calming voice, stroking gently over Camilla’s arm. He would have loved to kiss her, to take her pain away, but this was not the right moment. Instead he tried to hover her up from the ground. She would really get pneumonia if she sat here for any time longer. “But, darling, please get up.”

Camilla just shook her head. She was unable to move or to speak. She would just spend the rest of her life here on the kitchen floor. Her life was over. Her husband was dead. She was a 28 year-old widow with a 10 months-old baby. Nobody would ever want her again. She would spend the rest of her life all by herself. She had not planned on that. She had planned on a long and happy marriage, three or four children and a happy, quiet life in the countryside with some roaring parties every now and then. Of course, her marriage had not been as happy as she had hoped it to be - Andrew did not love her, at least not the way a husband should love his wife. There had been moments when she had loved to throw Andrew out of the house for sleeping with every one of her friends, for being unfaithful to her right from the start. The rows they’d had had been back-breaking, but she had decided on him. She had stuck to her marriage vow, though Charles had made it more than difficult for her.

How should she afford the house, the dogs, the horses…? A million thoughts chased through her mind, but she wasn’t able to catch a clear one. Her brain seemed unable to work and she didn’t manage to tell Charles off for calling her ‘darling’, like she usually did.  

“Milla, my darling,” Charles carefully put her arms around his shoulder, “I know you’re unable to move or speak, but I will carry you, okay? Trust me.” He hoisted her up and, with all the power he had, he carried her to the sofa in the living room on his shoulder. Carefully he put her down and fetched a blanket from the shelf next to the fireplace. She was so cold, Charles thought worried as he placed the blanket around her. In the dim light, however, he could see her lips forming a “Thank you!”.

“Tom…”, she murmured then. “Can you look after Tom?” Her voice was barely above a whisper.

“Of course.” Charles placed a small kiss on her forehead before he disappeared, but she was too wretched to protest. 

Camilla didn’t know how long Charles had been gone. She was lost in her blurry thoughts up to a stage where she wondered if she herself still existed. Only at Charles’s second try she realised that he had been telling her that Tom was fast asleep and well. One and a half hours before she had thrown the three men who had told her about Andrew’s tragic, yet heroic death out of the house and then hummed Tom to sleep. She hadn’t been able to bear company, she’d felt numb and empty and she hadn’t been sure if this was ever going to go away. But then Charles had appeared like a vision and for a moment she hadn’t been sure if this was a dream or reality. She still felt numb, unable to do anything despite just sitting there, but she didn’t feel as alone anymore. “Please stay.”, she brought out, her blue eyes half-shut, and Charles nestled against her, trying to find some space beside her.

For a moment he felt like flying. “I’m never going to leave you ever again.”, he promised again and felt his fingertips over her cheek, hardly able to resist the urge to kiss her. “I need to be in London tomorrow noon, but Trevor will inform your parents and siblings and they will come and care for you before I leave and I will be back tomorrow night.” Camilla was too tired to protest, too exhausted to reply anything. Charles wrapped his arms around her and she just let it happen. Enjoying the warmth, the closeness and the well-known smell she fell into a light, dreamless slumber…   

The next thing Camilla heard was a rumbling in the kitchen. She had no idea what time it was and why her back hurt so much. Still half asleep she opened her eyes and was blinded by warm, golden sunlight. For a moment she felt peaceful and at ease, but then her mind was flooded by the memories of last night. The moment she saw Charles coming into the room with a cup of tea in his hands she knew it hadn’t been a nightmare, but a cruel reality.

“Good morning.”, Charles said quietly and kneeled down next to the sofa. “How are you feeling, darling?” He knew it was a stupid question the minute he looked into Camilla’s puffed, sad eyes. If only there was something he could do to make her feel better. He would do anything in his powers, anything she wished for. “Tom is fed and has a new nappy on.”, he declared proudly, a cheering smile on his face. Had it not been that very situation, Camilla would have laughed by the mere thought of it. Yet she knew he had done brilliantly. 

“Thank you.”, she said simply and took a deep breath. “Is he really…?” She couldn’t bring the word ‘dead’ out of her mouth. It was all too much.

Charles nodded and he could see a single tear falling down Camilla’s face. She was so brave, he thought. She did not deserve this, nothing of this. She deserved to be happy and loved, she deserved a picture perfect life. With him her life would not be picture perfect, but at least he would love her like no one else in the world. Camilla was, always had been and always would be his one true love. Since the day he had first met her he had known that he would never be able to love someone but her. Nothing would ever change that. No matter what Uncle Dicke tried to tell him, no matter the royal ladies his grandmother wanted him to marry. It had always been Camilla or no one for him. He could get lost in her blue eyes, no matter how sad and puffy they were. He would always want her, no matter the circumstances. He would always love her no matter what state of mind she was in.

It was an irrational act but he didn’t notice as he grabbed her hand tightly and said “Darling, I just want to be with you always. Marry me!”

There was a moment of silence as Camilla tried to comprehend the words Charles had just spoken. Her eyes turned wide, then shocked and a second later she cuffed his ears with a loud smack.

[takaraphoenix]

An assortment of the shit that's happened in the past three months because I actually really need to put it all together for once:

after 10 hours in the ER, my mom got wrongfully diagnosed with pneumonia. the ER was. triggering for me, for other mom-related-health-issues

only one entire week later did she get the right diagnose of heart failure. this fucked me up. badly

it took another damn week for her to be admitted to the heart-hospital which was so much worry and stress

her open heart surgery was postponed four times. which did not just drag everything out but every day was more anxiety

I became the primary updater for everyone. friends, family. it was so exhausting to be spending these two months having to keep track of daily updates to my grandparents, keeping my dad in the loop, not forgetting anyone else

after her successful surgery, the doctor encouraged us to visit her in the ICU because she was doing "so good". she was delirious. I mean clinically delirious. it was one of the most traumatic experiences of my fucking life to see her like this. I still think about it approximately every second day with cold fear

while she was in the hospital recovering, and then in physical rehab, on top of keeping track of updating everyone, running the household alone, I also got to spend every single day off visiting her, which was one and a half hours of back and forth drive alone so there went the entire day off

oh yeah, I started a new job in July! Smack in the middle, literally four days after her heart surgery, so I had to adjust to a new schedule and had to learn a whole new field of work and I could have really used those weekends to breath

I fell and overstretched my ligaments. 6 hours in the ER. Two weeks on crutches

I got triggered at work. Different trauma not mom related. The thing that fucked me up The Most reared its head and it fucked me up for a couple days

my grandparents decided to appoint me responsible for their finances in case of their death, which includes their last will, which is how I learned that I actually get the smallest portion in that will and it's not even about the money it's about how unvalued I feel I mean you trust me to enact your will, I'm "the good grandchild", I always worked so damn hard not to disappoint but I guess not disappointing means being secure enough that I don't need the financial help even though they know that I am still in deep fucking debt

I got covid! spent the past ten days sick in bed. I had forgotten how fucking awful it feels to be unable to properly breath

for the past I would say two months not a week has passed where I didn't have one night that I just fully didn't sleep at all because I am so wired and strung up from all the stress and anxiety

I wrote over 150k this month. that's both a source of joy but also a source of concern because you can probably picture how time consuming that would have to be and I genuinely don't know where I found the time to do that between work and worrying about my mom

Y'all know that feeling when you're running on fumes for so long your hands start shaking and you start sleeping worse and worse and you know in the back of your head you're gonna crash so fucking badly?

Prayer circle that I will be able to push past for another week and a half because I swear to the fucking gods if I give out before I go to the biggest anime/manga con in my fucking country (Connichi) next weekend there WILL be bloodshed.

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

I Saw You Trying, My Love

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: ok so this is long, and angry. It all happened because I really wanted to explore the headcanon that Wilhemina would be very possessive and very jealous if she were in a relationship. How would that relationship work? Could it work? I hope you’ll enjoy this piece, lovelies <3

Word count: ~ 8 200   

“And what do you think you’re doing?”

Wilhemina’s voice cut through the silence, sharp and angry.

You ignored her. You kept shoving the contents of your wardrobe into your bag.

“I said, what do you think you’re doing?”

“I heard you the first time,” you snapped. You threw one last pair of socks – your favourite, fluffy and glittery – into your bag and gave it a shake. “I thought you’d have figured it out by now.”

You zipped up your bag and stomped past Wilhemina out of the room you had shared with her for the past two months. She must have realized how serious you were, by then, because she followed close behind you. She had never done that before when you had had a fight. She was too proud to run after you like a desperate child. Usually she would let you walk off and wait for you to blow off steam. But today, the sound of her cane followed you down the stairs and into the living room as you went around it, grabbing items you would need – your book, your glasses, your phone charger. Wilhemina’s watch. You threw that back on the couch when you realized what it was.

“Has your brain turned to mush? Where do you plan to go? You have nowhere to go to, Y/N.”

Wilhemina positioned herself in the doorway, blocking your way, both her hands gripping her cane. You came to a halt in front of her and scowled.

“I’m not a baby, Wilhemina,” you retorted, your face mere inches from hers. Your words were thick with anger. “I’ll get along just fine without you. Actually, I’ll be better off without you. Now move.”

She stood her ground, glaring back at you.

“What are you gonna do?” you hissed. “Uh? Lock me up? Bring me food once a day, torture me? Are you going to lock me up in here until you break me and turn me into the obedient pet you wish I were?” You paused to take a breath. “Is that your plan, Mina, my love?” You all but spat the last two words at her like a curse.

For a second you recoiled. You hadn’t meant to do that, turn a term of endearment, a promise of care and tenderness whispered so many times before to soothe and comfort and reassure, into poison. But on second thought, you were glad you had. She deserved the sting.

“I don’t –“she started, but you interrupted her.

“For God’s sake I have the right to spend time with my friends! Not all my life revolve around you, Wilhemina! You cannot keep me with you every minute of every day like a fucking dog!” A fresh bout of fury rose to your head and took control of you. “I can spend time with other people, I can enjoy myself without you! But what I can’t stand is you snapping at me and calling me names every time I so much as smile to someone else! I’ve had enough.” You lowered your arms in defeat, shaking your head at her. “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving. Move.”

Wilhemina’s face was hard and angry, her jaw clenched tight, her poise proud and dominating, but her eyes – you had always been able to tell what she truly felt by looking into her eyes. They were your favourite thing to stare at, not only because it was so easy to get lost in them, but because they were the key to understanding her. The key that opened the safe where she hid herself when she did not know how to communicate or thought she had to lie to keep herself safe. Her eyes were always, always honest. Especially with you. You took one look at them now and then had to look away before your resolve left you.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To Maggie’s place.”

Wilhemina scoffed bitterly. “Why, of course. Right into the arms of the daft prostitute.”

“Mina she’s my best-friend since high-school,” you growled, raising your free hand to rub your forehead in frustration. “Please don’t insult her.”

“And what a friend indeed. Always so eager to please, so eager to have you all by herself so that she can lay her dirty little hands on your arm or - ”

“This is what best-friends do!” you roared.

Wilhemina didn’t even flinch.

“Why don’t you screw her tonight?”

“Alright, you – you know what, I’ve had enough.”

You pushed past her, and you must have been too brutal, or maybe she had been unsteady to begin with; in any case, she dropped her cane, and her knees gave way. She winced as she braced herself for the fall, for the pain – but you wrapped your arms around her waist to support her, and held her against you. “I’ve got you,” you whispered into her hair.

Time froze. Silence fell. You closed your eyes, nuzzling your nose in her hair. What were you doing? Leaving her? Ridiculous. As if you could live without her. You pressed her closer against you, feeling like you could burst into laughter at your own excessive behavior. This was just like any other fight you had had with Wilhemina before, nothing you could not mend. Leaving this house, leaving this woman, had never been an option. It would mean leaving your heart. Leaving a part you wouldn’t – couldn’t – survive without.

You dropped a kiss on her forehead and were about to pull away. To cup her face and kiss her mouth and laugh with her at how stupid, how childish you were.

But then you remembered. All the times she had gone too far. All the snapping and the hurting and the possessive, jealous, unhealthy behavior. Earlier this afternoon she had slapped one of your coworkers and friends for “standing too close to you”. It was the first time she had used physical violence. The last straw.

You knew where it all came from, the insecurity and the fear and the pain. But that did not make it acceptable.  

Gently, you let her go, picked up your bag and made for the front door.

“Y/N?”

She followed you down the corridor, stopped a few inches away from you as you turned the key in the lock. You felt her hand brush your elbow, but she did not touch you. Somehow it was this, her hesitation, that broke your heart.

“Don’t come after me,” you told her over your shoulder.

“Y/N don’t you dare –“

You opened the door, ignoring her, closing your eyes against the setting sun and the tears that were starting to pool. Wilhemina’s voice rose behind you again, not angry anymore, but shaking, and terrified. She was terrified.

“Y/N don’t you – “

You slammed the door behind you and ran down the driveway to your car, afraid you’d turn back and fall into her arms if you stopped for one second.

It hurt. It felt like your heart had been torn out of your chest. You opened the door of your car with shaky hands, sobs wracking your body, barely seeing anything through your tears.

You didn’t remember much after that. You must have driven all the way to Maggie’s. Knocked on her door, with your bag in one hand and sobs bubbling out of your throat. She must have let you in, asked you, were you alright, was Wilhemina alright – perhaps she hugged you. Certainly she made you some tea, for Maggie was one of those people who believe tea can make everything better. As if you had not irremediably broken what you cherished most.  

You must have drunk your tea, to please Maggie.

The bed in her spare room was big and comfortable. The sheets smelt of fresh peaches. You spent the rest of the evening cocooned in their warmth, alternating between dozing and sobbing into the pillows. When night fell, Maggie brought you dinner on a tray. She sat beside you as you swallowed what your stomach could hold. And then she asked you what had happened.

You hadn’t been able to tell her yet. You’d thought that, perhaps, if you kept it a secret, your leaving Wilhemina wouldn’t be real. You would be able to go back home and find her there waiting for you. She would rise when she’d hear you come in, and she would smile that fond smile of hers and wrap you up in her arms and kiss you slow and sweet. Somehow, all of your problems would be gone.  

It didn’t work like that. You knew it didn’t. But still, you couldn’t help but hope.

Maggie didn’t believe you, at first. She gawked at you, then narrowed her eyes and scrutinized your face. She was naive, Maggie. Very romantic. She believed love was stronger than everything else. She had spent five minutes with you and Wilhemina and proclaimed with tears in her eyes that she had never seen two people more in love. It simply wasn’t possible for you to be without Wilhemina, and for Wilhemina to be without you. You would cease to exist. The world would explode.

But then, as you dissolved into tears again, unable to finish your story as you desperately clang to her, her face fell. She let out a small “oh” that sounded so surprised, so final, so defeated. It rang in your ears like a bell mourning death.

You didn’t go to work the day after. Nor the day after that. You knew Wilhemina would be at Kineros, knew she was too hardworking to even consider taking a day off. Hell, Wilhemina could be dying of pneumonia, she would still drive to work and sit at her desk and boss everyone around. Throwing snarky comments like knives at frightened employees, making sure everyone was doing their jobs. You could picture her, sitting straight and proud in her chair, with her cane leaning against her desk and her hair tied in that high ponytail you loved so much, for it accentuated her sharp cheekbones. Had she taken off the photograph on her desk? Of you and her, on a sunny day in the countryside a year ago, a few days after you had started dating. Your hand on her cheek, your teeth on her chin, her eyes half-closed and crinkled up with laughter.

You wouldn’t have gone to work even if Wilhemina hadn’t been there. There was no point anymore. You had never really cared for the job anyway. The only thing that had made life interesting had been Wilhemina.

So you spent hours in bed until the sheets no longer smelt of fresh peaches but of your sweat and tears. You went for a run with Maggie. You tried to keep yourself busy, read a book, watched movies, cleaned Maggie’s house. You knew you couldn’t spend the rest of your life at Maggie’s, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

It became harder to get up in the morning. Harder to fall asleep at night. So you daydreamed and thought of Wilhemina. To soothe the pain of her absence. You thought of her face in the morning, still soft from sleep. That magic moment when she would wake and those big, brown, doe eyes of hers would meet yours and smile. How deftly she would do her hair, ponytail always perfectly centered. How sometimes, while she waited for the water to boil for her tea, she would stare out the window and get lost in the view.  

One day it struck you how often Maggie did touch you. She was a very touchy-feely person, had always been: she would pat your shoulder or hold your hand or stroke your arm or kiss your cheek. It was innocent, she behaved like that with everyone. But now you realized how it must have looked to someone as insecure as Wilhemina.

Maggie was beautiful. All blue eyes and soft strawberry blond locks and pink cheeks and pretty flowery dresses. She was soft, and selfless, and very kind, and everyone adored her. She taught French at the University. Had a fiancé, wanted to start a family. Exercised every day. She was normal and healthy – more than that, she was perfect in every way. No rough edges, no high walls, no back pains that kept her up all night, no early appointments to the doctor’s, no days that could be ruined by one glance at her reflection in the mirror. Maggie had found her place in the world and the world cherished her.

And yet – and yet how brighter Wilhemina shone in your head. She was a lighthouse, Maggie a candle. How much more precious and rare Wilhemina was. There were a million things in her that singled her out as one of the most fascinating person you had met. How she could make a witty comment on something the likes of Maggie would never notice in the first place. How she would stare right into the eyes of whatever scared her and defeat it with patience and determination. How deeply, how fiercely she loved.

On the eighth morning without her you woke up completely panicked and haunted by the knowledge that she was hurting on her own. She would never tell anyone she needed help, she had never allowed anyone but you to see her vulnerable. She would push on through her days as if everything was perfectly fine and go back every night to a dark, cold, lonely house where everything would remind her of you. Did she get enough sleep? Was she even eating? It seemed likely to you she would use food deprivation to punish herself. Eating the bare minimum to make it through the day without collapsing.

You asked Maggie to check on her. She drove to your house one evening and came back in a sour mood. Oh, Wilhemina was just fine, she jeered. Her usual pleasant, cheerful self. She had opened the door, taken one look at her, and sent her off with a scoff. Maggie was so angry she spilled most of her drink on the floor. And despite it all, you couldn’t help but smile.

In the morning of the tenth day, after Maggie had gone to work, you came downstairs and slumped on the living room couch. It was a beautiful, sunny day, so you had opened all the windows and the front door to let the draft in. You prayed the fresh air would take away some of the ache in your chest. Or maybe a murderer would walk into the house and put an end to your misery.  

You were starting to doze off when you heard a knock on the front door. You started, and sleepily called out “It’s open”.

Silence, as if whoever stood outside hadn’t quite made up their mind to come in yet. You yawned, scratched your head. The sound of a cane tapping on the floor filled the hall.

For a second you felt you were about to faint. Then your body sprang up, eyes wide-opened, heart pounding in your ears.

You sat down on a nearby chair facing the door. Ran a hand through your hair, straightened your clothes. You waited.

Tap. Tap. The sound of her cane brought tears to your eyes – for how you had missed it. Not so much the sound itself but the promise that came with it, seeing her, being with her. Love and happiness and everything that mattered in the world.

The tapping stopped. You raised your head. Your racing heart leaped out of your chest straight into her hands, like a fledgling that had left its nest too soon and flew back trembling and terrified to the safety of home. How stupid you had been to leave at all.

She stood in the doorway more beautiful than you remembered her, because so painfully missed, so hoped for, so loved.

She looked tired, but fine – not exhausted, not starved, not over-worked. Thank God. Some of the tension that had been building in your shoulders vanished. You searched her face for signs of emotions and truth behind her facade, but could find none. Even her eyes were inscrutable.

For a few, agonizingly long seconds you both stayed silent, glaring at each other, both of you too proud to lower your eyes or look away first. Then Wilhemina took a breath and opened her mouth, and your body leaned towards her in expectation.

“Your productivity at work this past week was astonishing,” she said.

Right. You straightened in your seat, and crossed your legs.

Wilhemina waited, but as no answer came from you she added: “Do you intend to get fired?”

“If you’ve come here to scold me, you can leave now,” you mumbled. Your hand started rubbing circles on your knee. “I’m not interested.”

Another pause. You picked a book on the coffee table and stared intently at it. The silence was painful. From the corridor came the ticking of the clock hung on the wall. You could just make out Wilhemina’s purple shoes and pale ankles out of the corner of your eye.

When the silence became intolerable, you tilted your head just enough to shoot her an angry glance and snapped: “Why are you here?”

Wilhemina tapped her cane threateningly on the floor. That didn’t faze you. Not anymore.

“I’m here,” she said in that low, slow voice she always used when she was mad, “as your superior and as Kineros Robotics’ HR manager, to remind you that you have a job and that you are expected to actually show up at your workplace.”

Was she getting enough sleep? Only now did you realize that she was leaning on her cane a bit more heavily than usual. Was her back hurting her? Did she even take her pain medicine? On several occasions before she had refused to, as a form of punishment against her disability. You had had to coax and beg for her to finally agree to swallow the pill.  

“I expect you to answer me when I talk to you.” Wilhemina’s voice, sharp and angry, brought you back from your thoughts. You glanced up at her again.

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“If you do not go back to work tomorrow I will have to dismiss you.”

“Yes, Ms Venable.”

“Your unjustified absence is quite simply intolerable.”

“Yes, Ms Venable,” you repeated.

Another pause. You had no idea what you were feeling anymore. Anger and irritation had subsided and been replaced by a sort of numbness that still had an aftertaste of want. You stared at the book, your fingers still rubbing circles on your knee as you listened to the ticking of the clock in the corridor.

Wilhemina spoke, and this time her voice wavered on the last word. “When are you coming back?”

She meant to work, of course. You lifted your head, met her eyes. She meant come home.

“I’m not coming back,” you answered, keeping your voice casual to hide the fact that your heart was breaking yet again, small pieces drifting away and colliding with each other.

“What do you want me to do?” Wilhemina cried, her eyes widening in exasperation. “Crawl at your feet and beg for mercy?”

She barely ever raised her voice. Her anger and contempt were always expressed in a dangerously slow and low tone. A high, raised voice meant she felt cornered. It meant her self-control was slipping away. It meant her facade was breaking.

You leaned towards her in your seat, hope seeping in your veins.

“How about you start by apologizing to Pat?” you said, as casually as before.

“Who’s Pat?”

“My co-worker and friend you so kindly slapped in the face last week. And to Eva, whose fingers you threatened to clip off one by one because she had the audacity to touch my hand. And to Maggie. You called her such terrible names when all she did was being there for me. Do you see the problem, Mina?”

Your little speech had made you angry again, bad memories flooding your brain, so it was a surprise when her nickname slipped out of your mouth. It seemed to quiet her for a second. Her shoulders relaxed. She even took a tentative step towards you. But then her face hardened again, and when she spoke her voice was back under control.

“I will do no such thing,” she snapped, tapping her cane on the floor. “All those idiots you mentioned had it coming.”

You sighed and slumped back into your seat. You knew what she was doing. Suddenly you were brought back to the first time she had allowed herself to be vulnerable in front of you. It had been one evening in the second week of your relationship. She had had a bad day, and her back was hurting her, and the only way she had found to express that – the only way she had known how – had been by snapping at you for overcooking the pasta. You had been about to snap back, when an apology had slipped out of her. Soft and unexpected. You had fallen silent in surprise. Her hands had started to fidget, and she had looked angry with herself, couldn’t meet your eyes, couldn’t find anything more to say, couldn’t stop fidgeting. So you had hugged her, run her a bath, made love to her, brushed her hair until most of the tension had left her body.

Snapping was her way of protecting herself, you knew that. But still – it hurt, and you had had enough.

“Well then, please, leave,” you mumbled, closing your eyes and raising one hand to pinch the bridge of your nose.

“So you can be in the delightful company of Maggie the Cat?” she snapped.

“Oh for God’s sake, Wilhemina,” you sighed, but she didn’t seem to hear you.

“Sweet, sweet Margaret,” she sneered, taking one more step towards you, her hands shaking. “With her sweet maiden face and her cheerful disposition. So charming, so lovely. She’s part of that disgusting group of radiant fools who will lead the world to its demise with their shallowness and their stupidity.”

You jumped to your feet. “Maggie is my friend,” you growled, planting yourself a few inches from her, your whole body hot with anger. “If you loved me as you claim you do, if you had an ounce of respect for me, you wouldn’t say such things about her!”

Something on her face changed at your words. You couldn’t tell what exactly, but a feeling of dread suddenly came over you.

Wilhemina tapped her cane on the floor, raised her chin and hissed, “Maybe I don’t. Love you, at all. Maybe I only used you for company.”

You took a step back, reeling as her words echoed in your head. You knew she was lying. What you two had shared had been too strong to be fake. She had trusted you with things and parts of herself she had never told or shown anyone before. She had let you love her and trusted you would not hurt her.

In a better world you would have been able to control your anger. You would have taken a few deep breaths to calm yourself and put your hands on Wilhemina’s shoulders and told her for the hundredth time what she obviously still needed to hear – that in your heart, Maggie did not hold a candle to her. That Maggie was your friend and you loved her, but not the way you loved Wilhemina. That you would go to Hell for her and beat Lucifer’s ass if it meant keeping her safe.

But this was the real world, where battered souls keep hurting each other. Anger burnt in you like a fire and filled your brain with smoke until you could no longer think. Only fight back.  

“Maybe I did, too,” you snarled.

You saw her hesitate. You saw her snarky retort die on her lips as she took in your words. And for a moment it felt great. To know you could still affect her, still peel off her layers and press the pads of your fingers on bare skin. But you had only ever stroked before; never scratched.

The tap of her cane on the floor surprised you, for it sounded weaker than usual. It did not bounce off the walls but fell at her feet like a weak preemie and died.

“If you do not show up tomorrow at 8 then don’t bother coming back at all,” Wilhemina commanded. “Kineros will do just fine without you.”

She was staring at something above your left shoulder, and she was breathing too fast, as if she were trying very hard not to cry. When she felt your gaze on her face she briefly shifted her eyes to yours. She blinked, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

“Mina,” you started, taking a step towards her. She raised one hand to stop you.

“That will be all,” she said, and wiped the tear away.

You let her turn on her heel, walk down the corridor and close the front door behind her. You stood as if petrified in the middle of Maggie’s living room, until something in you broke. You grabbed the book on the coffee table, hurled it at the wall, and screamed.

When Maggie came home that evening, she walked into your room with a moody, “What happened to Virginia Woolf?” She waved the battered book at you until you turned and she saw your face.

“Oh, babydoll, what’s wrong?”

She held you as you sobbed and wailed. She stroked your hair and whispered sweet-nothings to calm you down. It only made you cry harder, for it reminded you of all the times Wilhemina had comforted you. How she, too, had held you close and tried to find the right words to stop your tears. But Maggie was taller and stouter. Her body did not fit yours as Wilhemina’s did. When you eventually took a long breath in through your nose, her perfume smelt wrong. Too sweet, too floral.

You didn’t show up at 8 at Kineros the day after. It had been hard to care before, now it was simply impossible. You stayed in bed, wishing you could disappear into the sheets. You ignored Maggie’s encouragements and reproaches. You didn’t care.

Maggie brought you water and food, which you nibbled at mechanically. Time passed. You dozed often, but never slept.

Time kept on passing. You waited. You weren’t quite sure for what.

On the third day your phone rang. You reached out for it, and accepted the call without looking at the screen.

“Hello?” you mumbled, your voice raspy from disuse.

“Oh, Y/N?” said a familiar voice. “I thought you were dead.”

“Jeff.” You closed your eyes. “Look,” you started, “I know I haven’t – “

“What have you done to Venable?” Jeff cut you off.

Your eyes opened. “What do you mean?” you asked, your grip on your phone tightening.

“She hasn’t shown up for the past three days.” There was a loud noise at the other end of the line, then Jeff’s voice again. “Last week she was even more bitchy than usual, and now she’s gone. I don’t know where the file I need is, I missed all of my appointments and what’s worse, we’ve run out of coke. I can’t be a genius if I’m not high. Y/N?”

You barely heard him call your name. You could barely breathe from fear.

“Y/N, you still here?”

“Yeah, I –“ You swallowed around the lump in your throat.“Are you sure she’s not at Kineros?”

“I’m at Kineros, Y/N, and Venable isn’t,” Jeff answered, annoyed. “Look, I don’t know what your problem is, but I won’t let your sapphic affairs ruin my company.”

“I – “You stood up on shaky legs. You had to move, you had to do something to keep the panic at bay. It wasn’t like Wilhemina to miss work. She’d rather die than shun her responsibilities. And three days in a row? Something must have happened to her. Your brain started making up all kinds of dreadful scenarios in which she had been hurt, hit by a car, abducted, in which she had locked herself up in her room without food or water, jumped from a bridge, bought a plane ticket to some faraway country where you would never find her.

“Y/N?” came Jeff’s voice, interrupting the mad race of your thoughts.

“Yes, I – “You forced yourself to take a deep breath. “Venable isn’t my responsibility,” you heard yourself say.

“Look, Y/N,” Jeff retorted, his voice growing angry. “You’re expendable, Venable is not. We need her. I don’t care what you do, but you better make sure she comes back tomorrow.” And with that he hung up.

For a few seconds you stood petrified with your phone still pressed against your ear. And then you jumped into action. You dressed, grabbed your handbag, flew down the stairs and in your haste nearly collided with the door of your car. You forced yourself to drive under the speed limit on your way to your house. Dying wouldn’t help.

Part of you realized that it felt good. The life pumping into your veins again. You felt like you had finally woken up.

You parked on the sidewalk in front of your house, too impatient to maneuver your car up the driveway. You ran to the door and knocked on it. You closed your eyes as you waited, panting. You sent a prayer to whomever you could think of – please let her be okay. You didn’t care how mad you were with her anymore. Just, let her be okay.

The door opened. You looked up.

Wilhemina was wearing an old, faded lilac sweater and a pair of black cotton shorts. Her hair was down. She had no make-up on. When her eyes met yours, her face didn’t harden or fall or change at all; she merely held your gaze, as if she were too tired or too numb to react.

“You’re here,” you breathed out in relief. You could have burst into tears of joy at the sight of her alive and safe.

“I only own one house,” she said dully.

“Right, of course, I know.” You scratched your head nervously. “Er, Jeff called. He’s, er, worried about you.”

Wilhemina watched you unblinkingly. You shifted your weight from one foot to the other. It was all you could do to stop yourself from collapsing into her arms and kiss her senseless.

“He said you haven’t been to work for three days,” you tried.

“And why,” she said, “do you care?” There was no trace of animosity in her voice. In fact, there was nothing at all. No emotion. No life.

“He asked me to come check on you.”

Shit. You could have slapped yourself. Wilhemina’s face did harden, then, and she made as if to close the door, but before she had time to you cried out: “No, wait, that came out wrong. Please.” You held up a hand. Wilhemina waited. “He told me you hadn’t shown up in days, and I got worried. That’s why I came. Not because he asked me to.”

She watched you for a few seconds more, then lowered her gaze. Her left hand came up to fidget with the hem of her shorts. She looked so small in those clothes, so young and so fragile. Tears stung your eyes. You blinked them back.

“Can I come in?” you tried.

Her eyes met yours. Please, you begged her in your head. Please, let me in. Please, give us this chance to make it right. Your heart was beating so fast it was starting to hurt.

Eternity passed before she finally – oh what bliss! – stepped aside to let you in. You brushed past her, got a whiff of her perfume mixed with the faint smell of sweat. She ran a hand through her hair nervously, leaning slightly away from you to close the door.

The house was exactly as you had left it, and yet it looked so different. Quieter, somehow, and a bit battered, as if it had just come back from the battlefield to rest and mourn its departed friends. Your footsteps echoed loudly down the corridor as you walked to the living room. You took off your shoes and shoved them in a corner. To make a point. That you didn’t mean to leave until you had talked things through.

Wilhemina stopped in the doorway and waited.

“Um, thank you,” you mumbled. “For letting me in.” As if it weren’t your house, too. But that wasn’t the point.

Wilhemina nodded. Silence fell. You looked around the room nervously, at a loss for words.

“Are you okay?” you finally blurted out. Wilhemina glared at you. “Right. Sorry, stupid question.” You swallowed hard. “Have you, um, have you eaten? I could make something.”

“Who am I to stop you?” Wilhemina answered flatly. “We both know how you need to keep yourself busy when you’re nervous.”

“It’s not about me,” you countered. “I was wondering when you last ate, that’s all.”

She held your gaze for a few more seconds, then proceeded to walk around the room to rearrange things – a candle on a shelf, the cushions on the couch, anything. You watched her, noticed the slight shaking of her hand, how tightly she was gripping her cane. Her hair fell over her eyes as she leaned forward. She briskly pushed it back.

When there was nothing left for her to tidy, she sat on the couch and opened a book.

You stared at her profile, your hands twitching at your sides. Wanting nothing more than to reach out. Sit by her side. Hold her close. Sink into her warmth.

You cleared your throat, and went into the kitchen.

It did help, having something to do with your hands. It relieved some of the ache in your chest. You were too preoccupied to be creative, so you settled on frozen Yangzhou fried rice and an endive salad. Substantial, but easy to eat. In case she was feeling as nauseous as you were.  

You were cutting the endives when you heard Wilhemina call from the other room. “I’m going to take a shower.”

“Alright,” you called back, trying to catch a glimpse of her through the door. “It’ll be ready in twenty minutes.”

You listened to the sound of running water as the rice thawed out. Thought of the right words to say. Part of you wanted to forgive her without further ado and pretend nothing had happened. But that would only buy you more time. Until the next insult, the next fight. Anger swelled in you like a wave as you remembered Pat’s perplexed face, lifting a hand to his cheek where Wilhemina had hit him. His own outburst, “What the hell is wrong with her?!”, Wilhemina’s cold, unreadable expression. The fear in her voice when you had slammed the door behind you.

You closed your eyes and sighed. The only way you could think of to make things right was to have Wilhemina truly, fully open up to you. Convince her that sharing her fears with you would be better than lashing out on other people. Make her realize, and trust, that there was nothing you wanted in the world more than a future with her.

You turned off the heat under the rice and sat at the table as you waited for Wilhemina. Half an hour had passed since she had disappeared in the bathroom. She loved to take long showers, but she hated being late even more. You had told her she had twenty minutes; any other day, she would have made sure to be ready in fifteen.

You waited ten more minutes before you started to get truly worried. You walked to the foot of the stairs and called out her name. There was no answer. You called out again, louder. Silence mocked you.

You hurried up the stairs, your heart in your throat, and knocked on the bathroom door. “Mina? Are you alright?”

And still there was no answer. And you were starting to grow angry again, at her silence, at her shunning you, when you heard it. Faint and muffled, but unmistakable. A sob.

You opened the door and rushed into the room.

Wilhemina was sitting on the floor with her back against the tub and her face hidden in her hands. Her wet hair was dripping on her lap, soaking the purple bathrobe she was wearing. She must have dropped her cane, for it lay on the floor under the sink a few feet from her.  

You rushed up to her and dropped on your knees.

“Baby,” you called, reaching for one of her wrists, “what happened? Are you hurt?”

You tried to gently pry her hands away to get a look at her face, but she didn’t let you. If anything, she stiffened and buried her face deeper in her hands.

Her shoulders shook as she tried to stifle the low, painful sobs that wracked her frail body. You gently brushed her hair back as you waited for her to calm down, not daring to wrap your arms around her, but dying to offer her comfort.

Eventually her sobs turned into sniffles and soft hiccups, and you asked her again what had happened.

“I dropped my cane,” came her answer, weak and muffled. “As I was getting out of the tub.” A shudder ran through her.

“I’m sorry,” she went on. “This…” She lifted one of her hands, then, to gesture at her body, and you caught a glimpse of her face, red and coated with tears. “You deserve so much better than this. Please, go back to Maggie.”

You blinked at her words, at the pain and anguish they expressed. How had it come so far? How blind had you been? Not to realize how insecure she was, how convinced she was she could never be enough. To the point that she had agreed with herself to let you go.  

You shook your head sadly. “But Maggie’s not the one I want.”

She let out a small, pitiful noise at that, and dissolved into tears again. This time, you didn’t think. You scooted over and gathered her into your arms. She sank into you, her hands coming down to clutch your shirt, her face pressing against your chest. There was no restraint anymore. No trying to stifle her sobs or hold back her tears. She let it all out, sobs shaking her body as she sank deeper and deeper into you, as if she were desperate to make one, to leave herself behind and become part of you.  

Her sobs grew louder, and she seemed to have lost all control on her breathing, a gasp in and out and out again without inhaling. She was working herself up in quite a state, so you did the only thing you could think of to help her calm down. You tipped her head up. Captured her lips with yours.

Her mouth was wet and hot and salty, but you didn’t care. You wanted so much more of it. It tasted like home, and love, and safety. You had missed it so much, kissing her, feeling her. Your hands came up to cup her face, fingers pressing on her drenched cheeks as you pulled her closer, humming softy into the kiss.

It did quiet her. Her breath hitched, her shoulders tensed, but then she was kissing you back fervently, as if her life depended on it. Maybe it did. You didn’t know anymore. You were only aware of the sweet warmth of relief coursing through your veins and making your head spin. And of something else, something that ached and throbbed – want. It frightened you, this level of want. Your whole body was burning and tingling with it. It wasn’t so much lust as merely wanting to hold her. To feel her again. Love her freely and endlessly.

Again it hit you how stupid you had been to think you could ever live without her.

When you broke the kiss for air, she let out a whine and immediately chased after you. She was still crying, hiccups rippling into your mouth, drenched skin rubbing against yours. She circled her arms around your neck and bit down on your lower lip, hard, as if to mark you hers. A vampire bite, to contaminate your blood with hers and make sure you and she were the same.

After a while she broke the kiss and slumped into you. She was practically sitting on you now, arms tight around your neck, face buried in your chest, hip digging into your lap. You ran a hand through her hair as you rubbed circles on her back, humming a soft lullaby as a few last tremors shook her body.

It had started to rain outside. You suddenly became aware of the patter on the roof. You leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s and closed your eyes.

“I didn’t mean it, you know,” came her voice, raspy but soft. “What I said the other day. I do love you.”

You hummed, dropped a kiss on her hair. “I know.” A pause. “I love you, too. Of course I love you.”

She let out a shaky breath, then sat up. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. You leaned in to kiss her burning eyelids. You kissed her forehead, a magic kiss, to soothe the throbbing in her head.  

She met your gaze, bit her lip. You gave her a smile.

“Come on, get up,” you urged.

You waited for her in the living room as she cleaned her face, dried her hair and dressed. She put on the pajama set she always wore when she wasn’t feeling confident: baggy pants and a shirt that was too big for her. It didn’t cling to her body. It hid her body completely from view.  

You managed to convince her to eat some of the rice. You ate in silence, watching her as she chewed and swallowed. She was sitting perfectly straight in her chair, head held high, eyes on her plate. When she was done, she delicately dabbed her mouth with her napkin, which she then folded on the table.

You waited. She stared at her empty plate for a moment, and then frowned.

“Look,” she finally said, “this is hard for me. I don’t know where to start.”

You nodded. “I know. That’s alright. Take your time.”

“I don’t usually… talk – “Her voice faltered. She glanced up at you, eyes dark and still rimmed red. You smiled in encouragement.

“Your friends,” she went on. Paused. As no other words came out, you got up from your seat, kneeled in front of her, and reached for one of her hands.

“I don’t hate them,” she said very quietly, staring down at her plate.

You couldn’t help but scoff. “You have a very peculiar way of showing it.”

Her lower lip quivered and her brow pushed up as if she were about to start crying again. You gave her hand a squeeze.

“Hey, none of that. Talk to me. What really bothers you about my friends?”

She squeezed her eyes shut, swallowed hard. You waited. When she opened her eyes again, they were shining with tears.

“I – “She shook her head, let out a sad laugh. “I don’t – “Her voice cracked. Her eyes met yours. “Please don’t – “

“It’s okay,” you whispered, bringing your free hand up to cup her cheek. ”I’m staying. I’m listening.”

A tear dropped from her eye, crashed between your thumb and index; and then she inhaled shakily and it all came out of her at once, words stumbling out like a panicked mob out of a room on fire.

“I’m afraid you’ll find someone better than me. All those kind, healthy people, I’m afraid you’ll truly see them one day and realize you could have so much better, so much more.” A breath out, as her face crumpled. “I don’t – I can’t – “A sob pushed out of her throat, and her breath hitched, and when she tried to inhale again she let out a noise as if she were choking. “I don’t – I don’t think I can ever be – be enough for –”

“Okay, you’re okay,” you cooed as her breathing grew frantic. “Mina, you’re okay.” She shook her head, her body slumping as fresh sobs tore their way out of her throat. “Hey,” you breathed, blinking back your own tears. You let go of her hand to cup her face.

Her cheeks were burning. You ran your thumbs over her cheekbones, catching her tears as they fell.

“Mina, I know you’re hurting,” you whispered. Your voice broke. You cleared your throat. “Baby, I want to be here for you.”

She nodded, hiccupping as she tried to wrestle her emotions back under control. One of her hands came up to wipe sloppily at her nose.

“Let’s move to the couch, ok?” you suggested. “Let’s get you comfortable.”

She didn’t let go of your hand on the very short way to the couch, her palm clammy against yours. She always did that, always had to be touching you: her ankle pressed against yours, her hand resting on your arm or on your waist, her shoulder brushing yours.

You sat down, and she hesitated before she snuggled up to you. She rested her head on your shoulder and reached for one of your hands in your lap.

There was a quiet moment, silence only broken by Wilhemina’s sniffles, and then you shook your head and teased, “What am I going to do with you?”

You felt her stiffen against you. “Because it’s such hard work and you never do a stroke of work,” she snapped.

“Mina,” you warned.

“Sorry,” she said quickly. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

You dropped a kiss on her head. “Okay.”

You wrapped one arm around her shoulders and drew her closer. Automatically your hand started playing with her hair.

“You know,” you went on, “it’d have been easier if you had just told me how you felt instead of taking it out on my friends.”

“I know,” she whispered.

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do. From now on, you be honest with me. Whenever the bad thoughts come, whenever you feel like you could never be enough, you tell me. It doesn’t have to be with words, if that’s hard for you. We can decide on a code. Like this,” you poked her hip, and she jumped and let out a chuckle,” or this,” you leaned in, blew raspberries on her shoulder, “or this,” you stuck out your tongue and licked her cheek.

“You’re gross,” she laughed. She raised one hand to keep your face away from hers, but you dodged it and gently blew into her ear.  

“Y/N.” She had meant to sound firm, but laughter rang in her voice.

“I’m sorry, was that supposed to be a threat?” you teased.

“I think the real question is, what am I supposed to do with you.”

“Um.” You pretended to think that through.”Love me.” A kiss on her shoulder. “I think love me is good.”

She looked up at you with a wistful look in her eyes. Her hand came up to touch your cheek. She smiled, soft and tender and fond, the smile she only ever gave to you. “Love you is good,” she whispered.

Her eyes flicked down to your mouth. You leaned in to kiss her, pouring tenderness into her mouth. When you pulled away, she let out a soft sigh as if she were about to fall asleep.

She rested her head on your shoulder again and closed her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“It’s alright,” you whispered back.

It still rained outside. You listened to the patter on the roof. Leaned your head on top of Wilhemina’s.

She fit so snuggly against you. She made you feel entirely safe, entirely you. You drank from her warmth the solace you had not been able to find in the peach-scented sheets or in Maggie’s reassurances and embrace.

After a while, you felt her nudge her nose on your shoulder. She drew a shaky breath, and asked, “So you’re not leaving?”

Your heart clenched at the vulnerability and fear in her voice.

“Um, no,” you answered. “I’m giving you a second chance.” A kiss on her forehead. “How long I’ll stay is entirely up to you. And Mina, please believe me when I say I hope you’ll give me reasons to stay forever.”    

“I’m not sure I’ll be content with forever,” she said.

You rolled your eyes. “Of course you’re not.”

She shifted against you, moved her head to plant a lazy kiss on your neck, draped one arm loosely around you. Her hand slipped under your shirt and she dragged her nails on your skin, across your belly, down the curve of your waist.  

And then you felt it. A poke, on your left hip. Like a question.

You grinned. “Just like that, my love.”

[astaroth1357]

Demon Brothers being Soft for Their Daughters 

Might just be me but I think there's nothing cuter than a Dad who loves his daughter so I made a hc for our boys. Strap in, it’s a long one! 

IMPORTANT! Watch out for first half spoilers! Assumed that the child is a half human/half demon with the MC!

Lucifer

Tries to be really strict but ends up being kind of a pushover.

Oh there ARE rules that even his little girl can't break, but most of the time she can get away with almost anything if she's cute clever enough.

Pushes her to be the best at almost anything she tries, expectations be real high; gonna take the MC stepping in to remind him winning isn't everything and please cool it on the pressure.

Lowkey learned his lesson before and doesn't want to make another Satan situation so tries to take MC's advice to heart and not be quite so controlling.

Her favorite uncle is Mammon and he gets cold sweats about this every night.

Wasn't able to be there for a lot of her firsts due to work and gets real sulky when he misses out. Videos just don't offer the same experience...

Feels bad that work keeps him so busy so he tries to make up for it with toys, clothes, jewelry, pretty much whatever she likes at the time.

Would never admit it, but his black heart melts every time he comes home and sees she's excitedly waiting by the door.

One of those parents who will never stop bragging about how amazing their kid is to anyone who will listen, but never when she's in the same room.

100% that overprotective "I'm going to give you a brief tour of the torture chamber, then we’ll browse my whip collection. Oh, make sure she's home by 8" kind of dad if she were to ever bring home a date. They will know that his baby is not to be messed with (like anyone's crazy enough to try honestly).

Mammon

So over the goddamn moon that someone actually wanted to have a kid with him that he couldn't shut up about it for weeks.

Treasures his little girl more than anything he owns, even Goldie. When she's a baby the two of them are practically inseparable.

The biggest pushover to ever be pushed. She's about the only person he's ever unconditionally generous to and he really spoils her rotten.

She's just as materialistic as her father, honestly, but MC made sure their girl was raised with good morals. The first of which being no stealing. Ever. She works for every cent she spends.

On the one hand, he's actually pretty damn proud and relieved that she won't be called "scum" or anything like her father, but on the other hand like… Ew. Who raised you? (No one remind him it’s kind of his doing anyway).

For once in his greedy existence, he can tell a sob story about really needing that loan or those shoes for his beloved daughter and actually mean it… most of the time 😏

Even when she's young, though, she will ask him if a gift he's giving her was taken from someone else and, man, he cannot lie to her face. People shame him for stealing all the time but the little look of disappointment she gives him hurts WAY more than all of his brothers’ insults combined.

Probably one of the most supportive and involved dads in existence. He will be at every game, every recital, every meet. Even if he's complaining the whole time, if anyone so much as suggests that he just shouldn't go he'd be appalled.

…. He's perhaps a little too involved because he's also totally the kind of father who will lowkey stalk his daughter's dates to be sure nothing bad happens. MC, please step in. She needs privacy too.

Leviathan

Was incredibly worried about having a kid, he's not even had the best track record when it comes to pets and parenting is some high-level normie stuff. But his little girl's first smile absolutely melted his doubts away.

That being said… he's still not the greatest with little kids. For a long time if the baby so much as sneezed unexpectedly he'd start shouting for the MC and checking every website he can like??? My half demon baby won't stop sneezing, is it pneumonia???

Gets a lot less panicky as the child gets older, but in those early years he'd practically want to stick them in a bubble wrap suit.

He passed on his love of the ocean and underwater creatures pretty early on. The running joke is that his girl knew how to swim before she knew how to crawl.

Family aquarium trips are an absolute must.

The second they're old enough to understand plot he's introducing them to his favorite shows, but only the best (and most child-friendly) ones of course. He wants his daughter to grow into a woman of culture, damnit! Pop culture that is.

Sooo much text/chat lingo between these two. It's not her fault really. She was bound to pick it up but man can it sound like they're speaking tongues at times.

With practice she can and will beat her old man at most video games and, yes, it makes his cry tears of equal parts pride and aggravation.

Has a mini-panic attack every time she hits a new milestone, like, yes he's so fucking proud but also don't you think she's growing up too fast??? MY BABY GIRL!!! 😭😭😭

Cries like a baby to the MC when she goes out on her first date because he realized she's really, truly, growing up and he's afraid his little girl isn't going to want to spend time with her lame old dad anymore.

Satan

Tries to be strict and IS strict but mostly on schoolwork.

Her grades best not be slippin' or this Book Papa will take all her stuff away. End of discussion.

Otherwise, he's surprisingly chill being the Avatar of Wrath and all. He of all people understands the desire to just have your own life and do your own thing.

She'll inherit his temper though, that's a given, and if they both get going then watch out. Fights between them can get verbally explosive, but never physical. Even at his angriest Satan would never once lay a hand on his daughter.

Read to her every night when she was young: storybooks, novels, mythologies, didn't matter to him. Whatever she wanted to hear. Still, he was so proud the day she told him that she wanted to read on her own.

100% makes nearly everything in life a teachable lesson but also helps her when she needs it. He wants her to forge her own path but is still very supportive when the situation calls for it.

Would never EVER admit it, but he does just as many dad jokes as Lucifer.

Of all the brothers, he's probably the most typical father to have, there for his kid just enough while also making sure they're not getting away with murder.

Is totally chill with her dating because he knows he doesn’t have to be super protective of her. She can more than handle herself if something goes wrong, in fact, if he were to step in it would probably add insult to their already grievance injury.

That being said, he IS the Avatar of Wrath. If someone hurts his girl he’s going to have a turn one way or another.

Asmodeus

Oh YEEESSS, he's not normally the commitment kind of guy but he and MC raising a child? They'd be the most gorgeous thing in the universe!!! (Not counting himself of course)

Beautifying his baby since day one, but the MC keeps him from doing anything too extreme. A lot of baths, good moisturizer, hairstyling (when she grows enough of it), etc.

Soooo many outfits. She'll practically never wear the same thing twice and Asmo coordinates his own clothes to match hers all the time.

He actually goes out and parties LESS if you can believe it, especially when she's young and needs a lot of supervision. But he'll get pent up real quick so learning how to do a quiet quickie during naptime is a must.

His girl is all over his Devilgram, nearly every milestone is snapped up and recorded. He loves her more than anything and would just scream about his pride and joy from the rooftops if social media didn't provide him that outlet.

Makes sure his daughter knows that she is gorgeous, she is loved, and passes on every bit of self-confidence he has. Doesn't matter if she grows up a girly-girl, tomboy, or anything else under the sun. When you're feeling good just being you, heads will turn on their own accord!

Not the best at discipline and would only really step in if he thinks she's being a real jerk about something. Day to day attitude adjustments are totally up to the MC.

He is, however, the best sex-ed teacher one could ever ask for and makes sure his daughter knows there's no shame in what comes natural, just be sure you're respectful and responsible!

Completely unfazed when the suitors began lining up, I mean she is HIS daughter. It was inevitable. Offers tips and advice when he can but lets her go off and experiment naturally. Young love is a beautiful thing! (Just don't break his girl's heart though because he may lowkey curse your whole bloodline)

Beelzebub 

….. MC, you're going to be eaten out of house and home.

Though his daughter's appetite isn't AS bad as his, Beel could tell it's going to be an issue from day one but he's ready for it.

Dedicates his freaking life to being sure she never goes one night hungry. He'll cook, he'll shop, he'll even share from his own plate if he has to. The thought of her going through anywhere near the level of starvation he feels on a daily basis is enough to crush his soul (if he has one)

You better bet there will be eating competitions. She never wins, but the fact she can even get close will have him grinning anyway.

That being said, he will push for a healthy and active lifestyle for her too. 

Highkey wants her playing sports and doing team activities because he genuinely thinks it will help her stay healthy and make friends.

Just the right amount of discipline. Tries to be understanding but also knows when to call a spade, a spade and express his disapproval.

Very in-tune to her emotions and her needs even if he can’t quite grasp WHY she's feeling the way she is. Keeping up with teen drama is going to be the bane of his existence...

Uncle Belphie=That one cool uncle who lets you get away with anything and probably gives out sugar after bedtime.

One of the only brothers who makes a point of his daughter also seeing and exploring her human heritage too and not just treating her like a pseudo-demon… And it's totally not just for the added excuse of sampling human world cuisine, like, come on who do you take him for? 🤫

Somewhat cautious about her dating, but ultimately just wants her to be happy. He'll usually trust her judgment but he's pretty good at reading someone's character and if he gets real bad vibes from anyone he's not above telling her, "No. Not that one." Whether or not he's listened to depends on the situation.

Belphegor

Lol MC, you could have picked a much better choice. Borderline Deadbeat/Cool Dad here!

Kids… not his thing. He doesn't dislike them exactly, they're just a lot of work and he's sort of allergic to that. He's more of a semi-irresponsible babysitter type.

Case in point, "Belphie, watch the baby" becomes "Belphie, if you're going to take a nap at least hold onto her leg so she doesn't go anywhere."

Only saving grace is she takes after him so most days she's pretty dang sleepy too. Naptime is a good third of the daily routine (not that anyone is complaining).

Shit at discipline because, like, what leg does he have to stand on? If she wants to ditch class, why not let her? Once or twice ain't that bad.

Takes her on a lot of "field trips" to the human world like he would with Lilith. Genuinely wants her to experience both sides of her identity and encourages her to explore her human side just as much as her demon.

The kind of chill dad that you feel comfortable going to when you've got to talk out a problem or need life advice. He might not be able to offer many answers, but he tries in his own way.

Will prank his kid and will not feel sorry, but is never cruel about it. In fact, this will only spur on a mutual prank war between the two.

Uncle Beel=that genuinely nice uncle who tries to teach you life lessons and how to take care of yourself… while also eating a ton of food.

Would be super confused at first if she started dating like?? How? He kind of sees her like a mini-him at times and his human came to him. Since when did she stay awake long enough to leave the house?? But otherwise he goes with the flow. Whatever she wants, her life.

He might get a bit more agitated if she starts to date a human, like, lowkey bad flashbacks to the whole Lilith situation and the MC would probably have to cool his jets about it. Different circumstances after all.

[not-a-coral-snake]

for the @lamenweek Day 6 prompt: Auguste Lives Au

inspired by this post by @skyline-sunset-in-my-veins and @phoenixtcm

“When I am in Arles this fall,” Damianos says, words soft in the summer sunset air around them, “I will kneel before your brother the king and ask his permission to court you.” He pauses, smile just the slightest bit cocky. Laurent is lounging, hair mussed and shirt trailing half-opened laces, in Damen’s arms. “Court you officially, I mean.” 

“You are going to Arles for the negotiations yourself this year?” Laurent says. Seated as they are, Damen cannot mistake the shudder of tension, quickly repressed, that runs through Laurent at Damen’s words.

“You haven’t told him yet,” he says. 

“It’s just I thought that the ambassador—”

“You haven’t told him yet,” Damen says again. “You said when I saw you last fall that you would tell him last winter for sure.” He tries not to sound accusatory, but well. It is not the first time they have had this conversation.

“I haven’t told him yet,” Laurent concedes. It should not be so hard. It’s been six years since Marlas. Vere and Akielos are at peace. Laurent is in the habit of sharing nearly everything with Auguste, and yet— 

“I’m waiting for the right moment,” he says, as he always does. “It’s a sensitive matter, I wish to catch him in the right mood, lest he make up his mind before hearing me out.” 

“And you’re afraid of hurting him,” Damen says, as he always does.

“And I want to ensure I don’t hurt him. So I have to find the right time—”

��It’s been years now,” Damen cuts in. “Should we believe that, somehow, the perfect moment will occur this summer, when it did not last winter, or last spring, or the summer before that?”

“Damen—”

“This can just be a fling, if you want,” Damen says, gently.

‘That’s not what I—no,” says Laurent. Damen’s never said that before. 

“We can just keep meeting a few times a year. It doesn’t need to be serious. It doesn’t need to be something we tell others about.”

“Damen, stop,” Laurent says. “No. I want to court you. I want it to be official. I want it to be serious.”

“Well, then let it become serious.”

“I’ll tell him this time,” Laurent says. He can do this. It’s been six years since Marlas. Auguste always speaks of Prince Damianos in respectful tones. Laurent picks up Damen’s hand, kisses his knuckles. “Promise.”

And Laurent means to tell Auguste that summer, he really does. He meant to upon his return last fall as well, and the time before that, and the time before that. It’s just that—well, it’s just that every time he returns from diplomatic visits to Delfeur or Ios, he’s struck again with the slow, deliberate way that Auguste moves now. Each year as late spring ripens into summer, he sees how it saddens Auguste that he still no longer has the vigor or endurance for hunts or long rides or anything more taxing than a slow turn around the gardens. Each year as fall deepens into winter, he sees how another year has gone by and the cold makes Auguste’s injuries ache just as much as they had the winter before. 

Auguste had nearly died on the battlefield at Marlas. But that wasn’t the whole of it. Even after he had survived the trip home to Arles, he almost died of fever, of wound rot, of the pneumonia his battle-damaged lungs nearly couldn’t shake. And he almost died of assassination, not one time but many. There were few ways to kill a king in the peak of youth and health without attracting undue suspicion, but endless subtle ways to hasten the death of a man in his sickbed. Their uncle, left to rule the court unchecked, had tried seemingly most of them, endless schemes which Laurent had only barely managed to avert and which left behind no conclusive evidence for Laurent to show the court. Even as Auguste had gained strength, the schemes had continued, until the day Laurent gave up trying to beat his uncle while playing by his uncle’s own rules and had simply arranged an accident of his own. 

After that, Auguste was safe, but the fallout from their uncle’s years ruling the court and admittedly-suspicious death left him with nearly as many enemies as allies. As prince, Auguste had been universally adored. As king, he faced a yearslong struggle to regain the allegiance of erstwhile allies. 

And all this was, at its root, because of Marlas. Because of Damianos. Auguste’s history with Damen wasn’t just the matter of an injury six years ago, not when that injury had colored every day of his life since. And Laurent can’t imagine a way of telling him that he loves Damen, wants a future with him, without it sounding like a betrayal. 

To make matters more awkward, Auguste has, for whatever reason, gotten it into his head to nag Laurent about romance. It’s uncomfortable enough to be keeping his relationship with Damen a secret from Auguste. It’s worse to lie, outright or by omission, every time Auguste asks him if there’s anyone Laurent is interested in pursuing. 

And then— “You know you can tell me anything, little brother,” Auguste says quietly, a few minutes after Laurent has let a conversation about an overly-flirtatious marquis from Lys lapse. 

Laurent swallows, mutely cataloging the darker corners of his past. He does not like to lie to Auguste. But he does.

And there are things he probably will never tell his brother about, things Auguste does not need to know, but also— “Actually, Auguste,” he makes himself say. “There’s something I’ve been meaning to tell you.”

And then he pauses, because he still hasn’t figured out a semi-workable phrasing. I’m in love with Prince Damianos, but that doesn’t mean I’m not still upset about what he did to you. I’m fucking the man who almost killed you, and I’m sorry but also I won’t stop. I know seeing the prince of Akielos this fall will probably be terrible for you but also when he asks to court me please say yes.

It’s Auguste who rescues him, after a moment or two of expectant silence. “Is this going to be you finally telling me about your romantic entanglement with Prince Damianos?” he says. “Because honestly, I’m getting sick of seeing you walking around looking guilty and sad all the time.”

“You knew?” Laurent says.

“Of course I knew! You, dear baby brother, are not very subtle. And I’ve had to hear all your reports from the negotiations with Akielos twice a year. Was I somehow not supposed to notice how you gradually stopped insulting Damianos and started telling me about all his varied and impressive positive traits?”

“I said that he was straightforward and committed to the good of his people, and thus that the negotiations were likely to be a productive use of time!”

“And then the trip after that, you said that he was an innovative thinker, a natural leader, and you couldn’t help but admire his tenacity. You said you didn’t mind having to go on hunts with him, which anyone who knows you understands is a major compliment, and when you said he was patient, you smiled that quiet smile of yours that means you are remembering something that made you very happy.”

“Auguste—”

“And yet! Whenever anyone suggests you have developed any fondness for the man, you deny it. Why go to such lengths to conceal a friendly working relationship?”

“Auguste—”

“And honestly, brother, even back when you hated him, I couldn’t help but notice you mentioned his appearance rather a lot. You were always complaining that he was ridiculously tall, or offensively muscular, or something along those lines.”

“I said he was a brute!”

“You also said that his eyes were, and I quote, ‘disgustingly soulful.’ Oh, and the letters! Was I not supposed to notice that in the last year your correspondence with the prince of Akielos has roughly quadrupled in volume and frequency, even as the official negotiations are reaching a standstill? There isn’t enough policy discussion to account for a tenth of the letters you write. There isn’t enough policy discussion to justify you going to Delfeur in person twice a year, and yet you insist on overseeing things personally each time anyway.”

“Auguste, I’m sorry, all right? I know that this must have been painful for you to witness, and I don’t want you to think I don’t care about everything you’ve been through.” He swallows. “But I don’t want to stop seeing Damianos.”

“All right.”

“‘’All right?’ You’re okay with it? Just like that?”

“He makes you happy. If your judgement of him is to be believed, then he sounds like a worthy man. And I trust your judgement.”

“But he stabbed you. And now I’m sleeping with him.”

“Well, we were at war. And it was years ago. And I’m fine. We’re at peace, the nation’s moving on, you’ve moved on in your opinion of him, I can move on as well.”

“It’s not that simple!”

“Why can’t it be? I only met him for about ten minutes. I’m sure there’s more to him than he revealed in a single duel. You have my blessing, Laurent.”

“How can you just—”

“Remember when your pony threw you and you broke your collarbone?”

“This is not the same, this is not even close to the same—”

“You snuck out of the infirmary to go to the stables and tell Chuckles you weren’t mad at him.”

“I was seven, he meant me no ill will, and the bone healed in a month. Also he was a horse,” Laurent grits out. “Damianos was—is—a grown man, responsible for his choices, the injuries he inflicted did lasting damage, and he was trying to kill you.”

“Well, no one is asking you to sleep with him,” Auguste says, in his reasonable-big-brother voice. 

Laurent lets out a breath, sits back in his chair. “I started managing the negotiations with Akielos so that you wouldn’t have to speak with him,” he says. “We said that it was because I could travel more easily, that it was because you could not justify spending so much time away from court. But in truth, I did not want you to have to be in a room with him, to have to learn to make polite conversation with him and pretend that Marlas did not happen, that it didn’t matter. If I have come to know him as far more than just the soldier who attacked you, if I have put his past actions behind me, come to care for him in spite of them—that does not mean I expect you to do the same. Could ever ask you to do the same.” 

“You’ve always been protecting me, all these years,” Auguste says softly. “Don’t think I don’t know it, or appreciate it. But let me be the protective big brother again once in a while? You’ve learned to let the past go and let yourself have the present you want with Damianos, because you’re in love with him. Allow me to let the past go and have the future I want, where my little brother is happy.”

He’s looking Laurent in the eye, gaze steady, and slowly Laurent allows himself to believe that Auguste is serious, that in his heart of hearts, he does not mind. That he is happy for Laurent. 

“Thank you,” he says. “For your blessing.” 

“Of course,” Auguste says. And then, “Well, when I say you have my blessing, I mean informally, of course. Prince Damianos will have to ask me himself.”

“You just want the chance to make him squirm,” Laurent says. 

“I just want the chance to make him squirm,” Auguste concedes, and he and Laurent break into quiet laughter, imagining it.

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 5)

This is pretty par for the course as far as some slightly horny bits but no actual horniness. Still, if that squicks you, read with caution. 

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, (here) Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE

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The next few days of Geralt’s marriage didn’t fare much better than the first. He and Jaskier were truly an ill match. Sure, the young man was charming, not even Geralt was immune to his wiles, and he was certainly easy on the eyes, but he’d never met someone as annoying as Jaskier.

Jaskier could talk a mile a minute, and the less Geralt talked, the more Jaskier did. This rankled. Geralt had learned that talking less was supposed to encourage less conversation, but clearly Jaskier hadn’t grasped that.

Far worse than the talking was the singing. Singing, humming, tapping, even playing his lute, Jaskier was always doing something. It was like riding beside a musical whirlwind, with the added penalty that at least a whirlwind wouldn’t know lyrics.

It wasn’t totally Jaskier, Geralt knew. They were riding hard to get as far from Lettenhove as possible, and the weather hadn’t let up. It had rained for almost five days, steady, drenching rain, with never enough time to get dry. They went to bed damp and woke up damper. Their socks were moist, their hair sopping. Jaskier was pouting because he couldn’t play his lute and somehow that made him more talkative. Despite the springtime, the rain was cold and sometimes he had to pause mid chatter to shiver. All this, made Geralt’s mood go south. Worse, he always hated parting from his brothers. There were so few of them, the first days without them were hard. 

And he had to deal with some spoiled little rich boy.

That wasn’t being fair to Jaskier, he rarely acted spoiled, not  really spoiled. It was, however, intensely clear that he was used to comfort and they were not, right now, comfortable. He didn’t complain too much about things Geralt couldn’t change, like the weather, apart from the odd sniffle about all his clothes being wet. He did beg to stay in an inn though. 

That bothered Geralt too. They really had little money, and here the lad was trying to get Geralt to spend it on something they didn’t need. He’d survived rain before.

That thought gave Geralt pause. Of course he’d survived rain before, but had Jaskier? It was unlikely. Days and nights of being slightly damp and chilly weren’t good for humans, they tended to get things. Like chest infections. And pneumonia. 

Geralt spared a glance at the figure riding, hunched, beside him.

Unfortunately, Jaskier seemed to take this as an invitation. 

“I can’t wait to get to Oxenfurt,” he said. “I have this friend, Essi, I think you’d love her. She’d certainly love to meet you, and she’s quite pretty, so even if you won’t tell me your stories perhaps you’d tell them to her.”

Was there a hint of bitterness there?

“Anyway,” Jaskier continued. “She wouldn’t be frightened of you in the least, I know because one time we were drunk... well, I was drunk and she was tipsy, and this man came up, really rough looking type you know? And I was raised to be polite so I ask him his business...”

Geralt stopped paying much attention. If the bard could manage that much, all in one breath, he was fine. Jaskier continued, all about this Essi character and a man trying to mug them in an alley. Apparently the girl had kicked him in the rattle and flute so hard he’d thrown up.

“And there’s this great pub,” Jaskier was saying, gesturing broadly with one hand and flinging raindrops into Geralt’s face. “It’s called the King’s Boots, dunno why, but it’s got good ale. Like, really good, not the swill you probably get in these little backwater towns. Pretty barmaids, too, if that takes you fancy.”

There it was again, that odd little inflection.

“It took my fancy, when I was a student there, of course. They weren’t terribly interested in me but, well, I began studying there at fifteen. Really, I still had spots. I wasn’t the catch you see before you now.”

Geralt didn’t deign to respond. Whether or not Jaskier was a catch wasn’t something he was going to weigh in on. 

Even if he definitely had an opinion.

That was maybe the worst of it all. In spite of the constant noise and restless intrusion into Geralt’s life and routine, he did like Jaskier. That was good, considering they were married, but he wanted to kiss Jaskier, at least once. Just to try it out. That was bad because their marriage was about a half inch from being a sham. Married in name only.

“What sort of ladies do you get?” Jaskier was asking. “I mean, it’s obvious you never have any trouble finding partners.”

Geralt thought of a woman in the woods, of Blaviken, of blood. 

“Shut up.”

“No really, Geralt,” Jaskier whinged. “I wan’t to know. Queens and mages? Legendary beauties.”

“Prostitutes.”

“Ah, legendary beauties it is then.”

“I don’t know about legendary,” Geralt said, cursing himself as he did so for encouraging this inane line of questioning. “But they were beautiful enough. For a price.”

“Ah the ladies and gentlemen of negotiable affection will forever have a place in my heart,” Jaskier sighed. Geralt wasn’t about to hear Jaskier’s sexual history in any capacity. For his sanity, he decided to shut the conversation down.

“I expect they’re the only ones willing to touch you.”

Shit. That one had been too harsh. He didn’t mean it, surely men and women and people all fell at Jaskier’s feet with even a glimpse of his smile. He must know he’s attractive.

Jaskier barely spoke the rest of the day. He wasn’t even pouting, exactly. Just...quiet. 

They made camp under cover of some trees. The thick canapy leant enough dryness that Geralt could build a big fire and they hung their clothes over some low branches to dry. Out of the corner of his eye Geralt saw Jaskier take the basilisk leather from his pack and stroke a hand over it, which was strange. The material simply didn’t absorb water and needed no care.

Perhaps he just...liked it. It was a nice thought, sitting sort of warm and heavy in Geralt’s stomach, like a good meat pie. Jaskier liked his gift. Of course, he’d known that, back the day they’d met. That actually, apart from Jaskier’s father, hadn’t been too bad of a day.

Geralt thought about that day as he hunted wild game for their supper. He snagged a pheasant, a male, because it was mating season, and remembered how nervous he’d been, how at ease Jaskier had seemed. Perhaps it was because Jaskier had likely always known it would be, at least somewhat, a political match. Geralt had never thought there’d be a match at all.

Back at camp Jaskier had water boiling and was sitting in front of the roaring fire in just his trousers and chemise, even his socks so damp as to need a good drying. Geralt set the game to boil with a few wild carrots for a stew and sat beside him, feeling his hair finally begin to dry.

“This didn’t start out bad,” he said. He meant them, of course, and he meant it as a sort of apology, even if he knew it was woefully lacking. He just didn’t know what to say. Somehow, Jaskier’s mind must have been running along the same track.

It’s alright. You never wanted to get married to me.”

No, Geralt thought but didn’t say. I never wanted to get married. It has nothing to do with you. There’s nothing at all the matter with you. I’m just a grumpy bastard and we’re not a good fit.

A little voice in the back of Geralt’s head said, ‘you could be. If you let yourself, you could fit’. It sounded unnervingly like Eskel.

The truth was, if it had been anyone besides Jaskier, especially any noble, Geralt may have hated all this more. Jaskier liked nice clothes and clean appearances, but he wasn’t vain. He liked nice things but wasn’t greedy. He craved praise but wasn’t prideful, disliked many things but wasn’t hateful. Compared to the thieving, conniving, small minded nobles Geralt knew, he was unlike them all. 

He was definitely unlike his father. 

Jaskier played his slow tune on his lute. It was comforting and almost familiar, just background music. Geralt stirred the pot, breaking up some larger chunks of meat with the spoon. 

Maybe this would fix some things. They’d be dry, with hot food. That could fix a lot.

“Geralt,” Jaskier asked. “Can I sing?” 

Damn. Well, it was weird the lad was asking for permission, but Geralt didn’t like the idea of controlling the man’s voice, no matter how often he told him to ‘shut up’. Somehow it didn’t feel the same.

“Whatever,” he said.

Jaskier sang lowly, voice pitched at the edge of human hearing. Geralt wasn’t a human, of course, and could hear it clear as day. It was a folk song he’d heard before, a tragedy about a young woman who’s love left and she drowned herself.

It didn’t seem fitting. Jaskier was so lively. Geralt prayed he hadn’t fucked up enought that he’d dampened the bards spirit. 

“Do you know The Chandler’s Wife?” Geralt asked when Jaskier’s song was done.

“That one, with the” Jaskier clicked his fingers three times, mimicking the snapping or tapping that happened in the song.

“Hmmm,” Geralt confirmed, nudging the contents of the pot.

Jaskier began to play. It was a bawdy song, with tapping substituted where innuendo would be. It was simple and cheerful and short, and by the time it was finished they both had steaming bowls of stew. 

“Of all the songs you could have asked for,” Jaskier said, blowing on his stew. “I never would have picked that one.”

“Lambert’s favorite,” Geralt grunted.

Jaskier chuckled. “Makes sense, seems like his sort of song.” He took a large spoonful of stew and groaned in delight. Geralt very emphatically did not pay attention to that sound in any way at all.

“I expect you miss them,” Jaskier said.

“Some,” Geralt didn’t want to talk about it, so he focused on shoveling stew in to his mouth instead. Jaskier got the hint. He just settled one tentative hand on Geralt’s shoulder for a second, then went back to eating. He may as well have pressed a brand to Geralt’s skin.

That night, in their separate bedrolls in mostly dry and fire warmed clothes, Geralt could still feel Jaskier’s palm against him. 

There was another reason, Geralt knew, for his over-grumpiness. It was guilt. Mostly he was alright, but hearing Jaskier chatter excitedly about Oxenfurt and all the things they could do together there...ate at him. 

Jaskier had said he didn’t want to be left. Gotten rid of, had been his phrasing. And Geralt was going to. This rain had just been proof, though. Next time it could be pneumonia or hypothermia. The boy shouldn’t be out here. 

It didn’t help Geralt sleep much better. Jaskier had also used the phrase ‘abandon’. 

-- -- *-- --

The next village had a monster problem. 

“Drowners, what do they do?”

“They drown people, Jaskier.”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “No, I meant, what do they look like--”

“Ugly.”

Another eye roll. “And how do they do it. Do they spin like an alligator? Do they sink claws in and pull...?”

“The second one,” Geralt said, sharpening his sword. He figured they were far enough from Lettenhove that whatever political turmoil Vesemir had unleashed wasn’t going to catch them too soon. 

“I can’t wait. Do they have scales? Fins? Are they slimy like frogs?”

“Jaskier,” Geralt said, finally paying attention. “What do you mean ‘you can’t wait?”

“I get to see you in action! Heroic witcher risks his life for helpless townspeople, it’s all very...Galahad.”

“Galahad?”

“Yes Geralt, he’s only the most famous hero written about in the last three hundred years,” Jaskier said. He was gesturing broadly, the way he always did when talking about literature. Geralt settled in for a rant. 

“You know, ‘my strength is as the strength of ten becasuer my heart is pure,’?” That was Jaskier’s quoting voice.

“Never heard it,” Geralt grunted.

“That’s okay, it’s about this hero who’s good and saves everybody. You’re better than him anyway because you’re real.”

“I’m...better than a mythical hero.”

“I mean...yeah,” Jaskier said like it was obvious. “Everyone knows flaws make a character better. You’re totally hot with a heart of gold, score. Very classic. But also,” Jaskier turned to him grinning. “You’re emotionally constipated and smell like onion.”

“You said heroics a few days ago.”

“Yeah yeah yeah, whatever, that’s what’ll go in the songs. Best of all is that you’re a witcher. Nobody likes witchers but that can change. You’ll be a tragic hero!”

“Tragic?”

“That hair is, do you ever brush it?

“We’re getting away from the point,” Geralt said, resisting the urge to swipe his fingers through his hair. “You aren’t going to see me fight.”

“What, you can’t just leave me at camp!”

No, no he absolutely couldn’t just leave Jaskier at camp. There could be assassins, wolves, anything.

“We’ll get a room at the inn.”

“Really? Oh Geralt, a real bed would be so nice, there’s been this crick in my neck, but you’re not leaving me in an inn room either.”

“You could perform.”

“Excellent bait, but no.”

“Jaskier, please. You need to stay in town,” Geralt was pleading. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been pleading. Probably when he was trying to convince Vesemir not to marry him off for the betterment of witcherkind.

“I want to see you fight!” 

“It’s dangerous!.”

“You fight tons of these, right? I’ll stay super far away.”

“You could still get hurt, something goes wrong and you’ll get hurt! Humans are...soft.”

Jaskier tilted his chin up defiantly. Because they were the same height this wasn’t exactly necessary, but it gave Geralt a better view of his simply devastating eyes which was...not helping.

“I have the perfect plan,” Jaskier said. Were there silver flecks in his eyes? In this light Geralt was almost certain there were.

“I’ll stay back,” Jaskier was saying. “Any distance you want so long as I still get a reasonably good view. And I’ll wear the basilisk doublet.”

It was a good idea. Jaskier would stay back, the doublet would keep him safe. 

Geralt might get another chance to be smiled at byJaskier.

Doublets. Doublets, doublets doublets. Think about the doublet. 

“That would only keep your chest and arms safe.”

Jaskier smirked and patted a hand on Geralt’s chest, causing his slow heart to speed up just a little. “Are you going to let a drowner get to me? Get to my head, Geralt? My pretty face?” Jaskier pouted and Geralt’s stomach flipped over.

“Fine,” Geralt grunted. “You can come along.”

Jaskier looked very fine, all buttoned up in his basilisk leather doublet, and he was surprisingly quiet. This area of the forest was silent. and the ground was soft and slightly damp underfoot. They were near the Pontar river, which they would follow the rest of the way to Oxenfurt.

Here and there Geralt could see signs of human activity, but thankfully no humans in the area. Signs of woodcutters, likely the ill-fated ones who’d discovered the drowner’s pond in the first place, were scattered about. 

They came within view of the pond. More swamp, really. It was so covered in green algae that it looked like some sort of oddly paved floor. It was as still as glass. Geralt took Jaskier’s--surprisingly strong--shoulder in one large hand and steered the boy to a log that he deemed was sufficiently far to be safe. Then he drew his sword.

Drowners weren’t hard to fight, and here in this little pond there were just two, skinny and hungry. Geralt felt relief flood him as he realized that he wouldn’t even need his potions. He didn’t want Jaskier to finally understand what a monster he was. Geralt was enjoying putting off that realization as long as possible. He was also enjoying being a noble hero, likened to this Galahad character, who sounded alright if a bit boring. 

Geralt rolled his shoulders. He didn’t need to, but it looked nice and Jaskier was looking. The first drowner was close, now, trying to sneak through the algae, but Geralt’s vision was much better than its. He waited until the wretched thing lunged. 

The slash of the drowner’s long claws missed Geralt narrowly, but he hadn’t been worried. He pivoted, working on years of instinct. This was who he was. Here he was on much safer ground than with courting and castles. He was a witcher, and fighting monster’s was what he was trained, and to some extent built, for. 

The first slash didn’t kill the drowner, instead lopping off the arm that had so recently threatened to claw his eyes out. Then, with a clever twist of his wrist he sent his blade back the other direction, lopping off the head. It had taken all of a second from the point of the drowner’s lunge. 

It’s companion was slinking up, ready to attack as well but Geralt didn’t need time to recharge. His senses honed in, he felt his pupils dilate to take in the low light coming between the trees and he leapt.

No normal man could have made the leap that sent him over the drowner’s shoulder and onto the shore behind. It hadn’t been the full length of the pond, but rather a diagonal leap that gave him just enough time as the creature spun around. Geralt brought his sword down and cleaved the thing in two.

“Holy shit.”

Geralt looked up, not even breathing hard.

Jaskier was still in his spot on the log. Unlike Geralt, he was breathing hard. There was a flush across the tops of his cheeks, pretty and pink, and his eyes were wide. Even from his spot across the pond Geralt could see the dark pupils and the blue of his irises. 

Gerals severed the heads and warned Jaskier that he was removing the brains for his potions. His response was a squeaked ‘okay’. 

Damn. Had he scared the lad? He didn’t smell scared. Geralt wasn’t sure what Jaskier did smell like. 

He took the brains quickly and packaged them, then slung the heads of the drowner’s from Roach’s saddle. 

Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, had been left at the inn. Inaccurately named, the creature, despite his large size, was docile, gentle, and prone to startling. 

Geralt dipped his hands in the scummy water and dried them on his pants to at least get off the worst of the gunk.

“Well?” he asked Jaskier.

“Wow,” the man said, stepping closer. “That was quick, too.”

Geralt grunted. “Only two.” He didn’t bother mounting up, leading Jaskier and Roach out of the forest and back towards town. 

Jaskier’s heart still sounded like it was going a little fast.

“Frightened?” Geralt asked. The lad smelled like adrenaline and...oh.

“No, just...exhilarated I suppose. I’ve never seen a battle like it.”

Jaskier smelled aroused. Now that Geralt had realized what it was it was all he could smell. The scent clogged his nose and set his brain in a pink, fuzzy cloud. Did Jaskier think...? Would he want..?

Except, of course not. Everyone knew you could get sort of adrenaline high. Plenty of young warriors got a little...stiff after a battle. And being nineteen, Jaskier probably got, got in that situation, with a light breeze. 

He was looking up at Geralt like he’d personally hung the moon, though. No one had ever, as long as he could remember, looked at him that way. There is a certain kind of beauty that comes with being kind to someone, Geralt knew. He hadn’t often seen it. Eskel had scars across his face that were frightening even to some other witchers but his friendship and care towards Geralt always blurred those over.

Now, in this fetid, swamp of a forest, Jaskier was developing that special beauty to Geralt as well. 

He was loud and talked all the time, even now that he seemed to have regained his wits he was chattering about what he’d write. His voice sounded less harsh in Geralt’s ears, though. Because Jaskier thought Geralt was special, and that made him special in return. 

They made it back to the inn, with a brief stop at the alderman’s house, muddy to the knee, although that wasn’t new. Geralt was also somewhat bloodspattered, which was horrible and wasn’t winning him favors with the townsfolk. 

“Got a room?” he asked the innkeeper, a bent old man that Geralt could probably lift on one finger. As is the wont of many smart inkeepers, there was a taproom on the first floor of the inn, and he was industriously cleaning mugs. 

“One,” the man said. “One room, one bed. No prostitutes, them ladies’ gotta do business elsewhere.”Geralt nodded and handed over the coin. 

“Bathouse in town?” he asked. They followed the old inkeeper’s directions to the edge of town, near the river. 

“I can’t wait for a good bed,” Jaskier said. “But I think I’m looking forward to this bath even more. I think my dirt has dirt on it, and my hair is disgusting. Yours too, will you let me wash it?”

Geralt wasn’t listening, also looking forward to the bath. He hummed in response.

“I hope it’s hot,” Jaskier continued. “No, hotter than that, I hope it’s boiling. I want to feel like a carrot in a stew pot when I get in.”

“You’d be a turnip,” Geralt said without thinking.

Jaskier sniffed. “And you’d be an onion.”

Geralt almost chuckled at that. The only reason he didn’t was that, at this moment, it was probably almost true. They both smelled pretty ripe. Jaskier had been correct, too, about there being layers to the grime. Geralt could almost peel himself. Like an onion.

“Anyway, I think I’d be something special, like a dash of pepper or, oh! I’d be a tomato.”

That caught Geralt off guard. 

“What.”

“A tomato, when they’re cooked just right so they almost burst when you cut into them and the juice explodes all over your mouth.”

Geralt wasn’t going to think about any juices of any kind exploding all over anyone’s mouth. Especially not Jaskier’s mouth, with it’s pink lips and clever, wicked tongue that darted out from time to time to wet them. 

“Don’t you think so, Geralt, aren’t I a tomato?”

“Hmmm.”

Jaskier did it again! It was liable to take Geralt’s sanity, the sight of him wetting his chapped lips like that. Maybe if he didn’t speak so much, worse, if he didn’t bite those lips so much, they wouldn’t be so chapped. For some reason Geralt had an insane desire to smear ointment across Jaskier’s lips with his own fingers. 

They would feel so soft.

Geralt paid the bath house attendant and they followed directions to a separate area in the low, stone building, where they could strip off and have a sort of sponge bath. This was of course so that they didn’t get dirt and monster guts in the bath, and was done with each in their own little three-walled wooden stall. Geralt had to call for a second bucket of water to get the guts from his hair. 

Sufficiently scrubbed, he stepped out into the main baths. Only then did he realize the crucial fault in his plan. They were open plan baths. Jaskier was beside him wearing nothing but a towel. Geralt, likewise in a towel, began to sweat. 

He kept his eyes firmly forward and cursed his excellent witchery peripheral vision because he could see...see Jaskier. Dark chest hair, soft and slightly damp. The way a droplet of water trailed from the back of his hair and down his neck, wetting tender skin.

Fuck. 

Jaskier walked towards the bath as if nothing was amiss. Of course, nothing was amiss, they were just two traveling companions. Having a bath. For Melitele’s sake they were married, even.

Geralt saw Jaskier’s foot hit a wet patch and the young man’s steps faltered, sliding a little. Geralt caught him with all his witcher speed, feeling Jaskier collide with his chest. Those blue eyes again, and yes, definitely silver in them. 

Jaskier was blushing, whether from proximity or steam, Geralt didn’t know. He leaned in. Jaskier’s tongue wet those inviting lips again. 

“You missed a spot on your cheek,” Geralt said, drawing back. He hadn’t been sure it wasn’t just a freckle, but it was definitely a bit of dirt. Jaskier sighed.

“Better get in and wash it off, then.”

Why did he sound dissapointed?

Geralt looked away as Jaskier released his towel and slid into the water, doing the same and waiting a second until he was absolutely sure it was safe to look. Jaskier had his head tilted back to rest against the floor, where the bath was sunk into the ground. Geralt sat next to him on the little ledge and let the warmth hit his muscles. It wasn’t boiling as Jaskier had hoped, but it was warm and lovely. The day’s fight hadn’t set any ache into Geralt’s muscles, but the days of sitting tensed up about Jaskier had, and he let them drift away.

Next to him Jaskier hummed contentedly and Geralt couldn’t help but agree. They lingered, not speaking, in the warm baths until they were truly pruny. Geralt neatly had to drag Jaskier out, but couldn’t risk Jaskier becoming too drowsy and drowning. 

They toweled off and redressed and were back at the inn in time for supper and for Jaskier to play. 

Geralt sat in the back of the small taproom, glowering about at anyone who looked like they might get close. He would have gladly gone up to their room and not bothered but Jaskier was performing. He couldn’t leave the bard there, where anyone could attack him, or ply him with too much alcohol and rob him or worse. Besides, he was curious.

Jaskier was capable, in an odd sort of way that was so far different from what Geralt was used to, but he was good at things. There was nothing he tried that he seemed to be terribly bad at. Geralt wasn’t a good judge of music, but he wanted to see if this applied to performing.

As he’d suspected, it did. Jaskier was masterful. Not only was his music top notch, but all his energy, the liveliness, the live wire electricity of him was directed when he performed. Normally, all that energy seemed to make Jaskier’s thoughts and actions a little disorganized, almost mess. Here, in this dingy little tavern, it made him radiant. Every eye was watching, every gaze enthralled, at least for a short time. If Geralt’s medallion hadn’t lain still on his chest he would have called it magic. 

It was incredibly sexy. This was Jaskier in his element, fierce and confident and wearing the doublet Geralt had given him. 

That struck a strange little shiver down Geralt’s spine. A piece of Geralt, prancing about, tied to Jaskier. The gift of the wolves of Kaer Morhen shimmered and twisted with his movements, the black pearl buttons catching dim light. Every eye was on Jaskier, some more salaciously than others, but Geralt couldn’t have cared less. He wouldn’t have cared even if someone had kissed Jaskier there and then. Geralt had no claim to Jaskier like that, they were only married in name. But they were married, and somehow Jaskier so proudly wearing that doublet meant more than a kiss ever could.

A little part in the back of Geralt’s brain wondered if he could have a kiss and Jaskier wearing the doublet, but that was silly.

Geralt went out to see Roach briefly when the performance was over. The applause was too much for his ears and his head, but ran back in when he heard the shouts. 

Three men had Jaskier against a wall, looking furious, and Jaskier looked angrier than they were. 

“Let him go,” Geralt growled, hand going for his sword...which was upstairs in their room. 

Fuck.

The men turned to him, all holding knives that were only knives because no one let swords get that jagged. 

“Your whore here,” one of them said with a shrug towards Jaskier. “Was telling us all how we shouldn’t talk shit about you witchers.”

“Yeah,” sneared another man with rotten teeth and even more rotten breath. “Got all righteous.” He stepped forward, raising his knife. “Said we ought to be thankful.

Geralt felt his muscles tense, gearing for a fight he really, really didn’t want to have.

“I think we oughta show you our ‘gratitude’,” said the third man.

“Or I can show you the door to the next world,” a voice purred. It was Jaskier.

“What is poking into your kidney, or thereabouts,” the bard continued. “Is a fish knife, I believe. I picked it up off the table. It’s pretty sharp, so I wouldn’t recommend moving very quickly. I would recommend, if you like to keep living, dropping your weapons, all three of you, and just walking away.”

The man’s compatriots looked at Jaskier in confusion. Jaskier pressed the knife in just a hair’s breadth further. 

“Do it,” growled the man currently held hostage. Three knives clattered on the floor. 

“Very good,” Jaskier purred in a voice that was both menacing and sent electric signals all the way down Geralt’s spine. “I can see you’re the brains of the outfit. Now apologize to my friend.”

“Wha..?”

Jaskier twitched his knife hand. “Apologize. To. My. Friend.”

“I’mverysorrymisterwitcher,” the man said, all in one breath. 

“Good, and?”

“And...and thank you for getting rid of the monsters?” said the man, hesitantly. Jaskier let down the knife. 

“Scram,” he said. The three toughs fled.

“A fish knife?” Geralt asked, trying not to focus on how spine tinglingly sexy that had been.

Jaskier shrugged. “I don’t keep weapons on me usually. Shall we go to bed?”

Bed turned out to be an overstatement. It was pretty much a cot, and a very slim one at that, but neither of them were going to sleep on the rough floorboards so they squished in together. 

Jaskier snuggled up to Geralt with contented little humming noises and laid his head on his chest. In the corner, in the moonlight from the window, Geralt could see the basilisk leather doublet where it lay on Jaskier’s pack. It would be a shame, he thought, wrapping his arms around Jaskier to keep him from tipping entirely out of the narrow bed. To part from his husband in Oxenfurt. 

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