#and kinder to Nick they would feel comfortable telling him/coming out to him

[fandomtookoverlife]

In addition I hate when characters inaccurately communicate a situation that they fully have all the information for and if they just described it accurately everything would be resolved but they don’t and it all blows up

i hate the miscommunication trope with a burning passion but equally i hate when characters say too much too soon like you don't know this man why are you telling him all of this

[lucyintheskywithxanax]

Red Roses

Pairing: Wilhemina Venable x Fem Reader

A/N: I wrote this a few weeks ago and gave up on it because I thought it was too messy and too repetitive. But I re-read it yesterday and was surprisingly pleased with it and with its messiness. So here you go.

Credits to Stevie Nicks for some of the words in one paragraph at the end.

Summary: this is my take on the “reader introduces new gf to her family” story, except I decided it should not be cute but angsty

Warnings: homophobia, internalised homophobia, racism

Word count: ~ 5 400

 “Are you ready ?” Wilhemina asked.

You made a face and gave her hand a squeeze. “No? But I don’t think I’ll ever be so let’s just do this.”

“Permission to cane them if they get mean?”

You breathed out a laugh. “Mina, no.”

She gave you a small wicked smile that made your heart skip a beat. “Too bad,” she said in that deep voice that meant someone was in trouble.

“They’re old,” you smiled. “You would break their bones.”

She hummed thoughtfully. You stared down at your linked hands on your lap as you absentmindedly stroked her knuckles. Wilhemina waited a few more seconds, then opened the door of the car and got out.

Well, here goes. You followed her immediately, as she knew you would.

Outside the air was cold and crisp and smelt of the ocean. Every year your family would gather at your grandparents’ house to celebrate Christmas. It was a tradition you dared not break, no matter the toll it took on you. This year, it would just be you, your parents and grandparents.

You stepped closer to Wilhemina as your grandparents appeared at the front door and waved. “Come on in, come on in, it’s so cold!”

“I can smell the ocean from here,” you smiled.

“Yes, but come on in!”

When they closed the door behind you, it felt as if you had just been thrown in jail. They beamed at you, happy and content, as they helped you and Wilhemina take off your coats.

“Welcome! How was the drive? We’re so glad to see you, it’s been too long!”

“I made your favorite cake,” your grandma said with a wink.

“And welcome to you, Y/N’s friend!” your granddad said, opening his arms to Wilhemina.

“It’s very nice to meet you,” she said. Her voice was cold, but not cold enough to set off their reproaches.  

Your grandparents gave her polite smiles as they ran their eyes up and down her body, gazes lingering on her cane for a second too long. Automatically you reached out and brushed her wrist, a small gesture of comfort just in case she needed it.

“Are mum and dad here?” you asked, taking a peek inside the living-room.

“Not yet.”

Your parents had always supported you and knew you and Wilhemina were a couple. They had met her three or four times already, had offered her kind smiles that had grown kinder when they’d noticed the fond look that would soften her eyes every time she’d look at you. But your grandparents – that was quite a different story.

You loved them. You really did. They were kind and affectionate and generous. You hated them. They made you feel so small and dirty.

Here was the thing. Your grandparents had their own definition of what was right and what was wrong, and nothing would change their minds. Their convictions were engraved in marble. They pointed a finger at everyone who dared put a toe out of the norms, and laughed at them and jeered and hated. How they hated. It was a terrible monster, that hatred of them. It was too big and too strong and too dark. It stifled you, clawed at your skin, bullied your heart. And how they adored you. You were the perfect grandchild, polite and kind, educated, always respectful, always so proper. If only they knew – they didn’t know you. They only saw what you had allowed them to see, a masquerade, a very pretty picture in a golden frame.  

You had wanted to keep Wilhemina safe from your grandparents’ toxicity, but the alternative was her spending Christmas on her own. Again. While all around her the world celebrated. You wouldn’t have that – it wasn’t even an option. She had been so alone for so long, and it had hurt her so deeply, so viciously, until loneliness had become so familiar she had mistaken it for home. You had been trying to teach her, one gentle touch at a time, what home really felt like. So this Christmas, she would be loved and cherished.

You carried your and Wilhemina’s bags upstairs to the spare room you would sleep in. Wilhemina rolled her eyes at the twin beds. You shot her a sheepish smile.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

She shook her head. “No need to apologize.”

“We can put the beds closer after I tell them about us.”

You wouldn’t get to sleep in that room, part of you knew that. Your grandparents would kick you out like the reminder of a shameful memory as soon as they learnt about Wilhemina and you.

You picked up one of the pillows, so soft and comfortable, expensive pillows that had been carefully chosen for the comfort of loved ones, and stroked it absentmindedly. Your eyes veiled over.

You had been so happy in this house. There had been so much love and joy, so much sunshine. But you had never really been yourself in this house.

Wilhemina slipped one arm around your waist and pressed your back against her chest. A soft kiss on the nape of your neck. You leaned back into her, eyes fluttering closed, gathering strength from her warmth. She gave you so much of it, every day.

“Are you okay, little one?”

You hummed, turned in her arms to look at her. You poked her cheek. “Never better.”

Your parents arrived half an hour later, and your grandma immediately ushered you all in the kitchen for lunch. Cooking was how she expressed her affection. Her meals were always abundant and delicious. Because she loved you all, so dearly.

“Your house is very lovely,” Wilhemina said as your dad poured the wine.

Your granddad flashed her a smile. “We fled big cities two years ago. Too many freaks, too much filth. We couldn’t stand it anymore.”

Your grandma piled food on your plate, her eyes soft and kind, for she loved you so dearly. Your hands were shaking.

“We are being invaded,” your granddad was saying. “In two years my neighbours will be a couple of fags or a family of black people. And the government is doing nothing to stop it. When I look around, I cannot recognize my own country.”

You fidgeted with your fork, unable to eat, suddenly feeling incredibly nervous. Several times before, you had heard Wilhemina complain about how “worthless” part of the world population was. You had seen her look down on people and snarl at them for merely existing.

You stole a glance at her. And what – your throat closed up – what if she took your grandparents’ side? What if she agreed with them? What if she pulled her chair closer to them, and nodded to what they said, and shared a few laughs with them, and when next she would look at you it would be with scorn and disdain? What if, listening to what they had to say, her eyes finally opened, and she saw you the way you sometimes saw yourself? Freakish, unlovable.

What then?

You shook your head, suddenly angry with yourself. You knew her. You trusted her. She would never think of you like that.

But what if she did?

Your dad laughed loudly, startling you from your thoughts. You met your granddad’s eyes – kind, soft – and offered him a weak smile.

“And how’s your love life, Y/N?” he asked.

Tell them. You had promised it to yourself. You had promised it to Mina. But what if – Lord – what if they were right? What if they had been right all along? What if Wilhemina finally opened her eyes –

“Did you see how the neighbours pruned their apple tree?” your grandma was saying. “It looks hideous now.”

You cleared your throat.

“Uh, guys, I have something to tell you.”

Your heart was beating so fast you were pretty sure it was going to burst any minute now. You couldn’t look at Wilhemina. You had never been more aware of her presence ever since you had met her, her body radiating burning heat that almost threatened to destroy you.

Your grandparents looked up at you expectantly.

Who’s the lucky man? your granddad’s happy eyes asked. Great-grandchildren! your grandmother’s smile beamed. So proud, so satisfied.

You had become ice. Ice that was melting in the fire that was Wilhemina. Your hands were shaking. You wanted to run away so badly.

“Um, so, Wilhemina and I are dating,” you heard yourself say – from very, very far away. The voice wasn’t yours. It echoed in your ears.

Your grandparents didn’t understand.

“We’re dating,” the voice said, “as in we’re together. We’re in love. I love her.” The voice was almost proud. It surprised you.

Your grandparents understood.

This was terrible. This was the worst. The disappointment on their faces, as if you had failed them, as if you had failed to honour your side of the contract. What would they say to their neighbours and friends now? How would they boast about you? When would they get to greet your nice, respectful husband? When would they bounce their great-grandchildren on their knees?  Where were the respectability and the pride and the freaking normal?

You lowered your eyes so you didn’t have to watch as disappointment and pain settled on their faces. You were vaguely aware of the stinging in your eyes and the trembling of your chin. This would not do. You were freezing, ice crystallizing around your heart, to choke it or to protect it you didn’t know. You would break under your grandparents’ gazes and nothing would be left of you. You had failed them.

Warmth. Wilhemina’s hand found yours under the table. She gave it a gentle squeeze, laced her fingers with yours. Warmth, and softness and love.

Your parents weren’t saying a thing. Your dad was staring at his plate, your mum at the ceiling. It broke your heart, their silence. It was like an agreement with what your grandparents’ faces were expressing.

You couldn’t talk either, so you waited, for Wilhemina’s hand to let go of yours as she realized just how pathetic you were, how disgusting, you were disgusting and your love was disgusting and –

“Why are you doing this to us?” your granddad asked. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Wilhemina wince. “Uh? What did we ever do to you to deserve this?”

How sad he looked. How so terribly broken.

There was the sound of a chair scraping on the floor, and then Wilhemina stood up, slowly and threateningly, eyes half-closed, teeth half-bared. You looked up at her, saw the anger on her face, and mechanically you reached out to stop her. She shouldn’t snap at them. They were right. Couldn’t she see that, see how sad they were, how badly you had hurt them?

Wilhemina looked down at you in surprise. For a second she seemed to be at a loss for what to do. Her mouth opened, but you shook your head, jumped on your feet, and flew out of the room.

It was so very cold outside. You had left without your coat. But the cold felt good. You dived into it.

You couldn’t see very well because of the tears in your eyes, but the sky was white, the earth was wet, and the sand was a faded yellow that was almost grey when your feet sank into it. You hadn’t even realized you had run to the beach.

The tide was low, the ocean quiet, barely any waves, which was funny really because your heart was a storm. You had expected the ocean to be raging.

You sat down on the sand and wrapped your arms around your knees. The chilly wind bit your cheeks. You let the cold sweep through you, let it slip its fingers under your clothes. You took a few deep breaths of the salty air.  

Warmth. A gentle hand on your shoulder.

“You left without your coat, little one,” said Wilhemina, her voice firm but laced with tenderness. “It’s too cold. Here, put it on.”

You didn’t move, so Wilhemina draped your coat over your shoulders. She sat down beside you and you hated the tenderness and the love that clutched your heart for it felt wrong – her love felt wrong. You deserved a slap in the face and a few bitter insults.  

You sank into her nonetheless. You couldn’t help it. You had always been drawn to her like a magnet, and she was always craving your touch.

She wrapped one arm around your shoulders to press you close against her. She was staring fiercely at the ocean, eyes black and angry. You saw her blink several times, her jaw working as if she were gritting her teeth to hold back words. She wasn’t good with words. Communication had always been her weak point. But she always tried, for you.

“Maybe they’re right,” you heard yourself whisper after a while – or maybe it was just the wind, carrying the words from your heart to her ears. “Maybe I am a freak. Maybe I am disgusting and there’s something wrong with me.”

Wilhemina’s face hardened. She held you tighter. “Well then,” she said, very low and very slow, “we are meant to be together. I’m a freak, too.”

“You’re not!” you exclaimed. “Don’t say that about yourself. You’re not a freak, Mina!”

Her lips curled into a small smile. “Funny you should say that. It’s what I think of you, too. See, maybe we can help each other.”

She turned her head to look at you. Her eyes were big and so painfully honest and loving you felt like dissolving into tears. You bit the inside of your cheek as your face crumpled.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Wilhemina cooed. Her brow pushed up in concern, her hand coming up to hold your chin. She gazed at you, searching your eyes, then leaned in to kiss you.

You couldn’t kiss her right now. It didn’t feel proper – if your lips met, the gods in the sky would roar in wrath and smite you. And what if one of your grandparents’ neighbours or friends saw you? Your family would be so ashamed. You had already hurt them so badly. So you put a hand on Wilhemina’s chest to hold her back, and you saw the pain and the fear flash in her eyes before she blinked them away.

“No, Mina, I –“

She leaned slightly away, blinking, nodding. You told yourself it was the cold wind that made the tears pool in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered to Wilhemina. You watched her out of the corner of your eye and reached for her hand.

“It’s okay,” she nodded, smiling through her fear.

You gave her hand a squeeze. “I love you,” you whispered, low and anxious, as if it were a shameful secret. As if it should never be uttered loudly. But the ocean captured the words and sent them back to you and her with a loud groan and spray as a wave almost lapped up your feet.

“I love you,” you repeated, louder. You leaned in and planted a peck on her cheek. Nuzzled her skin, breathed her in. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, love. I understand.”

Of course she did. You had seen the harshness in her gaze when she inspected herself in the mirror in the morning. There were days she would not even dare meet her own eyes.

But she was right. You could help each other. For you both knew what the other was worth, and you both were willing to apply love like a balm on the other’s wounds.

It seemed to you the ocean was whispering. What was it? A secret. Come closer. Don’t be afraid. Closer still.

You sagged against Wilhemina. I’d rather stay here on the beach with her, you told the ocean. Where it’s warm and dry and safe. Keep your secret. I don’t want it.

Tentatively, Wilhemina dropped a kiss on your temple. You hummed, to let her know it was okay. You felt her relax slightly against you, and then she whispered in your ear the secret you had refused to hear from the ocean. You didn’t fail them. They failed you.

Without warning you put one hand on the small of her back and your other hand on her shoulder, and gently pushed her so that she was lying on the sand. She met your eyes in surprise, mouth opening in protest but you kissed her silent. You felt her smile into the kiss.

Her lips were cold, but her mouth was warm and so very sweet. One of her hands tangled in your hair and gently stroke the nape of your neck. Your whole body was tingling. There was no way, you thought, no way this could be wrong.

When you pulled away, Wilhemina’s eyes were shining, and she bit down on a smile. “You’re getting sand in my hair,” she said, raising an eyebrow.

“Tough shit,” you teased. You brushed your mouth against hers, marveling at the warmth and softness of her; your tongue darted out to taste her lower lip, then plunged into her mouth and gently licked her teeth.

Wilhemina held your hand all the way back to your grandparents’ house. You mother was waiting for you by the door. She gave Wilhemina a grateful smile when she saw you were safe and sound.

“Y/N that was quite an over-reaction,” your mum gently scolded.

“Thank you for your input,” Wilhemina snapped. With a hand on your back she guided you inside. “And thank you for speaking up for your daughter earlier,” she spat over her shoulder. You couldn’t hold back the small smile that tugged at your lips.

“Y/N?” came your granddad’s voice from the living-room.

He appeared in the doorway.

And just like that you were freezing again. For he looked so sad, so very broken – his anger would’ve been alright, you could stand up to anger, but this look, this terrible look on his face that suggested his whole world had just come apart – you froze. Instinctively you leaned away from Wilhemina, hating yourself for doing so.  

Your granddad took a tentative step towards you. “Can we talk this over? Surely if we talk this over, you’ll change your mind.”

Wilhemina’s hand on your back felt like molten metal. You had to force yourself not to squirm away from her touch. It wasn’t right, your granddad’s expression told you. It wasn’t natural for her to love you like that.

Your body leaned towards him and further away from Wilhemina. Did she notice? Please don’t let her notice. But she did, and you saw her square her shoulders to look taller like an animal sensing a threat.

“Come on, love,” she said, giving your back a gentle push.

Your granddad’s eyes fell on her. “Where are you going?”

“We’re leaving,” Wilhemina answered in a cold but calm voice. “Our destination is none of your business.”

“And you think Y/N’s gonna come with you?” A laugh, of genuine surprise.”We’ve spent every Christmas since she was born together. We’re family.”

Wilhemina’s fingers on your back stuttered. Her eyes widened, oh, just a bit, just the slightest bit, imperceptible to anyone who didn’t know her as well as you did.

“Christmas,” your granddad went on, his face growing more and more animated, “is for family and love. What do you have to offer her, apart from depravity and deceit? Did you really think,” here he laughed again – genuine surprise again, so much worse than hatred, “that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?”, with a glance at her cane, incredulous, pitifying, almost amused.

He was good, you had to give him that. He knew exactly where to scratch so it would hurt the most. But he had also made a mistake. He could abuse you all he wanted, but Wilhemina was off limits. She was sacred ground, never to be sullied by anyone.

“She’s family,” you groaned, raising your chin defiantly, “and I love her.”

Your granddad scoffed. “Don’t be ridiculous. Please, you’ve seen her – or maybe you haven’t, and that’d explain why you agreed to date her. Come on, come sit with us, let us talk, let us help you –“

“Just, stop talking.” You closed your eyes and gritted your teeth, trying to curb the anger that was rising inside you – hot, red, like lava. “Stop talking, and leave me alone.”

Only now did you realize that Wilhemina hadn’t said a word for too long. No snide comebacks, no insults. You glanced at her. Her face was hard and blank, but her eyes were veiled, and you knew that look. There was the glaze she always hid herself behind when she was afraid and hurting. Like that Sunday morning at the farmer’s market, when she and you had been browsing a flower stall, bright pink orchids, red and yellow tulips, green buds, and that old woman behind you in the line had made a disparaging remark about “cripples”, loud enough for Wilhemina to hear.  

You reached for her hand on your back and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Come on, Mina, let’s go.”

Your granddad called after you as you stomped up the stairs, Wilhemina’s hand still in yours, but you ignored him. Your body was tingling with a strange mix of anger, fear and relief. You walked into the spare room, picked up your bag and Wilhemina’s – there had been no time to unpack – and turned towards the door. Wilhemina was staring at you, her left arm crossed over her stomach in a hug, her brow slightly pulled down in thought.

“If you’d rather stay here with them –“she started.

“I don’t,” you cut her off firmly.

“I don’t want to get between you and the people you love.”

You heard the pain in her voice, so you dropped your bag on the floor, walked up to her and cupped her face. “Don’t let his words get to you,” you said, tilting her head to make her meet your eyes.”They were lies. You know that. I love you.”

Her eyes locked with yours, wide and begging for reassurance.

Please, you know better than that. You’re so smart, did you really think that she meant it when she said she could love someone like you?

Footsteps on the stairs, your grandma’s voice – how much she loved you. How very much she wanted to be proud of you.

Wilhemina’s eyes reflected the hesitation she saw in yours, and it spread and spread and spread until it threatened to darken the whole room like the falling of night.

“I love you,” you repeated, voice strangled, fingers trembling on her skin.

Oh please – they’re family.

And it was the same fear, the very same fear that was pulsing in both your veins – freakish, unlovable. Your lips curled in a soft smile at the exact moment your grandma entered the room.

With your free hand in Wilhemina’s, her pulse and your pulse drumming between your palms, you walked past your grandma, down the stairs and down the hall, towards the front door, and when you opened it you could have sworn you heard the call of the ocean, singing “come away”.

Wilhemina was half crying, half laughing nervously as she fumbled in her bag for the car keys, hands shaking, so you cupped her face again, kissed her, her mouth, her cheeks, kissed her tears until she could breathe easier. And you heard someone behind you gasp, and someone else curse in the same voice the old woman had used that day at the farmer’s market, when Wilhemina’s fingers had stuttered over the flowers.

A sob pushed out of her throat, a jingle of keys as they fell to the floor; Wilhemina bent down to pick them up, but she couldn’t see well enough through her tears. You picked up the keys for her and opened the car.

Before you got in, you turned and faced your family. When you spoke your voice was firm and hard, a surprise, but not an unpleasant one. “I will sit with you, and we will talk, when you’re ready to apologise,” you growled, staring into your granddad’s eyes, then your grandma’s. You slammed the door of the car, just to make a point.

You drove. A little bit above the speed limit, on winding narrow roads that crossed small, sleepy villages. You had driven almost twenty miles when you realized you had no idea where you were going.

You glanced at Wilhemina. She was staring out the window, her face blank, but at least that veil had lifted from her eyes. When you focused on the road again, you spotted a sign that read a familiar name.

“Let’s go there,” you said. Wilhemina didn’t react. “You’ll like the place.”

The place in question was a small fishermen village surrounded by fields, with a narrow pier and a wide beach that stretched for more than half a mile before it abruptly ended on an expanse of rocks covered with seaweeds. You had come here countless times with your family as a child, to sit on the pier with your feet dangling above the water and ice cream dripping between your fingers.

Today the water was as grey as the sky. You reached for Wilhemina’s hand and led her down the coastal path that weaved among the dunes.  

“I have so many happy memories linked to this place,” you whispered, barely louder than the wind. “Now I want to make one with you.”

Wilhemina let out a small, pejorative laugh.

You shot her a sideways look. “What?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, then straightened your shoulders and pointed at something in front of you. “Look.”

There, half-hidden behind a swell of the dunes, rose the ruins of what must have been a manor house, but was now a clustered mess of broken walls from which four seagulls flew out with angry cries. A small stream spurted out from between two stones and flowed lazily across the beach to be soaked up by the sand right before it met the ocean.  

Wilhemina stopped in her tracks and let out a surprised puff of air.

“I told you you’d like it,” you smiled. “Doesn’t it look so very Victorian?”

With a clumsy curtsey you extended one arm towards the ruins. “Would Miss Wilhemina accompany me on a tour of Netherfield Hall?”

Wilhemina’s face lit up with a smirk.

The place was rather tricky for her to navigate with her cane, but she didn’t complain. You and her stepped over the bits of wood and the stones that littered the sand, falling into a comfortable and slightly awed silence. There was something so solemn, and a bit impressive, about those ruins, like walking in a silent church.

Wilhemina stopped in a doorway that led into a small, square room. “What is this room?” she asked in a haughty voice.

You assumed a proud expression. “The library. See all my books? Folks come from all across the country to admire them. I have the largest collection.”

“All I can see is you have very bad taste,” Wilhemina quipped as she turned on her heel and walked away. You laughed and followed her into the next room, of which only one wall remained. It opened on the ocean.  

“Careful!” you screamed, pointing at a brown seaweed on the sand. “There’s a banana skin on the mahogany floor!”

Wilhemina snorted, then assumed a scornful expression. “Call a servant. Somebody get us rid of it. I will not tolerate the state of this kitchen.”

With a grin you pulled her to you and kissed her, slow and sweet. She hummed into the kiss, bringing one hand up to cup your cheek, fingers barely brushing your skin as if it were made of something indescribably precious. When you pulled away, her smile was genuinely happy.

“Hello,” you giggled, giddy and fond.

She bit her lip, ran her thumb over your mouth.

“Hi.”

You took her hand again, and together you made your way through an archway into yet another room.

“This, I believe, must be the master bedroom,” you sang. You shot Wilhemina a suggestive look, which she pretended not to notice.

“I see a bed, but where is your husband?” Wilhemina asked.

A sad smile. When you spoke, your voice had a quaver to it. “Alas, Miss Wilhemina, there is no husband.”

She hummed. Pressed her cane against her stomach. “So who’s to share this big bed with you?” she asked after a while. She was avoiding your gaze, her eyes fixed on a tuft of grass that had managed to grow in the sand. “It must get so cold in the winter. Any suitor waiting by the door?”

She was no longer teasing you. Her voice was serious, her face had become unreadable again. You looked at her, and felt that familiar pain that wasn’t just pain but also sadness, and yearning for an easier, kinder life, clutch at your heart.  

“A hundred, probably,” you whispered. You stroked your thumb over one of her knuckles, back and forth. “I don’t know. I didn’t check. I keep the doors closed.” You tugged her arm to make her turn and face you. Gave her a soft, sad smile, cupped her cheek with your free hand and caught the lonely tear that dropped from her eye. “I already have my sweetheart here with me inside,” you murmured, gazing into her eyes.  

There was so much fear in your heart. So much fear you could have thrown up on the sand in the middle of those ruins that had once been a manor house, where people dressed in pretty clothes had met to share an evening of dancing and revelries. Love had bloomed among those walls before, love that had been so bright it had lit up the whole room and love that had been kept secret behind closed doors. The walls and the ocean were still singing the long-dead lovers’ songs.

You would sing it, too, grab the hand of the nearest dancer and join the farandole.

So you gave Wilhemina’s hand a squeeze that was almost too tight, just like that day at the farmer’s market when, with rage thundering in your chest and your eyes shooting daggers, you had towered over the old woman and shouted profanities at her until all the colour had drained from her face. And you had bought Wilhemina a ridiculously big bouquet of roses she had carried down the aisle, her cheeks flushed with gratitude and happiness and almost as bright and red as the flowers, for the whole world to see how beloved she was.  

You pulled her close and smirked when her eyes flicked hungrily to your lips.

“What is that sweetheart of yours like?” she whispered.

“Most of the time she’s an ass.” Wilhemina gave you a look that made you laugh. “But when I do this – “you leaned in and dropped a soft kiss on her mouth, “I find my home and family.”

Wilhemina’s eyes had fluttered closed; she didn’t open them for a long moment after you pulled away. That was new: she always made sure her eyes were opened when somebody stood that close to her, so that she would see danger come, so that she would not be taken by surprise when her lover suddenly sneered and mocked and laughed. But today she let herself sink into intimacy and trusted it would not hurt her, and you felt yourself melt with gratitude and love.

When she eventually opened her eyes again, she gazed at you with wonderment, as if she were seeing you for the very first time and you were the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes on; and then she blinked, and wonderment gave way to adoration and something that was so pure and so genuinely happy.  

[hey-nick-your-thoughts]

The habit of sleeping in had been long lost on me. Even though I slept the shock and stiffness off for days after leaving the vault, it eventually became habitual for me to wake up early in the morning. For a year, it had often been to the rising sun but in the detective agency it remained an elusive sight. Bricks shuttered the entire bottom floor off from the rest of the world happening around it. Even the top floor had been covered and recovered in various materials over the past decade or more. 

The residing detective's voice rang out as he approached the doorway of his bedroom, "Come on." He was, undoubtedly, anticipating that I was already awake for the day. 

Normally, I was quick to wake up at the sound of his voice. While traveling through a myriad of police stations all over the commonwealth, I had associated hearing his voice while I was sleeping with needing to suddenly be alert. An alarm no different from sirens of days passed. 

I couldn't move. Caught between a rough mattress and a pilled blanket, my body felt like it was both freezing and dripping in sweat. 

"Not like you to sleep in," he approached the side of my fabric prison, his amber eyes boring holes of concern into every inch of exposed skin, "You feeling okay, doll?" He placed his good hand against my forehead, pushing back my bangs to get a good reading. 

I found myself thinking about how receptive his synthetic skin must have been. Was it exactly like that of a human hand? Did it connect to things like thermometers to send the information to his system in order to tell the difference between hot and cold?

"A little warm." He pulled the blanket up to cover the small amount of shoulders that I had exposed. I felt the heft of the blanket against my collarbone. 

The detective stood up and I found myself immediately needing to roll over to reach for the bucket next to the bed. Draining the contents of my stomach into it all at once, I tried to muffle the sound so as not to wake Ellie. 

I then attempted to sit up and instead leaned against the wall with nausea floating in the pit of what was left in my stomach. "Maybe it's radiation sickness."

"Thought I heard one storm pass by last night." Knocking a metallic hand against the heavy bricks, Nick speculated, "These old walls may not have kept all of it out." 

"I don't have any RadAway around," I commented, recalling that the space in the drawer that used to house it was now housing a bag of tools instead. After reading that taking it often could cause hair loss, among other issues, I decided to switch completely over to using Rad-X instead. It was only preventative for a certain amount of time, but if I knew there would be any issues, I could pop one of the pills rather quickly and still keep my auburn locks. 

"Solomon usually keeps a ready supply of it. Why don't I go nab a pack?" In an almost repeating motion, Nick covered my shoulders with the old brown blanket again. I nodded, a chill crawling from the back of my neck only to turn into fire by the time it reached my toes. 

When the door closed, I found myself at the bucket again. I held a messy braid back with one hand and the blanket together with the other. A bead of sweat rolled down the edge of my face as I leaned over. 

Without me, Nick didn't have to worry about losing days of progress due to illness. Growing in a world kinder than this, I found that I was often feeling weak and helpless. A different hopelessness than the abusive home I had escaped only to end up here. Perhaps it was because someone else was being affected this time. It wasn't just me that I felt responsible for in regards to feelings anymore. 

In a moment of respite and feeling sorry for myself, I felt my eyelids drooping and welcoming me to more rest. I leaned against the cool, concrete wall and shut them. 

The door to the agency creaked open. A common sound that tended to make my heart beat a little faster. Something about him coming into that door made me feel less lonely, turning me into a twisted version of Pavlov's Dog. 

His boots played elegant notes across the splintered wooden floor. The synthetic melody played around the corner, accompanied by the RadAway in his hand, and continued to the dresser at the end of the bed. 

Black and gold eyes realized enough space to sit down at the foot of the bed, not too far where I was leaned against the wall. His weight pulled down on the mattress but it was comforting. "I talked to Doc Sun." 

"And?" 

"He thinks it might be food poisoning." Golden rings looked from me and to the bucket, "I'm inclined to believe him." 

It wasn't the first time I had food poisoning and it was true that radiation sickness felt much different than this current hell I was going through. 

The last time I could remember having food poisoning was when I threw up in front of my father just before the school bus was supposed to pick me up. He didn't want any calls from the school asking where I was, presumably because child services might make a visit due to previous issues. Instead he took one pill from every bottle in the medicine cabinet and made me take them all before sending me to school. I spent the entire day not knowing of my own existence. Before going into that state and after coming out of it, I remember being terrified but remembered nothing in between. 

But if I could dissociate that well through the current churning of my stomach, it would be something of a welcomed miracle.

"Said there's been a few cases of it around in the last 24 hours. Should check on Ellie, too, when she wakes up." 

"In any case, he said we should treat you for that first before dosing you with the RadAway." 

I sighed, "Today of all days, Nick. I'm so sorry." 

He shook his head, the gray hat cropping his face with shadows from the dim lighting, "Better it happened in here than out there.' The detective stood up and pointed at the head of the barren bed, "Just try to get some rest. We can leave after you're better." 

Though I still felt bad about hindering his work, despite his words, I laid down again on the mattress. Auburn hair obscured my vision, the braid became uncomfortable beneath my weight even with the bed below. I pulled the stretched hair tie apart from a sea of red and gently parted the waves until it flooded the surface below.

When he brought a bowl of soup in the afternoon, I realized that he really wasn't as concerned with the new case as he was with my health. By then, my stomach couldn't possibly have had anything else inside. I was happy to finally taste something that wasn't my own vomit. 

"Is Ellie okay?" I asked the detective between sips. 

"She's fine. Maybe that helps narrow down the culprit." The culprit, this time, was whatever food had caused the city to get sick. 

"Maybe that meat I added to the mac and cheese."

"Maybe." He concurred before joining me in sitting on the bed again. "Should talk to Doc Sun and see if he can't get whatever it was off the market before it kills someone."

I nodded, taking another spoonful of the hot broth. "So, Nick? Your last case, the Eddie one... Is that the only thing you had planned for the rest of your life or is there something else?" 

"What do you mean?"

I crossed my legs and cupped the warm bowl in my lap, "Your hopes, aspirations... a bucket list maybe? Going places or achieving something." 

Thinking about it, I was probably asking because I didn't see any for myself. After all, I was never meant to be here, to be alive at this point in time. Most of my life, since I was left alone with my father, was focused solely on surviving. I was reliant on the here and now with no chance to look forward more than 'I want a better life'. Sometimes, even before the bombs, life didn't feel like it was always guaranteed to continue the next day. 

My stomach churned again but it was a less physical feeling than what I was experiencing before. 

"Well." Nick paused and adjusted his weight against the bed. "The old nick wanted to see the city from the top of Bunker Hill. As much as I want to live my own life, I can't seem to shake the feeling that I'd like to go up there, myself." 

Failing to stifle a laugh, I thought about the fact that we had already been in the area. 

"Don't laugh," He scolded, as if he thought I was laughing at the simplicity of his dreams.

"No, no. I was just thinking about how we had the opportunity when we stayed the night there." The beginning of that journey felt as if it was years ago. I remembered my apprehension in trusting the synth detective. The first person to truly reach out to me and I was keen to push him away for so long.

And with my feelings towards him now, all of it felt a little silly and nostalgic. 

His eyes focused directly on mine as he tried to explain himself. "Look, I didn't want to overwhelm you."

"Let's do it together one day." I interrupted before he could print out another excuse. Maybe he really didn't want to overwhelm me but I personally thought it might have been his dedication to one task at a time. He was so focused on the case that he didn't take much time to do anything else unless I was dragging him into it. If I had known he wanted to go to the top of the monument, though, would I have offered at the time? 

"Sounds good." Seeing the smile lingering just beneath his serious stature felt like an achievement. "What about you, doll?" 

"Nuka World." Pulling the bowl back up from my lap, I took another spoonful of the cooling soup after an unexpected yawn. 

"Probably not functional right now. Why Nuka World?" I could practically see the gears turning in his head. 

"Everything in the commonwealth is in disrepair and honestly, it's beautiful." Buildings where the sunlight crept in had sunflowers reaching towards those rays. Highways creating works of art in the directions they bent and fell, as if they had simply begun melting into the earth one commonwealth summer. Forest lined sidewalks with billboards at the heads of their trunks. The way grass even grew in police stations torn open by a landslide. "I wanted to see a place I could only dream of as a kid become a work of art restored by nature." 

"Fair enough. Most people these days wouldn't have had the experiences we've had, save for a few ghouls I suppose." His hat bobbed slightly as he nodded. 

Setting the bowl aside and melting into the blanket and rough mattress, I continued my interrogation with the detective, "You're lucky."

"How so?" 

"You never had to see the bombs fall."

"Maybe I am." 

I still saw and felt the force of it in my dreams. The debris kicking up as the elevator to the vault descended. The alien wind blowing across the top as if it was a bottle to play a tune on. 

A frozen atmosphere in an unfamiliar place where my father and I were ushered to change into vault suits in front of everyone else. Neighbors sighing in relief as if the rest of the world hadn't just died in that same moment. 

Before long, I was waking up again. 

Warmth. 

As I rubbed my blurry eyes, I spotted the detective resting in the bed beside me. He often told me that he didn't need sleep but encouraged me to at least, which is why it was always surprising to find instances in which he chose to. The only difference this time is that he had decided to share the bed with me. 

Confused but not unhappy, I pulled half of the pilled, brown blanket over his figure. At the end of the bed lay his coat and hat, accompanied by a spare bag of RadAway.

[sjjdkdkwo]

I think while Stephen was a pompous doctor during his pre accident days, he’d actually be a really sad person behind closed doors? He probably doesn’t even realize it but he’s such an empty person for so many reasons at that point like the loss of literally his whole family. And he doesn’t really strike me as a social butterfly even then, like he doesn’t really have friends, he has colleagues but in his warped sense of companionship that’s enough and means he’s not a sad lonely person. At least in the movies they don’t show you any friends he might have besides Christine? And it really makes me wonder if he even has them to begin with, and if he didn’t I feel like he’d do all these little things to overcome loneliness he doesn’t even know he has? You get me??? Anyway—

 —

 A thirty-four hour shift wasn’t the longest Stephen had endured since becoming a surgeon, but it was draining all the same. Especially when it seemed he was the only capable surgeon at Metro General half of the time he was working there. Stephen swore if he had to fix Nick’s mistakes on more time he’d push him from a fifth floor window; and make him operate on himself just to make him see how incompetent he really was. He’d already come close once earlier that week.  

 He stifled a yawn as he made his way toward the elevator in his building but stopped when he felt something barrel into his legs. Nearly tripping over the thing he looked down with scowl and found a familiar furry face looking up at him. Stephen forgot any irritation as the little dog before him barked and got up on it’s hind legs to paw at Stephen’s own longer ones. He broke out into a large grin as he crouched down to be closer to eye level with the dog and reached out to run his fingers over the animals soft silky fur before sticking out one hand for the dog to shake.

 “Well hello, Bandit.” He greeted. “How are you doing today?”

 Bandit let out a high pitched bark and placed his paw into Stephen’s waiting hand. After giving the dog a gentle little handshake he reached inside his coat pocket and pulled out a small bag of dog treats before holding one out for the dog to eat. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as Bandit scarfed down the treat and he let his hand linger so his furry friend could lap up the residue left on his fingers.

 “I know, I know, bacon flavor is your favorite. I didn’t forget.”

 Stephen held conversation with the dog for another minute before a tall man ran up to them calling out the dogs name. When he saw Stephen a look of relief passed over his face as he made his way toward them.

 “Doctor Strange, thank God.” He huffed before his gaze landed on Bandit. “And you! What have I told you about running off like that? Your lucky you ran into Doctor Strange, mister!”

 Bandit barked again, wagging his tail and jittering about between both men. Stephen shook his head fondly and stood back up.

 “Marcus, how are you?”

 “Great, listen I’m so sorry, Doctor Strange. I don’t know what comes over him whenever he sees you.” Marcus said scratching his chin in thought.

 “Probably these?” Stephen laughed holding up the bag of dog treats.

 “I see now, trying to bribe my dog into leaving me for you, huh?” Marcus joked.

 “Hardly. If anything, he’s the one trying to con me with that adorable face of his.”

 Marcus laughed and settled a soft, kind smile on his face and leaned down to hook Bandit back on his leash.

 “I get what you mean, I’m practically starving with how often he whines for table scraps.” Marcus huffed again. His phone chirped then and he quickly fished it out from his pants. His eyes widened when he stared at the screen and he looked back up at Stephen with a sorry face. “Shoot, I gotta go, Doctor Strange.”

 “Oh…right course, it was nice seeing you, Marcus. You keep a close eye on him, he’s a slippery one.”

 “Oh I will.”

 “I was talking to Bandit.” Stephen teased.

 Marcus rolled his eyes and gave him a wry smile. “Very funny, Doctor Strange. Bye now!”

 Stephen waved them both off with a slack smile before making his way back toward the elevator door and to his loft. He often thought about getting a dog of his own, but then he’d remember he hardly had time for himself most days and would eradicate the thought from his mind completely.

 Walking through his front door Stephen slipped off his coat and shoes and placed them neatly on by the door and on the coat rack. He rolled his head side to side a few times and walked into the living room quickly switching on the television. The loft would be to quiet otherwise and on days were things were less ideal than usual; it almost felt like there was someone else there. Not that Stephen needed the comfort, certainly not. It was merely a habit he often told himself instead. Stephen turned his gaze to the table settled against the wall and the two frames placed meticulously there.

 “Donna, Victor. I’m home.” He said to the frames then trotted to the kitchen. “You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had. I swear it’s like Nick was placed on this earth just to annoy me.”

 It was a stupid habit really, one that Stephen would never admit to anyone to save his life. It had started thanks to an old college roommate who had once confided in him that he could speak to the dead. Of course Stephen had laughed at him and had deemed the whole ordeal sheer lunacy. His roommate had hadn’t taken much offense though and had continued to hassle Stephen with tales of psychic powers or special cards one could use to speak to the deceased. Sometimes one could merely talk into the open air and if they were lucky a loved one would be near by to hear it, he’d said. Stephen had taken everything with a grain of salt though, and hadn’t cared much for the conversation.

 After a particular nasty phone call with his father however, Stephen had been reminded how strained things were with his family at the time, and how broken they’d all become since Donnas’ death. And later that night in a bout of deep dejection he’d called out her name when no one was around. Before he knew it he’d spent six hours talking into thin air about anything and everything, and from then on he simply hadn’t been able to stop. A few years later he’d ended up doing the same with Victor.

 Stephen reached the kitchen counter and opened one of the cabinets beneath the sink to pull out a silver pan. Opening his fridge next he rummaged through before pulling out a stick of butter and single cut of steak. “He nearly misdiagnosed a patient with a brain tumor. Can you even believe that? If I hadn’t stepped in and run a few more tests who knows what would’ve happened? Sometimes I just want to—“

 Stephen stretched out his arms and clenched his fingers as if strangling an imaginary person. He sighed and went back to the items lying on the counter and heated up the stove.

 “Honestly some days I think it’s not just the patients who’ve got something wrong going on in their brains.” Stephen laughed at his own words and dumped a scoop of butter into the pan before placing the steak in. “It seems like there isn’t anyone there who hasn’t gotten on my nerves. Well…there is a new surgeon, Christine. It’s kind of endearing really, when she first met me she could hardly find the right words to even say hello. I’m not surprised though, it’s not everyday you meet someone of my skill and talent.”

 Stephen walked away from the stove and found his way to the living room and turned on some music.

 “We actually have a date this weekend at dinner I’m speaking at. She was so excited when I told her; I bet she’s kept up with all my work...” Stephen said, drumming his fingers on his armrest with a lofty smirk. A slight smell of smoke made it’s way over to him but Stephen decided to ignore it in favor of talking some more. Before he could continue his ramblings though the next song played and he let out a jovial laugh. “I can’t make you love me by Bonnie Raitt, 1991. Oh god, I remember when you played this song for days on end after Brian Williams broke up with you, Donna. You didn’t stop moping over that halfwit until Victor and me practically dragged you out of the house.”

 Stephen smiled softly to himself, looking over at Donna and Victor’s pictures on the table in front him. “We went to the fair that day, remember?”

 Donna had been a wreck when Brian had decided she simply wasn’t the right person for him. She’d cried and ran into the family room to declare that true love was a lie and that her life meant nothing anymore. Stephen and Victor had tried not to laugh, and instead set about planning ways to get back at Brian for making her cry regardless. She was their sister and they loved her too much to let her tears go to waste after all. After more than a week of hearing the same sad song behind her closed door though they’d decided enough was enough and had tugged her out of bed and into Stephen’s car. She’d been steadfast in her sulking demeanor the entirety ride there regardless of what Victor or Stephen did however.

 It wasn’t until two rides in that Donna had cracked her first smile after Victor had screamed so hard he’d almost cried while on the rollercoaster ride. She’d babied him after, but still teased him about it as they’d made their way around before she dragged them both to see a psychic. Stephen had groaned and begged her not to indulge in the nonsensical fake mysticism but she’d made a show of almost crying herself and Stephen knew had no choice. He had often thought Donna could one day convince him into murder if she’d tried hard enough, and thanked anyone who would listen that she was kinder than that.

 Stephen had stood off to the side as his siblings received their readings, not paying any mind to what the supposed psychic was telling them and making faces the whole time. He’d been relieved that they’d finished till Donna had insisted that he get a reading of his own. This time he hadn’t relented when she’d pouted��until Victor had joined.

 He’d sat in front of the psychic with an air of skepticism and superiority, nodding with feigned interest with at each word he heard. He would admit that his ego had been stroked when he’d been told that great things awaited him in the future, and had turned back to his siblings with a smug grin. His mood has quickly shifted though when the psychic had told him that sorrow and hardship would also follow him for the rest of his life. When he’d been warned that he would come to associate large bodies of water and automobiles with pain and death Stephen had scoffed and demanded their money back. Donna had smacked him on the shoulder and scolded him for his rudeness, apologizing to the psychic while Victor rolled with laughter behind them.

 Though it had left him annoyed, Stephen didn’t think on it beyond that day and resumed life as usual. He didn’t believe in discernible tales of the supernatural and mystical beings or the occult, not when science and logic could easily disprove them.

 And then a year later, Donna drowned in the lake.

 Stephen had been to overcome with grief to make any connections between the two events at first, and when he could finally think on it had merely become angrier with himself for belittling his own sister’s death in such a way and pushed the thought from his mind.

 Victor’s death hadn’t hurt any less. And looking at his brother’s mangled dead body beside the parked car he nearly laughed at the fortuity of it all, before breaking down and cradling him in his arms while he cried.

 Stephen had become deathly silent as he let his mind wander further into the tragedy that seemed shadow him through life and wondered not for the first time if perhaps he was cursed. Pain had become an old friend by now, and sometimes Stephen didn’t know if he was truly happy or simply passing by as best he could. All his thoughts were interrupted at the sound of the smoke alarm going off however, and he cursed as he ran back into the kitchen to turn of the stove and look down at his now burned dinner. Glad for the distraction Stephen laughed into the empty loft and turned his head slightly as if someone were really there.

 “Guess that’s a no go. You know what means, take out.” Stephen said throwing out the steak into the garbage been before grabbing his phone. And if anyone else were really there they might have said he looked almost relieved and eager at the thought of ordering out. Almost like he’d planned for the dinner to fail since starting it. “I think I’ll order Ruffian’s tonight, the delivery boy, Tim always gives me extra utensils.”

 Stephen didn’t need extra utensils. Who would even use them? No one, not when he lived all alone.

 A few hours later Stephen practically rushed out of his seat to get the door when he heard the buzzer. Swaying his way to the entrance he opened it with a casual smile only to drop it when he saw a stranger standing there.

 “Uh, food for…Doctor Strange?” the man before him said, squinting at the paper in his hand in disbelief before looking up at him.

 “Ah, yes. That’s me.” Stephen responded. He furrowed a brow. “Tim’s not working tonight, huh?”

 The man gave him an odd look before nodding. “Yeah he’s um—he’s off tonight. Anyway here.”

 Stephen reached out to grab the bag as it was offered to him, and gave the made a teasing grin.

 “Thanks, I needed this.” He said.

 “Oh yeah?”

 “Let’s just say my cooking is so good even the smoke alarm cheers for me.” Stephen snorted. The other man didn’t laugh. So Stephen did it for him, admittedly awkwardly though. “You get it? See I’m so—“

 “Yeah listen I’ve gotta go to my next delivery, but uh, you enjoy your food Mister—“

 “Doctor” Stephen corrected.

 “Right, well. Bye now.” The man said in grimace before hastily making his way away from Stephen.

 “Yes…goodbye now.” Stephen said to the empty hallway.  

 Stephen ate his meal in relative silence after, only finishing half and talking out loud only a few times in between bites. After finishing and placing the leftovers in the fridge he stood in the middle of the empty living room.

 “Well, I’d better head to bed. Early day tomorrow, and I can’t be late.” Stephen said, rocking back on his heels. “You know they’d be completely lost without me otherwise.”

 He laughed, but no one was there to hear it. He gave a strained smile before shutting the television off and heading to bed.

 After changing into his sleeping attire Stephen settled into the large vacant bed under the warm thick blankets and shut off his bedside lamp.

 “Today wasn’t so bad. Saw a few people today. And of course I did excellent work.” Stephen spoke into the dark solitary space around him. “Yes, thing are looking pretty good for me I’d say. Right Donna, Victor?”

 Stephen smiled to himself but couldn’t help but think about what his siblings would really say in that moment. He knew of course, he could still remember every detail about them well enough to be able to guess. He could see Donnas’ pitying glance and Victor’s desolate stare.

 Aren’t you lonely, Stephen? , Donna would probably ask.

 Stephen scoffed into the air.

 “I’m not lonely.” He mumbled. “I’m not, I’m perfectly fine with my life as is. I have everything I ever wanted you know.”

 He was speaking louder now he knew, but it didn’t matter. He had no one to wake up anyway.

 Are you sure?

 “Don’t be ridiculous. Lonely…I can’t be lonely.”

 Stephen shifted in bed, suddenly realizing how quite the room was and frowned deeply. He sat up and beat his pillow; it felt to stiff in that moment. The whole bed felt uncomfortable then really, but Stephen didn’t give in and settled back down with an angry huff.

 “How can I be lonely when everyone knows my name.”

 He lay there for a moment in the heavy stifling silence before he couldn’t handle it anymore and flung himself from out of the bed to open his bedroom window, letting in the harsh cold air as he did so. Along with the cacophony of voices and cars and whatever other noises lived on constantly in New York.

 Stephen let out a shaky breath and made his way back into bed. He didn’t bother getting comfortable this time, instead curling in on himself and shutting his eyes tight as he let the raucous noise from outside shelter him from the suffocating stillness of before. Only then was Stephen finally able to sleep.

 That night he dreamt of bright flashing lights and drowning. Deep, deep into a pool of black ooze until he could no longer breath.

 In the morning, Stephen wouldn’t give the dream a second thought. He didn’t need to, not when he already knew.

 There was no such thing as magic.

[badass-at-fandoming]

For the OC questions ask game, 🦋, 🌟& 💎 for Cassandra 😄

Thank you, friend!! Cassandra is really on my mind lately. Though perhaps the better question is if she’s ever not lol

🦋 If your OC could change everything (or just something) about their life would they? What would they change? What do they think would happen if they did? What would their loved ones think?

Part of the point of Kinder Universe is everything goes well for Cassandra, so this question is rather difficult, haha. Her wish would be focused on someone else. She wishes Sergio was Embraced by her Toreador mentor, Jeanette duCharme, instead of ghouled, so they and she could be on equal footing. She wishes she found a way to create peace between Matilda and her family, without Matilda ending up as a Kindred and demented to Nathan. She wishes she had left Matilda with clearer instructions, so the vampire hunting didn’t blow up in their faces. She wishes she didn’t have to choose between LA and traveling with Beckett. She wishes being Malkavian didn’t come at so high a cost.

Her loved ones think she’s a hopeless dreamer. That’s not always a bad thing.

🌟 When your OC loses all hope, who do they turn to first? What helps make them feel better? What calms them down and reassures them? Why?

OOF. This is complicated! Darkest hours happen a lot in horror games, and, because they’re horror games, the characters face them alone, by choice or design.

When Cassandra was a young woman, she would turn to her mother and her family’s patriarch and patron, Antonio, for help. Generally, when Cassandra is upset, she turns to people, or self-soothes by pampering herself, like with bubble baths, fancy perfume, dancing, listening to music, singing etc. She’s an extrovert, so, like, seeking people is her default.

After her mother and Antonio were dead, she’d turn to her father, Enzo. However, it became apparent reallllllly quick that Enzo was not one for coddling and comfort--he would tell her to deal with it herself. Sure, he would help in material ways, like money, but didn’t Cassandra know he had real problems? like how to start the Italian mafia in LA lol

SOOOO her father’s rejection started a trend of self-reliance that does not always end well for her. Sure, in those brief, shining decades where all the Bonpensieros lived peacefully under the LA Camarilla, Cassandra had a quite large support system. She had her family, her mentor Jeanette, her friend Nick Knight, her Malkavian sister Matilda, her touchstone Frank Putnman, and her chosen family of Sancha, Elena, Zelde, and Sergio. If she was upset, she could go to any of these people for help, comfort, wisdom, and reassurance. But when things got really tough and really grim, Cassandra told no one. She faced it alone, and people she cared about died or were driven from the city, but they didn’t all die, and she grips that cold victory tight.

In the San Andreas timeline, she still holds that self-reliance, and she’s better at leveraging her connections to get what she wants. In A Kinder Universe...hmmm, I want to say Beckett, but I think it’s Sergio. They’ve been with her through the very thick and the very thin. There’s a Diary story I’ve skimmed wherein Anatole ditches Beckett to attend some great Malkavian meeting, and I think Cassandra would ditch him as well, BUT she would leave Sergio there to guard him. Sergio is not terribly pleased about this, and they and Beckett run after the wayward prophets.

💎 Does your OC collect anything? Is there a reason? When did they start and is it beginning to turn into a little bit of a hoarding issue? What do they do with their collection?

Uhhh, so this is pretty dark, but, um, do skulls of loved ones count as a collection.

In San Andreas timeline, Cassandra has collected the skulls of her sire Cactus Jack, Sergio, and Zelde. She also has the entire skeleton of a party guest at Antonio’s final party, ya know, the one that got blown up and incinerated Antonio, her family home, and their entire fortune. The skeleton died holding a wax tube recording of Antonio’s research into the Eye of Hazimel. From the Cobweb, Antonio guided Cassandra into finding this skeleton and recording, so it’s, ah, pretty special to her. She holds onto these bones out of grief.

A Kinder Universe is slightly cheerier! She only has Cactus Jack’s skull and the skeleton. Both of them stay at the Bonpensiero Mansion in her room. She also has her little shrine to Caine at Haven, but idk if that counts as a collection. She built it as a way to externalize and act on her Malkavian derangement (hearing Caine’s Voice). She offers flowers, prayers, and candles to the shrine, like Catholics do to saints. Also song lyrics once, haha. In addition, her room houses copies of her 3 albums and 5 films.

Whew! This got long! Thank you again for asking! :D :D :D

[trulycertain]

I was just looking over An Unquenchable Flame, and have found my oldest notes, the ones that got lost for a year when my laptop was nicked. Here, have a post-Adamant scene I’ve just put back in, because it feels important.

He says, after what feels like too long, “How are you?” When Yvaine just frowns, he tries, “Losing Hawke can’t have been easy.”

She sighs, and she seems to dim a little, even in such bright sunlight. When she looks up, she nods to the room behind her and says, “You might as well come in.” She takes a few steps back, leaving the door open.

He pauses on the threshold, uncertain, and then tells himself to stop being so stupid. He steps through, closing the door behind him.

He can’t help looking around in surprise. They really have spared no expense. The last time he was here, it was a drafty, crumbling part of a ruin, and now there’s a fire burning, a large, four-poster bed, and what might even be carpets.

She smiles, again seeming bashful. “I didn’t ask for any of this. I think there might even be a private cellar.” She takes a seat at her desk, the motion loose and graceful, crossing one leg over the other. He notices then that she’s barefoot, and something about the picture she makes takes him aback. He’s rarely seen this woman before, and he admits at the back of his mind that she might have a certain... appeal.

He takes the seat opposite her and says, “I think I might have to complain to our builders. I’m starting to feel hard done by.”

She laughs quietly, and then her gaze falls to her desk and she sobers. “To answer your question: I’ll live. I’m not sure Varric will be the same, but...” She sighs, shrinking.

“It wasn’t your fault.” It sounds too much of a platitude, but he means it. They’ve all heard what happened at Adamant, and there was no better way.

She shakes her head, still unable to look at him. “I could have chosen Alistair. I just thought the Wardens needed one of their own to rebuild, someone who could...” Another sigh, and she finally meets his eye. “I’m not sure why I’m trying to justify this to you. You won’t exactly be mourning Hawke.”

It should probably be a low blow, but he remembers what she saw of Hawke and knows how she could come to that conclusion. He finds no anger in him when he responds, “You might be surprised.”

It seems she is; she raises an eyebrow, and then he feels the need to explain.

“Without her, I’m not sure I would have seen what Meredith was. I’d like to think so, but Hawke... she forced change. Her methods were extreme, but she did change things. I’ve never met anyone quite like her, except perhaps the Hero of Ferelden.” And you, he almost adds, but he feels like he’d be saying too much. Besides, Yvaine is... kinder. Less broken.

She nods, her face set, and then she swallows. “And I killed her.”

“No.” He finds he’s leaning forwards, looking into her eyes, and she watches him in surprise. “The Nightmare did that. You brought yourself and your team out of the Fade, alive.” She’s staring at him now, but he continues, “No-one else could have done that. I certainly couldn’t have.”

She seems to struggle finding her words, and then she speaks. “You actually believe these things you’re saying, don’t you?”

Of course he does. “It’s my job to be honest,” he tells her simply.

She smiles; it shakes, but it’s a relief to see. And then the moment is gone, and she asks, “Does it ever get easier? Sending people to... well.” She leans an elbow on the desk, a hand against her face.

He has to take a moment to consider his answer, but he tells her bluntly, “No. And it shouldn’t. I doubt it ever gets better.”

“Hm. Do many people come to you for comfort?” She brushes a lock of hair from her forehead, looks at his hands on the table.

He gives her a wan smile of his own. “No, not many.”

“I can’t think why.”

“I trust the sarcasm is a positive sign.” When that raises a twitch of her lips, he continues, “We were always going to lose people. You were given an impossible choice, and you saved many more than died at Adamant. If you’d died in the Fade, we’d have no chance of sealing the Breach.” She still sits with such misery on her face that he has to add, “Yvaine, you couldn’t have stayed.”

It’s true, but part of him thinks that he’d say anything if she’d just look at him.

He sighs. “We look for a better option, but sometimes there is no better option. You keep thinking that if you’d prepared better, if you’d done things differently, you could have saved her. But that isn’t always the case.”

“I very much doubt that.” Her voice is shaking, and she frowns as if chiding herself. As if there’s anything to be ashamed of.

“Something... something I always thought about the Circle was that it deceived the apprentices in some ways.” She opens her mouth, and he holds up a hand to stop her. “Not just the obvious ones. Years of rituals give you the idea that if you read enough, if you plan enough, you’re guaranteed a victory.”

She frowns at that. “But that’s true. Preparation is essential, or your job wouldn’t exist.”

He smiles slightly. “Neither would yours. But it’s only partly true. Preparation isn’t always enough. Part of a battle is learning to lose.” He exhales in the silence, and dust motes stir in the sunlight from the window. He runs a hand through his hair, and ends up looking at the bookshelves rather than her. “My mother used to have an old prayer she’d use. It wasn’t part of the Chant, but she found it helpful. She used to ask the Maker to let her accept inevitability. To let her change the things she could, and accept the things she couldn’t.”

“I think I understand. I… still can’t imagine you saying something like that.”

“Really? I often used to use it. I hoped that one day I’d learn to believe it.”

“That makes more sense.” She can’t help but sigh, looking at her knees. “I think I hate inevitability, Cullen.”

“She did too.” He smiles briefly, slightly, unable to help himself. He inhales and continues, “The tree in our garden, the one I told you about... I was forever trying to climb it. I was hopeless. Even she... She used to say, ‘Cullen, you’ve got more chance of plaiting fog.’ And perhaps she was right, but I thought that if I couldn’t even climb a tree, I’d certainly never join the templars.” With a rough laugh, he scrubs a hand across his forehead. “I went out a couple of weeks before I was eventually recruited, and I climbed it. Easily. I wondered if I’d grown taller, or... I was sitting in the leaves, and I looked down, and someone had nailed planks, little... footholds in the bark. And I knew why the hammer was on the kitchen table that morning.”

Yvaine laughs a little, even though it isn’t funny and she knows he didn’t tell it to be. “It sounds like she loved you a lot.”

“She did.” His hands are clasped in his lap, and he looks at them, his brow creasing. “I should have gone home more. She died in the Blight.”

Her face twists, and she stares at him. “Oh, Cullen.”

No. That’s... this isn’t about him. “That’s” – he waves a hand dismissively -“that’s not what I meant. There are things you can’t change.”

And she grins at him, as if she can’t resist. “Even with a good hammer?”

He smiles, and knows it’s wan. “Even then. Hawke was... Hawke was not a nail. Or a tree.”

“Well, that’s one way of putting it. Thank you, Cullen.”

He nods, and a silence falls.

Moments pass, and he hears her swallow, exhale. Then at last her eyes meet his, and she says, “Have you ever considered a career change? You could replace Mother Giselle. Give everyone spiritual guidance. Cheer them up, that sort of thing.”

He sighs. He should be glad to see her cheer restored, and he is, but this - it seems that her mask is back on. His chance is gone, and all he can do now is respond in kind. “I had quite enough ‘spiritual guidance’ in the Chantry.”

She snorts. He can’t help it; he wonders what would provoke such a reaction, and it must show in his face, because she says, “Sorry. It was your tone. Fereldans are... Fereldans are funnier.”

“I see.” He doesn’t, but there’s little else he can say. The words he’s been meaning to say, the reason he came to find her, fall from his lips: “You weren’t too forward, in your letter.”

“I... What?” It’s so rare to see her wrongfooted; usually that’s her job.

“I’m expressing an opinion on the matter. I consider you a friend, too.”

She brightens with the words, and her smile is something more genuine this time. The adrift woman of before is gone.

He makes the decision. He’ll tell her. He needs to. She’s the Inquisitor, and he can’t pretend it isn’t happening. She must have seen it, anyway. The shaking of his hands, his agitation. She was in a Circle; she must know at least a little of the templars, even if the lyrium is a closely-guarded secret. The story forming in her head, the image of him she has, is fundamentally incomplete. If she hasn’t turned away after Kirkwall, maybe she...

He opens his mouth and it nearly comes out. But this isn’t the time. This isn��t about him, and it never has been.

He allows the moment to stand, and wonders whether he should.

[ladylb]

To Cry

Chapter 18  The Date You Weren't Expecting

This chapter can be found here on AO3

To start at the beginning, chapter 1 is here on AO3 or here on tumblr

Summary: Time jump. A few months later and team Miraculous are defeating akumatized victims faster than ever.Still, there is that question that no one had been addressing, is Marinette, err, Ladybug, ready to start dating?

...

Ladybug and Chat Noir and their new team had made some adjustments over the next few months...

Viperion and Pegasus were almost instantly permanent back up heroes. Of course, they only came to the akuma battles when they were contacted by either Ladybug or Chat Noir.

They also only patrolled at night and when it was dark, just to get a feel for the city and to hide their permanent status of holding their own miraculous from Hawkmoth for as long as possible. Thus far, only the main team knew that they could possibly carry their miraculous with them.

Chloe and Kagami were brought on almost immediately as the go to back up part time wielders as well. The team came up with a way to contact them through secret phones as well and to be met up with by Ladybug or occasionally Chat Noir with the help of Pegasus to deliver their Miraculous to avoid any traps that might have been set up by Hawkmoth. Having Pegasus around and the use of the secret phones worked remarkably well for that.

Eventually, Rena Rouge and Carapace were trusted part timers again as well. Carapace was granted the use of the Turtle miraculous first and two weeks later Rena Rouge was called upon after being benched for six weeks. (After severe changes to how the Ladyblog was run, several retractions and apologies, and several interviews that gave false information that was removed, of course.)

The team was growing stronger and the battles were also shorter, which really helped out Adrien and Marinette with their personal lives as well.

Marinette being Marinette of course forgave all of her friends eventually, but it took time. The trust took a little longer, but she gave it once more when she was ready to.

It was a nice bonus that Marinette’s friendship with Adrien grew stronger than ever.

Unfortunately for Adrien, well, he found himself feeling guilty about being far more attracted to his really good friend than he was comfortable with, especially since he still felt devoted to his Lady and it seemed like she and Luka were growing closer. He felt both guilt and jealousy, but he couldn’t explain why.

Adrien was almost to the point when he thought that he should ask Ladybug about it, or maybe even Viperion, after all, he found that the older boy was pretty good about advice and he had forgiven him for being so close to the girl that they both loved. Not that Ladybug was dating either of them after two months, but even Chat Noir began to feel like the passage of time was important somehow.

Viperion himself had also gone above and beyond in trying to make sure that everything ran smoothly between himself, Chat Noir and Ladybug. Ladybug tried to be more trusting and kinder with Chat Noir, asking his opinion and such and only hid from him what the Guardian insisted that she should hide from him. Chat Noir in turn learned to pun and flirt less during the main battle, but tried to respect her boundaries as well.

Viperion avoided flirting with Ladybug in front of Chat Noir after the first couple of weeks as well once the team noticed that that was a thing that seemed to come to the snake naturally, not that he did it very it often. He obviously still cared for her and he still was able to get her to blush a bit faster than the cat, which made teamwork difficult between all of them, thus the need for them both to tone down the flirting competitions with their Lady and respect Ladybug’s right to choose her own suitor. As a result, the team had been working better than ever .

Still, as time grew closer for Marinette to finish her self-imposed abstinence from dating or allowing herself to fall for someone, Luka knew that they needed to have a conversation about the Cat.

…

“My sweet Melody,” Viperion hesitantly asked Ladybug on one of their few patrol nights together, without Chat having joined them yet that is, “can I ask you a favor?”

Smiling and thankful for the darkness of night and her mask to hide her blush, Marinette replied, “yes, my hot-blooded reptile?”

Viperion blushed and his heart pounded as she slid up next to him, taking his breath away. Which happened every time she used her new nick name for him that she had come up with all on her own a couple of weeks ago that she only used when they were in private like this after all.

He cleared his throat as her flirtatious behavior made something come alive in his heart song as he thought, Marinette is successfully driving me insane.

She had been trying to weaken his wish to give her some time to herself after giving up on Adrien after all, and he knew that she was probably ready to move on for real now, it had been more than enough time after all. Still, they were hesitant to cross that bridge.

Viperion couldn’t help thinking, my Melody is a persistent one. I’ll give her that.

Luka sighed and then brushed a stray hair out of her face for her as he struggled to suggest perhaps the craziest idea that he’d ever had, but he needed to put it out there. “Ladybug, I think there is something important that needs to be done before we can even consider dating.”

“Oh, Ladybug is it now?” She stepped back and put her hands on her hips authoritatively as she addressed him, “sounds like this is a professional conversation.”

He nodded, “in a way, it is. I think…” he took a breath finding it harder to say than he thought it would be, “I-I think that you need to give the Cat a chance.”

“WHAT?!” She looked at him in surprise and shock before she managed to reply as she weakly pointed from him to herself, “but… but I thought that y-you and… and I?”

Then she began to frown, obviously feeling a bit rejected.

Oh, Ma-Ma-Marinette I didn’t mean to hurt you!

He immediately held out his hands to placate her, “wait, no, please don’t think like that my Melody. I’m not denying that I want to date you, as myself, and I will take you out, I promise you that.”

She finally calmed down and he swallowed before telling her, “after you’ve given him a chance, that is, if you’ll still have me....”

“But, but, why?!” She demanded but then sighed and closed in on herself as she hugged herself as she added quietly, “I thought that you liked me.”

Luka drew her close and hugged her before he kissed the top of her head, wishing that he’d never caused her to doubt his love. “Don’t take this the wrong way, please.” He tried to reassure her as he rubbed her arm reassuringly, still surprised at how easily touch came to them when they were suited up, “I care about you My Melody, more than you know. I just think that it would be good for you both to have some closure like this. You’ll never know if you don’t give him a chance for him to show you both why it either will or won’t work like this.”

She shook her head, “how can I date him if I can’t even know who he is though? Have you thought of that? And what about us?”

Viperion nodded as he looked pained as he patted her shoulder as he admitted, “I do want to explore what there could be between us. I-I understand, in theory anyway, why you can’t date Chat Noir as Ladybug, but I really don’t think that he does and well, I also think that it would be good for you both to at least make an attempt. For the team and for your partnership. It’s another thing that you need to wrap up before you move on without considering him. That way, there is closure there, for both of you.”

…

Ladybug looked up at him as she wondered, how does he know that I’ve been fighting an attraction to Chat?

Ladybug pouted and drew closer to Viperion to hug him briefly as she whispered, “while I like Chat Noir as a friend and partner Viperion,” she took a breath before admitting, “I don’t see how it would work. I mean, I know he’s kind of attractive in his own way, but it… it just can’t work with the need to keep our identities secret from each other. I can’t risk everyone for a what if or even when there is a reveal.”

She stepped away from him as she explained again, “this is a dangerous job Viperion and I have to work closely with Chat, I don’t see how I could do it if… if I had more than friendly feelings for him.”

Then she swallowed, “it’s hard enough working with you, but at least I know who you are and I can separate our two lives and focus on the battle when we fight together. That’s not possible with Chat.”

“Still, I think for your partnership to keep working, he would appreciate the gesture.” Viperion nodded as he thoughtfully added, “I know that it’s not the same as with us Ladybug, but like I said, I don’t think that Chat Noir knows or understands that.”

It’s tempting though, Ladybug thought as she took another step away from Viperion, putting a respectable distance between them for a moment. Not that I’ll admit to it.

Landing silently nearby, having overheard the last part of their conversation Chat Noir asked teasingly, “that Chat knows what pray tell? Speaking badly about me behind my back purr-haps Viperion?”

Ladybug scoffed softly, “like he’d ever do that Chaton.”

Viperion chuckled, “Chat knows that, he’s just teasing us, mostly anyway.”

Chat Noir nodded, “Purr-cisely. Our Lady ought to know that I was just teasing you by now, but seriously, what’s up? What don’t I know?”

Ladybug rolled her eyes and held one hand up to her head as if she was developing a headache as she waved at Viperion as she forced herself to admit, “he’s trying to convince me to let you take me out on a date.”

Heaven help me.

“REALLY?” Chat Noir brightened with glee, before calming down and coughing once, “I mean, really? Sounds great! How’s next Saturday?”

Ladybug gave Viperion the evil eye, and thus the negotiations began…

…

Eventually, despite it being difficult for him, Viperion negotiated some terms between Chat Noir and Ladybug over the course of three patrols. Viperion had to privately promise a date between Luka and Marinette the next weekend after her date with the Cat for a whole Saturday if she’d just go and see what it might be like to date the cat.

They came up with four main rules or terms.

The date with Chat would not last longer than half a day.

Handholding only, and especially no kisses on the lips.

No revealing of identities.

Have an open mind.

Most of them were Ladybug’s conditions of course, Chat’s was only that she come and give him a chance, which was the last condition basically.

Ladybug went, reluctantly, especially after the bribery.

Chat Noir was a bit, shall we say eager and enthusiastic about it, much to her surprise.

They were exceptionally lucky that no akumas showed up for their date, but that meant that it had to be just that, a date.

The black cat made it a somewhat public and over the top date... at first. She was shocked at all the thought that he put into it, the end result being almost four dates rolled up into one.

They started with a lavish boat ride and lunch on a floating restaurant along the Seine with a small orchestra playing in the back ground. Ladybug was almost overwhelmed when she found out that Chat had somehow rented out the whole floating restaurant on their private boat tour as they ate their four-star rated meal. The paparazzi when they returned to shore was easy enough to avoid thanks to his baton, but still, it was a bit unnerving.

After lunch, they donned very poor disguises to catch the afternoon matinee, where they shared a popcorn together, and then they took a walk in one of the lesser known public gardens together. Then they finished their date with a small picnic on the top of the Eiffel tower.

Ladybug had to admit that she was impressed, but confused afterwards.

…

As they were finishing their dessert under a full moon on a picnic blanket laid out on the top of the Eiffel Tower, Ladybug had to ask her Kitty, “Chat, while I appreciate all of the effort that you put into this, uh, date? I have to admit that I’m kind of confused. I mean, why did you pick the fancy boat ride and orchestra to start with?”

Chat Noir put down his plate, setting it aside so he could scoot closer to her and take her hand. “Ladybug, Milady, I know that you don’t want to reveal our identities, but I wanted you to know that I’m not exactly a poor alley cat.” She was about to protest this little bit of information but he held up his other hand to stop her.

“My Lady, someday, when we finally discover each other’s identities, you’ll understand. I know the media was buzzing about us while we were there on deck on that boat, but frankly, I get a dose of that kind of attention everyday in my daily life.” He looked sad all of a sudden.

“Chat, I thought we said we wouldn’t reveal ourselves…” She lightly scolded him anyway.

Chat Noir shook his head, “I’m not. I would feel like I was lying to you if I didn’t tell you about some of the major aspects of my life, or to have at least shown you or have warned you about it somehow. I know I don’t live a normal life. It’s a bit much, well, stifling sometimes.”

He cleared his throat, “Chat Noir is more of the real me. I don’t have to hide my personality or be the perfect, well, whatever.”

He waved his hand, “so instead of telling you who I am, I showed you a bit of what my life is like today. It may seem like a glamorous life, but it’s pretty lonely and I have to be careful of what I’m saying or doing at all times just so that I don’t ruin the image of my family or my,” he coughs, “my parents’ business. I didn’t think that it would be fair of me to court you without you knowing that.”

Chat Noir then patted her hand to reassure her, “I know that civilian me is not as free as you know the Chat side of me is and frankly, it’s not the best life if you ask me. Being Chat Noir allows me to be free from that restrictive lifestyle, but when I uh, become myself, it’s still waiting there for me. Waiting for me to try to hide parts of myself from the world, not just the heroic identity we both have and well, I can’t escape it, no matter how much I try. Not completely anyway.”

She nodded, “oh.”

She’d never really thought about it, but if Chat was as wealthy as Adrien, it would make sense if he had a similar lifestyle as a civilian. She never thought much about how restrictive it was, but she had to give her Kitty some credit because Chat had a good point.

So she had to admit, “honestly, I kind of suspected that you were, well, wealthy.”

He snickered, “you could say that.”

“Well, I hope you know that doesn’t matter to me.” She tried to reassure him.

“I know you well enough My Lady that it wouldn’t, but still, I thought that it might be a good thing to warn you about. I haven’t met many girls that are genuinely interested in the real me, but only in my name and what I represent. It’s exhausting not knowing who to fully trust.”

“Well, I appreciate you telling me, although that’s honestly not an issue for me.”

“I kind of thought it wouldn’t be, but still, I wanted to give you a glimpse into that world.”

“Oh, well, thank you?” Ladybug looked away for a moment before she nodded to herself as she bit her lip for a moment before she hesitantly asked, “what about the rest?”

Her Kitty gave her one of his crooked smiles, “well, the reason why the matinee was low key was because the most fun that I’ve ever had was with a friend when we kind of did the same thing.” He looked away as he nervously rubbed the back of his neck, as a slight blush peeking out from underneath his mask, “we didn’t get to see all of it, well, most of the movie anyway because of an akuma attack, but I thought that you might enjoy it too.”

Ladybug blinked at him as she pondered, this sounds kind of familiar…

She tried to ignore her suspicions as she tried not to think about it as she tried to move on, “SOooo, explain to me where a picnic on the top of the Eiffel tower comes in.”

“Well, we are superheroes and I thought that it might be romantic?” Chat Noir told her with a shrug.

“Uh, huh. What did you do, take out a poll with your friends about what would be more romantic?” She asked him with a raised eyebrow jokingly as she thought about how Adrien had been asking their friends what kind of romantic date Ladybug and Chat Noir would have if they went on a date together, as if the idea was stressing him out somehow...

Don’t go there Marinette…

Alya of course had turned it into a poll on the Ladyblog and surprisingly, here they were using the top pick, something that Alya had only shared with her, Nino and a certain someone else. The official results would be announced tomorrow in one of Alya’s articles.

That’s when she noticed that Chat Noir was sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck and grinned at her in a VERY familiar way…

Her mental processes betrayed her as she thought as she came to the logical conclusion, OH NO…

------

Dun Dun Dun!  Sorry about the delayed update, I had a really bad cold and forgot to update tumblr. I hope to have the last two chapters up soon. 

[fallout-snippets]

Oh my gosh your writing is so good - I'm loving that ask about companions realising they're in love! If it's ok, could I ask for you to expand it with X6 and the robots? If it's not too much trouble 💕

(I assumed the robots in question, if I missed one please let me know. also thank you!!!)

Ada has the capacity to love; so’s she been told. And she can certainly detect a certain favoritism in her programming towards her companions. When they die, she feels empty.

She appriciates the stranger who helps her get revenge and although dissapointed the villain wasn’t as villainous, she remains satisfied that it’s now over. Her future is now unclear and she expects that she might be left behind as Sole seems more than capable to handle things on their own; this quest they were on were for Adas benefit, not theirs.

But they offer her a new home, a new family. They ask her to come with them, because they like her. Like? Her programming IS pretty special and she is designed to be approachable but when Sole says it it feels different. It feels… warm. It’s an unusual feeling and she has to check her cooling system to see if it’s failing. It’s not.

They travel together some more and Ada is more than happy to help carry the scrap Sole spots with eagle eyes. They express gratitude that she doesn’t complain and she doesn’t understand why anyone would complain if they got to travel with Sole.

The warmth she experiences, that apparently has nothing to do with her hardware, grows day by day until one day they’re in a settlement. The settlers don’t mistreat her but she’s nothing but a robot to them. The difference in how Sole approaches her and how everyone else does is vast and she begins to remember her original companions talk to themselves about their feelings.

Sole treats her like a person, like an individual. Not just scraps put together to pull a heavy load, but like a friend. More than friends. Family. Or…?

Ada does have the capacity for love, it was programmed into her, but it was never specified which kind of love.

Codsworth immediately cares for the family he’s been designated to help. And how easy it is to care for them! They’re a picture perfect family and even though he is only a helper, they invite him in to become a part of it. It is such a shame when the bombs fall but luckily the vault is nearby and the family appears to make it. He checks the area afterwards, once the dust settles, so to speak, and doesn’t find them.

Some charred remains are difficult to identify but he takes his time and determines that his precious family must be safe. If he had lungs he’d sigh with relief. Instead he takes it upon himself to clean up the house to the best of his ability until their return.

Years go by but he doesn’t falter. It’s only reasonable to assume that the family would live out their lives in the vault, safe from the radiation outside (though he does begin to loathe his solitude) and perhaps their descendants will instead emerge, ready to resume living.

Instead two centuries pass and he’s hanging on by a thread. The house never gets clean enough, he hasn’t spoken to anyone for too long and he misses them. His family. When a figure finally returns to the house he’s shocked but finally things will return to normal.

Well, as normal as it can get. Their better half is dead and their precious child has been taken but he sees something new in them, a fire in their eyes. He expects them to clean up the world! And in the meantime he’ll make them a new home to come back to but instead they ask him to come along.

“Codsworth, I need you.”

He feels electricity spark inside his chassis and how could he deny? His beloved Sole finally returned to him, he’ll do anything they ask. And they’ll need protection out there! He sees an entirely new person grow from the ruins and yet they remain true to who they’ve been all along. The new radiation-filled world seems to turn people into demons, but not Sole.

They still carry themselves with dignity, still treat him with respect. They grow a reputation in the world as a hero and he agrees but they still come home. To him. It makes him… feel different. Not that he’s supposed to. But it’s hard not to grow excited when he hears them approaching home, when he sees them in one piece. When he sees them smiling at him, as if they were coming back home to their better half.

Nick has been around for a long time. Too long, probably. He’s seen things that makes your skin crawl and heard things that’d make you nauseous. So when this vault-dweller rolls around with an unbelievable story, he believes them. When they ask for his help, he helps them. That’s what he does.

What he doesn’t expect, however, is for this unhardened pre-war stranger to turn out to be braver and kinder than anyone else who grew up in this disadvantageous world. You’d think someone who lived comfortably up until now would have a harder time adjusting, of fitting in. You’d think they’d try to find another place to be comfortable in.

But Sole fits in this world like a glove and it’s beautiful to watch them perform. It’s even a pleasure to travel with them, despite all the horrors he has to see them experience for the first time, although they don’t always get discouraged by what you’d think. The first time they saw him they were surprised, to say the least, but immediately accepting. Maybe it was the trauma of having their world turned upside down but not once did Sole ever question his loyalty or integrity.

They even go to him for comfort, leaning on his shoulder and crying into his coat. It’s been a long time since anyone’s bothered to get close to him and he can’t say he doesn’t enjoy it but he knows what he is. He’s a robot with a human personality, a human past, and he doesn’t dare imagine a future with them.

Until that’s all he does.

It’s an early morning in Diamond City when he hears papers shuffling in his office. It’s too early for Ellie to be there but he isn’t too surprised to find Sole looking through some files.

“I already solved those.” he tells them, leaning on the doorframe.

“Oh yeah? Bet the butler did it.” they say with a smirk and he feels the fans kick on, hoping they don’t make too much noise.

He knows then and there that resistance is futile but he also knows that he’s too complicated and he wouldn’t wish that mess on anyone. But Nick has been around for a long time. Maybe it’s time to get some closure on some things.

“Actually, I could use your help on a case. Been working on it for a while. It’s kind of personal, though.”

X6-88 is not supposed to feel anything. It’s not a part of his programming, his training or job description. When he first meets Sole he’s unfazed, although curious, and he can see straight away that they don’t trust him. That’s okay. He doesn’t need their trust.

He escorts them through a mission that’s standard for him but ends up on a different note than what he’d done. That’s also okay, he was not leading the mission. He expects to return to his duties as Sole is a capable survivor topside but they ask him to come with them. He doesn’t question it, because why would he, but his curiousity grows. He smothers it with logic.

They ask him all sorts of things, about the Institute, its people and history, but also about him. There’s nothing to tell about him. He’s a courser designed to retrieve runaway synths. That’s who he is, what he is.

He can tell they’re dissapointed by his answer but there’s really nothing else to say. They ask if he’s really okay with it, to be told what to do and treated like a tool. He tells them it’s not up to him to decide what he’s used for but he is built to be used.

“You’re born.” they correct him, touching his hand.

“I am not human.” he replies and attempts to withdraw but is surprised at how warm they feel. He finds himself unwilling to withdraw despite their current breach of conduct.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?”

“I am… sentient.” he says, unable to smother the whirlpool of confusion. “A Mister Handy is sentient but not human. It does what it’s told.” he says trying to convince himself more than Sole.

He likes the way they look at him, even if their eyes are currently sad. He’s used to people looking at him with fear or anger but Sole looks at him with… affection. Why?

Sole withdraws their hand, assuming the conversation ended nowhere. They sit in silence for a while, taking a break from the burning sun above.

“You don’t owe them anything. They may have created you but they created an individual. They don’t get to control you like this.”

X6-88 feels mostly confusion and turmoil for a long time after that. They treat him like an equal and it’s hard not to revel in it compared to the coldness he faces in the Institute. They ask for his opinion, about his expertise, and they care for him when he’s wounded.

His training tells him to ignore any and all “feelings” but Sole makes him feel appriciated, happy, and he likes how it feels. Why is something that makes him feel good bad? When Sole talks to him he makes more of an effort to reply, when they tells him a story he tries to react appropriately. They smile at his attempts and it causes his gut to drop but not in a terrifying I-have-made-a-huge-mistake kind of way but a pleasant one.

One night back at the Institute where he waits outside Fathers room he hears them arguing. They are clearly disagreeing about something and it’s none of his business but Sole is upset when they leave and he finds himself mad on their behalf. Mad at Father.

It shakes him to his core to realize that he can feel that way but it doesn’t take more than a second for him to decide that Sole is more important than the Institute and Father and if needed he will take their side.

[morphituu]

Milagro

Chapter 11: “Fading”

Ch: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

A veil had been dropped over Tikka since her long standing secret had been exposed, one that even Fero honored as they all went about preparing to leave. Though she’d speak in hushed tones to him, sometimes leaning in to pull his concentration from whatever task was at hand, it proved worthless. He’d give only curt nods or some other kind of stiff gesture to show that he was listening, but that was as far as his civility extended.

A part of Nick felt guilt to have so effectively turned the majority of them against her, but a greater part urged him to remember that she’d lead them to this under the guise of innocence.

Still, as Fero moved away from her just as quickly as she’d approached, he couldn’t help but see part of her as the timid elf they’d found those years ago, hiding under his arm and afraid to meet Ward’s critical glare.

“What’s up with those two?” Daryl appeared beside him.

Nick exhaled. He still hadn’t told Ward.

He looked over to his partner. Clearly he’d gotten about as much sleep as he, and Nick felt more guilt agitate his empty stomach.

“I gotta talk to you about something,” Nick intoned, motioning towards a quieter corner of the cramped house.

“What now?” Daryl groaned, still following.

Callie stuffed another pillow behind her, helping Rania recline into an upright position.

“Is that okay?” she asked, and Rania nodded stiffly.

“Okay as it can be,” she rasped, her bloodshot eyes cracking open and licking her dry lips.

“Here,” Callie offered, her hands steadier than Rania’s when she lifted a glass of water to her lips. It was taken down in tentative sips, never daring more than what could wash across her tongue. Since early that morning, the capacity of her lungs had dropped considerably, leaving her panting and sweating.

Her body was slowly shutting down, organ by organ. The marbling was across her chest and shoulders now, leisurely making it’s way up her neck with every passing minute; it even dulled the pretty emerald of her markings.

“You should try to eat something,” Callie insisted, trading the cup for a banana when she pushed it away.

“I’m not hungry,” Rania battled weakly, but Callie was already peeling and breaking it into small pieces. “I don’t even think I could swallow,”

“If you can swallow blood you can manage a bite of banana,” Callie pushed, holding up a palmful of bite sized pieces Rania looked over skeptically. “Do I have to feed you?”

Rania’s hazels met Callie’s caramels, but she gave in quickly. Something about this human gave her the impression she wasn’t one to give up easily.

“You should have mercy on someone who’s dying,” she mumbled, squishing a piece in her mouth.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing,”

Rania’s brow cocked, but she continued to watch Callie as she ate, her eyes eventually drifting downwards.

“How far along are you?”

The smallest of a grin kicked the corners of Callie’s lips up. “20 weeks,”

“A little boy?”

Callie’s brows furrowed. “How’d you know?”

“I heard your husband talking about him to the other human,”

Callie nodded, warmth blooming in her heart.

“You’re lucky to have someone so fiercely protective by your side. He reminds me of my father,” Rania drifted sadly, adjusting her head to look outwards without focusing. Her hand dropped to her stomach. She’d reached her limit after only a few bites, depositing them back into Callie’s palm.

Her eyes roamed over her worsening form. Her legs shook of their own accord, sometimes rocketing up her shoulders even with a blanket draped across her, but a fever as high as hers needed to be broken so she wasn’t in complete agony before she crossed over.

Callie swallowed. She couldn’t even begin to fathom the dread she assumed was being tightly concealed from everyone else.

“What’s your dads name?”

Rania’s eyes flickered to her before she smacked her chapped lips a few time. “Tannatar,”

“Do you… do you want us to find them? And tell them?” Callie asked softly.

Tears burned her eyes as she watched them pool in Rania’s, but the hybrid still shook her head.

“Please don’t. They’ll have no body to find or bury,” she croaked, clearing her throat only to be thrown into a ragged coughing fit. Her aching body curled forward, her breaths in just as webbed and bloody as the coughs blowing it all out.

Callie didn’t hesitate to help her hold the cloth under her mouth, uncaring of the blood spilling down her arm or the fierce grip around her wrist as Rania struggled to find her breath again. There was an extended period before the fit passed, but it left her deflated, and pale, some of the little life she had left expelled from her.

“I’m fine,” Rania wheezed, pulling her body down the couch with her heels. “You need to leave,”

“We’ll leave soon,” Callie fronted, coming back with a wet washcloth to wipe the blood from her chin and hands. The cool rag against her febrile skin was a welcome relief, and Rania’s eyes closed in the brief moments contentedness, her head leaning into Callie’s touch.

The expectant mother looked on sympathetically. It had her mind turning; Leo was attached to her with every step, and during all of this she’d often felt that his wellbeing was out of her control. One wrong step could end his life and there would be little to nothing she could do to stop such a fate, yet here Rania was, alone, with her parents surely wondering where their daughter was and what kind of harm was befalling her.

Fresh tears sprang to her eyes, but she blinked them away, smoothing her hand across Rania’s beautiful waves that were partially plastered to her cheek.

“You didn’t deserve this,” Callie whispered, opening Rania’s tired eyes.

Her eyes glossed over the longer she looked up at Callie, her chin starting to tremble. “Neither did you,”

Callie’s other hand came to hold her face, the words of sympathy and apology unspoken as she offered what little comfort she could in her dying moments, but in the end, her last breaths would be alone.

“Cal,”

She turned to find Nick waiting in the entryway, looking on soft heartedly and ready to depart.

“Can’t we take her?” Callie pleaded, but Nick only exhaled.

“It’d be too much on her,” he mumbled, and Rania nodded in agreement.

“I’m fine here,” she assured, pulling Callie’s hands into her own and smiling at her with weak encouragement. “This is where I need to be,”

A tear finally skid down Callie’s cheek. “I’m so sorry,”

Rania shook her head. “No. I’m at peace here,”

Nick had walked up behind Callie to grab her hand when Rania passed her off, smiling up at the pair she’d grown fond of in such a brief amount of time. But before Nick followed a sorrowful Callie out, he reached down to grab Rania’s hand, covering it with his other palm.

“Thank you. For saving my friends life,”

She smiled again, his heart clenching when blood coated her sharp teeth and short tusks. “Baj iav votar for ukon.”

Her hand fell back into her lap limply once he’d let her go, lingering a moment longer before he followed Callie out.

It felt unjust to leave her like that, defenseless and abandoned, but never before had his hands been so tied. In the end, it was the most humane option, but Nick couldn’t deny feeling an urge to at least stay nearby until he knew she’d passed on, just so she wasn’t completely alone.

Tikka only stepped around the entryway enough to look at Rania diffidently, then Fero, but there was only nods exchanged between them before they too left, silently closing the door behind them.

She was left staring into the shadowed living room, the peeling walls with sparse pictures hung and old furniture on its last legs.

She looked at her own feet. The pain ripping through her only amplified when she wiggled her toes in her shoes; even wincing was a strenuous. It was in her muscles just as it was in her bones, touching every inch of skin, swelling her gums and lungs.

The world was silent around her, not even the normal drifting of wind outside to keep her company.

Rania thought she’d find peace by herself, reacquainting with the body and mind she’d willingly given to keep Makhel happy… but now, she only looked at the spot beside her that was empty. As were her hands, and heart.

As the lonely seconds ticked by, and hot tears spilled down her cheeks, her deepest desires in her dying moments realized, even after the turmoil she’d experienced that had ultimately landed her where she was.

I want Makhel.

↠

They all walked in silence and unknown direction down the dirt road lining the last of the sparse houses and shacks, chilled even under the glaring sun.

Ward alongside Callie and Nick followed loosely behind Tikka and Fero, the lot unsure of any guidance they gave, but wandering off on their own would still lead them to unknown when they didn’t even know what town they were in.

Daryl circled behind Callie to pop back up at Nick’s side, bumping his elbow.

“What if she’s already called him?” he asked lowly, eyes remaining forward.

“She said she’d wait ‘til we’re ready,” Nick whispered back.

“You really trust what she says?”

“No but all we have is her word,” Nick exhaled in agitation.

“What if we just dipped? They haven’t looked back at us since we started walking,” Callie offered silently, but Nick shook his head.

“What would we do if we ran into Makhel first?”

“I ain’t got no wand,” Ward muttered.

“Do you really think he’d go after us over Tikka?” Callie questioned, and Nick nodded.

“He hated me before even knowing me when we came to face to face. He was ready to kill,” he looked at Callie’s conflicted expression, the crushing visions of her meeting a fate similar to Rania’s plaguing his mind. “If it means keeping you safe, I’ll follow her,”

Callie frowned, but still slipped her hand into his to rest her head against his shoulder as they continued down the dusty lane.

It would’ve been kinder to all of their exhausted conditions if a car would’ve come along that they could’ve hitchhiked in, but it remained a quiet, barren trek into the nearest city.

“Why couldn’t you just Carry us there?” Ward had broken through the silence to ask.

Tikka offered him a terse nod before replying, “Carrying too much can be damaging. Plus, I’d have no idea where I was landing. That’s how we ended up here.”

So that resulted in their nearly 2 hour hike through the cold desert landscape that the small shacks and houses they’d once appeared upon shrunk to nothing behind them, and often throughout that journey, they questioned if they were willingly walking to their demise at the mercy of the harsh wilderness.

Callie’s back ached fiercely, but she stifled any complaints knowing everyone carried their own ailments, but anytime Leo swirled calmer than usual, she feared he was succumbing to the stress of the passing days of this otherworldly situation they were stuck in.

The distant sight of old buildings clustered at the center of an older city was a welcome sight, but dread woke in their hearts faster than hope did.

Nick and Callie’s palms pressed tighter together, a worried glance passing between them as the distance closed. Callie’s other hand lingered comfortingly against Ward’s arm, but he was gnawing at his inner lip nervously, his hands clenching and loosening into tight fists. The closer they came, the moving forms of people going about their day in the open-air market became clearer.

Families choosing was lush veggies stacked impressively in woven baskets, food vendors that were alive with flavors and scents, children running around their legs with makeshift toys in hand.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” Nick had caught up to hiss beside Tikka’s ear.

“We need cover, this is the only place for miles-”

“What about all these people!?”

“They’ll scatter! We have no choice!” She bit back just as vehemently, unfazed when he chuffed loudly. “Get back and stay with Callie.”

Though now would’ve been the prime time to slip into the crowds and effectively disappear, Nick stayed, knowing if he acted on his impulse, the guilt of abandoning Ward would inevitably destroy him.

Tikka trailed back between them just as Nick had looped an arm behind Callie, searching for the right spot to stuff her into before hell rained down on them.

“You stay concealed until I tell you to call his wand. Stay out of sight, all of you. He won’t hesitate to blow through any of us if he gets the chance.” She ordered, stepping away quickly to meet Fero’s side again as he scoped out their surroundings.

The elves were moving into the center of the market, speaking lowly under the lively bustle of the people around them, and Ward followed alongside, following when she pointed him in the direction of high wall of goods being sold.

“Nick,” Callie gasped panickedly, gripping his arm.

“You’re okay, we’ll be fine,” he tried to sound reassuring, but he was fighting his own terror, searching manically for any corner to hide in.

She was already breathing raggedly, eyes wide and jumping as she clung to him.

“Callie look at me, look at me!” he stopped, holding her face. “We’re gonna be fine, okay? We’re gonna hide and this is gonna be over-”

They felt the sharp sting of the blazing shots slice through the skin of their arms and Callie’s thigh before they could register the rest of the attack still whistling by them, punching into bystanders bodies and tearing apart anything in its way.

Callie’s yelp was lost amongst the screaming of the strangers around them frantically gathering their children to run in all directions, many of them dropping around each others feet. Nick caught her as she fell forward, pulling her to the side and out of the line of another searing shot that grazed her cheek.

They both flinched as the bricks above their heads cracked loudly when the impact chipped it, and Callie struggled through curses and growing pain to limp beside Nick.

“Motherfucker-” she hissed, finally stumbling to the ground as he flipped a small table sat beside a business’s back entrance in the alley they ducked into to shield them, kneeling before her to take in the blood pooling under her hand.

“Move your hand,” he ordered, quickly replacing it with his own when blood flowed freely. “It’s deep,”

She looked at him. “Your arm,”

He pulled her hand to press over the wound, even when she winced. “Keep it there,” he instructed before quickly darting away, ducking when a few more shots struck the adjacent wall and the tabletops of the destroyed booths lining it. Quickly he snatched a couple shirts hanging from the booth, rushing back to her side and ripping them to shreds with his teeth.

She cursed when he knotted the strips tightly around her thigh, holding it down when she tried to squirm from his grasp before moving onto her arm.

“Tikka!”

They both froze, looking to the narrow entrance of the alley. The distant screams of people faded, leaving the once bustling market a quiet landscape, bodies littered about with crimson puddles painting the dirt road.

He moved her aside carefully, dipping below the shield of the table and kneeling as an extra buffer before her while they cautiously peered over, waiting for the smoke and dust to settle.

Fero struggled to rip the sleeve from his jacket, resorting to stepping on the cuff and yanking harshly upwards to tear at the seams before using it to wrap around Tikka’s waist.

“You called him before we even got in town!” he hissed, face trembling with rage.

She didn’t deny it, but the guilt in her pained eyes as he cinched the material even tighter around her said it all, sweat coating her face and debris sticking to her skin.

“Tikka!” they heard Makhel call again, but Fero only glanced behind himself from where they were hidden, using the last of his torn sleeve to bind a tourniquet around his arm. One of the glowing, singing blasts had blown right through the muscle, surely chipping his humerus and maybe even a crucial vein judging by the way blood streamed down his arm like a running faucet.

It rang blindingly, but he still reached to help hoist Tikka up, steadying her at his side as they leaned just enough to see around the corner of the building they were hidden in.

Their fight had just begun, and they were already losing.

But now they saw their opponent, clear as day, walking down the road and carelessly kicking aside arms or legs.

He stalked, his eyes glowing eerily from under his hood, jumping meticulously over every detail and ready to fire at any flinch of life.

The wand was dripping boiling plasma, but in his palm it left no damage despite melting flesh when it splashed across victims, cauterizing as it maimed.

Makhel spun, a spitting snarl puffing from him as he became further impatient.

“You’re always running!” he hollered, visibly shaking from where they were.

Tikka’s head hit the wall they looked around, eyes pinched shut. “I have to end this.”

She met Fero’s desperation, the pair utterly consumed in fear and uncertainty. She fought the whimper crawling up her throat when he pulled her into a bone crushing hug, pressing his face into her matted hair when he felt the noiseless sobs rack through her.

“I lost Rania because of you! Come out, you coward!” Makhel boomed, his voice carrying far between the abandoned buildings.

Nick grimaced, pulling his attention away from Makhel long enough to scope out the cramped alleyway. There was an exit to a separate lane behind the buildings, but to get to it meant walking between the ground littered with dropped belongings and wrecked booths. There was no way they could make it over without causing some kind of clamor, surely revealing their location.

A choked grunt spun his attention back to Callie.

A constricted, distressed cry was dulled by her own hand over her mouth, her face pinched under the intensity of the contraction that had started off as what she thought was a Braxton Hick and suddenly flared into a level of intensity she wasn’t prepared for.

Nick gripped her knee, looking at her desperately with eyes wide in dread.

It felt endless before it finally passed, and she at last looked at him, the dismay in her eyes affirming his greatest fear.

Before she could speak, another one radiated up her stomach, sending her hands back over her mouth to stifle an anguished cry.

He was taking deep inhales of the chilled air around him when crunching footsteps prompted him to spin.

Makhel couldn’t help but smile.

He’d wanted to find her like this. Defeated, wounded, void of any hope.

Alone.

He scoffed, his smile spreading wider. “Finally,”

She rolled her shoulders, blinking away the gloss over her eyes. “Makhel,” her voice cracked, and he swayed uneasily. “What can I do to stop this?”

His smile melted away, leaving a vacant countenance that roiled her gut. He was eerily still, as was the wands demeanor. In the shadow of the building, the sun wasn’t there to illuminate his amber eyes, so how were they seemingly gleaming?

“Nothing,” genially he stated. “I did what you should have done. I’ve eradicated your vile race,”

“You’re part of that race,” she bit back, and his eyes flickered back to her after wandering. He could’ve sworn he heard someone crying somewhere…

“No,” he started to walk towards her slowly. “There’s great difference between pale Brights and myself. Your sister was living proof of that disease amongst your kind,”

Tikka released a shaking breath at the recollection of her slain sister.

“The ones who crave the return of The Dark Lord, the ones who defiled my Rania- there’s something impure about your kind, I could see it from the start. All you want is to feed on what makes you powerful without understanding the cost of what you take,” he went on, but she had her eyes on the silent wand in his hand that swung freely with his expressive hands.

“I’m doing the world a favor. After you, I’ll find the others, but it won’t be as easy without all the signals you left behind,” he laughed.

Her face tightened. “How do you speak about Rania like you weren’t the one to kill her?”

He stopped like he’d hit a wall. Tikka had struck a chord.

“Don’t you dare say her name,” he snarled.

“I watched her wither,” Tikka cried.

“Shut up!”

“She could have lived!” Tikka yelled, and just as Makhel’s wand thrust into the air to release a torrent of burning, lavender fire that washed across the ground like a wave, Tikka’s own wand was pulled forth, circling overhead to engulf her in a sphere of gleaming stars that split the attack.

Makhel’s barrage splashed against walls and surrounded bodies with ferocity, leaving them piles of sizzling bones once it evaporated.

But he had other onslaughts; silent spells that moved in zigzagging patterns, their tales leaving carved paths through the air as they blitzed against her defenses, the collisions of power cracking through the sky over them.

Everytime one of the thundering attacks rang through the sky, Nick shielded her, glancing over the edge of the table to make sure their position hadn’t yet been compromised.

But now there was this; the fierce onslaught of labor that had started at full speed and was splitting Callie down the middle, and the blood leaking down her inner thighs through her jeans.

She only screamed into his chest when the battle rang around them, her face turning shades of red he’d never before witnessed as the intensity of the fire like wrath of the contractions grew with every passing one.

There was nothing to help them, but he still looked around frantically, desperate to find anything that could lead them to a solution to this problem, but he was grasping at air.

Their greatest fear was in full swing, and there was nothing to stop it.

“Nick-” she gasped, pulling on his shirt weakly as she looked up at him, hands smeared with her own bleeding.

He held her tight against his chest as part of the building they were hidden beside blew away, likely crumbling from the inside out by the way the wall rumbled beside them. His face tightened, his heart hammering in his ribs.

Callie shrieked pitifully into his chest, her good leg kicking out beside him until he stilled it, pulling it tight to his side so she didn’t make extra noise. He tried shushing her softly, but nothing could soothe her through the searing agony constricting her hips and midsection.

Not yet, Leo- please not yet.

Nick looked down the long, obstacle filled path that would lead them to better hiding, staging every step and turn he could make with Callie in his arms. There’d be no avoiding making noise, but if he could move quick enough, maybe the battle would mask any noise he did make.

He looked back over the table; so far, they’d gone undetected. One wrong move could end their lives, however.

There was only the option to try, though. Callie- both of them were dying in his arms.

Nick was fucking terrified.

Tikka bellowed when she threw her weight into that cast, the warm blood from her gut running down her leg, but the rapid firing of the punch-like force from spell was too fast to block.

Makhel took some of it, barely managing to stay on his feet when it rained against his side, definitely cracking a few ribs. He roared furiously, stepping around the pain despite the waver in his steps. It gave Tikka the moment to catch her breath and steady her own footing, but her vision was starting to double, her head having been pounding since their duel started.

His wand rose before hers however, and she was sluggish in noticing it.

A towering form skid before her, and it took her by surprise when she realized it was Ward.

The unexpected addition also stuttered Makhel, who halted, his hairless brows furrowing.

Despite the tremendous shake, Daryl’s hand rose, and with every shred of courage he had, he shouted, “Tula!”

Realization dawned on Makhel, but the wand was already yanked from his grasp.

There was a solid moment that hope filled Daryl’s heart after watching a brief battle that he was certain Tikka would leave defeated from, but just as quickly as the wand had come flying at him, it was spinning in place before him, dripping angrily and ringing.

The blood drained from Ward’s face when it went boomeranging back into Makhel’s grasp, pulsating pleasantly in his palm.

Tikka moved before him again, an arm outstretched to shield him. Every step left a bloody footprint across the road, her ashen face lined with thick beads of sweat.

Makhel laughed, his hand held over his belly and leaning back to point his face to the sky in humor. “You brought another Bright into this without a wand!?” he taunted, sharp teeth flashing in a twisted smile.

Neither responded, but Ward felt the crushing reality of his words.

That’s exactly what she’d done to them: doomed right from the start.

He swallowed dryly, wanting nothing more than to hear Sophia’s voice.

“Callie,” Nick whispered, holding her loose head. “Stay awake- look at me,”

She struggled, her breathing labored and eyes glazed, but she still met his desperate eyes, nodding her head. “I’m here,” she croaked, forehead dropping to his chest as she looked down at her stomach.

Leo’s kicks were faint, and he stilled entirely when she contracted, only the feeblest nudge letting her know he was still there through the agony.

“I’m gonna carry you, we’re gonna get out of here but I need you to stay quiet, okay?” he begged silently, his own face sorrowing when hers did, tears following paths down her cheeks from ones previous. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he choked, holding her face.

He glanced downwards; she was coated in red.

Weakly she nodded, hanging off his shoulder even weaker when he carefully pushed an arm under her knees to carry her bridal style against his chest. She whimpered, pinching her eyes shut when she could feel another one tightening up her stomach. Callie grit her teeth and curled her fingers into his shirt, fighting to silence the whimpers forcing their way up her throat.

“Nick wait,” she gasped, her heart fluttering weakly and vision fading as the strength to even keep her head up drained significantly.

"Stay awake- stay awake," he begged, angling her to get her head up, but it bobbed back over his arm. "Callie open your eyes!" he cried, shaking her, but with no response. "Baby please stay awake!"

He couldn't even tell if she was breathing at that point, her arm slipping down to hang lifelessly beside her.

Nick wept, daring another glance over the table before standing and turning to chance the long walk down the alley, praying for every second she had left.

Then he stopped.

The sallow marbling had covered nearly every inch of her dark skin save for a strip of carob across her eye and cheek, and the way she staggered down the alley towards them almost convinced him he was seeing ghosts, but her hazel eyes found him and he knew she was still hanging on.

Nick stumbled back, returning to their spot as Rania stopped before him just as he’d slid down the wall, grasping Callie tighter against his chest.

This is it, he thought. It was all a trap.

He still pressed his cheek to Callie’s head when Rania kneeled weakly before them, her eyes bloodshot and blood running freely from her nose and mouth down her neck.

Nick had everything he owed his life to in his arms. His breath shook, the words bubbling in his chest that he couldn’t say. He knew Leo was likely gone, and Callie was on her way, but there was some comfort in knowing he’d be following them over soon so they didn’t have to take that journey without him.

I love you, Callie.

From her pocket she pulled a crude, misshapen stick, crooked and thin with herbs braided into the handle, swaying in her weak grasp. It let off a soft hum, the space around it trembling gently.

Nick flinched when her other hand hovered over Callie as she breathed weakly into his chest, but the soft, sunshine like glow from the stick in hand hypnotized him.

Softly, like whispers in a church, she recited ancient charms that brought forth gentle sparkles of warm light from the herbs around the makeshift wand, drifting peacefully around Callie like dandelion seeds in the breeze. They melted into her skin- against her pale, misty cheeks and limp arms, across her belly where Leo hadn’t nudged, illuminating under her skin for only a moment before fizzling out. They shined brightly in Nick's glossy eyes, bringing with them a sense of serenity.

The blood once coating her skin and clothes lifted like oil in water, splitting into smaller drops that dissipated around them. It peeled off his own hands, sometimes bumping under his chin softly or running up his cheek as the last of it disappeared before him.

Callie’s breathing strengthened as the seconds ticked by, the last of the ethereal lights landing across her form and becoming parts of her as Rania’s soft voice quieted until the battling became the world around them once again.

She was unconscious, but the labor had halted. No longer did she scream into his chest or kick wildly, and when he moved to press his palm against her stomach, Leo was spinning again.

Nick exhaled shakily, looking to Rania, speechless, horrified- so many emotions he couldn’t hold down before the next one swarmed him.

He looked down at Callie again, pulling her shoulder in so her head lolled closer before looking up at Rania who was staggering towards the street they fought on.

“Rania,” Nick called, but there wasn’t another turn in his direction as she carried on.

A soft groan from Callie brought him back, and he sat her straighter, holding her face.

“Callie? Baby?” he called softly, moving her wet hair back from her face, elated to see her eyes opening. There were a few beats of faint confusion flickering across her face before she managed to lift her head, and look down at her hand that slid over her stomach. Nick’s covered hers when Leo kicked, a breathless sob slipping past her lips.

"He's okay," she rasped, and Nick cried with her, their foreheads touching and sobs moving from his chest to hers, burying his face in the crook of her neck where he held her mightily.

“One less Bright for me to hunt down,” Makhel sneered, lifting the wand with leisure.

Tikka stood defensively, hard breaths expelling from her as blood started to drip from her nose.

But a force similar to a hard slap across her hand caused her to flinch back, her wand tearing from her grip. It took a few frantic seconds to find it, but when she did, her heart stopped.

The wand didn’t agree with it’s new handler, ringing in distress and distorting the space around it, but Rania kept hold of it despite her skin starting to singe from it’s discontent.

Makhel didn’t move, he couldn’t. Disbelief would’ve been putting it lightly as he stared at her, swaying and aching, crumbling before him.

A swift swing of her arm shot a blunt front of screaming, cutting air in his direction, but he blocked it, his face lining with confusion.

Another step, and she again fired, crunching across the ground and puckering the road beneath him, but he simply countered it, reflecting the same attack back at her. She’d already moved, stumbling to the side and barely catching herself.

Makhel hesitated, lips pulling back over his teeth and tusks in restraint.

She was coughing; thick, wet ones, heaving blood onto the ground, fighting to breathe past it all. Her lungs only allowed short breaths, but she stood again, pained grunts coming forth. Her blurred vision was clouding, but she could make out enough to raise the wand at him.

“Relinquo,” Makhel called softly, and a great burning surrounded Rania. She cried out, her frame tensing as the broiling subsided and she was left with tingling across her body, fading into a dull vibration until… nothing. She looked at her unrecognizable palms, down at her trembling form.

Rania’s eyes met Makhel’s, and when he looked on the verge of crying, it hit her.

She raised the wand, but it was dormant. No matter how many incantations she muttered, how she willed it to awaken, it was silent.

Silent sobs shook her shoulders, blood stained tears running down her cheeks as she gazed at him in defeat. A ragged breath in only caused more coughing, and Makhel turned away, holding his head.

“How did it come to this?” she choked out, jaw hung, blood dripping.

He turned back, looking at her almost unbearable.

“You promised me you’d protect me,” she wept, struggling to remain upright.

Breaths flared through his nostrils, taking a few steps towards her before raising his wand.

“Makhel!” Tikka shrieked desperately, but he ignored her.

His eyes were only on Rania, his love eternal decaying before him. She was void of life, and enchantment, but he still thought she was the most astounding thing he’d ever laid eyes on.

His grip around the wand tightened.

“I loved you,” he wavered, and suppressed tears when she smiled at him, her own eyes welling.

“You did.” She whispered.

He exhaled slowly. I’m sorry.

He threw his arm viciously, the invisible spell pulsating through the air towards her.

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

*doesn't have much to say about this chapter except i'm sorry*

+"Baj iav votar for ukon." : "Make it home for your son." +"Relinquo," : "Leave," (it's a spell, not a demand)

[forthisone]

Nick & June tag game

I’m late to the party but I found this and I wanted to answer these questions, so here we are. Sorry, I copied and pasted the questions a while ago and now I can’t remember who to credit. My answers are behind the Read more.

1. What’s your favorite Nick x June scene?

2. At what point while watching the show did you realize you were invested in their relationship?

3. If you hadn’t already read the book and knew they would be a thing. When did you say “Oh yeah, something is going to happen with these two?” Or were you kinda caught of guard?

4. What do you think their relationship means to them? For June and Nick as individuals?

5. What was your reaction when it was revealed June was pregnant with Nick’s baby?

6. What do you think their relationship brings to the show overall? And what are some of the things you love most about their relationship?

7. The nursery scene. Discuss.

8. Favorite June moment on the show.

9. Favorite Nick moment on the show.

10. What scene of theirs do you feel is a bit underrated?

Bonus: Is June cheating on Luke?

1. What’s your favorite Nick x June scene?

So hard to pick. But I think it’s when June tells Nick she is pregnant. His reaction is almost so unexpected (especially in this show) and you see a switch flip in his mind. He goes from pushing her away and being guarded, to fully embracing his feelings for her and the baby in a split second. The look on his face when he says “What?” breaks me and then he sinks down to her and nestles into her. You can see him thinking like “Fuck, I’m so sorry for pushing you away. But I’m here now.” It is just so refreshing to see some affection in this world of horror. He gives June back some hope and some fight too in that scene as I think she is pretty broken mentally with the thought of facing a pregnancy alone. And like someone I reblogged said in a post recently… he sees Serena watching them, and he doesn’t even flinch. YES, NICK.

2. At what point while watching the show did you realize you were invested in their relationship?

I watched Seasons 1 & 2 in a matter of days so it is all a bit of a blur. But I remember a scene that stood out to me when I first watched it was the kiss in 2.07 at the hospital. When Nick says he won’t let anything happen to June and she replies “What about you?” and Nick’s just left speechless and looks overcome and then kisses her, I was gone. I loved it because, to me, it’s him finally getting some real acknowledgement from her that she really does care about him and he’s, like, overcome by that feeling because he hasn’t felt like he means something to anyone in so long. There’s a glimmer of it in the previous episode where she says “I think about [the three of us] too” and “I can’t lose you, do you hear me?” but she’s still quite cold with him, after he tells her he loves her. But in the “What about you?” moment she finally gives in to what she’s feeling and he feels it and it really got me emotionally.

The other moment was probably the scene in 1.10 which I spoke about in my previous answer.

3. If you hadn’t already read the book and knew they would be a thing. When did you say “Oh yeah, something is going to happen with these two?” Or were you kinda caught of guard?

I hadn’t read the book but I have now! Again, it was all a blur when I binge-watched so I can’t totally remember. For some reason, I think I didn’t fully realise how close they get in their scene where he brings her the ice. I don’t think I watched that scene properly; if I had, I think it would have been then. I think I kind of felt something from their very first episode though, in the sense of their first scene (about tuna) being played as if Nick was filling the “love interest”/ eye-candy role (he’s a lot more than that of course but that’s what I clocked at the start). And them staring at each other in the garden, him watching from the stairs, I was definitely intrigued.

And yeah, the sex scene was fiiiiire. So that too. But I guess it was pretty obvious by that point.

4. What do you think their relationship means to them? For June and Nick as individuals?

For Nick, I think it gives him a glimmer of hope, which he hasn’t felt in a long time. He finally has a purpose. He’s been alone for so long and finally he has something in his life that means something to him again.

For June, Nick gives her a much-needed escape from this hell that she is in. He gives her a safe haven. He looks out for her. He helps her to survive. We’ve seen in Season 3 how she isn’t coping without love to ground her in this awful place.

5. What was your reaction when it was revealed June was pregnant with Nick’s baby?

Well, I talked about the actual scene above. So I’ll talk about some other stuff around this...

At first, I was not totally sure why it was just assumed it was Nick’s and any thought of it being Waterford’s was dismissed. I understand why Serena and June think that and want to believe it, but I didn’t understand the 100% confidence as it’s never actually confirmed; it’s not like they do a DNA test. Obviously, as a Nick/June shipper I fully accept that he is Holly’s father and I don’t doubt it, but I just felt like that was handled a bit oddly.

I do also wish we knew how much time passed between Episode 5 (when they started having sex) and Episode 10 (when the pregnancy is revealed). I’d like to know when the baby was actually conceived because I’m weird about knowing details and overly invested. I’ve thought too much about this, but I’m assuming too much time passes for it all to be within one month, personally I think it’s more likely conceived around Episode 8 before Nick breaks it off. I wonder what Serena actually thought about this, because if it’s impossible it was conceived in Episode 5 when she was in the apartment with them (because too much time has passed), then she must realise that they’ve been sleeping together without her knowledge. If so I assume the reason she doesn’t say anything (ie. have Nick killed) is because she doesn’t want the parentage of the baby to be questioned; she wants it to be seen to be Waterford’s and “rightfully hers” in the eyes of Gilead. Or whatever bullshit. Unless Serena arranged for them to sleep together for more than just that first time. But my shipper brain doesn’t like to contemplate that and I think June confirms this when she says in a V.O. “So I’ve gone back to Nick, time after time, on my own.”

6. What do you think their relationship brings to the show overall? And what are some of the things you love most about their relationship?

God, what don’t I love about their relationship?

It’s pretty obvious to me that what their relationship brings to the show is a consensual, loving relationship in a world built around the systematic abuse of women. It’s light in the darkness. Love as an act of defiance. Comfort.

I love how their relationship started off as a flirtation, which then grew into sex and June taking back her sexuality, then they both realise how hard they are falling for each other, then there is a BABY, and what started off as this flirtation is just such a powerful force now (or, was, before he disappeared from Season 3). I love how Nick has gone from this pawn in Gilead with a pretty empty existence to someone who loves this woman so much he will literally do anything for her, even if it’s negating his own self-preservation, as Max said. It shows the power of love.

And another thing that sets them apart for me is their frankly ridiculous chemistry and how hot their kissing and/or love scenes are. Consent, tick. Female empowerment, tick. Fucking hot, tick.

7. The nursery scene. Discuss.

It was a beautiful, beautiful, touching scene. And the subtitles, with Nick whispering “Hey, sweetie” and “You’re really cute” were adorable to me.

I love it but it also scares me that it might be the only truly happy moment they ever get. I am worried the writers gave us that because they knew they were just going to rip it all away somewhere down the line.

As with almost all their scenes, it’s not June telling him she loves him that gets me but Nick’s reaction to it. And also the way he smiles and looks at his new daughter. Honestly, Max is amazing in this show and just needs so much more recognition than he gets.

8. Favorite June moment on the show.

Wow, that’s hard. I think it might be in 1.06 when she has the tremendous courage to tell the Mexican ambassador the truth about her reality in Gilead. And she says “Please, don’t be sorry. Do something.” She was awesome in that moment.

9. Favorite Nick moment on the show.

This is even harder because I literally adore him. Apart from the scenes I’ve already mentioned....

2.09 - his selflessness in this episode is just beyond words, both in the scene with Luke and the scene with June. The way he can’t even bear to look at her as he tells her that Luke loves her and always will and he turns away because his heart is literally breaking, but he still tells her anyway because he’s a good fucking man. God. Max kills it in this scene (they both do, to be fair).

2.12 - the scene with him and Eden in the locker room is heart-breaking and it shows that he’s not only a good person when it comes to June, which I think is important. His relationship with Eden is such a difficult one. As horrific a situation as he was in, as much as he was forced into the marriage, she was innocent and he could have been a lot kinder to her in their conversations in the apartment, but I think the fact that he acknowledges this and asks for her forgiveness, means a lot to her (especially in this patriarchal system) and she forgives him, and she is able to get some closure and peace from that admission before she dies. I think it’s an important scene for Nick’s character and very well acted by both Max and Sydney, so it deserves a mention for me.

10. What scene of theirs do you feel is a bit underrated?

All of their scenes are so amazing, I’m not sure if any is underrated by their fans.

Their scene in 2.03 at the Globe is maybe one. Nicks telling her she may be leaving soon, and it’s better for everyone if she goes. He’s essentially trying to convince her that it’s ok for to leave, even without Hannah, but also without him. Even though it means they’ll probably never see each other again. He does it because he wants her safe. Even though he will lose her.

And the way she hugs him at the end... she knows this may be goodbye. She closes her eyes and leans into him.

Also June’s V.O. at the beginning of 1.08 because it’s showing how much Nick is starting to mean to her and occupy the same mental space as Luke does. “I want to know him, memorise him, so I can live on the image later. I should have done that with Luke, because he’s fading…”

And maybe the cassette scene in 3.05. I don’t think it’s underrated by Nick/June fans, because we’ve clung to all we can this season, but maybe by other fans who don’t appreciate the significance in showing that June loves Nick enough to tell Luke about him, even though it may mean the end of her relationship with Luke. Leading me on to the last question...

Bonus: Technically speaking, June’s relationship with Nick can be classified as an affair because she’s married to another man. Do you see their relationship as June cheating given the unique situation they are in? Or do you feel because of the circumstance they are in, it’s a grey area and as such it’s unfair to classify it as straightforward as June is cheating?

I have rewritten this answer a couple of times. It’s a difficult question. If I put myself in Luke’s shoes? If I found out that my husband, even though he knew I was alive, was still sleeping with and had fallen in love with another woman? And that finding out I was alive hadn’t stopped him doing it? Then, yeah, I’d feel like he was being unfaithful. If I’m honest. I may not blame him, but it would still hurt.

But, the key for me with them is this: to me, cheating implies you are lying to the other person. Crucially, because of the situation June is in, separated from him for years, she doesn’t have the opportunity to tell him the truth. And, actually, when she does have that opportunity (the cassette tape), she does tell him. Straight away. Which is huge. So she’s not lied to him. And that for me means this can’t be classed as cheating. She didn’t choose to be separated from Luke. She was lonely for years, thought he was dead for years, and then she grabbed a chance at love and she fell in love with someone who loves her so much he’d die for her. It’s not like it’s just a fling. Is she just meant to be alone in this hell indefinitely?

[blackkatmagic]

wait beside me for the wind

Nick comes home one night—late, because he's always late these days, and there hasn't been anything to pull him home early in what feels like a very long time—to find all of Juliette's things in boxes in the living room.

Somehow, it's not the surprise it should be.

Juliette herself is in the kitchen, on the phone to one of her friends, a fairly old one who lives in Beaverton, and who Nick has only met three times in the years they've been together. When she sees him, she bites her lip the way she always does when she's about to say something he won't like and ends the call.

"I'm sorry," is the first thing she says.

But Nick has felt the aching distance between them, and it's been there since long before Juliette woke up with no memory of him. He still remembers Aunt Marie telling him to let Juliette go, and maybe that would have been a kinder thing to do back then, before all of this came to a head with her as the innocent victim caught in the crossfire.

"It's all right," he answers, smiling a little, because it hurts, she's leaving, but at the same time it doesn't hurt nearly as much as it likely should. This has probably been a long time coming, and he just hasn't let himself see it. He tucks his hands into his pockets for want of anything else to do with them, and wishes suddenly, irrationally, that he could call his mother. "I—do you need help? With moving?"

Juliette smiles back, and the relief in her face hurts more than anything else. "No," she says softly. "Beth will be by tomorrow. It's a longer commute, but..."

But it will mean I won't have to stay here anymore, she doesn't say, though the words linger in the air regardless. Where you're a stranger and I'm always missing that last piece to the puzzle, and we never fit quite right.

"There's pasta?" she says after a moment, a careful question more than an offer, but her eyes, always her most expressive feature, are entirely conflicted.

Nick remembers that attempt at dinner, where they were both...happy, more or less, but he still knew her and she had no idea who he was, and it simply didn't work. He forces a smile and steps back. "Sorry, but I was just stopping by to get some paperwork," he lies. "This case is..."

They both pretend that he's not entirely obvious, that Juliette isn't familiar enough with his routine by now to know that he was home for the night. "Oh," is all she says, ducking her head a bit as she turns away. "Good luck, then."

It feels like there should be something here, one last kiss in farewell, at very least a hug or a touch or something, but the space for that has vanished along with Juliette's memories, with Nick's life as a normal detective. He's a Grimm and she has amnesia, and Aunt Marie was right. Nick can't do this anymore, not to himself and not to her.

"Thanks," he manages after a moment. "Good night, Juliette."

"Good night," she whispers, and Nick gathers up his jacket and leaves, letting the door fall softly shut behind him.

It's not quite the last thing they ever say to each other, but it's close.

He sleeps in the trailer, showers at the gym, dresses in his spare clothes, and brushes Hank off when he asks what's happened. They're both on desk work for now, writing up the Craig Ferron case, and it's easy, mindless work.

Nick wishes it wasn't.

There's something inside him that he's felt before, something a little dark and a little terrifying and very much a predator. It wants shadows, a hunt, a chase, a bit of blood and the satisfaction of a survival that's the same as a victory in the end. It's the Grimm in him, Nick thinks, and wonders at that, because it's not like the blutbad side of Monroe or any of the other Wesen he knows. It's not something that only comes out when he's startled or angry or facing another of his kind. It's always there, always buried just under his skin and watching hungrily.

Or maybe, he thinks, a little wry, it's exactly like all of the Wesen he knows.

That is, perhaps, a comforting thought when it shouldn't be, but Nick takes solace in it nevertheless. It's nice to have one positive thought while attempting not to drown in all the rest—thoughts of his father and his mother's best friend, killed because she was a Grimm; Farley Colt and Aunt Marie, and how they were together, regardless of the fact that he was a Steinadler, but separated when she had to take Nick in; Juliette and her anger, twice over, that Nick wouldn't tell her something there was no logical way she could believe.

Maybe Grimms are best served keeping to their own kind, regardless of how few of them there are.

As soon as the day is over and the last report is filed—full of slightly vague wording to cover up anything Wesen-related, but not enough to draw suspicion—Nick leaves, waving away Hank's suggestion of beer and pizza in favor of heading for his car, the bag of weaponry inside, and an empty forest clearing with plenty of honeydew targets to distract him, in that order.

It seems like a certain ironic kind of fate that a Reaper finds him there.

“Still got that shovel?” Nick asks as soon as Monroe has the door open.

Monroe stares at him for a long moment, then lets the door swing the rest of the way open and sighs. “Come on,” he mutters, “you're getting blood all over the porch. What was it this time?”

If there’s anyone in the world who would understand, Nick thinks, and smiles just a little to himself. Well. He’s just glad that it’s Monroe.

[freedomborn]

I wrote a little Nick and Lucas thing just for fun, directly inspired by a couple of lines from the movie ‘Moana’ (which I still haven’t seen. RIP)

Lucas and Nick have gotten into the habit of sitting by the riverbank and talking through their issues with each other, but they don’t usually get very far before they start arguing. Today, Lucas tries humor. It’s.... a little bit effective? 

“I’ve certainly forgiven you for the most part, but I’m not going to lie. There’s probably always going to be a small piece of me that says ‘fuck you’ for all that you’ve put me through.”

Like most long-time enemies, small talk between Nick and Lucas was always going to be a little bit uncomfortable. The two were seated by a riverbank deep in one of Montana’s beautiful forests, keeping an awkwardly large amount of distance between each other while Nick spoke. Lucas, during this time, couldn’t maintain eye contact for more than half a second with the younger man, and opted to watch the river instead.

Unlike most long-time enemies, though, they tried. It had been about a year since the first time they both ended up in this general location, and the interaction turned into a nasty fight that could have ended a lot worse than it did. Since then—and especially recently—both had been making a strong effort to abandon the past, talk through their problems, and hopefully find a little bit of common ground.

It wasn’t until those last couple of sentences that Lucas’ solemn expression started to change, and he glanced back at Nick with the very slight hint of a smirk.

The younger man caught the change, and raised an eyebrow curiously at his old enemy. “What? Did I say something amusing?”

“You said something incorrect, which is always amusing.” Meeting up here with Nick on Sunday afternoons was becoming too commonplace, and more than anything, Lucas just wanted to lighten the mood a little bit. This probably wasn’t the way to go about it, but considering nothing had ever worked in the past, it was time to try something new.

So far, Nick wasn’t taking it well. “Everything I’ve said to you in the past five minutes has been completely subjective and opinion-based; I didn’t present any facts that could be considered ‘incorrect’.”

So defensive. Lucas chuckled softly, picking up a stone in his hand and tossing it into the river in front of him. “Yeah, yeah, I know. You just had me at ‘fuck you’; you don’t usually slip up that much when you speak, but it’s okay. I know what you meant to say.” The blond was completely at a loss, so he continued. “I’m pretty sure what you meant to say is ‘thank you’.”

“Thank you?!”

“You’re welcome.”

“What? No; I… what??” It was probably immature to find Nick’s astounded and completely appalled state to be so funny, but… it was pretty damn funny. “Why would I…? I would never…!”

“Oh, come on. Give some credit where it’s due. You’re married and have children with a woman you never would have met if it wasn’t for the genetics lab. And who’s the one who paired you two together?”

Nick just stared at the other man for a moment, completely taken-aback by this argument. “You ordered her to spy on me and report back any suspicious activity because you thought I was a rebel.”

“Yeah. You’re welcome.”

The younger man opened his mouth to reply, but no words came to him. It seemed that his complete disgust had to be put on hold for a moment as he begrudgingly thought this over. He was glaring toward the ground now, but it wasn’t long before he muttered his half-assed answer.

“If she and I were somehow meant to be together, I’m sure we would have found each other without all of the pain. Even if not, I would’ve been none the wiser. I’d probably be married to someone else, having never met Christina, and in that circumstance I’m sure I would have fared just fine.”

“Okay, fine. But what about Logan? He’s important to you too, isn’t he?”

“Understatement,” Nick replied softly. He could tell where this was going, but he wasn’t about to deny his connection with the kid. “He’s my son; he’s the most important person in my life.”

“And who was responsible for his creation?”

“Sanders,” Nick retorted, without as much as a second thought. “Certainly not you.”

“Well unfortunately for you, that manipulative son of a bitch is dead--thanks to me; you’re welcome--so you can’t thank him. But keep in mind that none of his ideas would have been able to happen without my ability to run the place, and organize the teams, and insure that everyone had what they needed. And don’t forget who granted your request to let you take care of Logan in exchange for a little bit of extra work. That wasn’t Sanders.”

“Well yeah, but…”

“You’re welcome again.”

Nick let out a huff, getting up from where he was seated and taking a couple absent-minded steps closer to the riverside. As bad as he was at reading people, he could catch the playfulness in the other man’s voice, at least enough that he knew the insistence on a ‘thank you’ wasn’t completely sincere, but the topic required a bit of self-reflection nonetheless.

“I am happy now,” he admitted softly. “Not because of anything you’ve done, but certainly because of the people I met along the way. I’m not thankful that I was taken from my home and forced to play a role in some illegal organization for thirty years, and I don’t think anyone should expect me to be. But at the end of the day, things turned out. I never thought that they would, but they did.”

“That makes sense.” Lucas decided to stand as well, preferring to be at the same level as the other man when they talked. “And I’m glad that things are working out for you. Not saying you made the best decisions, really… at any point ever in the lab, but even so. I’m glad that you had an opportunity to start fresh.”

Nick nodded in response, the argumentativeness having all but disappeared. Now his expression could be described as little more than neutral—serious, but calm. He didn’t think much of it when he responded to Lucas’ kinder words with a ‘thank you’, until a split second after he said it. “Don’t—“

“You’re welcome!”

Dammit, he fell for it; that one was painfully obvious. Nick rolled his eyes. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew very well that Lucas got what he wanted. Nothing that the blond could say now would make Lucas and less smug about winning this one. It wasn’t even worth trying.

...So he pushed him into the river instead. Seems like an appropriate long-time mortal enemy thing to do. It would have been a sufficient form of retaliation, if Lucas wasn’t twice his size, but the scientific mastermind didn’t quite think that far.

Oh well. Hindsight is 20/20 when you and your old enemy are sitting together in a shallow riverbed, staring dumbfounded at each other.

“Really Nick? Really?”  

‘You started it’? Childish. Throw water in his face to shut him up? Even more childish. Turn Lucas’ previous game against him? Also childish, but… reasonable. Better than saying nothing at all.

Nick went to stand up in the knee-deep water, but slipped on the mossy rocks under the surface and fell back down. Of course, Lucas was very quick to laugh at him for it. But he also didn’t look like he was going to try and get up himself any time soon.

The blond steadied himself and tried again, this time successful, and gradually waded back toward the shore.

“You provoked me to do it,” he chastised, glancing behind him as he pulled himself out. “But I was being more responsible than you think. I threw you into shallow water where the current isn’t strong. Unlike last year when you almost murdered me further downstream.”

“You had to bring that up?” Lucas eventually stood up too, taking a bit more care with it so he wouldn’t make a fool of himself like Nick did. But he was a bit more balanced anyway, so it wasn’t that hard to get up and climb back out. “That was an accident.”

“I think what you’re trying to say,” Nick replied smugly, shaking water out of his hair as he spoke, “is ‘thank you’.”

This is what their arguments boiled down to nowadays: this petty, childish nonsense. Lucas only snorted, punching the other man in the shoulder as he passed by.

“Oh yes, thank you so much for not having the motive of drowning me. Let’s not get into that all over again. I think we should probably head back to town before it gets dark… and while we’re on at least a semi-good note. And before you end up in the river a second time. I’d rather leave here jokingly insulting you than yelling at you.”

“Agreed.”

“For the record,” Lucas added, “I was completely kidding about all of that. I know I was an absolute piece of shit to you in the lab. I don’t think either of us owe each other anything at this point.”

“Yeah, I know. Lightening the mood and everything, I get that.”

As they conversed, the two started to make their way back, following the trail through the forest and back toward home. Lucas led the way, since the path was fairly narrow, and Nick didn’t object to following a few feet behind him.

“Oh, and another thing…” Lucas glanced behind him for a moment, meeting Nick’s eyes, before turning back around and focusing on the path in front of him again. It sounded serious, so the younger man chose to keep quiet this time and listen. “Just… for the record, again; I feel like I should tell you. So that you’re aware, you know? In case you aren’t.”

“Go on.”

Lucas nodded. Thankfully Nick couldn’t see from their positions that he was grinning. “Yeah, okay. I just wanted to say… you look really fucking stupid when your hair is wet. Like… seriously, it would do you a tremendous amount of good to get a haircut.”

“Hah…” Nick found himself grinning. He wasn’t going to start this again. Besides, there was something about Lucas’ joking insults that was almost comfortable. Like their relationship was changing for the better, but not too much. “Fuck you too.”

“You’re welcome. I’m keeping you from looking like an idiot in public.” As if they weren’t both soaking wet and covered in mud. But whatever; it was the thought that counted. Kind of. 

Of course, like most long-time enemies, things were bound to take some time. The pair had their moments where it felt like nothing would ever improve, and moments when they did genuinely feel like they hated each other again, but things were getting better. They talked, and they listened; they did what they could to put the past behind them. And as of today, the awkwardly large gap that they usually kept between them when walking together was just a little bit narrower.

[mock-ing-bird]

In Defence of Sean Renard

As #Grimm draws to a close (Far TOO SOON), and it looks very like Season 6 is going to be Nick finishing off his ultimate enemy, Sean Renard; and resolving some unresolved questions to tie it all up in a neat and satisfying ending.

 There is a lot I need to know.

 At this point, I have to say that the ins and outs (rights and wrongs) of the stick that Nick found in Season 5 (keys and all that jazz) interest me a great deal less than getting the answers to some questions that have been burning a hole in my curiosity since Season 2 (or thereabouts).

Renard has done some very bad things, that cannot be denied, but somehow I have identified more closely with him, than Nick, from the beginning. It’s not that I don’t like Nick, it’s just that sometimes he makes me want to slap him hard.

  Nick is the White Knight, the hero that we are supposed to cheer for on his quest to handle a legacy that he never asked for and didn’t really want. In the main, he handles it with grace and determination except when it comes to Renard. For instance, once he knew what Renard was, when did Nick ever think about trying to lure Renard to his side and keep him there. Answer to this, never, really.

Renard always seems like an abused child/animal to me. He gets his strikes in first before anyone can strike at him. It’s an instinctive protective reaction to his past. And what a past! We don’t know much of anything really, it’s fairly sketchy, but we do know that Renard was yanked out of French Literature class (fancy boarding school methinks) by his mother, aged 13, to go on the run for his life. On the run from his father’s wife. We don’t even need to extrapolate that his legitimate half brother would like to kill him, that’s pretty much a given. Therefore you can bet money that his earlier childhood, close to his father’s circle of influence was probably not exactly a barrel of laughs either.

What do we know exactly? Renard is half Royal, an illegitimate son, he’s also half Zauberbiest. This doesn’t mean that much, he has a sort of half and half woge, he has no powers per se, (unless a sexy growl and enhanced strength can be seen as powers), he is, at best, a hybrid, with a foot in each world but really belonging in neither.

Side Note: We are told that King Frederick (Sean’s father) ‘loves’ his sons. There is exactly ZERO evidence of this. Oft repetition of something does not actually make it so.

So. Hand-wavy stuff. Sean Renard arrives in Portland (somehow), joins the Police Force, rises to be Captain. Living in Portland gives him a home, a degree of safety, stability, and as a Police Captain he has a measure of power and authority. Things that a life on the run, never knowing when one of his father’s assassins are going to catch up with him and his mother and kill them, has never given Sean.

So after years of just surviving, he has a home, a degree of safety and stability and some real comfort. Wouldn’t you, in this situation, fight tooth and claw to keep it? Since tooth and claw are all that Sean has known over most of his childhood and into adulthood, his actions are bound to be magnified by his life experience.

From the start of Nick’s knowledge about what Sean is, he has held the Captain at arm’s length. I do get why, I really do, but a truly smart leader would know that alliance is the best way forward. You build alliances to protect yourself and gather resources that will help you going forward. Sometimes those alliances have to come with a big measure of forgiveness and a line drawn under past events.

Would Sean Renard have been a tricky prospect? Sure he would. He’s part Royal, he wants power and authority. This is clearly an offshoot of his need for stability and safety, (after all power and influence provides a lot of security). However, a simple risk/reward analysis would also tell you that long term, alliance makes a whole heap of sense. Sean has protected Nick on a number of occasions, while these have dovetailed with his own interests, they still came at considerable personal risk. Sometimes, Renard’s actions to protect Nick have actually run counter to his own best interests. Had he taken the key, given it to his family, he would have been at less risk than handing the key back to Nick did for him.

Put crudely: If you acquire a puppy, don’t bother to house break it, feed it only scraps, chuck it out of the house when you have friends round, don’t then be surprised when it attacks your friends and trashes your house. It doesn’t know any better. That’s all on you. Okay, so Sean is less cute little Shih Tzu, more lone grey Wolf, but the principle’s the same.

Juliette and the Sleeping Beauty Curse (courtesy of Adalind). Renard gets a potion from Adalind’s mother, Catherine, drinks it to purify his soul so that he can wake Juliette. Renard drinks it (seriously, kudos, that stuff looked like one of my mother’s attempts at tapioca pudding… my stomach curled up in sympathy), he then goes through agony, or are we supposed to take away from that whole scene that staggering around your apartment, tearing your clothes off like your skin is burning you alive, struggling to breathe is perfectly normal and doesn’t hurt a bit. Because that was not what I took away.

HUGE UNANSWERED QUESTION: If Renard’s soul was purified for him to wake Juliette, was his more co-operative behaviour in Seasons 2 and 3 because his soul was purified, or was that just random?

Renard dies trying to save Nick from the effects of another curse (Adalind again). Yes, there was a convergence of circumstances that led to Renard being shot, but you cannot get away from the fact that he was trying to save Nick from another curse.

He dies. He is brought back to life by his mother (this is a one way ticket, if he dies again, he stays dead). But something comes back with him. As the evil grows stronger, it’s pretty clear that Renard is terrified…

HUGE UNANSWERED QUESTION: What effect did the presence of Jack have on Sean’s hitherto purified soul? (Without the answer to the other question it’s hard to say).

After everything that has happened, Nick is still holding Sean as far away as possible. I see Sean’s actions in Season 5 being less an embodiment of evil, and more an act of desperation. He’s not exactly been smothered with love or shown that he’s valuable to Nick (and yes, the knife cuts both ways), so him cutting his losses (kinda need the answer to the Jack question here to make a proper evaluation), given everything that has happened to him both through the story and what little back story we have on him, nasty as it is, it makes perfect sense. He’s frightened, vulnerable. He thinks he needs to get back to being the aloof man he was before Nick and Grimm-ness. He has powerful cause to regret helping Nick, and he’s never been taught any different. All Nick has ever done is shove Renard away unless he’s needed him for something. Even Rachel, appeared to offer him love that wasn’t for dynastic reasons… why wouldn’t Renard fall for that? Someone who apparently wants him for himself. It was a crock, but a frightened, vulnerable man, being offered everything he thinks he’s always wanted, and a chance to hide himself away again (the kinder, gentler Sean made him more vulnerable, and for what??) of course he’s going to take what he thinks he wants.

If that comes from punishing the one person who he sees as being the cause of all of his vulnerability for no personal gain (did he actually gain anything by protecting Nick, not really. He died, remember). But even after that, he’s still trying, and still nothing. Well, me, I would have chucked up the non-existent benefits of helping someone who doesn’t care about me, my help or my well-being for the chance at real stability in a heartbeat, believe me. And I don’t have anything like Sean’s excuse.

  Nick’s anger is understandable, but the fact that Nick is playing happy families with Adalind, and has a son with her, (don’t even get me started on how that happened), just infuriates me. Sean is Diana’s father. So yeah, Sean has come between Nick and Adalind and Nick’s son, but equally, Nick has come between Sean and his daughter. You cannot just airbrush Sean out of his daughter’s life. Boy, do they want to though.

Diana is clearly damaged. I feel as though Sean’s actions through the whole debacle of sending Diana away with Kelly Burkhardt were about giving her a life that Sean never had. It did not turn out that way, but since Sean has no reference points other than the knowledge that his paternal family are cruel and possibly actually insane, it was completely understandable. And Nick was involved too, yet somehow that whole circle was squared by having Nick and Adalind come together without any apparent additional consequences, and fall in love (yes, they make a cute, adorable couple, but my heart absolutely bleeds for Sean and Juliette/Eve).

[Hypocrisy 101: Reject girlfriend who saved your Grimmness and inadvertently became a Hexenbiest, for being a Hexenbiest. Fall in love with the Hexenbiest who raped you (hardly consensual sex if one of the parties to the sex is faking their identity), have son, and play happy families together (conveniently forgetting the whole “you find that attractive” moment when this Hexenbiest has her powers back, and the half-zauberbiest is standing there right in front of you)!! All the while hating the half-zauberbiest who has been (I grant you) a sneaky shit, but who has done his best to protect you from the second mentioned Hexenbiest’s attempt to destroy you.]

I don’t know what will happen in the end. Yes, Sean’s a sinner, but given everything that has happened, one way and another, he was already damaged long before the story starts, his association with Nick has had a negative impact on him personally. The man believes he is alone. He has acquaintances who use him, not friends. He’s never shown real love, or care or appreciation. He’s been through hell, several times, he has suffered and has never once had anyone show any concern for him.

Really, under those circumstances wouldn’t you choose the same?

However this pans out, I have always rooted for Sean Renard, and probably always will.