#and no i am not telling you which one stands for which RO before the thing ends that part is for fun for me personally

[bragganhyl]

on the note of something i recently rambled about

[leiawritesstories]

Best Dream Ever

Rowaelin Month 2024, Day 3: Idiots in Love @rowaelinscourt

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: some swearing, alcohol, ridiculous amounts of fluff

Enjoy!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Why the hell is someone knocking on my door at eight p.m.? Aelin grumbled to herself as she reluctantly walked to her front door, wine glass in hand. It had been a heck of a work week, and she was a grown woman who was entitled to her post-work drink. She rose up onto her tiptoes to look through the glass panes near the top of the door and did a double take when she found her neighbor from down the street standing on her porch, looking for all the world like he was about to bolt. 

“Rowan?” She opened the door. “You alright?” 

He ducked into her house, pushed the door closed, and looked frantically out the window, chest heaving like he was afraid for his life. “I am now, I think.” 

She raised a brow. “Look, I know we’re neighbors and friends and all that, but seriously. What the hell?” 

He held up his hands. “I’m sorry, Ae, I really am. I texted you like fifteen times.” 

“Ah, shit.” She pulled her phone out of her back pocket and waved it in front of him. “Dead, I’m sorry. Ran out of battery on the way home from work and honestly haven’t wanted to charge it.” 

“Fair enough.” He walked beside her down the hallway to her living room and flopped down on the couch he liked, groaning in relief when his head hit the throw pillows. 

“Long week for you too?” 

He grumbled something incomprehensible and moved the pillow off of his face. “Have you ever had six adult men show up at your door armed with gods-only-know how much booze and zero warning and proceed to set up shop in your house?” 

“Can’t say I have,” she drawled. 

“Wouldn’t recommend.” He raked his hands through his messy, pale hair. “I made the mistake of telling the guys that I got that deal with the MLB team, and they apparently decided that this was their sign to come into town and crash my weekend. Seems like I ‘don’t celebrate right,’ whatever the fuck that means.” 

Aelin hid her smile behind her wine. “Which one of the twins said that?” 

“Fen, of fucking course,” Rowan said dryly. “Who else d’you think could convince all the guys to drop everything and converge on my house for a weekend? We’re not in college anymore, not like he understands that.” 

“I’m sure he’ll come around eventually,” Aelin offered. “For now, though, you know you always have a place here. Just…you don’t need to crash for the night, do you?” 

Pink tinged Rowan’s cheeks, and he slipped his backpack off of his shoulders. “Well, now that you mention it…” 

She laughed and stood up. “You know where the spare room is, Ro. Want a beer or something?” 

“Sounds fuckin’ amazing.” He went down the hall to drop off his bag in her spare room and returned a few minutes later in sweatpants and an old university t-shirt. Gratefully, he took the beer bottle from her hand and tipped half its contents down his throat. “Fuck, that’s good.” 

“It’s from the case of ‘good stuff’ you dumped in my garage three weeks ago,” Aelin said, pairing her words with a poke to his side. “Quit using me as your beer overflow, Whitethorn.” 

“Who else could I trust not to drink it?” he grinned, slinging one arm around her shoulders. “If I let one of the guys keep it at their place, it’d be gone in a day, never mind that it’s a small batch craft brew that needs at least thirty-two hours of chilling before you can really get the tasting notes.” 

“Snob,” she teased, turquoise eyes sparkling with laughter. 

He smirked. “It’s called good taste, Ae, and you—” 

A fist thudded rapidly against Aelin’s front door. 

She looked at Rowan, and he looked back at her, eyes wide. “Please don’t let them in,” he whispered, and he took off down the hall to hide in the spare room. 

“Men,” she sighed. She strolled down the hallway, peered out the window, and cracked open her door just a few inches. “What the hell do you want, Moon Moon?” 

Grinning broadly and probably tipsily, Fenrys tried to lean on her doorframe and stumbled sideways before regaining his balance. “Where’s Rowie?” 

Aelin fixed the blonde man with a flat, unimpressed look. “Ask me in normal-people words, Fenny boy.” 

Fenrys inhaled dramatically. “My dear darling Aelin, have you seen Rowan lately? We came to his place to celebrate him getting the MLB deal, but we’d barely been there for an hour before he said he needed to grab something from the store. Haven’t seen the guy since.” 

“Does this look like the store, Moon Moon?” she deadpanned. 

“Nobody thought he was actually going to the store!” Fen protested. He tried to push open her door, but she clicked her tongue and fixed him with a look that made him stop in his tracks. 

“Fen, you’re a good friend, but this is my first work-free weekend in months, and if I have to miss any more of 10 Things I Hate About You, I will eviscerate you with my work heels. Okay?” 

“Leaving!” he yelped. “Text us if you know where Rowan is, though, yeah?” 

“You’re the ones at his place, you can text him,” she returned. “Goodnight, Moon Moon. Don’t fall off any rooftops again.” 

“It was one time!” he yelled, but she’d already closed the door. 

Aelin went back down to her living room, plopped onto the couch, and grumbled something rather unpleasant about the amount of men who banged on her door at all hours of the day. “Coast is clear, Whitethorn,” she called. 

He came back into the living room a minute later. “Thanks for handling him, Ae.” 

“Anything for a little bit of peace, right?” His huff of a laugh tugged at a thread low in her stomach, but she ignored the odd sensation. “Let me know if you need anything that you can’t find. I’m gonna go upstairs and watch brain-rotting chick flicks until I fall asleep, but you’re more than free to watch one of those docuseries you have such a hard-on for.” 

“Aelin!” Rowan’s face reddened, and he choked out her name in a shocked, strangled cough. “Gods, why’d you have to say it like that?” 

“Because you’re too cute when you’re all flustered, buzzard,” she laughed. “G’night!” She headed upstairs to her bathroom, and after a very long shower and a solid half hour of carefully applying her skincare, she tugged one of her favorite nightgowns over her head and rolled into her bed. She could pick up the faint sounds of water running in the guest bathroom down the hall, and coupled with the soft whir of her ceiling fan, she was soon asleep. 

Only to pop awake not quite three hours later. 

Groaning, she rolled onto her other side and closed her eyes, taking deep steady breaths to try and encourage her restless mind to quiet down. As soon as she managed to quiet her roiling mind, though, her stomach rumbled. 

Traitor. 

Aelin flopped onto her stomach and ignored the growly rumble it emitted in protest, but the more she tried to fall back asleep, the more her body resisted. Finally, in defeat, she muttered a string of curses under her breath and rolled out of bed. She pushed her feet into her slippers, flicked on her bedside lamp, and crept out of her room and down the hall. She took the stairs slowly, because at least half of them creaked loud enough to wake the whole street if stepped on too firmly, but she eventually made it out to the kitchen. The glowing numbers on the oven clock flashed 1:55, taunting her with the ridiculous hour. 

Quietly, Aelin pulled open the pantry door, scanning the shelves quickly and finding nothing that sounded particularly good. She moved over to the fridge and glanced inside, huffing in irritation when she didn’t immediately think of anything quick to grab. After a few minutes, she gave up and opened the freezer, her fingers closing around the pint carton of ice cream tucked into the door shelf. She got a spoon from the drawer and sat down at one of the barstools at the high-top counter, not bothering with a bowl. 

She was only a few bites into the deliciously rich triple chocolate when heavier footsteps creaked on the stairs and a very sleepy, very mussed Rowan half-stumbled into the kitchen. 

His bleary gaze wandered around the kitchen, skipping over her once before snapping back to where she sat with her ice cream. The corners of his mouth tipped up, and he mumbled unintelligibly to himself. “Don’t fall over,” she heard him mumble, and he slid his hand along the countertop to guide his steps as he crossed the kitchen. Straight over to her. 

“Hey, you.” She couldn’t be entirely sure whether he was awake or sleepwalking, so she left her spoon in the carton of ice cream and stood up. “Having a good dream, Ro?” 

“’Bout to get even better.” His arms looped around her waist, and he dipped his head and kissed her. A soft hitched gasp broke from her lips, and she slid one hand up the back of his neck into his messy hair and angled his face so she could kiss him properly. It was a long, drawn-out moment before he pulled back, head tilted back to catch a gulping breath, and his eyes snapped back to hers, clear and aware. “Best dream ever.” 

She blinked slowly. “Ro, are you asleep?” 

“I gotta be.” He passed the pad of his thumb over her lips. “It’s the only time I get to kiss you like this, Ae.” 

“Rowan,” she breathed, heart skipping in her chest. “I…I’m awake.” 

His jaw went slack, and he impulsively grabbed her hand. “Pinch me.” 

“What?” 

“Pinch me, Ae. Gotta know if I’m still dreaming.” Obligingly, she pinched the skin at the crease of his elbow, and he let out a tiny, high-pitched squeak. “Fuck, that—am I awake?” 

“I’d imagine so.” Her eyes traveled slowly downwards, until they landed on their linked hands. “This wasn’t what I was expecting when I came down for midnight ice cream.” Uncertainty clouded his face, and she squeezed his hand. “It’s better.” 

Hope, bright and buoyant, broke free in his grin. “Really?” 

“Really.” She closed the distance between them, rolled up onto her tiptoes to meet his lips. “I think I’ve had this dream before, but it’s better in real life.” And she kissed him.

~~~

TAGS:

@live-the-fangirl-life

@superspiritfestival

@thegreyj

@wordsafterhours

@elentiyawhitethorn

@mariaofdoranelle

@rowanaelinn

@house-of-galathynius

@tomtenadia

@julemmaes

@swankii-art-teacher

@charlizeed

@booknerdproblems

@earthtolinds

@goddess-aelin

@sweet-but-stormy

@clea-nightingale

@autumnbabylon

@llyncooljones

@silentquartz

@renxzs

@anarchiii

@fauna-flora11

[t-mblr-begone]

HI I JUST FINISHED TNG AND AM AUTISTIC I NEED TO TALK (warning long ass post, ramblings)

Q in his stupid fucking judge outfit???? Oh my god i love him so much?? And like?? I dont even think he wanted to put picard on trial at the end he says it was the continuums orders so did he even want to do that too him? Who knows!! We do know hes gay as shit though oh my god. I love him.

The past, the Encounter At Farpoint, picard yelling for Q on the bridge and everyone probably thinking hes insane. Picard not telling any of them whats going on, even though it doesnt affect the other timelines. Tasha Yar???? Hi Tasha!!!!!! Worf with his old sash, the old uniforms, the shitty dress deanna wore in the first episode (it slayed), data being. So autistic. Liek actually hold on can i talk about tha

This episode, with all its converging timelines, really shows how data grows- not just as a character just in general, as the years go by on the ship, he starts understanding idioms, somewhat. He. He gets more human. He really does. His movements more fluid, hes smarter. He really does grow, something about his neural net constantly evolving or something. Oh my god.

The shitty future?? Worf liking Deanna Romantically Cannon??? Riker was still holding on to the relationship this whole time?? (I never noticed really. Im. Autistic.) PICARD AND CRUSHER GOT MARRIED. And then divorced BUT STILL. Picard back on earth?? Tending to what i can only assume to be grape plants or something, like his brother. Data teaches at Cambridge. He has grey hair, thinks it makes him more distinguished. Geordi has eyes! Like in two different timelines he has eyes.

Thats another thing actually, like i could have sworn at least in the earlier seasons, he didnt want. Eyes? I thought?? But like. It seems like a minor Thing, cause it showed up in that one Riker Gets Kidnapped By A Child Alien Because Its Lonely episode. And again here, and probably other places i can't remember because ive consumed all of tng in 2 months.

The present. I dont have shit to say about that actually. It sure is season 7.

OH MY GOD THE BEGINNING OF THW EPISODE BEFORE Q REAVEALS HIMSELF?? How we dont know if he Is travelling through time or if hes Going Senile. The cuts?? I mean the cuts through the whole episode is so good the cinematography in general!!!! Oh my god. The close ups, the panning, THE ACTING?? TASHA YAR??? EARLY WORF? OLD WORF? I like worf. GEORDI? DATA???? love brett spiner.

And i mean who remembers the judge scene from the first episode at this point? The foreshadowing with the jury(?)/audience(?) i didnt even. Realize until they put Picard on the stand again.

DEANNA BEING FUCKING DEAD IN THE FUTURE HELLO?????????????

Oh my god but the end scene. The end shot of the poker game? Imagine seeing the future, all your friends, drifted apart, tense at each other with worf and riker. Seeing that. And then coming back to reality, to Your Time. And seeing your friends as they are right then. Why didnt picard join them for poker?

No like actually. Did. Did he have a reason for that? Some like, weird captain thing? Or like. Some weird barrier wall thing? Thing where he feels like he should isolate himself.

But the point is, he joins his friends for some poker, i dont think he had probably played poker in years. Its just. Amazing.

You know. I think this is one of the first times ive seen her again and not cried, which is progress because every other time it was. Not great.

But now that tngs over

Hey does tumblr have a word limit? We're about to find out.

But now that tngs over, theres still a lot i have to ask. Like why the fuck did they do that to wesley? Do we see wesley again? Is still dont know who b-4 is. Whats Ro doing now? Is she good? Do we see her again? Does she know kira? Do ro and kira meet? Probably not actually. Itd probably be cool though. Do worf and deanna get married? Please. I ne- oh wait no they cant bc worf has a thing with jadzia at some point. What the fuck is up with worf and jadzia? And also where is alexander now? When does worf join ds9? Probably season 3 idk. Or Barclay? Cheif o'brien? Cause the show ran concurrently for a bit. WHY DONR WORF AND DEANNA GET MARRIED THEYRE LIKE PERFECT???? What the fuck is that guy with the ears damar? Gamar? I think its damar? Idk. Why he look like that? IS RO GOING TO DIE??

Oh hey i get to meet sisko, hes cool. He gets like visions or some shit. Q doesnt like him i think "picard never hit me ):" "im not picard."

Q and Quark. Odo and Q. Do we get to see the cunty judge outfit again? Why does he have a mustache when hes boxing sisko or whatever?

OH I GET TO SEE FUCK ASS DUKAT THEOW DARTS AT HIM EVIL. Fun.

Okay yeah im done

[corrodedseraphine]

perfectly wrong | #1 I wish you hadn't saved me

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

chapter summary: When you all get together to say goodbye to Corroded Coffin before going on tour, the evening ends with a standard argument between you and Steve. The next day, under the influence of a massive hangover, he wonders if he might have overreacted, when he gets called to help with a patient. From a conversation between a doctor and another nurse, he learns that the person who showed up is in a very difficult situation. He was definitely not ready for who he finds there.

TW: mentions of pregnancy, domestic violence, blood, wounds and bruises, let me know if I forgot about something!

The story is also avaliable on ao3

masterlist | steve harrington masterlist | general masterlist

@phantypurple thank you so much for helping me with this whole "enemies" thing, I am new in it and your support really helped me ❤

Before we start!I don't have much knowledge about pregnancy, being a nurse etc, which doesn't change the fact that I will try to do research and write everything in the best way possible, I hope you will forgive me!

In the beginning, everything may seem quite chaotic, I do not hide it and I realize that after reading the first chapter you will be a bit confused and many questions will appear, but with each chapter I will try to develop it and clear up doubts.

Your opinion, feedback, questions or ideas are always welcome! If there is something what would you like to see in the story feel free to tell me about it in comments or in my inbox which is always open for you guys! Thank you so much for reading!

As soon as you crossed the threshold of The Hideout Robin immediately shouted your name. You cut through the crowd of people and with a smile on your lips made your way to your friends. Today was Corroded Coffin's first concert after the "earthquake." When Eddie finally recovered from everything that had happened he couldn't wait m until he returned to the stage. At first everyone thought that after what he experienced in the Upside Down he wouldn't be able to look at a guitar again, but he surprised you all. All the experiences inspired him to write many of the songs that, with the help of the government, will make up the band's first album. So this was the first and last concert for the guys before they set out to follow their dreams. You as good friends couldn't miss it.

"Am I late?" you asked, sitting down between Robin and Argyle. 

"No, they are just getting ready to go on stage. I'm glad you're here." your friend said. 

"I know, Ro. I'm sorry." You said grabbing her hand with a gentle expression on your face. Since your private life had turned everything around you had kept your encounters with other people to a minimum. You isolated yourself completely, however, you couldn't miss today's concert, you knew it was too important to just not come. 

"And who my beautiful eyes see!" Steve shouted and with a loud clang he set down his beer bottle. This was definitely not his first. "Look who has kindly decided to show up!"

"I really don't have the energy for your drama, Steve." You sighed rolling your eyes. 

"Woah! So you know my name?" he fiercely rambled on. 

This is what it looked like. Your relationship with Steve was...complicated. No one expected you to end up at a stage where you couldn't stand each other in the same room. The sarcastic comments from his mouth were something quite gentle anyway. Normally you wouldn't have let it go however today you really didn't have the strength to do so, so you just ignored him and didn't answer anything.

The concert was going nicely, one could say too nicely, considering that for over an hour you didn't hear a single offensive word in your direction, and you really enjoyed your first meeting with friends in a long time. Unfortunately, it was the lull before the storm. 

Steve definitely needed to de-stress, from what Robin told you he had failed a pretty important exam, so he decided to drown his sorrows in alcohol. Beer after beer he became more and more fussy and irritated. He was like a walking time bomb that went off when you refused Eddie's proposed drink. 

"Now aren't we worthy of you having a drink with us?" he mischievously snorted with laughter. 

"Steve, I really don't have the strength to deal with you tonight." 

"And that's not the case? It seems that instead of having a drink with the people you claim to be your friends you prefer the company of your boyfriend and his pile of alcoholics. Did you start doing drugs with them, too?" he leaned back on his elbows. You knew he wouldn't let go, wouldn't let go until the two of you started arguing and he would pour out all his frustration that way. You could feel your blood boiling inside you and you were feeling breathless. "What? You won't say anything? You always have too much to say." He grinned feeling that he had the upper hand over you.

"Do I look like I want to debate with you?" You snapped. 

"I don't know, through that ton of makeup it's hard to read what your real expression is." 

"Steve!" Robin interrupted you. "Control yourself!"

"You're still defending her?!" He got what he wanted. He got his five minutes. "For the last two weeks she does nothing but ignore you, and then I'm the one who has to hear about how much you miss her! You consider her your friend and she just doesn't give a shit about you! All of you!" 

"It's not true!" you wanted to defend yourself. In truth you really wanted to, but you knew that from their point of view it really all looked like that. 

"Yes? Then what was more important than meeting your friend, what was more important than being there for her when she needed you when Vicky broke her heart?" He knew he was in control and it made him happy. Unhealthy pleasure derived from your embarrassment and confusion. 

"What? Robin, why-" you were shocked. You had no idea. 

"Are you going to ask now why she didn't tell you? Let me explain." He didn't waste a moment to crush you into the ground even more. He was giving you needle after the needle. "She wanted to tell you, but of course you didn't have time for her. I don't even know which hopeless excuse on your part it was then why you supposedly couldn't meet. But no problem, you can rehabilitate yourself and tell the truth now." He crossed his arms over his chest and stuck his satisfied gaze into you. You opened your mouth to say something but quickly closed it and pressed your lips into a thin line. He was right, you yourself no longer remembered which excuse you used then. You were already lost in them, but the truth would not pass your throat for anything in the world. Not when all eyes were on the two of you. Not when Steve humiliated you without considering how many people were around. "That's what I thought. What about Max and El? Did you forget about them too? Do you know that since you stopped helping El with her lessons she barely manages to pass? Do you think you are better than them? You don't deserve any of them. No one!" 

You couldn't stay standing there any longer. Feeling tears coming to your eyes without saying a word, you began to push through the crowd to the exit. You had no idea about Robin, you had no idea about El, you had no idea about anything. Locked in your own tragedy, you also cut yourself off from those who could always count on you and left them without the support they had become so accustomed to. He was right. You hated him for the way he treated you, but you hated yourself even more for the fact that everything he said was the cruel and painful truth. Moreover, by leaving you gave him another reason for which he could haunt you. You didn't stay to say goodbye to Eddie and the rest of the boys before they left. They would only be back in three months, and by then nothing would be the same.

You walked ahead wiping away tears. No matter how much you wanted you couldn't go back there. You weren't able to. Life was crashing down on your head, and his comments and reminders of what a hopeless person you were made you feel even worse. You wanted to disappear. To sink into the ground, to run away somewhere where your problems wouldn't reach you, but this couldn't happen. You were grounded here. Ironically, you would rather be grounded in the Upside Down now than be in your current situation. 

When you arrived at the house you tried to enter as quietly as you could. In your spirit you prayed that your boyfriend, Travis, would already be asleep and not wake up. Unfortunately, fate decided to test your strength once again. Inside you found him sitting in front of the TV and an almost empty bottle of vodka standing on the coffee table. 

"Where the hell have you been?!" he asked as soon as he heard your footsteps in the hallway. At that moment you already knew that a very long night was ahead of you. 

Drinking so much alcohol the day before the morning shift was not a wise idea. Feeling dehydrated and drained of life, he sat in an uncomfortable chair with a face hidden in his hands and a nasty headache. He had just taken a painkiller, so it will have to be a long while before it takes effect. In addition, he couldn't stop thinking about yesterday's events. You never gave up when it came to arguing. Everything always ended in a shouting match. You were never so...quiet? Confused? Lost? You never showed your feelings either. Certainly not in front of him. Nor have you ever walked away with tears in your eyes. Did he exaggerate this time? Guilt slowly crept into his head.

"Tough night?" he heard from behind him. It was Judy, one of the senior nurses who had not run away from Hawkins after everything. She was also one of the better ones who saw him as more than just the Harringtons' son. She treated him like a normal trainee, for which he was grateful.

"Mhmmm." he muttered, still not opening his eyes. "We were saying goodbye to Eddie before going on tour," he said.

"I can't believe he finally made it. Do you think I'll be able to brag about how I changed his bandages?" she laughed quietly while making herself some coffee.

"I'm sure he'll write a song about it." he replied with a joke and fell silent. The silence between them was broken by the doctor's entrance into the room.

"She's here again." she sighed heavily. "Another 'fall'."

"Are you sure we can't report this anywhere?" Judy pinched the tip of her nose and furrowed her brow. This person's condition must have really worried her.

"If we report domestic violence and she denies everything the police won't do anything anyway,"

"She is pregnant, Linda. This is a very serious case." 

"The only thing we can do at this point is to talk some sense into her and try to persuade her to agree to help."

"She's as stubborn as a mule, and I doubt she'll agree,"

"Sooner or later it will come to her that she will have a child and it is its safety that should be the most important thing for her. For this moment we have to go, Steve you will take care of sewing up the wound, and you Judy will help me with the gynecological examination."

"Come on boy..." the nurse sighed patting him on the back. 

He walked sluggishly along the corridor contemplating the women's conversation. How scared must this girl have been that she didn't run away from this deviant? Did she really have no one to help her? 

Entering the room, he was not ready for the sight that awaited him there. In the sterile white room, you sat in a chair staring at the floor, pressing a towel to your shoulder. A towel that was soaked with blood. When you raised your eyes and noticed him you froze. Steve also turned pale with surprise and horror at your condition. You were the girl they were talking about. The truth seemed too horrible to believe right away. There was a nasty bruise on your face, and when you moved the towel away from your arm an elongated wound appeared, from which blood would not stop pouring.

"What happened to you dear child?" Judy asked, looking at you with compassion in her eyes. Although you were no longer such a child, legally in every aspect you were already an adult. You quickly tore your gaze away from Steve and looked at the older nurse.

"I- I fell over. I fell on a glass bottle and a piece of it stuck in my shoulder...the blood won't stop flowing, when I fell I also hit my stomach, it hurts a lot, I was scared that..." you said quietly, ashamed looking at a single point on the floor. You knew that neither the doctor nor the nurse believed you. You also knew that, as if on a platter, you had given another reason from which Steve could create another level of your personal hell. He, however, was still looking on in disbelief at what was happening. The whole situation seemed to him as if it was made up. It was impossible that it was really you, that you were sitting completely defenseless as a victim of domestic violence. A pregnant victim of domestic violence. Holy shit, he was getting weak. It wasn't possible that after all you'd been through in the Upside Down, life was putting more hurdles in your way. You were fighting monsters from another dimension and you couldn't deal with your boyfriend? He didn't understand anything anymore.

"Steve take care of the wound. Make sure there's no more glass there, clean it up and apply stitches. We'll be back in a minute to do the rest of the examination." Dr. Linda ordered and together she and Judy went to get the equipment needed.

Not knowing how to behave, he simply began to prepare everything and sat very close to you. He took a deep breath. A very uncomfortable silence fell between you and the atmosphere was tense. After putting on his gloves, he gently grabbed your hand with both hands to take a closer look at the wound. Your inhalation stopped midway and your body stiffened all over. 

"Do you need some anesthetic? It might hurt." He said in a nervous voice and corrected his glasses. 

"I can handle it." you muttered.

"Are you sure? It really can-" 

"I'm sure, Harrington." You growled interrupting him and turned your head toward the window, and he silently began to dispose of the glass shards. 

Your hissing in pain did not escape his attention. To make matters worse, he also noticed the single tears that flew down your cheeks. As he was putting the stitches in place memories of last night began to fly through his head. Everything he said in your direction. Every word went straight to the heart of the problem. Glancing at your face every now and then, he could feel it getting fainter as he stopped at the purple area under your eye. Now he knew why you were wearing so much makeup. He knew what you wanted to hide and that scared him even more. He now understood why you refused to have a drink. Everything seemed so obvious now. Why didn't you tell anyone about this? He thought of the evening when Robin cried her eyes out because of Vicky. He was furious with you for not even being there for her at such a time. He was furious that you left her alone, but now he knew. He knew why, he knew the reason you canceled all your meetings. You didn't want anyone to know about what was going on. But now he knew now. This realization became a burden he didn't know how to lift.

"Y/n, listen...I- I want to apologize for yesterday. I was an asshole, I shouldn't have said all that." he said quietly. Shocked, you looked at him. He had said many awful things about you but never apologized for it. After a moment, though, surprise turned into a stony face. 

"I don't need your sympathy or pity." you replied dryly. "You don't need to lie about being sorry, I know that's not true."

"Y/n..." normally he would have already started to get irritated that you wouldn't accept an apology causing another argument, but now he didn't feel an ounce of anger at you. He himself didn't know exactly what he felt. 

"You weren't supposed to find out about all this. Believe me, if I didn't have to I wouldn't be sitting here right now, sitting here with you is much worse." He was already used to these kinds of words coming from your mouth, but never in his life had it been accompanied by tears, and he knew it must have meant you were on edge. "But there is one thing we agree on." You looked him straight in the eye. "I wish you hadn't saved me that night too." you were too tired. You had survived one hell only to immediately land in another. After a sleepless night and a morning full of screaming, you no longer had the strength to keep up the mask that everything was fine and you were handling it. Your life was one big mess and this was just the beginning. 

"No, y/n-" before he could say anything further the women came back into the room. He knew what they were talking about. He remembered perfectly the moment when he said those words, and to this day he regretted it. No matter how bad the relationship between the two of you looked, he knew it was too much.

"How's the arm?" the Doctor asked when they returned to the room.

He coughed before speaking. "I took out the remaining shards of glass and cleaned it carefully. Just two more stitches and everything will be ready." 

"Well done." She praised him by sending him a warm smile, and then turned to you. "You mentioned very severe abdominal pains, I'd like you to lie down now. We'll run some tests to make sure the baby is okay." 

To make sure the baby is okay. Baby. You were pregnant. You were pregnant and a victim of domestic violence. I wish you hadn't saved me that night too. Your words gained more and more frightening meaning making his heart sinking. 

While the examinations were being carried out he took care of cleaning up the position after sewing up your hand. This did not take long. Dr. Linda reassured you by saying that everything was fine, but pointed out that you should try to avoid stressful situations. What did that even mean? Your life now was one big stressful situation, how the hell were you supposed to avoid it? 

"Now listen to me carefully." she looked at you. "If you ever decide to talk to someone about your "falls", remember that you are safe here and we can help you. You just have to let us do it. We'll take care of you and the baby, okay?" 

You just nodded your head. You couldn't do that. You couldn't get away from him no matter how much you wanted to. "Let me walk you out." You quickly got up and followed the doctor.

Before leaving you looked at Steve one last time. He wanted to say something, anything that would erase all of yesterday's words, but it was impossible. With a broken expression on his face, he could only watch the door close behind you and think about the fact that you were on your way home, where your abuser was waiting for you. He involuntarily clenched his fists at the very thought that Travis might once again lay a hand on you. He was filled with emotions he couldn't recognize. 

"You know this girl, don't you?" Judy asked with a sigh. Steve just nodded affirmatively. "You're a good guy, Steve. It's good that she has a friend like you." Her words were like a strong punch.

Oh Judy, if only you knew...

taglist (guys thank you so much for wanting to be in the taglist before the story even started! I really hope you won't be too dissapointed!): @i-me-mine @phantypurple @sheisjoeschateau @hollandweather

[ddwcaph-game]

Okay, so I know I said MC can only have one mutual crush... but after thinking about it, I'm considering making an exception, and adding a triad "poly-crush" option between Wayne, Cham, and MC.

If this is something you're not interested in, I want to make it clear that this is just an option—having a crush on Wayne will NOT automatically make the triad a thing. He will not even get the idea unless MC suggests it as a possibility.

So why am I considering adding this option?

I don't remember if I mentioned this before, but if your MC doesn't get into a mutual crush with Wayne by the start of Volume 5, then Wayne and Cham will "get together" in Volume 6, because that's what happens in the original version of my novel before I made it an IF. Their ship name is actually Champayne, hehe. 🥂

If you're someone who dislikes pursuing ROs who gets together with someone else if you're not pursuing them (thinking that your MC is only getting in the way), I figured adding this option will somewhat alleviate that issue.

Now, MC having a mutual crush on Wayne won't prevent his attraction to Cham (especially because it's not even an official relationship with MC yet), but because of their unusual circumstances, Wayne will be just as happy being with MC. So yes, Wayne will not even get the idea, unless MC develops a crush on Cham too and suggests the possibilty of a poly-relationship (MC only gets the idea because the group encounters a polygamous family in Volume 2).

Which brings me to my next point: A minor issue I have with Cham as a crush option, is that she is fairly similar to Wayne, personality-wise (if Wayne was oblivious rather than flirty). Now that's not exactly a problem, but I figured: if you like Wayne, then it's very likely that you will like Cham as well—which should make the poly option feel more natural.

Of course, Wayne will be very receptive to the idea. When you finally get the mutual crush talk with Wayne, he'll actually tell MC that he won't get mad or jealous if MC shows attraction to someone else. MC will get the choice too if they're okay with Wayne teasing and (non-seriously) play-flirting with others, but if not, Wayne will try to honor MC's wishes, and the triad option will not appear at all.

This might be a bit of a spoiler regarding Wayne's parents, but I think it's important to mention that both Nestor and Mary would be totally supportive of the idea (yes, Mary too, but not for the reasons you're probably thinking), so you don't have to worry about that.

Finally, the last reason for me adding this option is... I just think it's fun to write. 😄 Cham is just fun to write in general, and I hate that she doesn't appear in the story for a long time.

Now, the jury's still out on whether Cham will stay as a stand-alone crush option, but that really depends on how popular Cham is, and I have no real way of gauging that when you don't even meet Cham until Volume 5.

Will there be more poly-crush options in the future? Most likely not. The only reason I even considered this as an option is because Wayne and Cham are the perfect candidates for it, and I don't see any other combination of crush options working out.

It's still a very long time before I can actually make this happen, but if this is something you're interested in, please let me know your thoughts! 😊

[weepinwriter]

NIKITA TAKES SOME INSPO FROM WARNER?!? AND NOT EVEN BOOK 2/3 WARNER, ONLY BOOK 1 WARNER??? I don't know whether to be terrified or excited 😭 I'll stay even further away from N than I was already planning to, his route is listed as "betrayal", and I can't handle not knowing where I stand with ROs. They can hate me or like me or are just using me, idc, BUT I NEED TO KNOW WHICH IT IS. Is N attached to MC at all or is he lying when he says that they were close? Am I gonna get "Oh, Anna if there was only some who loved you"-ed??!?? I CAN'T TAKE THAT MYSTERY, ITS SO STRESSFUL. That's why I like G, please have very obvious spiteful feelings and try to kill me 😌 Suspense kills me more than actual murder, WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME NIKITA??? Nothing?? To drown me in a lake? For MC to get attached and then crush them?? I'm fine w/ whatever, just don't leave me in the dark 😭 He triggers my anxiety, I asdfghjkk

OMGGGGG PLEASE DON'T BE WORRIED(or should you be?) I ONLY TOOK A LIL BIT OF INSPO BECAUSE I THOUGHT "HEY WOULDN'T IT BE COOL TO HAVE MYSTERIOUS HOT MORALLY GRAY CHARACTER IN THE BEGINNING TO SERVE AS A POTENTIAL ANTAGONIST TO HURT THE MC" 😭 and heck I'm not even sure what I was thinking when I made him, i just like making my followers anxious and shake in their seats in anxiety I guess 🤣 just kidding! (or am I?) Whatever you think of him, it's up to you, but all I can say that based on your decisions, Nikita could either be an ally or enemy. He's that type of character, one you can never completely trust, yet you're forced to. As of now, N sees the MC as nothing but a source of entertainment to liven up his boring life a little, and indeed he does know MC. very well at that, before they lost all their memories that is. And he quite possibly played a big role in that. That's all I can tell you for now, but until you completely know his intentions, Nikita will continue to make you anxious with his sardonic smiles and secret riddles :)

[dereliction-if]

A little BDay gift...

it was our dear Steph's Bday @stephschoices a few days ago and as a sign of gratitude for all the love and support she gifted my IFs dereliction and @pavedinashes-if , I decided to offer her one question of her choice. And this is the result...

Steph: "I have a good one 😏 since it’s my birthday and we’re still feeling some spicy vibes after the havu art … may I ask what my fav ros (Felix, Michael, Sparks, Solas, Havu) reaction would be to walking in the bedroom and seeing mc wrapped in ribbon with a bow as a present for them on their birthdays? 🤭 >> Deep crush stage.

Responses below the cut. Thanks for allowing me to share dear Steph ^^

Felix Nowak (PiA)

„W-wow“ his eyes grow double their usual size, his face blushing slightly as he stands in the door looking at you. He drops against the door frame, shaking his head with a wide grin, crossing his arms, not moving any further. „What are you waiting for?“ you tease him and he laughs out loud. „No, no, no, wait, I need a moment to memorize this for eternity“ then he pretends to snap a photo with his hands. With an „Ok, good, where do I start?“ he strides towards you until he stands in front of the bed, resting one knee on the mattress. Then, everything goes fast - cupping your face and sinking into your lips with a fiery kiss, leads instantly to his body being pressed on yours and his fingers between the ribbon and your skin, seeking your warmth...

Dr. Michael Sturm (PiA)

„What are you doing here?“ he seriously means it. He has no idea what’s happening, never expecting you to do something like this. Especially since he tries really hard to keep his distance, but for once he cannot look away. Especially since you are lying on the mattress of the hospital’s on-call rooms. A shiver runs down his whole body, his face growing warm and red. „What do you think I am doing?“ you return, smirking at him. Damn. He looks around, then quickly draws his phone out and types. Few seconds later he locks the door.

Sparks (PiA) 

He is rambling something under his nose when he enters the room, occupied with his phone. Then his eyes move up and land on you. „Oh shit, fuck, sorry, Oh my god!“ he panics, quickly turning around, his phone falling from his hands as he desperately tries to cover his eyes as soon as possible. He continues apologizing as he attempts to storm out of the room - but unfortunately runs into the door frame and hits his shoulder hard „Motherfucker! Arghs.“ You call after him, your voice shaking slightly from an involuntary chuckle. It takes a moment before his red head bobs around the doorframe for you to see, his hands still over his eyes. „Sparks.“ you say his name with a seductive tone of which you know it will only make him blush more. He lowers his hands slowly, swallowing hard at his little present. With your hand you motion for him to come closer and all he can respond is a nod of his head and an open mouth.

Solas (Dereliction)

When his eyes land on you he is speechless, a rather rare sight if you had to tell. He seems to struggle with containing his excitement at the view of you. You notice him taking a deep breath, before finally placing one foot in front of the other, careful like a beast not wanting to startle its prey. The rising of his chest is clearly visible, his cheeks red as he rolls up his sleeves, biting his lip. This is more than he would’ve ever dared to dream of and he will make sure it will be unforgettable for both of you. The ribbon and bow will be carefully stored away as a memory to cherish for the rest of his days.

Havu (Dereliction)

Havu lowers his head, his eyes fixed on you from under his eyebrows, one corner of his lips curling up „Hell yeah.“ with his eyes roaming over your body he walks towards you, eager to reach you, „I hope you know I am terrible with ribbons.“ his tone oily slick, as he is finally standing in front of you, his tongue sensually running over his teeth. The desire and impatience in his eyes is mirroring yours. The next moments will be a bit rough and sloppy but he’ll make sure to include the ribbon a few more times in the next hours, causing you two to be knotted together for a few rounds.

[tomtenadia]

Detours to you - ch 5

I have a day off and it's the perfect time to post. I wrote a lot thins morning and I think I am about 2 or 3 chapters away from the ending.

For now I' ll leave you with this chapter

The following morning Rowan stood in front of a fancy building where his friend Vaughan had his law firm. He had texted him the night before for help after the exchange with Aelin. He wanted to ask an opinion to his friend and see if there was a road available without going through a full custody battle. He wanted to be in his daughter’s life but Aelin was settled on fighting him on that front. 

He took a deep breath and entered the building. In front of his friend’s office he knocked and waited to be invited in.

“Rowan! So the gossip is true, you are back!”

“Indeed I am.”

“Look at you,” Vaughan pointed at his uniform “Chief nonetheless. How does it feel?”

“Still adjusting,” he admitted.

Both men sat down and Vaughan relaxed in his chair “Before we start, it’s my obligation to tell you that I deal in criminal law. If you decide to really go ahead with this, I would suggest you to get a family law lawyer and I can help you with that.”

“I just need some counselling for now.”

Vaughan nodded “Your situation is complicated. In case of divorce or separation the parents can agree on joint custody, physical, legal or both. But you and Aelin are not divorced or separated which complicates things.”

Rowan nodded.

“As it stands now Aelin is the sole legal guardian which means that it’s up to her to decide how much access you can have to Maya.” He explained “As it stands you have a very weak claim.”

“Surely the fact that I was lied to will count. The fact that I want to be involved in my daughter’s life must weigh something. I was robbed of five years of her life.”

“If you go to court you will have to prove that your presence in Maya’s life would be beneficial.”

Rowan groaned “Of course, I am the father.”

“Yes, but the judge will consider how this will affect Maya. I assume you haven’t told her yet?”

Rowan shook his head “No, Aelin wants me to be just a friend for now.”

“They will consider all of this. Assess if your job will allow you to look after her, if you can provide for her. But more importantly,” he paused “if Maya does not want you in her life that will likely block any kind of access to her.”

“How on earth am I going to build a rapport with her if I can’t be with her?”

Vaughan nodded “I suggest that you and Aelin take some time to discuss all of this. Try to create a plan, a schedule, but most of all tell Maya as soon as possible that you are her father.”

“Aelin will not agree to that.”

“In my humble opinion at the moment she sees you as a stranger who knows her mum, with a very superficial relationship. The moment you tell her the truth that’s when the real thing can develop.”

Rowan let out a ragged breath “This is so fucked up.”

Vaughan chuckled “Oh yes. That’s why I’d rather put criminal behind bars than witness parents fighting over who has the right to the children. It was enough to hear the horror story from Lorcan’s parents divorce battle to actually put me off family law completely.”

“One more thing, do you know if Aelin has added your name to the birth certificate? Because that could be a game changer.”

Rowan shook his head then looked at his watch “I have to go to work. I have a meeting in an hour. Thanks. I have a lot to consider. And I will do some investigating on the birth certificate.”

Vaughan stood and patted him on the shoulder “Talk it out Ro. Do not involve lawyers and keep me posted.”

“Will do.”

Rowan left the building and went back to work mulling over Vaughan’s words.

*

That morning Aelin’s bookshop had a special guest. Maya was staying at the shop with her. She had kept her home from school for a day. She hadn’t slept much because of her injury and when she suggested to go to her grandparents, her daughter had refused so she took her to work. Maya loved the bookstore and presently was sitting at the children’s table and showing off her cast to other kids. She was holding court that it was a hockey injury.

Aelin smiled but her protective senses kicked in. She had also spent the night thinking about the argument she had with Rowan. She had not liked the comment with the telescope, as if he was inviting her to his place. Maya was her responsibility and he should pass any ideas through her first. She was going to allow him in but on her own terms. 

Maya ran to her “Mama, look at my drawing!”

Aelin grabbed the paper and gasped. It was a drawing of her and Rowan on the ice “Can you give it to Rowan?” Her heart raced. One meeting was that all it took for Maya to get attached to him?

“I will do the next time I see him. I am sure he will love it.”

“He is funny.” Maya grinned and walked away happily back to the drawing table.

“What is that?” Asked Lysandra walking to the counter and noticing the drawing.

“Maya drew a present for Rowan.”

“How do you feel about that?”

“Torn. He is too pushy.”

Lysandra sighed “Or maybe he is just a father eager to spend time with his daughter,” she added “You can’t blame him for being smitten already. She is the cutest.”

“That she is.”

“Or maybe it’s all down to the fact that you still have feelings for him?”

Aelin scoffed hard “No.”

“Ae, you two had been together almost forever and I am sure that if he hadn’t left, you’d be married by now. Aeds told me that he caught Rowan looking at jewellery stores online for engagement rings. I think that he confessed him he was waiting for the store to be completed and then propose in here.”

Aelin froze. Rowan was going to propose in her store. Her hand went to her mouth and stopped the sob that was fighting to be let free.

“Why you never told me?”

“He was away, it seemed pointless, but now…” added Lysandra quietly “Maybe it’s worth try and pick up from where you left off. For Maya’s sake too.”

Aelin ran a hand through her hair “my mum said the same thing.”

Lysandra grinned “we all know that Evalin is a wise woman.”

“Ae, you two broke up because he had to leave and long distance was going to be hell, not because you stopped being in love,” Lys spotted some customers “Think about it.” And walked away.

Aelin stared at the computer and at the order that was still open and ready to be sent.

Lys was right they had broken up because the situation was difficult, not because they had fallen out of love. It had taken her a long time to stop missing him and she had a feeling that with time she had only pushed him at the back of her mind but never forgot him. How could she? Rowan had been the love of her life and her home. And in that instant she felt an ache in her soul that she had thought had gone forever. 

Her soul was missing its other half and Aelin knew that everything was all of a sudden a lot more complicated.

*

Rowan went back to his office after his meeting with the commissioner. Chin on his folded hands he stared at the screen in front of him. He was looking at the proposal they had discussed together but his brain was not focusing. He kept thinking about the fight he had with Aelin and the chat he had with Vaughan. His friend had given him some good suggestions. 

He was about to type something on his keyboard when someone knocked at the door.

“Chief, I bring some of the reports from yesterday from the firehouses.” The woman dropped the documents on his desk.

“Thank you, Lyria.” 

Rowan ignored the pile of documents staring at him and started doing some research on family law and the rights of the father in an unmarried couple. He read a few websites and all told the same line. Unless he was married to the mother or had obtained a parental responsibility agreement by a court he would have no rights. He wanted to scream. Then he remembered what Vaughan had said about the birth certificate and started to investigate on the city council how to access the registrar for births. He knew the date so at least he had that. It took him a good fifteen minutes of digging before finally finding the registrar. He registered, followed all the steps and reached the portal to retrieve the certificate. He typed Maya’s name and surname and then her date of birth. A moment later a document appeared in front of him. On the mother line there was Aelin’s name. He was ready for an empty space near the father’s section but he gasped in surprise when he saw his name. Rowan Whitethorn stood there in black capital letters.

He saved the document quickly and then sat back against his chair. Aelin had registered him as the father. It really was a game changer. The law stated that if the father appeared on the birth certificate he’d have same rights as the mother. Why had Aelin added him? He was even more confused, but at least now he knew that he was not totally powerless. A sense of relief washed over him. He still had to convince Aelin that he was serious about wanting to know Maya. It had only been a few days and they were all still adjusting to the new situation. He might give her some days to think about it. 

A small break before trying again. 

*

After Maya was fully asleep in bed, Aelin climbed in the attic and grabbed a box that had not touched in five years. It contained some of the things that reminded her of Rowan. Of the years they had lived together in that house, the dreams. After the break up she had stashed all the stuff away.

She sat on the floor and removed the lid and their past flooded back like a tsunami. A green foam finger of the first game of the Stags they had watched together, the CDs he had burned for her, movie tickets and photo albums, a lot of them. She picked one and opened it. It was their first trip to Wendlyn, when she had met his parents. His clan had welcomed her in with open arms. One one page there was a picture of Alasdair, Rowan’s dad, hugging her. Tears welled in her eyes. She had loved the man, he was caring and had loved her like a daughter from day one. There were pictures of their trip the the southern islands when they had rented a boat and explored the continent. She scrolled through the photos and saw one of her sitting on the bow of the boat while still docked and then noticed the name Maya. Memories came rushing back of the night when, while moored in the middle of the sea, they lay on the deck, made love under the stars and Rowan confessed that he liked the name and they should use it if they ever had a daughter. After her daughter was born the nurse had asked her if she had a name and Aelin had blurted out Maya almost on instinct.

Then, at the bottom of the box she found a letter with a sonogram attached to it. With trembling hands she read it.

Dear Rowan,

While I am writing this, you are probably on the boat towards Wendlyn, towards home.

I am sorry. I want you to know that breaking up things was not easy. I wish I could take it back because it hurts like hell. You are my home and should be here.

But I had to let you go because your mum needs you and I can’t be selfish, not when you have just lost your father.

And now, more than ever, I understand this since I discovered that I am pregnant with your child. I am mad at fate. We had dreams of a family and now that is happening I had to let you go.

I am sorry.

I hope one day you will be able to forgive me.

I love you,

To whatever end.

Then another letter with a picture of a newborn Maya

Dear Rowan,

You are a dad. Maya is born and she is the most beautiful gift I could have asked for.

Yes, Maya like the boat. I listen, see?

She is just like you, her hair is silver as yours as she has your piercing green eyes.

A bit of you, when you are away.

I miss you but I am too scared to call you because the secret I kept from you is too big.

I miss you so much.

And another with a picture of an older Maya

Dear Rowan,

Maya turned one today.

It’s been over a year since I let you go and… I miss you. She said her first word and she crawls all over the house. I baby-proofed our flat because in my head I had your voice telling me to make the house safe. You are always with me. 

I am sorry. I don’t know if you will ever read these letters but I just need to tell you that I am sorry. I hope that you are happy. That your mum is fine.

And the dreamer in me hopes to see you again.

I love you. I will always love you.

At the bottom of the letter there was a small hand print. It was Maya’s.

She had forgot of all the letters she wrote to him. Most of them had pictures of Maya and tales of some important milestones.

One by one she grabbed all the letters and set them aside.

Then she climbed back down and placed the pile in the drawer of her nightstand.

To whatever end… she whispered.

A promise that they had exchanged a long time ago.

A promise that she had broken.

taglist

@rowaelinismyotp @swankii-art-teacher @whimsicallyreading @elentiyawhitethorn @aelin-bitch-queen @bruiseonthefaceofhumanity  @mis-lil-red @thegreyj @sailorsassley @leiawritesstories @clairec79 @morganofthewildfire @sv0430 @heartless--aromantic @autumnbabylon @rowanaelinn @backtobl4ck @susumaus98  @gracie-rosee @mybloodrunsblue @tanvee1231 @avenrebekah @whoever-you-choose-to-love  @theywillnotsingforme @universallytreepost @black-daisy-water @goddess-aelin @whispers-in-the-darkest-heart @lovely-dove-zee @athena127

[manwalksintobar]

In the Garden // Alice Notley

Did you ever see that movie, Ted said, who knows what words he used? It was about the TVA, in the 30s; Montgomery Clift is the TVA man, who enters a remote community to do-whatever, and has a ro- mance with Lee Remick. So, at the end, she poles him back across the river, because he's done and he's leaving her, and then she's alone in the boat, or raft, going home, and she sings "In the Garden." The hymn. Which begins, "I come to the garden alone." With the refrain, "And he walks with me/ and he talks with me/ and he tells me I am his own…" It had been my father's favorite hymn, so I sang a bit of it to Ted. Then he said he'd never forget Lee Remick singing that song, so simply; and now I can always see and hear it too, though I never did. I'll never forget it. I recently bought a CD of Elvis Presley singing devotional songs. I wanted to hear "Peace in the Valley," and found "In the Garden" there too, in this collection of rather austere, mixed-race gospel. The feeling in his voice is true, esthetic but awed, in its purity of musical heart. "Peace in the Valley" was sung at my brother's funeral, by a man we all knew, a former coach and gym teacher. He accompanied himself on the guitar. Before the service the family members were alone together, at a long table in a room to the side of the church. I broke down in there and had to be comforted by my mother. "If you want to know who feels the most for each other, it's the sisters and brothers," she said. The day before, we had all been at the viewing in the mortuary, no longer run by the family that had tended to everyone's remains while I was growing up. I sat next to my uncle, who was caught by how my mother was standing: "She looks like my mother," he said. I remember she was wearing a skirt, which she hardly ever did anymore, and her legs looked vulnerable, thin, a lot like Grandma's. Then my uncle became upset; and he later said he'd heard my brother's voice calling out to him: "Bill! Bill!" These are the same stories as always, and I almost understand them hearing the songs; the religious feeling becomes connected less to a god, than to shapes for grief stripped to shape alone. If you can see that shape in its simplicity, you can live in it. I come to the garden alone, and there's no one there; that's better. There was no one in the boat with her, as she poled back across the river.

[ohem1111]

no one acknowledged roslyn’s birthday, not even her mother, the one who gave birth to her on that very day all those years ago.

during eden’s little 4am trip downstairs for something to satisfy her pregnancy craving she notices roslyn sleeping outside. in that moment she is furious, storms out and wakes her up.

eden: “roslyn ivy elmore what do you think you are doing out side at this hour, and sleeping even, you are going to get sick and i can’t have that around me right now”

roslyn: “mom, i-”

eden: “get to your room i don’t want to hear it”

roslyn: “no mom, you will hear it, whether you listen or not, you will hear me. you wanna know why i’m out here? aside from the fact that i literally sit out here to watch the sunrise every morning, not that you’ve ever cared or noticed.”

eden: “roslyn don’t y-”

roslyn: “mom i am out here right now instead of in my own bed is because i’m letting bram sleep there. because guess what, you never bought him a new bed that he can actually sleep in.” eden’s face instantly realizes how greatly she has been neglecting her own children lately.

roslyn: “maybe if you’d take a break from popping out kids, you would be able to pay attention to the ones you already have. and you don’t have to keep pretending we don’t know mom. we know you are pregnant again right now.”

eden: “ros… i don’t know what to say”

roslyn: “you could try ‘happy birthday’ but you’d be approximately 4 hours and 53 minutes to late for that to still be accurate.”

eden: “we were waiting for the right time to tell you.”

roslyn: “right time to tell me what?! that you are pregnant? why do you think i care that much, it’s barely even anything knew at this point. could you even tell me any of your other kids birthdays or is it just mine that you forget.”

eden: she stands up defeated, and says something roslyn would have bever guessed she’d hear next, “come inside i’ll have the butler put together the guest room” not an ‘i’m sorry.’ not a ‘happy birthday.’ not even that she would be the one to get the guest room together for herself. she didn’t even use the butlers name.

roslyn: “i already told you, i am watching the sunrise”

eden walks back into the house without another second of time put into trying to righting all of the wrongs that we’re just addressed during their fight.

as eden watched the late night sky beginning to slowly fade into early morning she sends up a signal to space for anyone, anything to take her away from this nightmare she is in.

who knows, maybe the stars will do more than just listen this time.

previous || next

i wish that tumblr had more text color options because i’m bummed that i won’t be able to have a special text colors for the next two gens. also surprise, we are about to start gen 4!

also also: im mad at myself for not checking mccc occult section for what ages could be abducted, (because of course that is something you can change with mccc) i wanted to do it while she was a child but i assumed that because teens could attempt to contact aliens then she could possibly get abducted but i was wrong there too, the default is only young adults and up so if you are doing this challenge, i recommend editing that setting before you unnecessarily age up your sim like i did LOL

also also alsoooo: (also is basically my ps. at this point lol) eden is basically done with her gen. all she needs to do is keep having babies until she is an elder which i don’t care to stay in the household until she is an elder, and she can get married now that she is an adult. her and dorian were already engaged by accident because dorian called odin when he was a child saying he found a ring in eden’s bag and asked odin what to say but i didn’t know that saying he should say yes would automatically make them engaged LOL so i don’t even have screenshots of that. i’ll just have them elope eventually, i don’t care to do a wedding with them.

[dongiovannaswife]

underworld's royalty.

Impera’s part 2!!   •  part 1

cw: medical settings, talk about trauma and past accidents, brief talk about grief.

collab with the lovely @softlimefluff​

Soft music and fresh air fill Melmoth's senses as the automatic doors open. He's never been here —the sight of the SPW Naples lobby is nothing he could have ever imagined, but it does look like the TV sets he's seen in shows like The Good Doctor but… fancier. 

Stepping in, his eyes scan all over the place: the empty waiting room, the front desk and the screen above it announcing the doctors and their current occupation: three of them, he notes, are free except for one. 

Dr. Bocelli Enzo: not available.

The name's familiar and he already knows the doctor is busy with his boss. Nodding to himself, he walks up to the front desk with the lady there already looking at him. Her lips are curved up into a kind, practiced but not fake smile and as her mouth opens the doors slide open and someone steps in. Still, he stays focused on her: 

“Buona notte, signore. How may I help you?” 

Raising a finger in a 'wait' gesture, he pulls out a small notebook and a pen, starting to write down.

‘Hello, miss. I am mute so I use this notebook to communicate.’ 

Turning the notebook to the lady, he waits patiently as she reads over it. Her eyes shine for a second, almost as if she's not sure how to handle the situation. Assuming she's already read his message, he turns the notebook back to him, writing down next: 

‘I am here to visit a close friend: Helena Giovanna, she should be here under Dr. Bocelli's care.' 

The presence behind him makes him look back from the lady: behind him, someone he's known from reports and security cameras shows up. 

Kishibe Rohan. 

The mangaka stands in line behind Melmoth, glancing around the waiting area and over the screens, then pulls out his phone impatiently and taps on the touchscreen, waiting for his turn.

Melmoth waits, intrigued by the artist, but turns back to finish his conversation first, finding out which room Helena is in. Rohan looks up at the name “Helena Giovanna” and raises an eyebrow, speaking up. “That’s actually who I’m here to see as well.”

Holding up a finger, Melmoth scribbles on a new page, holding the notebook up for Rohan to read. “Romaji or English?”

Surprised, Rohan tilts his head. “Either is fine. Whichever you’re most comfortable with.”

Melmoth nods, scribbling another question, this time in english. “If you like, we can walk to Helena’s room together?”

Rohan nods, but questions him further. “I don’t believe we’ve met before, how do you know the Giovannas? For that matter, are you familiar with me? You had this look when I walked through the door… ”

Writing again, he holds up another message, hurriedly getting his thoughts out. “As someone who works under the Don, I’ve seen your file.” He writes further, drawing a line to separate where the new thought begins. “I can tell you more as we walk, if you’re interested.”

Nodding again, Rohan looks up at the front desk attendant, reaching into his pocket to show her his SPW clearance badge from the Morioh branch. Grabbing a scanner, she logs Rohan in, registering his visit.

“Welcome to the Naples branch, Signore Kishibe. Enjoy your stay here. Please come scan out when you’re ready to leave.”

Melmoth turns around, walking into the hall with Rohan following close. As they walk, Melmoth slows down to write, showing it to Rohan as they reach the elevator. 

“I was once a firefighter but, fortunately or not, fate had other plans for me. As bizarre as it might sound, Death took it upon herself to protect me for her own mission." 

As they get into the elevator and Rohan finishes reading the message, he blinks twice, trying to parse out Melmoth’s words, though his curiosity gets the best of him and he blurts out: 

“You’re using feminine pronouns to refer to Death. Does that mean… Have you seen her? Seen Death?" 

Melmoth shakes his head, taking the notebook from him to keep writing. Rohan watches as he writes, taking note of his gray skin and the dark circles under his eyes, so deep they look like craters in his cheeks. When Melmoth raises the notebook back up to show him, Rohan leans close to get a better look.

“I am not allowed to see her. But I do know she's taken after a woman, a beautiful one, to present herself." 

“That’s…” He muses a second, pressing Melmoth for more. “Is there a reason why?” 

Melmoth pauses, thinking about a way to explain the whole situation in a few words —twenty words or less, as Akashi would always request— then, slowly, he dips his head down to write, taking more time now. When the elevator stops at their destination floor, Rohan exits, waiting for Melmoth to join him while the masked man hurriedly finishes writing his sentence.

As they stand in the hall. Melmoth’s eyes have taken after a darker look, a sad one, as he holds up the notebook. “Love between a human and a deity is forbidden.” 

Rohan’s mouth hands open in a perfect ‘o’, taken aback slightly by the sudden confession. Still, Melmoth writes a new message, walking towards Helena’s room with Rohan.

“I am here to meet my future student. Don Giovanna will tell you more later, likely. There’s a waiting room close by with refreshments. I want a private word first.”

He raises a hand in a 'wait' motion, writing another message and hands it over, this one folded, like he wants Rohan to read it later. The mangaka takes the note, leaning closer to inspect the other one.   

Rohan reads it over, then nods. “I’m glad we were able to meet. I’ll see you around, I’m sure.” Giving a small bow, Rohan walks off to find the waiting area, pulling out his phone as he looks around for a second. Melmoth watches him leave and turns to Helena’s room, putting his hand on the doorknob and instantly feeling a stand presence guarding the door. 

The door swings open. There stands Westwood, brows arched down before his eyes roam over Melmoth and a flash of recognition softens his features. The presence disappears and he stands aside with a small gesture. While he waits for him to come in, West looks around the hall, quickly glancing at the camera at the far corner across from him. Fugo must be watching, he thinks.   

Leaving his phone aside, Rohan unfolds the piece of paper, frowning as he goes over the message over and over again. 

'Isn't it interesting? In Spanish, death has a 'e' at the end: muerte. The 'e' makes it a completely neutral word, and yet, Spanish speakers still use female pronouns but with a connotation of thing or event. How come we all associate said event, a part of the cycle of life and reincarnation, with the same pronouns? 

What do you think, Kishibe-sensei?'

Rohan looks back, straight to the door leading to the hall where Melmoth was, confusion written all over his face —what even was that? Walking over to the Lavazza machine, Rohan sets up a cup of coffee, musing over the cryptic letter.

God is a woman, so they say, but perhaps death is as well?

Melmoth de Angelis is not good with introductions. He's clumsy, always has been. The mere thought of making a fool of himself before new people has always been a fear of his; back when he was a firefighter, he was not the one doing most of the talk in the field. 

Giorno knows this. As soon as he comes in and spots him, the Don stands up from the chair by Lena's bed, walking up to him. 

“She's okay," he says, turning to Lena and gesturing at her with sad and equally hopeful eyes, “Dr. Bocelli is really happy with her process.” 

Nodding, Melmoth looks around, spotting Abel there as well —Rome's Capo looks upset, eyes drifting all over Giorno. Upon this, Melmoth looks back, studying the Don's appearance as well. 

His clothes are slightly out of place: his tie nowhere to be seen, shirt out of his pants when it usually is perfectly tucked, uneven buttons and wrinkles all over the fabric. His lips are dry, eyes red and his hair pushed back messily. He's a literal mess. Even the way he moves is slow, a proof of his lack of sleep and maybe food and drink as well. 

Looking back at Abel with a questioning look, the Capo nods back, sighing and running a palm down his face: 

“Yeah, Corvo, this man is fucking crazy. He won't listen, please tell him some— actually, he won't listen to you, get it?” the Capo laughs at his own joke, the sound vague and on edge, barely hiding back his worry behind moodiness.

Giorno sighs and Melmoth looks back, expecting a comeback from him; all he gets, though, is just one tired sigh and a: “I get it, Abel. I know she wouldn't like seeing me like this.” 

Abel shifts in his seat, taking after a rather aggressive stance when he leans forward, pointing an accusatory finger at Giorno, “Then why are you doing exactly what you know she wouldn't like?! She could wake up anytime now and what'll she see? Go on, guess!" 

Melmoth steps in, hands up and palms facing each man, as if putting an imaginary wall between them.

Giorno sighs and when speaks, he sounds defeated and angry at once: “Because I can't stand leaving her. Not here. No like this.” 

Abel stands up now, taking a step forward before Melmoth's presence blocks his path. He peeks around the man at the Don, staring intently.  “What do you mean like this? What don’t you understand about “she's progressing well! What are you so worried about? —Is it Esme? You know she's under that old man's protection, too! Why the hell can't you stop overworking yourself for just one second?!"

Giorno sighs, though this time the sound comes out mixed with a low growl from the back of his throat. Melmoth watches his eyes flash golden for a second before the Don speaks, frustrated with the barrage of accusations. “You wouldn't understand, Agreste.” 

“Oh?" Abel grins, rage surfacing. When he tries to dodge Melmoth, his hand shuts up to block his path again, the other coming up with a note that he sticks forcefully to his forehead. 

The Capo stumbles back, sitting back on the couch with a huff. Taking the note off his forehead, he reads over it with a frown that slowly fades. 

“We are in a medical facility, Abel. I suggest you keep to yourself. I am sure the Don will eventually leave to rest now that Kishibe Rohan is here, who is waiting outside." 

Abel looks up, relief washing over his features for a second before he stands up and leaves, wishing to greet the mangaka and let him know about Akashi's situation, hoping to get his help. 

As the Capo leaves, Melmoth turns to Giorno, stealing a quick look at his drawn out face and then glancing down and back at his notebook to write. 

Holding it up, he watches Giorno's green eyes dart between the words, catching his rapid blinking.

“I am here to meet my future student.” 

Giorno's eyes light up and a grin spreads across his face slowly. He turns to the crib he had been standing over before, blocking the view with his body, and Melmoth's eyes widen. He walks up slowly, trailing behind his boss with cautious yet firm steps. 

Giorno stands by the side of the crib, a hand coming to lift the blanket draped over it. Looking back at him, the Don's face has lit up with pure joy: “Corvo, this is Esme.” 

The blanket reveals the tiny being inside. By now, she's wearing a white onesie with a duck drawn on the front. Her mouth is slightly open as she sleeps on her side —cheeks pink and her tiny nose slightly crunched up. Long red lashes caress her cheeks and there's a tiny bit of equally fierce red hair at the top of her head. She's deeply asleep, worn out and resting soundly after the tiring process of birth. 

Melmoth's mouth hangs open for a second before he looks back at Giorno, eyes filled with tears. Trembling, he pulls his notebook out, messily writing: 

“She's beautiful. Congratulations.” 

Giorno laughs and the baby sighs, dreamily, like the sound of her father's laugh brings warmth and comfort to her: “Thank you. I suppose her hair is like that because of one of Lena's aunts.” 

Melmoth nods, finding his own words lost somewhere else. He writes another message then, 

“Like a Phoenix. Even if that sounds edgy.” 

Giorno nods, appreciating the sweet comparison, “I was thinking more of a cherry, but yeah. She's a mini Lena, too.” 

Melmoth nods, reaching a trembling hand out to place his finger over Esme's fist. Nudging at her fingers gently, it doesn't take too long before she's grasping at it, stirring awake for a second and then settling down back again. 

He looks around, then, finding a chair by the crib —one set before the crib and the stretcher— and sits down, glancing over as the hospital room door opens.

Abel peeks in, his expression neutral. “Giovanna, Kishibe Rohan is here.” 

Giorno nods, still on edge after their confrontation, holding onto Esme a little tighter. 

“Let him in, then.” 

Nodding, Abel disappears for a moment, the room quiet with only the sounds of Esme smacking her lips in her sleep. She must be hungry. It took a lot of energy for her to arrive… as much as Lena bringing her into the world.

Looking around, Giorno searches for the bottles of donated breastmilk, finding the small fridge in the room.

“Corvo, I hate to impose, but could you help me out? We have to put a bottle in the heater before–”

“Giovanna, not even ready to greet your best friend?~~”

Turning around to meet the voice, Gio sees Rohan, coffee in hand, grinning from the hospital room doorway. Breaking into a tired smile, he gestures Rohan over with his head, still holding onto Esme carefully.

“You’re just in time. Put one of those bottles into the heater, will you Kishibe?? Or have you forgotten how, since your Ellie is almost two, hmmmm??”

Rolling his eyes, Rohan reaches into the fridge and grabs the bottle, slipping it into the warming device. “I’m not completely incompetent with children, you know.”

“Oh, really? So that one legendary Rock Paper Scissors fight was all a lie??”

Rohan scoffs, crossing his arms. “You know I was a lot younger then, Giogio. I should never have told you that story…”

Sniffing out a laugh, Giorno grins. “All in good fun, Han-han~ Speaking of your daughter…” The Don looks around, searching for Ari and Ellie. “Are the others coming, or?”

“Mmmh. In about half an hour. Ellie needed a little more time for a bath and lunch. I wanted to come check in first and make sure our visit was alright.”

“Yes, of course. Well. Helena is not awake yet, but. They are more than welcome to come meet the newest member of the family.” Giorno relaxes his arms a bit, showing off Esme to Rohan with a proud smile.

“Oh.” Rohan’s mouth opens softly, staring down at the tiny girl in Gio’s massive arms. “She’s. So small, Gioigio. I forgot how tiny they were when…” Glancing away, Rohan blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears building in his eyes. 

“It’s alright, Kishibe. Do you want to hold her?” 

He nods slowly, opening his arms and holding her like he’s held Eliana so many times before. Giorno grabs the warmed bottle, putting the nipple on and shaking it gently. Esme wakes slowly, beginning to fuss as she realizes how hungry she really is.

From the side, Melmoth watches curiously as the two men work together, finally getting the tiny girl, his protégé, settled and eating. Even now, he can see how curious and intelligent Esmeralda already is, her tiny hand grasping Rohan’s finger and staring up at him with wide green eyes. Most babies were still getting a handle on the world at this age –eyes adjusting, brain updating, just getting to experience the world. But Esme…

Chuckling silently to himself, Melmoth mused that not all children were the progeny of two powerful stand users with enormous potential. 

“So, Kishibe,” Giorno starts, interrupting himself to turn around and let out a long yawn. Rohan frowns when Giorno turns back around to face him again, noting how that made his eyes tear up—an evident sign of exhaustion. Still, the mangaka waits until Giorno keeps going, wanting nothing more but to listen to him. 

“Sorry,” he says, blinking away the tiredness, “Lena and I would want to talk to you and Ari once she’s here and, well, once Lena wakes up.”

Rohan nods, not quite understanding what’s so important to let him know beforehand, but he still nods, shielding Esme from the light when he feels her slowly drift off, “Sure, Giovanna. You should worry about getting some sleep, though.” he lowers his voice to a whisper, looking down at his unkempt clothes, “You look like shit.” 

Giorno laughs, “Can’t you tell? It’s fashion.” 

Rohan grimaces, playing along. “Josuke dresses better.” 

Giorno’s laughter grows and he leans back, the sound slowly dying in his throat until he’s reduced to a tired smile. “I’ve heard that exact same line about ten times today.” 

Rohan’s eyebrow arches, “The Josuke one or the get some sleep thing?”

Giorno sighs, “The sleep part.”

Rohan grins, mischievous, about to come up with a better comeback when Abel interrupts them, meddling in: 

“Of course, dumbass,” he says, from his spot in the door. “We’re all worried about you. We want only the best for you so,” he gestures around, “Seeing you like this doesn’t help.” 

The mangaka nods, “You should go and get some sleep. Food. All that.” 

Abel speaks up again, almost desperate. “If it makes you feel better, I can stay the night. I’m sure Kishibe will stay too, as long as he can. I know it’s only close to lunch, but. You need more than 30 second naps where you sleep standing, boss.” 

Looking between them, Giorno seems at a loss for words. While it’s not the first time this has happened, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to being taken care of so openly. 

“Alright,” he says, standing up and walking to Lena, he leans in, pressing a kiss to her forehead. His eyes remain closed for a moment as he leans his forehead against hers —he knows she’s doing better now, that she’ll be up and ready to leave soon. But… 

He’s so used to her presence on a daily basis, everywhere and anywhere, that these moments of absence hurt. 

He leans back, looking between Abel and Rohan again. “I’ll come back later. Maybe tomorrow morning, but you need to text me immediately if anything changes. I need to look after the twins, too… Do we have a nurse on hand too? Just to look over Esme if someone needs a break??” 

“I’ll ask Westwood to go home with you and check in with the medical team before I come back.” Abel says, not expecting a reply, already walking out the door. Giogio sees him leave, sighing under his breath. At this, Rohan elbows Giogio in the back, a little bit hard, but nothing that could be misinterpreted or hurtful.

“Relax,” he says, holding Esme carefully and her almost-empty bottle. “Listen to them. They care about you. They really do. Let yourself be taken care of.” 

Giorno looks back and down at him, eyebrow curled up in amusement, but eyes shining with gratefulness. “Quite the poet, hm?” 

Rohan chuckles, “Oh c’mon Giovanna, get your ass out of here.” 

Giorno chuckles, too, leaning down to pass a warm hand over Esme’s head as she unlatches from the bottle, smacking her lips with a satisfied sigh. Looking at her one last time before walking up to the door, where he finally leaves with a final: “Language.” 

Rohan sighs, shaking his head. “Fine. Get your butt out of here. Leave. Depart. Au revoir. Arrivederci. Adiós.”

Giogio grins, shaking his head. “Don’t forget to burp her too.”

“I know!”

Giorno shuts the door, leaving Rohan behind with a wave.

Looking down at the bundle in his arms, Rohan’s hand, now free from the bottle, pokes out from underneath Esme, using a single finger to trace her features. She stirs awake for a second, then settles back down, comfortable and warm.

Pulling her up to his shoulder, Rohan pats Esme’s back, firm but gentle, making sure she can still breathe while he gets her to burp. Melmoth, still sitting quietly, stands and grabs one of the burp cloths, tapping Rohan’s shoulder and holding up the fabric.

“Ah! Thank you.” Nodding slightly, Rohan lifts Esme up, allowing Melmoth to put the cloth down. “You can never be too careful. Babies and Gucci cashmere don’t really mix~”

Melmoth nods, looking up and around the room, seeming to notice the lack of something there, and pulling his notebook out, he quickly scribbles down, showing the message to Rohan. 

‘I will come back later, I need to run some errands.’ 

Quickly reading over it, Rohan nods, humming and looking back at Corvo. “Okay, see you later, then.” 

With a wave, Corvo walks up to the door, then comes back, taking big strides to Lena’s bed. There he stops and Rohan watches in silent curiosity as the man struggles for a moment with his own thoughts, before he writes something down in a tiny sheet of paper. Then, he folds it, placing it atop her hand. The former firefighter turns to him with a silent plea of ‘please, keep this between us’ before he goes back to the door, waving at him goodbye as the door closes behind him.

Minutes pass and Rohan’s eyes drift around the room, still patting Esme’s back gently. The white walls lay bare except for a single painting by the bed: The Ice Floes by Monet. He ponders it for a second, eyes scanning over the piece, deciding that, maybe, the art had been chosen to soothe the mind of patients and families alike. Imposing nature and color as a way to ground people.

The door opens suddenly and he snaps out of his thoughts, looking back just in time to see Abel walk past him and sit by Lena’s bed. “Don Giovanna just left.” 

Rohan hums. “Good.” 

Silence settles in and Abel gazes off into the room, nowhere in particular, in a daze. Rohan stays where he is, eyes boring into Abel the more the Capo fidgets with his fingers and looks down at his feet. By the time Abel finally looks up, Rohan is already there, ready to listen to whatever he had been thinking about.

“Kishibe, I need your help.” 

Rohan stays silent, not sure how to reply. He doesn’t really know Abel well, except for a few idle chats in passing. Logically, the only reason someone would request his help would be the use of his stand powers…

Abel cuts through the silence, speaking up again. “I’m sure you’ve already met Akashi. The short, pink haired guy, remember?” 

Rohan nods slowly, thinking back to the man, remembering his story about Nobunaga and the only thing he could associate with him–his katana that he seemed to carry around proudly. “The swordsman who was at the Giovanna’s residence when the twins were ill?” 

Abel nods, leaning his elbows on his thighs and tugs at his black turtleneck, scratching his skin furiously like his anxiety has started to grow. “I’m sure you already know about his stand and a part of his past, but that’s exactly what’s so worrying about him.” He looks back, taking a moment to observe Esme, who’s still asleep in Rohan’s arms, then looks back at Rohan’s face, unable to get a read on how he’s feeling. “Akashi doesn’t even know if his name is really that. Bocelli says he could be suffering of dissociative amnesia, but—”

Rohan cuts him off, “You can get him a psychotherapist. I’ve heard the newest techniques are quite advanced. Surely they can work with him to–” 

Abel frowns, sharp canines visible when he snarls, biting back immediately: still on edge after his confrontation with Giorno. “That’s what I’m trying to explain! It’s not possible! You’d know that if you were patient enough to listen.” 

Rohan almost, —almost— rolls his eyes, but he prevails, sitting there without the heart to put down Esme now that she’s made herself comfortable in his arms. Newborns were notoriously sensitive and he remembered how clingy Ellie was when she finally arrived. Plus holding them was good for development, he reasoned.

“His brain is damaged,” Abel starts once again, desperation clear in his voice when he keeps going, crudely explaining. “Fucked up, that thing could be rotting inside that little skull of his and the dude wouldn’t even realize until the smell got to him, or if his nose got all runny.”

Rohan grimaces,“No need to get so graphic.” 

Abel imitates him, though almost comically: “Then don’t make me.” Sighing, he crosses his arms, leaning back into the chair. “He’s been trying to give you clues so you read him and tell him his real name.”

“So that’s why he was so insistent with his stories?”

Abel nods silently, arms still folded, glaring at the mangaka with a frown.

Rohan frowns in return, anger flaring: remembering the tiny being in his arms, however, calms and grounds him enough to reply. “What makes you think that information is still in there, if his brain is damaged?” 

“That’s a tricky question. But your stand works reading a person’s soul, not their brain or heart. Correct?”

Touché. 

Rohan sighs, nodding. “Alright, then. I’ll discuss this with Giovanna later.” 

Abel stands up, looking down at the artist. “Giovanna’s not the one asking for help, it’s me.” 

“I meant the details. The place and time for that. Don’t get ahead of yourself.” 

Abel sighs–exasperated, worried and upset. Heading for the door, he gives Rohan a half-hearted “Need’a smoke” and exits, leaving the room quiet again. 

Standing slowly, Rohan walks over to the hospital crib and gently lays down Esme, watching as she fusses, then immediately settles down. Letting out a relieved sigh, Rohan takes a few steps back, glancing over at Helena’s sleeping form. 

Had Akashi been the matter Giorno and Helena wanted to discuss with him later? 

It didn’t seem like it, because if it was, Rohan thinks, Giorno would have been there and Abel wouldn’t have said anything until Giorno was there. It had to be something else.

Feeling his phone vibrate in his pocket, Rohan slips it out, finding a text from Ari: “just scanned in with Ellie. Be up in a minute or two 💖”

He smiles, heart beating slightly faster, and likes the message, sending back “see you soon.”

Pacing around the room as he waits, Rohan glances over at Esme, watching as she already brings a tiny thumb to her mouth, sucking gently and scrunching up her eyes. Letting out a quiet chuckle, Rohan smiles and walks to the door, watching out the window for his wife and daughter. 

As soon as they show up, Ari’s waving silently through the glass and holding up Ellie, who smushes her hands onto the glass, giggling as she sees her dad and yelling out to him.

“Papa! We came to see you!”

Ari shushes her gently and sets her down, kneeling to talk on her level. “Ellie, this is a healing area. We need to be reeeeealllly quiet so the people here can rest, okay?”

Slapping both hands over her mouth, she nods, looking up with big, sad eyes. Ari reaches out to hug her, rubbing her back. “No, no, it’s okay. Shhhh. You didn’t know yet, you’re not in trouble.”

Grabbing onto her mom’s neck, she buries her face in Ari’s shoulder, waiting as they get permission to enter the room from the door guards and finally see Rohan. 

“She’s being a little shy, just give her a minute.” Ari smiles, stealing a kiss from her husband. He nods, smoothing his hand over Ellie’s hair.

“She has to learn certain protocols, it’s alright.”

Turning to look at Lena, Ari gasps a little, seeing her best friend asleep, in a comatose state. “It never gets any easier to see her like this…”

“I know.” Rohan reaches out, squeezing her shoulder gently. “But you should come meet Esme. She just went down after feeding, so we may need to change her soon but. She’s…” He pauses, choking up slightly. “She’s beautiful.”

Finding the nearest couch, Ari sets Ellie down gently, letting her adjust to the new setting and walks over to the crib, beaming when she sees the tiny being inside.

“She’s perfect!” Ari whispers excitedly to Rohan, reaching out for his hand. “I don’t want to wake her, so we’ll wait until she lets us know she wants to get changed.”

“Mmmmh.” Agreeing, Rohan squeezes Ari’s hand, then goes over to Ellie, picking her up and setting her on his shoulders. “Come over and see, Ellie. It’s your new cousin, Esme.”

Holding tight, Ellie peers down at the sleeping baby, repeating “Esme.” quietly to herself.

“Abel will be back soon and then we can grab a late lunch together. They have a nice cafe on the main floor. And good coffee too from what I hear~” He glances over at Ari, grinning.

Ari grins back, nodding enthusiastically. “Nature’s ADHD meds~” Laughing softly at her own joke, she walks over and places a soft kiss on Esme’s forehead, then does the same to Lena. 

“We’ll be back. Sleep well.”

‘Don’t let hope become a memory.’ 

Those had been the words he wrote for Lena in that small, meaningful note. Those words were the first she spoke to him after learning his story, back when he was unable to recover after losing his job and his whole life —the one he was used to, at least, he was still, indeed, alive— and career in the incident, and with it, losing all his hope and dreams. Those words had meant, and still did, everything. In times when desperation came over his incapacity to talk, those words always came to him like a mantra. 

In times of turmoil, like these, he always thought back to that. Maybe he should have said them to Giogio, too, but the way he and Giorno communicated was different, more into the silent agreement of understanding and respect. 

“That’s exactly what’s so wrong with society labeling people as heroes: once those heroes get ill, age or can’t do their job anymore, they forget about them. And if they have physical marks left from their ‘hero’ days, they’ll be judged by the very people who shoved that role into them.” Giorno’s words had been harsh back then, when West mentioned some rude tourists poking fun over Corvo’s scarred lips. To this day, he’s not sure where those words came from: if hatred, disappointment, sadness or his own rage still left from the life he had to endure. 

Corvo blinks twice, noticing how he’s now standing before the store he had been walking to. The front of it was painted in pastel tones —purple, green, blue, pink, yellow,— and from his position he could see the variety of accessories for babies. Slowly, he makes his way inside, not exactly sure what he’s looking for, but still willing to get something for his future student. After this, he’d go to the closest florist and pick a bouquet of flowers, wishing to take something back for Lena as well. 

Thirty minutes later, he leaves the store, carrying a couple of bags: one contains a fuzzy blanket and the other a stuffed animal, a bunny, that he had liked the second he saw it. Walking down the street, he sighs, suddenly hit with the warm weather. For a moment he ponders on taking his tactical scarf down, but the memory of the scars across his lips and jaw stops him from doing so. 

He takes another sharp breath in, deciding to ignore the heat as he keeps walking down the street: in the distance, he can recognize a flower shop. There are multiple bouquets outside, made of flowers that can handle the sun, and around those, tiny trees in their pots, each with a ribbon around the pot.

Corvo comes in, eyes roaming everywhere in search of the owner or at least an employee: anyone who can help.

“Welcome!” someone calls from the side, cheerful and brilliant, and he turns, following the sound of their voice. 

The young man must be around twenty three years old: blonde hair swept up into a low bun, dirt on his clothes and apron, tinted glasses resting on his hair and a succulent held firmly yet delicately in his left hand. 

Corvo also notices it immediately: his prosthetic left arm. 

His eyes flicker from the succulent, to the prosthetic, then to the young man’s face. He looks calm, like his eyes don’t have any effect on him. 

Instead, he asks: “How may I help you, sir?” 

Corvo raises a finger up, setting down the bags —making sure they don’t get dirty— and pulls his notebook out, starting to write the same introduction from always: 

‘Good evening. My name is Melmoth and I am mute so this is how I communicate.’ 

The young man leans in, squinting to read, then leans back and slides the glasses that had been resting at the top of his head to the bridge of his nose: leaning back in, this time he gets to read over Corvo’s words. His eyes sparkle when he looks back, and he grins:

“Oh, don’t worry, sir! I am more than happy to help. My name is Noah, by the way!” 

Melmoth nods, smiling: he knows Noah can’t see him smile, but maybe he does notice the way the gesture makes his eyes have that certain glow from kindness. The man moves, leaving the succulent aside —and Melmoth notices the way he so carefully sets it down, even going as far as to pet it slightly with the pad of his prosthetic finger. 

“So, Melmoth,” Noah, starts, turning to face him. “Is there something you’re looking for specifically? Any special occasion?” 

Melmoth ponders his reply for a moment, eyes drifting around the different types of flowers around them. Then, he slowly writes down a response. 

‘A friend is recovering from childbirth.’

Noah reads over the words, then, immediately lights up: his baby blue eyes shine bright along the rest of his face, and he leans back: “Oh, that’s— I take it she and her baby are okay, no?” 

Melmoth nods, slowly. 

Noah then keeps going, eyes scanning around. “Okay, so, I can put something together for her. Any flowers she might like? I can also add some pink tulips to wish her well, or maybe some yellow roses to represent your friendship…” 

By the time he’s done, Melmoth shows another note to Noah. 

‘She likes sunflowers.’ 

Noah nods, grinning from ear to ear. “Oh! Then that works out just right, sunflowers mean loyalty!” Turning around, he picks up some sheets of craft paper, scissors and a small bag with different colors of ribbon rolls inside. “Alright,” he says, and Melmoth doesn’t hear any more of it as he watches Noah work effortlessly, without a care or worry over his prosthetic arm. He watches the limb shine under the sun, the light blue painting of it reflects the sun beautifully, making his eyes sting. 

It must be nice, Melmoth thinks, to not feel ashamed of that. How does he do it? 

Noah picks some tulips in his hand, setting them aside. And looking over his shoulder, he says, quiet now, like all his energy has been pushed back and replaced with a sad expression. “Are you an amputee too?” 

And Melmoth jumps, startled, eyes wide. For a second, he looks so frightened he might compare to a five year old who just took their mom’s makeup to mess around. After a moment, he recovers, barely, and shakes his head. Slowly, he lifts his notebook up, writing down his thoughts. 

‘I am sorry for staring. I am just unable to understand how you handle all the glances and looks around you. I say this because I suffered from serious burns along my face and don’t feel comfortable going around without hiding my scars.” 

Noah sets down his scissors, forgetting about the half-ready bouquet. His blue eyes have taken after a rather sad smile and his tone has changed to one of pure understanding. “Do you want to know how I do it? How can I go around without caring?” 

Melmoth nods, solemnly. 

Noah nods, turning to him fully, his left arm stretched before him, where both can see it: like he’s appreciating it. “I accept it as part of me. Of my story.” his eyes stare into Melmoth’s. “Accept your scars as part of yourself, of your story and who you are. I don’t know what happened, but I’m sure you must have been strong to recover. If you can, accept this piece of advice: accept your scars as a sign of your bravery. Sometimes darkness can show you the light.” 

He turns around, back to his work, leaving his words hanging there, like he’s sure Melmoth needs a moment to take all in, to understand and go over his words over and over again until the full meaning behind sinks deep into his brain. 

And Noah laughs, adding after a moment: “That last part, my brother used to say it a lot to me during recovery. He plays the tough guy out of us but he’s actually a sweetheart…” 

The sad tone underneath makes Melmoth turn back, squinting his eyes, and his ears pick on every word Noah says after: 

“He’s always been like that, you know? Always trying to protect me. It’s cute. He was the one who got the Speedwagon Foundation to help with my prosthetic, ever heard of them? They’re amazing.” 

The SPW Foundation, of course. Melmoth is not surprised, actually: said foundation had been there since—Wait, his brother got the Foundation to help? It was not a rare case, but the wording sounded different, like he had been trying to hide something, or to keep himself from saying too much. 

Tilting his head to the side, Melmoth scribbles something quickly, showing it to Noah. 

‘My friend is actually the Naples branch boss.’

Noah reads over it once, twice —then, slowly, his mouth hangs open: “You mean your friend who just gave birth?” 

Melmoth nods and Noah laughs, throwing his head back.

“Oh, man, what a small world! She must know him then. His name is Sebastian Worsnop, he’s a technician there.”

 He’s probably not a normal technician, he thinks, but pushes the thought aside and shakes his head, then looks down to write another note that he soon holds to Noah. 

‘I don’t think I have the pleasure of knowing him, but she for sure does.’

Noah nods, still chuckling under his breath. “Okay, then, let me send something to her. Let her know it was me, please, I am forever grateful for all the help. This bad boy,” he taps at the metallic prosthetic, grinning when the sound of his fingers tapping against it produces a ’clink clink’ sound. “—My brother says it is the latest technology.”

Melmoth nods, again: accepting his request, understanding his feelings and approving of the fact that it is, indeed, the latest technology. 

The foundation never stops working and trying to innovate and, judging by the cyberpunk aesthetic and the neon lights underneath the metallic plates and accentuating the bicep and running around to the circumference of his forearm, disappearing under the plate that unites his forearm to his wrist, Corvo can tell this was Paolo’s work. 

He watches as Noah finishes wrapping the bouquet he asked for, and then, he starts working on another one, this one only made of another different flower he doesn’t know the name of. 

“Hydrangeas,” Noah says, giving him the bouquet, “They mean gratefulness.” 

Melmoth softens visibly, shoulders relaxing as he takes the bouquet. He takes his wallet out, then, and Noah stops him: 

“It’s okay, it’s on me.” 

Shaking his head, the man still leaves more money that he knows would be necessary to pay, and before Noah can protest, he gives him a silent, playful look of ‘Don’t you dare.’ 

“Alright,” Noah says, raising his arms in defeat, playing along. “I’ll take it.” 

Forty minutes later, Corvo is back at the SPW Foundation, bouquets and bags held securely in his arms as he walks through the main doors, greeting the lady at the front desk with a curt nod, to which she stands up with a polite smile and a: 

“Welcome back, Mister Angelis! Our visit hours policies say we can only have two persons per room, so… I’m afraid you can’t stay tonight…” 

He nods, taking a quick glance at the clock in the wall behind her: 6:45 PM. He stops before the desk, setting the bouquets on the desk and the bags on the floor. Taking his notebook out, he writes down, showing the message to her: 

‘Don’t worry, I just want to leave these presents and then I’ll be on my way.’ 

She reads over the message quickly, sending him a nod and a small, shy smile. “Okay, thank you for your understanding.” 

He nods, again, and taking the bag and bouquets, he makes his way to the hall and to the elevator. The cubicle arrives empty, and when he gets in, his eyes drift around the walls: there’s a mirror by the right, perfectly clean. 

His reflection catches his eye. Grey skin, bags under his dark brown eyes, his mohawk kept perfectly: and his tactical scarf still there, covering his nose, mouth, chin and jaw all the way to his neck, where the fabric pools around his shoulders. Noah’s words come back, then, and his hand twitches: tempted to try and go around without the piece of clothing. 

A haze surrounds him, and he snaps out of his thoughts, heart skipping a beat as the scent of roses and smoke fills his nostrils. 

“Mistress…” he whispers, a wanton whisper of her title, eyes eagerly seeking her out. 

She, Death, appears behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders and eyes staring into his through the mirror. The black veiled bride, his Mistress, reaches out with her arms still around his shoulders, fingers grazing his jaw as her eyes peek from underneath the fabric before her face, leaning down to mumble into his ear: 

“The boy is right, my dearest.” She rubs at his shoulders, “And I know what you’re thinking: no, Melmoth, your beauty never ever scared me.”

The haze is gone, then, and as he realizes, the elevator doors open. 

Stepping out, his legs feel like jelly after seeing her —like always, he is wholly devoted to her, to her very wish and command, hands aching to hold her, eyes yearning to finally get a glimpse of her from underneath the veil that covers her head to toe. If he could, he would make amends and sin enough to get a glimpse of her. But he knows her and knows she wouldn’t want that. 

Silently, he makes his way to Lena’s room and, setting a bag down, he knocks twice, picking back the bag, thoughts clouding his senses. 

Her words… What did she mean? beauty —his beauty? What even was that? What is beauty? Is it to be tall, short? to have clean skin? Who can define beauty without insulting others? Was his Mistress aware of how confusing her words could be? 

The door swings open after that: Abel’s standing by the other side with a grin and a:

“We were expecting you.” 

Arching an eyebrow, he comes in, but soon realizes why Abel used that playful tone. 

A woman and a little girl look back at him from Kishibe’s Rohan side, and Melmoth nods, walking up to set both bouquets by Lena’s bedside and then, turning to leave the bag with Esme’s presents by her crib. He walks back to the bouquets, taking a couple of flowers from them and turning to them, Melmoth does a small reverence, hoping to not scare the little girl in the woman’s arms. 

“His name is Melmoth,” Kishibe starts while he writes, “He works for Giogio.” 

Just when Ariel looks back to greet him, Melmoth already has a note extended out to her. 

‘My name is Melmoth and I am mute, so this is how I communicate. It’s nice to meet you, Mrs. Kishibe. I take it this is little Eliana?” 

When Ari looks back Melmoth is already kneeling before Ellie, offering the flower he had taken from the bouquet with a gentle look in his eyes —he’s always had a soft spot for kids: they hold a special innocence and, back to his days as a firefighter, kids used to come up to him with lots of questions regarding his job. Now, sadly, kids are scared of him. 

Ariel nods, smiling at her daughter as the girl looks back at her with confusion written all over her features: upon this, the little girl turns to Melmoth with a rather shy smile. 

“It’s okay, Ellie, he’s friends with uncle Giogio and aunt Lena.”

Melmoth waves, then, and offers the flower to Ellie. She takes it from him with a quick nod and then, suddenly shy, she turns around, hiding into Ariel’s legs. 

“Don’t worry,” Ari says, nodding towards Melmoth, “She’s always a little shy around new people, especially when traveling. We’re getting her more used to new places and people. She’ll warm up fast.”

Acknowledging her with a nod, Melmoth writes a new note, holding it up to read.

“Of course. I understand.”

Writing once more, Melmoth holds the note up.

“I’m sure our paths will cross again on this trip. For now, I have other matters to attend to. I just wanted to drop those gifts off for Lena and Esme.”

Nodding, Ari bows her head slightly towards him. “Please come back any time.”

April 19th, Giovanna household: 6:23 AM. 

Sighing, reality crashes over him. Right, she and Esme are still at the Foundation. He came back home yesterday to take care of the twins, shower, have dinner and sleep. Despite getting all those done and drinking some oral electrolyte solution Giorno couldn’t find an explanation to his exhaustion. 

His back hurts. Terribly. His birthmark stings like hell. His hair is a mess and his eyes sting. It’s been a rough night. As he sits up in bed, his eyes squint to take a look at the clock by the wall as his right hand reaches out to find only a cold bed. 

Running a hand down his face, he sighs, grunting as he stands up and walks up to the bathroom. 

Taking a quick shower, the cold water seems to soothe his aching muscles and bring a sense of calm to his troubled and worried mind: as he stands before the mirror, electric razor in hand, his eyes drift to his shoulder, where the birthmark is: it hasn’t stopped stinging since the twins’ stands awoke and it only got worse during Esme’s birth. Soon, he thinks, as he makes sure to get rid of the stubble on his jaw, he’d have to tell Lena about this. 

After shaving and hydrating his tattoos, Giorno steps into their closet, retrieving the outfit he had put together the night before. Dressing goes fast and by the time he’s putting his shoes on, the twins come in with wide grins and sleepy eyes. 

“Good morning, boys.” He greets, straightening to open his arms as the boys run up to him, throwing themselves into his arms. 

“Is mommy coming home, daddy?” One of them asks, and he feels his heart sink. He makes a sound, something like a hum, and replies:

“I will go see how she’s doing, I’m not sure either.”

 This time Jovi pouts, “And Esme?” 

“She needs mommy, Jojo!” Dante replies now, turning to his twin with a knowing look —it had been something Westwood had said in hopes of soothing their curiosity. Giorno makes a small note to thank him for that: because then, both boys calm down and instead of asking more questions, they settle down in bed while Giorno goes to the bathroom to fix his hair. It had grown too much by now and it was hard to comb and style the way he liked it. Soon, aside from telling Lena about the sting on his birthmark, he’d have to get a haircut: maybe a nape undercut to try something new. 

Closing the bathroom door, Giorno comes back to the twins, waiting until both are distracted to lift them in his arms with a warm laugh, “You’ve been caught, boys! What will you do?” 

Giggling, both boys trash in his hold as he throws them into the bed, making sure to do it from a close distance to minimize accidents: then, he makes a disgruntled sound, flopping down in the mattress with a: “What have you done to me!! I can’t stand up!” 

Jovi giggles, standing up as Dante takes the sheets, bringing them closer to Giorno, “We’ve caught you, dad!” 

Between giggles, the twins throw the sheets on Giorno, pretending to tie him up with them. 

“We won, dad!” Dante screams, grinning from ear to ear, Jovi by his side with the same expression. 

Giorno stays under the sheets, though, silent and biting back his laughter. 

“Dad? Jovi asks, hand reaching out before Giorno reaches out from underneath, catching his leg and tugging gently, but making an overemphasized growl similar to those one would hear in cartoons, earning a squeal from the boys before he lets him go and the three burst into a fit of laughter, with Giorno sitting up and getting the sheets off him and the twins sitting each by his side. 

“Okay,” Giogio says, running a hand to fix his hair again, taking a deep breath to calm down, “It’s too early for you to be awake, is there something bothering you?” 

Dante pulls at his sleeve, replying once he has his dad’s attention, “Uncle West said he’s taking us to the park!” 

Jovi, by his other side, hums. “We said we’ll get to see the cats that live there!”

Giorno frowns, looking forward… Cats living in a park— oh, right. The park in the center of the city, the one close to Mister’s Belluci gelato store, the park he and West used to hang out after complicated meetings and hard days. 

“Oh,” he says, turning to his sons with a soft grin. “Then, let’s get you breakfast and get ready for that, hm?”

Both boys nod in unison, jumping off the bed and running up to the door. Too much energy, he thinks, amused, as he follows them out.  

Two hours later, Giogio walks into the garage, playing with the keys to the Biugatti Veyron Grand Sport that he had requested to get ready thirty minutes prior. He twirls the keychain around, his walking slower, relaxed —much more calmer than when he woke up. The twins had that effect on him, always reminding him of the good side of life. They had that calming effect on him with all their questions, grins and kindness. He believed they’d grow up to be strong, kind men. Hopefully they would not get involved in the underworld life like him. Maybe they’d pursue different careers: whatever they wanted, but not this. Anything they wanted to choose, he’d make sure to support them all the way: and he knew Lena would do it too. Their family was something both treasured deeply. 

Getting in, he rolls his shoulders, taking a second to glance around and make sure everything he needs for the day is there: keys, jacket, his thermal mug tucked safely in its cup holder by his right. 

The engine roars to life and he sighs hoping that when he comes back home, his wife and daughter come back with him. 

10:27 AM. April 19th. SPW foundation, medical bay. 

Abel can't stand hospitals. Any medical facility, in fact. Any place where pain and sadness lingers in the air: he can't stand the picture of someone lying in bed, sick or attached to any device. 

For a mercenary that makes millions chasing after people who earn Don Giovanna's rage he's really extremely empathic. A coward under his own judgment. 

And it's funny, really, because he's an assassin. Has been all his life. Just because he's labeled himself mercenary doesn't make it less of a fact. 

He's been in the room for a few hours —all night,— sitting on the couch by his boss's side, stealing lingering looks at her and tearing up in silence. 

Memories come to him as another tear slides down his cheek and falls to his pants. When they met, Giorno and Lena had been dating for around two months: his first impression still makes him laugh. 

When Giorno walked up to him holding her hand he did not expect the difference of aesthetics: though her style was more alternative-oriented and his more like the usual office look and the colors they wore were similar, it was the fact they seemed so different that took him by surprise. 

He remembers the way she so kindly took his hand into a handshake and complimented his eyes. 

Now, as he looks back and she's still laying there asleep, his eyes fill with tears and he sighs, reaching a shaking hand out to place it over her hand. 

“C'mon, Lena, don't make me cry.” 

Looking off through the window, he keeps going despite the lump on his throat. “Giogio left yesterday to shower and get some sleep." He chuckles, “He's crazy, you know? Man got bored of getting his usual boiling coffee: he switched to iced coffees. All because he didn't want to leave your side.” 

Looking back and noticing he feels calmer now, his smile grows and he laughs genuinely: “But I guess you're just as crazy as him. You're both insane.”

Someone else speaks up from the door and he jumps —his heart almost bursts through his chest, too.

“Son, I don't think Giogio will appreciate those words.” 

Turning to the man in the doorway, Abel grins, wiping the remains of his tears with the back of his hand, eyes shining as he spots Dr. Bocelli there. 

The old man has a habit of calling everyone son, almost like he's trying to make up for the lack of his own. Still, he doesn't mind: his care brings familiarity. 

“Sorry Doc, I just, you know. Miss her.” 

Dr. Bocelli comes in, stopping to close the door behind his back with a soft click and then, leaning on his cane, he walks up to the bed, his smile turning into one of sadness: “We all do.” 

Doctor Bocelli leans in: checks the monitors and the IV, everything he does, Abel notes, is done with practiced care and simplicity. He has a vibe of wisdom within his mere presence that makes Abel wonder if he’ll ever be like him when he grows older. If he’s been blessed with wisdom or he has gained it through his path on earth. 

Bocelli’s voice snaps him out of his thoughts, immediately focusing on him:

“It seems she’s recovering faster than before. Not at the rate I was expecting, though.”

Abel leans back, eyebrow arched. “What do you mean?” 

Bocelli sits down on the couch before Abel, setting his cane between his legs and leaning on it, he looks back at Lena for a moment, pondering his reply and trying to figure out what’s going on. From the looks of it, Abel could consider this was not something written in those medical books, guides or articles. He turns back and Abel frowns, waiting for his response. 

“Do you know the date?” 

Abel’s frown deepens and he opens his mouth to reply, exasperated and offended, when Bocelli keeps going, “It’s April 19th, right? According to my calculations, she should have been in her current state on the 22nd.” 

Abel’s frown disappears and slowly his eyebrows arch up, “But… I take it you’re basing that off the twins' labor, aren't you? This was just one baby.” 

“Son, even if it was just one… It’s too soon. This time labor took more time. There was no way she could be like this by now. Unless…” Bocelli turns back to Lena again, thinking back to a certain someone. 

“Unless…?” 

Bocelli turns to him, his hypothesis just a mere vague thought; a possibility. “Unless Giogio’s healing her. Aware or not.” 

Abel frowns again, turning to Lena and then standing back again, walking up to the door: he’s confused and worried. Facing him, Blinding Lights’ user almost chokes on his spit when he asks, “Does that put her at risk?”

“It does not.” Bocelli pauses, taking a moment to think about it, “It’s just a thought, I still have to ask Giogio.” 

Abel sits back down, elbows on his thighs as he leans over, restless and anxious. “But he would have told you before…” 

Bocelli shrugs, “Maybe he doesn’t want to say it or doesn’t know he’s been doing it this whole time. We'll have to wait until he's back." 

 The man in the SPW lobby walks in fast, showing his ID to the lady in the front desk and waiting until she scans it and gives him a short nod to walk around and into the hall, getting into the elevator. 

As the metal cubicle moves, Giorno looks at himself in the mirror. White dress pants, navy blue shirt perfectly smooth and tucked in. He pushes the dark shades off the bridge of his nose to his hair, rubbing at his eyes with a soft sigh. 

He’s better now that he’s slept –tired, but definitely better. The twins are home with Mista waiting for West to arrive so he can take them to the park, as they mentioned earlier: though they’re calmer now that they’ve seen their mom, they still ask when she’ll be back home: when will Esme come home so they can show her their toys and her bedroom? Or introduce her to Ares? 

The solution? Sticking to a soft and reassuring smile, all relaxed shoulders and dimples, and a brief explanation of ‘mama’s still getting some stuff done.’ 

Out of everything he could have prepared himself for, their questions and glances were not something he would have ever felt prepared for. Maybe it’s because of that fact —that they’re conscious and old enough to ask about their mother— that he finds the situation so hard to deal with. On one hand he doesn’t want to lie to them and on the other, he knows he can't blurt out the situation to them. They’re still young to understand. 

It’s because of this, their questions, that dealing with the whole situation has felt like he’s lying to his sons and betraying their trust. He feels like a hypocrite. At least the thought of Westwood taking them to the park close to the gelato store eases his worries: he knows he will take care of them, distract them for a while…

Sighing, he feels his chest expand as he exits the elevator and walks down the hall, eyes roaming around and spotting a few members of his team guarding the door to his wife’s room. 

“Good morning, Giogio.” Marco greets him first, hands behind his back as he stands by the right side of the door, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips. “How are you feeling?” 

“Good morning, Marco,” He replies, stopping there to greet his friend properly: he smiles, gentle. “I'm okay. Thank you for staying here, I'll get someone to cover for you so you can go home.” 

Marco waves it off, “‘S okay, Abel’s inside with Dr. Bocelli. C’mon, get there.” 

Patting him in the back, Gio steps in, turning the knob and coming inside. 

Abel and Dr. Bocelli turn to him. The first eyes him suspiciously and the latter greets him a wave and a smile. 

Gio stands there, looking back at the both of them, expecting something from them, but not quite sure what: was his choice of clothes too much for the occasion? Did something happen? 

Dr. Bocelli speaks up first, gesturing him forward. “Giogio, Lena's making great progress.” 

"I'm glad," Giorno smiles, walking up to the bed and sitting on the edge of it, reaching his hand out to Lena, talking without turning to the man, eyes glued to the sleeping figure before him. “You need a break too, Bocelli.” 

Abel frowns, turning to Dr. Bocelli. The man nods and Giorno notices the interaction: before he can ask, Bocelli turns to him.

“Is your stand fully under your control, Gio?" 

Giorno frowns, confusion written all over his face as he turns to the both of them. “All the time.” He turns to him now, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “Why?”

Bocelli shifts in his seat, offering an explanation shortly after. “Lena’s healing process has been faster this time. I expected it beforehand, but it’s… Different.” 

Giorno hums, eyes darting down as he thinks about it. He’s been tired after all the time he’s spent up and watching over her… 

But he’s not sure. He can’t reply to that: anything he says could play against him. Not because he wants to keep secrets, but… Denying such an event and getting a positive response right after would not be of help: confirming such a thing without being able to explain would also backfire. Maybe not the worst of consequences, but it wouldn’t be of help certainly. 

“I don’t know.” He confesses, turning to Dr. Bocelli with furrowed brows. Taking his glasses off his hair and setting them on the table, he turns back to the old man with an almost shy expression, “Only Goldie can reply to that. If he did, then it must be a matter of… I don’t know, a leak?” 

As he talks, the smell of honey and flowers starts to surround the golden being materializing aside him. Gold Experience Requiem’s silhouette stands there. The stand doesn’t acknowledge Abel and Bocelli’s presence, instead turning to Lena and approaching her fast. “Mistress?” 

Abel moves to stop him when Bocelli raises a hand to stop him, watching over the stand’s interaction with the woman. Goldie’s hand shines when he touches her and the monitors pick up on their pace, registering a sudden peak on vitals and then, seconds later, parameters come back to their normal rates, steadying themselves. 

Bocelli’s Type O Negative team pops out from behind the monitors, climbing up the bed and around Lena and Goldie. The nurse closest to Bocelli nods up at its user, giving a firm thumbs up with both its tiny, green hands. 

Esme stirs awake in her crib, getting a bit fussy over the new presence, almost like she can already sense her father’s stand. 

“Oh?” Bocelli mumbles, eyes the size of dinner plates as he sees Gio approach her crib and cradle her close to his heart, rubbing her back while she starts to calm down. “I think we have a special case here.” 

Giorno sits down by Abel’s side, letting Esme sleep on his chest with his hand spread across her back and the other keeping her in her place, his voice is firm but gentle at the same time when he calls, “Goldie, have you been healing her?”

The stand straightens his back, turning to his user with wide pink eyes and, pulling his hand back, he nods. “I am, Master. Is that wrong?” 

Giorno’s voice turns cold unexpectedly, silent rage flaring up underneath the surface, “When did I give you permission to do so?” 

The stand stares back at his user coldly, and before any of them can say anything else, Bocelli steps in. “Let’s calm down, yeah? She’s not at risk, but we could have used some warning from any of you.” 

Giorno sighs, feeling the tension leave his body slowly. His green eyes have a darker shade to them, clearly troubled as his mind keeps running faster than he can process his thoughts, “Please run all the tests you need to ensure her safety.” He turns to his stand, eyes turning darker for a millisecond when he addresses the powerful being, “Goldie, get back. Now.” 

Gold Experience Requiem dissipates into thin air, leaving behind a stronger scent of honey, like the confrontation arised its presence somehow. It was obvious they wouldn’t fight physically… It was Giorno’s own guilt shining through. 

Dr. Bocelli stands up, letting his stand approach Lena. “I’m certain nothing is wrong, Type runs tests constantly so, anything out of place would have been already reported to me.” 

Abel, still tense, sighs. It’s shaky and clearly intentioned, forced: an attempt to make himself know everything is okay. He shifts in his seat, mumbling out. “We should ask Paolo about this.” 

“Later.” Giorno says, eyes drifting to Lena’s form as Bocelli keeps himself busy with some papers. 

The old man hums, and when he looks back, the light behind his eyes makes Giorno know of impending good news. “I think we can keep the healing process with her awake. If everything goes well, she should be home tomorrow’s evening.” 

His heart skips a bit and unconsciously, he straightens his back, holding his daughter closer to him: the ghost of a grin curling his lips up for the first time in days, making his dimples stand out: his eyes, that had been darkened, go back to their usual tone. “Can we have Ariel and Rohan here all day, then? Can she receive longer visits now?” 

Dr. Bocelli thinks about it for a moment, pausing to think for a second. “Yeah, just remember newborns are fragile so make sure she’s not in constant contact with them: her immune system is still adapting.” 

Giorno nods, quietly going through every word. Bocelli walks up to the door, then, and before he leaves, the old man turns to Giorno: 

“I believe your souls are connected, Giogio. That’s why your stand was healing her without you noticing. To put it simply: it’s what others describe as soulmates.” 

His breath hitches right as the door closes behind Bocelli. Abel, still there, stands up slowly, a grin curling up his lips. “That’s cheesy, but he’s right.” He says, “I’m sure Paolo would say the same —I wouldn’t be surprised if you could share your stand abilities somehow.” The Capo walks closer to Lena, noticing the nurses working to calculate new lower dosages. He ignores it, though, not wanting to see furthermore and instead, he turns to the bouquet of flowers, pointing at each of them: 

“So. Corvo got these for Lena. The one with tulips and sunflowers is his, and the other comes from a grateful patient.” 

Giorno’s attention drifts to the other bouquet, recognizing the flowers: hydrangeas. Gratefulness. His eyebrow arches and he looks at the Capo with a curious look. 

“Does the names Noah and Sebastian Worsnop ring any bells?” Abel asks, grinning now. 

Giorno squints, as if the action would be enough to bring back those memories —the names do sound familiar, but he’s not sure how to explain it. “Kinda,” he ends up saying, shifting his hold on Esme when she sighs, settling down against him. “Why?” 

Abel hums, “Corvo met a florist, turns out his brother works for the Foundation and got direct help from her to get him a prosthetic. Not sure when, but I assume it’s been a few months, maybe a year. He said the boy looks healthy and recovered.” 

Giorno hums, thoughtful. “Well, I don’t remember. But maybe Fugo can find something related or I can ask Lena once she wakes up and sees the flowers.” 

The door opens, then, and silent footsteps are met with curious glances from both Giorno and Abel. 

“Good morning.” Akashi greets them, a wide smile across his face and eyes soft as he glances at the bundle in Giorno’s chest, “Is the little princess asleep?” 

“Yeah,” he says, letting him see her face. “Are you going home?” 

Akashi nods, eyelids heavy with sleep. “Mhm. Alma’s here to cover for me.” 

“Good,” Giorno says, “Who’s gonna cover for Marco?”

Akashi looks up into the ceiling, taking a moment to remember the schedule sent by Fugo to the group chat: after a moment, he looks back: “Paolo.” 

“Excellent. Go get some sleep, you look like shit.” 

Akashi laughs, walking to the door and quoting him: “No swearing in front of kids, remember?”

Giorno shrugs, biting back laughter as he waves him off. “Adiós, kid.”  

With a playful scowl, Akashi leaves and with him, Marco and the rest of the team. The others settle in their positions, ready to work. 

Right when the door closes behind Akashi’s back, Abel blurts out, like he couldn’t hold it in anymore: “I told Kishibe about his situation. He should be talking to you about it today.” 

Giorno’s eyes scan over Abel’s face —back and forth, calculating and knowing. His lips part, and slowly, he speaks. “Are you aware we won’t get that done today, or tomorrow? We need to see his schedule, he’s busy. He has work and a family to attend first.” 

Abel hums, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Of course I know.” 

Giorno nods, silent, lips pressed into a line as they settle in silence. Then, his honeyed voice can be heard as a whisper. “You should go home too, Abel. I’m thankful for your stay here, but you need to rest too.” 

Rome’s Capo shakes his head no, sitting down beside Lena’s bed, hopeful eyes darting to her and back to Giorno. “I want to see her awake first.” 

“Don’t wanna be a killjoy, but you can go home now, Abel.” A tiny voice cuts through, makes both men whip their heads back to the stretcher where Lena lays awake, hazy eyes and a tired smile: the braid Giorno had made to preserve her curls falling over her shoulder as she takes a deep breath in, senses slowly coming back to their best, as analgesics are still working. 

“Lena.” Giogio whispers, mouth open for a second before he stands up, clutching Esme closer to him. He sits by her side, legs like jelly and eyes filled with tears: he leans in, careful with the baby in his arms, and presses a soft, long kiss to her forehead, paired up with a whisper of: “Missed you.” 

“Missed you too.” She whispers, weakly: the type of voice one has after an unexpected nap at five in the evening on the couch after coming home from a long day outside. 

“Make room,” Abel calls, voice shaky as he runs to the other side of the stretcher, coming into Lena’s sight with a wide grin and tears already falling down his cheeks. “Missed you, Lena!” he leans in, pulling her in for a short, friendly hug. Pulling back, his grin and tears a contradiction but a solid, carefree expression. "How long have you been awake?" 

She replies in a whisper, voice tiny and hands coming up to rub at her husband's arm, "Was gaining consciousness when I heard Giogio tell someone to rest." 

Gio sighs, laughing under his breath, with Abel scoffing and replying instead; "Silly. Take care of yourself first, I'm all good." 

This time, Giorno looks back at him, eyebrow quirked and an amused smile tugging at his lips, "Good enough to be considered a corpse." 

Both men laugh and Lena grins, soft brown eyes drifting around them and noticing the bundle in Giorno's arms. She taps at his arm and he turns, exchanging a look so he relaxes his hold around the baby. 

Looking at Esme, Lena's eyes fill with tears once again as she glances at her, deeply asleep in her father's arms and dressed in a white onesie with a character's face she can't make out from her unfocused eyes. "She's really daddy's girl, huh?" 

"Of course," Abel says, wishing to pay back: "This man will soon wear a tiara and all." 

The couple chuckles and Abel finally gives in, rubbing a hand down his face, "Alright, Imma head out. See ya' later, hm?"

"Of course, thank you." Giorno's reply comes out easier: a weight has been taken off his shoulders, effectively making him appear genuinely calm now. Happy. 

Again, the door closes and Giorno stands up to set Esme down in her crib with Lena's eyes fixated on him. Making sure she's properly tucked in with the blanket Corvo got her, the Don turns to his wife, eyes soft and an equally softer smile thrown her way. 

"It's been hard without you, you know?" He steps closer, sitting in the stretcher by her side, his hand brushing hers. 

"I can imagine." She whispers, moving over. "C'mere?" 

Giorno hums, turning to lean back against the pillows and then, sets a leg up, careful not to put most of his way in the stretcher in case it can't hold up. His arm, the one closest to Lena, reaches out, wrapping itself around her shoulders and serving as a pillow for her once she settles by his side, cuddled up against him. 

“There is so much we need to talk about, but I don't want to bug you with all of it." 

She hums, appreciatively, "We can start slowly, from the things that can’t wait and we can actually do something about, to the ones out of our control.” 

He sighs, laughing right after: the sound soft and more like a puff of air leaving him: “What would I do without you?”

She hums, taking a deep breath to take into his cologne and shampoo, as well as the smell of fabric softener. “You’d carry on for our children.” 

He hums, the sound sudden but hiding an affirmative undertone to it, like it had taken a moment for him to accept it. Moving on, he starts to think and possibly categorize everything that has happened —Akashi and Rohan, the twins, the florist Corvo had met, Rohan and Ariel and the proposal they wanted to make, his birthday… 

The first one: one of the ones they can do something about. 

“So,” he starts, tone lighter now. “Do you still want to ask Rohan and Ariel to be Esme’s godparents?” 

She doesn’t stay silent for so long, replying right away: “Yeah.” 

He hums, nodding to himself. “Good. Dan and Jojo have been asking about you nonstop: West had to take them to the park to get them to relax.” 

She stays silent, seeming to think about it: Giorno doesn’t need to look at her to know she’s trying to find something to say, or maybe she’s trying to find a reason for their behavior even if it’s obvious. 

“They’re stressed.” 

Giorno hums, eyes slowly closing and opening again. “Bocelli said you could go home soon, seeing you back will soothe the—.” A tiny tug to his shirt and he looks down, finding one of Type O Negative’s nurses pulling at the fabric of his shirt: as soon as the stand senses it has his attention, it points to the door: 

“Dr. Bocelli will come to check in, please get off the stretcher as you are not in need of it.” 

Grumpy little shit. He thinks, trying not to laugh as he stands and throws his arms up in a gesture of surrender. Lena laughs, too, sitting up as the nurses keep working around her and her eyes take a look around the room, staying on the flowers by her bedside. 

Noticing this, Giorno steps in, pointing at each bouquet he’s referring to; “Corvo got you these bouquets: the one with sunflowers is his, the other… Do you remember someone called Noah and Sebastian Worsnop?” 

It takes a moment but Lena nods, slowly, and after a moment of contemplative silence she speaks up. “The first case I took after getting appointed director of the branch was the case of a boy who had lost his arm in an accident. My team had told me about it, but then his brother came to my office and was willing to stay the night just to get a talk with me. So I let him in and we talked. I know he should have waited like everyone, because the Foundation would have gotten to their case eventually, but… I don't know.”

Giorno stands before her now, watching the nurses walk around her, but still replying: “Compassion.”

“Yeah…” she trails off, looking to the side. “After that, I asked Paolo for help and he took the case along with the rest of the team.”

Giorno nods, not willing to ask why he didn’t know —sometimes both were too tired to talk about work, and if he remembered right, that must have been around the time he had to leave in order to fix the mess he had caused with Rohan. Back when they had that ugly confrontation. “It’s okay, I was just not sure. The names did sound familiar, but I’m not exactly sure where.” 

She looks back, a small smile in her lips, “Gio, one of your interns took the case: Noah’s car was severely damaged and they had to get it solved in court. You just happened to help your interns with that case.” 

He blinks, once, twice: and unable to remember, he shrugs, “Honestly, too many cases go by my hands every day. Can’t remember every single one. Oh, by the way…” he trails off, seeming to pick on someone coming over: 

And so, the door cracks open and Dr. Bocelli comes in, lighting up when his eyes meet Lena’s: the grin that breaks through his face makes his eyes smile too, a rare view. 

“Mrs. Giovanna,” he says, with a playful tone to it, “How are you feeling? I didn’t expect you to wake up so soon.” his tone shifts to one of seriousness, like he genuinely wasn’t expecting for her to wake up after the reduction of dosages on both painkillers and benzodiazepines because, technically, it should have taken more time for her system to process the reduction of said drugs and then it would also mean her body would have to take out all the reminders of the higher dosages, making room for the newer ones: it made sense but it also didn’t. Still, he doesn’t say anything, waiting for her response —like she’s taking time to think and feel, to find out what she’s feeling and name it. 

“Good,” she says, shifting to lay on her side so she can talk to Bocelli, “Just sore, but overall, everything seems just right.” 

“Mhm.” Bocelli closes the door behind him, pen and clipboard held under his arm as he starts with a small questionnaire: “Dizziness? Nausea? Pain?” 

She shakes her head, “Nope.” 

Bocelli nods, writing down her replies, and, coming into the room, he gestures at Giogio to sit down as he takes the chair besides the stretcher to set it by the foot of the bed, where he can see both of them. “I’m glad. So, while you were unconscious and Giogio was here, it seems like your souls have bonded —further— somehow. Gold Experience sped up your recovery.” 

She frowns, sitting up slowly. Leaning against the headboard, she looks at her husband, then Bocelli with a confused pout, “But… Goldie can’t deal with pain?” 

Bocelli nods, and Giorno speaks up before him. “That was Type, both stands managed to work together somehow, am I right?” 

The old man nods, sighing under his breath. “It’s an enigma. But,” he turns to her, soft eyes and an even softer smile: “Type has confirmed you’re out of danger. We just have to wait until you’re fully healed, which should be around this evening.” 

Giorno grins —a wide, happy and excited smile, one that makes him look hopeful again. “Really?” 

Dr. Bocelli nods, slowly, smiling at Giorno’s evident happiness. “I wouldn’t lie about something so important as this.” He stads up, slowly, and walks up to the door, where he waits before opening it, “Your friends are here.” 

“Please let them come in.” Giorno asks, and when Bocelli nods, he speaks again, making the old man stop on his tracks so he can listen to whatever he has to say: “And Bocelli: thank you.” 

Dr. Bocelli Enzo hums, turning to look him in the eye, then at Lena: and with a soft smile, he replies: “Of course, son.” 

The door closes behind him and Giorno smiles, sighing: things are getting better, it seems. 

That evening he’ll get to see his sons smile and rest after seeing their mother come home, and he won't have to worry about her staying behind with their daughter–

And oh, the kids would get to show Esme her room and toys: and Ares would probably try to sleep with her in her crib: and he'll have to teach him not to…

It would be a nice view. To see his wife and kids happy at home, healthy and reunited. His family…

“What’ya thinking about, baby?” Lena asks, laying in the stretcher with a soft smile and tired eyes: but awake and alive: there with him. 

Giorno blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. “I’m just happy to know you’ll come back home. The boys and I miss you. Dan and Jojo want to show Esme her room.” 

She grins: it’s soft and full of hope. Full of life. “They’re so sweet. They… will be amazing.” 

He nods, standing up slowly. “While we wait for the visits to show up, I found something you might like.” Pulling his phone out, Giorno walks up to the TV in the wall, turning it on and connecting it to his phone: Netflix’s main menu shows up and Lena sits up, leaning her head against the pillows: and as he looks for whatever he wants to show her, her eyes drift down his back, noticing how he keeps flinching. It's a small, almost unnoticeable flinching: like he’s shaking his shoulder like one would do to get rid of a mosquito…

“Does your arm hurt?” She asks, and he freezes. The loading screen darkens the image for a second, before Netflix’s intro starts with its usual sound, then the screen goes dark again. 

And in that single moment of silence, Giorno replies, eyes looking down at his phone. “My birthmark has been… Feeling weird since Dan and Jojo’s stands awakened.” 

The first credits starts, and Lena speaks up: “Do you think this has to do with Dio Brando?” 

Giorno pauses the show. The image on the screen displays a valkyrie: but none of them care about it right now. Not when Giorno takes longer to reply, head held down for a long second before he turns to her, eyes troubled. “I don’t know.” 

Lena remains silent, then, her eyes flick to the screen, noticing and recognizing the character on screen: then, she looks back at her husband, a determined look in her eyes. “Then we might have to ask him directly. Sounds like that sensation Jotaro described when the Cairo incident happened.” 

The group of five; a journey of fifty days. The source of Mr. Polnareff’s concerns regarding the stand arrow, the mere thing that brought him to Diavolo, who had obtained the arrowhead from Enyaba, who was under Dio’s orders. It makes sense, somehow. He hadn’t wanted to think too much of it: because no matter how much he wants to reunite with Dio Brando, he’s still human: he fears. 

Giorno nods, “You’re not… Mad?” Walking back to her, he still doesn’t mind the paused chapter, wanting to hear her answer. 

She shakes her head, waiting until he’s close enough to reach out for his hand, “I take it you didn’t want to bug me?” 

This time, Giorno breaks into a small laugh, nodding his head. “Yeah. You were pregnant and we had more to worry about: the twins were… Too ill for us to focus on something else.” 

“That doesn’t mean you don’t matter, hm? We could have found out sooner. Have you noticed any change of texture, shape or size on your birthmark?” 

He shakes his head, “Not really.” 

“Then… We’ll have to see what’s going on and request a meeting with him.” 

Giorno sighs, sitting down by her side in the stretcher, letting the show play: as the recap of the latest rounds goes on, he dips his head down to reply in a whisper: “Agreed.” 

She hums back, a silent agreement to contact Dio Brando soon: arrange a meeting and find out. And, at the same time, ending the cycle that had started back then when Sunnie and Catherine had asked for their help with the Board. 

Soon, their attention drifts to the show on the screen: shuumatsu no valkyrie’s second season, episode one. The fourth round of the ragnarok, where gods and humans fight for the extermination of the human race, or the salvation of it.

The door opens and Rohan steps in, eyes darting to the screen, then to the couple: he has to take a second look to confirm Lena’s awake and waving at him. 

“When did you wake up?” 

Giorno pauses the show, standing up to open the door and let Ari and Ellie in. “Welcome. Lena woke up around… Ten minutes ago?” 

“Oh my god, you’re awake!” Ari’s excited, cheerful voice comes in as she rushes inside, leaving Rohan —who’s carrying Ellie still in her pajamas— by the door. She rushes to Lena’s side, giving Giogio a quick nod as a salute, before wrapping her arms around her friend. Both women laugh as they embrace, with Ari pulling back shortly after. 

“We’ve missed you so much! How are you feeling?” 

Lena grins, softly: like she wants to let her friend know she’s okay. Like she’s still, somehow, not used to this kind of attention, To be cared for so deeply and attentively. “I’m good, still sore and sleepy, but Bocelli says I should be good enough to go today.” 

“That’s such good news!. You’ll have to get home and rest more there.” Ari smiles, softly, relieved to hear the news. Her eyes drift to the crib, hands clasped in front of her, curious but quiet.

Following her sight, Lena smiles, turning to Gio and then to Ariel and Rohan, who’s now inside the room. “Ari, do you want to hold her?” 

Ari looks back with a soft blush spreading through her cheeks and wide eyes, nodding–she had been there earlier and seen Esme, but had let her rest, settling for slipping a finger into Esme’s tiny palm, not wanting to interrupt her slumber.

Giogio stands up, walking up to Rohan. “Rohan, could you..?” 

Rohan met her first: and if they get to hold her together, then it would be the perfect moment to ask. 

“Sure, Giovanna.” Rohan gives the taller man a nod, letting Ellie go with him. Then, as Ellie settles down in Giorno’s arms, Rohan walks up to Ariel, taking her hand and guiding her to the crib. 

He gives his wife a short look before he reaches for the baby inside the crib, gently cradling her in his arms. Ari gets closer, looking down at the tiny being in her husband’s arms. And she gasps, eyes filled with tears: when she looks back, Giorno and Helena smile back at them, with Giogio holding Ellie and speaking up: 

“Ari, this is Esme.”

She nods, making the gentle transfer from Rohan’s arms to hers, supporting Esme’s head and rubbing her thumb in gentle circles at the crown of her head. Marveling quietly at her tiny eyelashes and sleepy yawn, Giorno interrupts her reverie with a question:

“We were wondering… Would you two like to be her godparents?” 

Kishibe’s mouth hangs open at the question, and Ari’s eyes have widened impossibly more: the couple stays in silence for a minute, with Ellie giggling over the sight of her parents so out of their usual expressions.  

“Of course,” Ari mumbles, tears in her eyes and a grin on her face. “We would be more than happy to be her godparents.” She trails off by the end, staring for a moment at the soft, sleepy face of the baby in her arms.

Giorno grins, bowing. “Thank you, really.” 

Rohan sets his hand on Ari’s shoulder, squeezing gently, then kissing her cheek. “You know we’re someone you can always count on, Giovanna.”

7:22 PM. April 19th. Giovanna residence. 

“Mommy!” Dante yells, eyes wide as he runs up to his mother who’s just coming through the door with her dad trailing behind. The boy stops in his tracks as he notices his dad is holding a tiny bundle in his arms: and he knows that’s his sister. His twin, Jovi, stops by his side too, and both exchange a look, before breaking into wide, stunned grins, hushing each other and deciding to stand there as they watch their mother grin at them. 

Lena sits down on the couch, opening her arms for her sons that upon the sight of their mother’s arms ready to embrace them, run up to her, climbing into the couch by each side of her, and through tears, they melt into her, tiny arms wrapped around her.

“It’s okay,” She whispers, voice loving and filled with warmth; the warmth and comfort only a mother can provide. “I’m here.” she whispers, rubbing their backs as they cry quietly in her hold. 

And he sighs, biting back his laughter as Ares comes in, climbing into the crib already purring. The cat, like he thought, is trying to cuddle with Esme. Howeer, he scoops the Maine Coon, and gets him out of the room, as it’s still too soon for her to be so close to him: Giogio doesn’t want her to get sick. 

Giorno walks upstairs, carrying Esme, and arriving at her room, he sets her down in her crib —a small ritual he’s created for his kids: that once they arrive, the first place they lay down with him watching over them is their crib. Like he’s making a silent promise to them and himself to always watch over them. Because no matter how old they get, or if he grows old and his hair turns all grey: to him, his kids will always be his little ones. 

He hears footsept coming in, and he already knows those are the twins: and soon enough, two blond heads peek in, coming into the door with Lena trailing behind. Scooping both twins in his arms, he lets them peak at the crib, where Esme sleeps peacefully:

“Mommy, why is her hair like a carrot?” Whispers Dante, and the comment makes Lena laugh. 

“Red,” she says, gently correcting him, “Her hair is red. And that’s because she got that from one of my aunts.” 

“Ohhhh.” Dantes nods, finally understanding, and speaks up again: “And why is my hair like daddy’s?” 

“Because you look like him,” she says, looking back at Giorno, who’s watching the whole interaction with soft eyes. Jovi then joins, with a question of his own. “And does she have red eyes too?” 

Giorno replies this time, shaking his head. “No, they are green. Like yours and mine.” 

“Ohhh.” Both twins muse, in unison.  

The family stays there, watching over the new member —later, Giogio would take the boys to bed, promising to help them show Esme their toys and her plushies: and then, he’d set the baby monitor by the crib and let Lena know it was all done. Both would lay down after that, and watch the baby monitors, both the twins’ and Esme’s until sleep overcame them. And in the morning, they would plan a dinner to celebrate his and Lena’s birthdays.

[shibe-myths]

Stealing this from another blog paraphrasing cause I couldn’t find it.

What if our MC, which has been feeling numb for a long time. At some point look into the eyes of the RO and say something like “When I’m with you I feel alive. Did you do that?".

What will be the reaction of the ROs? Apprentice too cause she’s a cutie!

Awww, anon that ask is so cute! Please tell me where you saw that! I wanna read their stuff.

As for your ask:

Apprentice: The reverse of this ask is actually a spoiler. But I assume if the MC asked the Apprentice this she would be:

Crying from joy and guilt. She has no words.

Lady B: She looks as if the air has been taken from her lungs, wide eyed and lost. She brings the MC close and cries. A rarity for the ex-Sultana.

"I did no such thing. It is you who brought me to life."

Bernie: There is a moment where Bernie stares at the MC, shocked, before the full brunt of their weight is rammed into the MC. Crying and laughing. They whisper:

"You make me feel alive too."

Laz: Shock consumes them. For once they have no words. No quips. Only questions left unanswered. Did they?

"I... I don't know... is that a good thing?"

Amyntas: Disbelief consumes his features, mouth agape and lost. Flies would surely make a home within if he isn't careful. He has tried to KILL you and yet, you feel alive with him? What the fuck is wrong with them?

"You are a strange one."

Bishop: For once the usually silent man falls to his knees and laughs. And laughs. If not for his immortality, one might think he'd die from it.

"By the blood of us all, I did no such thing."

Indigo: The noise that leaves her lips is unholy. High pitched and LOUD, she brings the MC into her chest- no matter the difference in height and sings-

"If I am the one who brings you to life- you are the one who has brought me from the brink."

Perierat: There is only a smug all-knowing aura that invades the air. As if the question even needed to be asked. Perierat pulls the MC forward, enveloping them in neir grasp. The webs in their antlers shivering from the titan's glee.

"One day you will know just how much you mean to me."

Asha: Tears flood her eyes as she rounds the table, rough hands reaching out to cup the MC's face as she peppers them in kisses.

"I really doubt that darl' but just know, I love ya too. No matta' what."

Lace: For a moment the man thinks that the MC is joking, surely HE isn't that imp- but the look on their face breaks that thought and it's as if the world suddenly has focus. Past the smog of perfume and Cinis. Another thought floods their mind as they fall... hard.

'Well... shit.'

Ribbon: For once the ghost shows something beyond the blur of mild contempt. It is small, the twitch of her lips, the glow of her eyes being just THAT much brighter. But as she shifts in the air, just that much closer, the words flood into the MC's mind.

'Me too.'

Stranger: It's hard to know what the Stranger is thinking from beyond that mask, but as he moves to stand, something like a broken gasp eeks out before he vanishes back into the comfort of invisibility.

[selkiewife]

tell me please, about Ros and Reek, glass garden/houses ( It’s sounds amazig) and gloves angst porn ( i wouldn't be me if I didn't ask about it haha) ❤️

Ahhh! Thank you so much for the ask, @alwayssmiled!

Ros and Reek

So I was rewatching Season 1 of Game of Thrones and during the scene where Ros leaves for Kingslanding, Theon tells Ros: "Yes she'll be very popular until some fat lord comes to visit with a big belly and a little prick and he can't get it up so he knocks all your teeth out." And I just lost my shit with the potential foreshadowing of that line! And then I remembered reading that before season 5 aired, there were theories that the show would use Ros in the Jeyne Poole storyline- since they had already used her to stand in for other characters such as Alayaya. The theory was that Little Finger would use Ros as a proxy for Sansa. And so this AU began forming in my head which is based on the show, but more book stuff is incorporated as well. I just kept having this image in my head when they meet again and Theon is the one with his teeth knocked out and it goes from there... I think it would be very very interesting to explore how incorporating Ros changes the dynamic- just as having Sansa there changed things vs Jeyne in the books. I like that there is still the element of "person who no one cares about" with Ros- but to possibly an even greater extent than Jeyne- because she is lowborn and older. And I also really love the past relationship between Theon and Ros and think that would be really interesting to explore.

Glass Gardens/Glass Houses

This is a book based fic that takes place in my imagined "dream of spring" era. They won against the WW but their lands and society have been completely devastated. Theon is helping to rebuild Winterfell and he is assigned to help rebuild the glass gardens- to grow food (to sow essentially.) During the fic, there will be flashbacks that explain how Bran skinchanged him at certain points for reasons I am still working out. But it was apparently in service of the greater good/to help win the war against the army of the dead. However, this experience has left Theon's mind broken in a way that Ramsay was never able to do. So this is not the laughing in Stannis' face defiant Theon. And that in itself is devastating. There are a lot of unhappy reunions as well! He sees Palla and Beth and Jeyne again and there is so much angst. He watches Jeyne reunite with them- I suppose there is some bittersweet hopefulness for the three girls. But it's the idea of trying to deal with the impossible task of "making amends" when he really can't with a body and mind that has been punished to its limits already. But maybe he can still get something to grow...

Gloves Angst Porn

This was another one inspired by the Greysnow Week prompts that I was unable to finish. It is a show based fic that branches out a bit into book territory because of changed circumstances- Theon is recaptured by Ramsay and tortured after helping Sansa escape. Jon and Sansa find him again after retaking Winterfell. This is actually my first attempt to write porn for Jon and Theon but, in true me fashion it is going to get QUITE the angst filled lead up. Multiple chapters of angst filled lead up lol. There is a little of it below the cut but it's rough:

“Take off your gloves.” 

When Jon gives a command it must be obeyed, and yet Reek falters. He can’t say why. Shame? Embarrassment? But Jon has seen him shamed, seen his humiliation more times than Reek can count. It was Jon himself who pulled him off of the saltire after he and Sansa had defeated Ramsay.  Somehow though, it never gets any easier. 

He turns from where he was feeding the fire and faces Jon. 

“My lord?” He asks softly, hoping that he might have misheard him. 

Jon stands with his brow creased, studying papers strewn about the desk. He isn’t even looking at him, but at Reek’s question, he raises his eyes. 

It is all Reek can do not to shrink back. Jon wants him to be Theon now. Just as Ramsay before him wanted Theon to be Reek. But it is hard to remember. Not his name but.. well, what Theon did what Theon meant. He use to rhyme in his head to remember Reek. Reek, Reek it rhymes with sneak and leak and freak. Theon does not rhyme with anything. 

When he tries to grasp the sense of Theon he is met with a void. And the memories of past deeds. People hurt, ghosts clinging to his cloak. Traitor, Murderer. They don’t rhyme but they are true. Still, he is not supposed to be those things anymore. So what is he to do? Reek at least rhymes with seek.

He tries to keep eye contact like Jon wants him too but he fails and drops his eyes like the dog he is. (You shouldn’t make direct eye contact, unless you want to appear to be a threat. And you should never appear to be a threat toward your master. You must wait until your master gives you leave to look.)

“Take off your gloves. I need to see your hands.” 

When Reek hesitates again, Jon adds, “Please.” 

Because there is nothing else he can do, he turns back toward the fire and begins to peel off the black leather. He can’t tell why he feels the need to turn away from Jon as if he were removing his shirt or trousers. And as soon as he realizes how this modesty must seem to Jon he flushes. 

Reek seeks a memory. He tries to grasp the boy he use to be, with his easy confidence and sassy mouth, who could always make Jon flustered with a lewd word or jape. But of course, that boy is no longer there, just this wreck of an old man who trembles if you look at him the wrong way. And if he did truly act like Theon, would Jon let him stay? Jon thought Theon was an ass. And Theon betrayed Robb and burned Winterfell. No that was Ramsay… it’s difficult to keep the different truths in order. 

When Theon is finished removing his gloves, he holds his hands up for Jon as if he is confessing a crime. In a way he is. These are ugly hands that bear all the markings of his punishments, the games he would play with Ramsay. Reek made these hands a ruin as much as Ramsay did, for in the end, he was always the one pleading for a finger to be severed. He always made me beg.

Jon studies his hands and Reek studies Jon’s face, trying to discern whether his expression holds disappointment. Jon takes one of his hands in his and Reek shivers. 

“Have you been taking care of them? Not biting them I hope?”

Reek swallows. “… A little…I’m sorry… I…”

“Fine,” Jon says gruffly, shutting him up. Jon is trying to make him better, like Ramsay before him tried. And that is good. But Reek knows he will never punish him for things like this, and that is good too. 

Jon turns Reek’s hand over and then takes the other one in his other hand. He traces his gloved fingers over the stumps. It’s not as if he is seeing me naked Reek reminds himself. Finally Jon stops and Reek remembers to breathe. 

Jon turns and goes back to his desk. He takes a feather and begins writing before he pronounces his sentence. “Tomorrow you will begin training again, with the bow.”

[colorguardsweetheartblurrsgirl]

Please tell me I'm not alone:

#writers on tumblr

Going what is intended to be a maybe 1 or 2 hour story ramble that had a set purpose. Start talking about situations, forgetting or being caught in the midn as you record or just ramble to think through the story. End up going past two hours as you describe only to yourself for notes intricate plot details, random facts on other characters, or more world building. Next you check another two hours goes but you are on such a streak you promise to go and get soemthingntoneat to your growling stomach soon as this thought finishes which is almost clearly done. But then over explaining the plot to no one but yourself more of what you know but want recorded down. Going I promise at this time to turn it off. Next you check it's an hour past that point of stop time you set fir yourself. But your finally wrapping it up! Just a little more, few more minutes you tell yourself. Only to check the clock realizing there is no stop and it's agin two yours since you made that comment this sesh keeps going what you were enar wrapping up only found a way to add m.j ro plotted scenes to your mind and dekwelling on what if scenarios for a story that hasn't yet been released.🤣😂

Literally describes me making recorded note from 8:40 PM-6:40 AM.🤣😂😅😭😢

I've got a headache now!!! It worries me that my recording program says only 3:47 (hrs/min) but it was continually recording. Makes me wonder if I missed and or wasted more talking and it will come out as jibberish.😢😭😅😂🤣

Heres the art work that kept me company during these long periods.

Note comic is not the actual comic, but another proof of concept to a later scene I wanted to play around with for some time now, and I'm near writting the chapter out for, fully. I've written certain scenes for it throughout to keep plot details consistent of what has to happen. Before I have written it. Although most of the outline has been written story elements ahve changed from my initial outline. Just was jotting down on paper before I tried anything with it digitally.

This is mostly a mess & not in anyway my best drawing (looking to the weird outstretched hand. That was just a random quick drawing without reference jsut trying tonmoce through the drawing quick. But leaving enough deletsik for me to hbderstandbthebintetion should I go with the same story movement here when implementing the chapter. This was me just trying out a few things I wanted to see out on paper to make sure what I was seeing in my head would translate well in a comic. Not all are detailed slides but with enough detail to what I for myself am going for and wanting at said times to understand with a quick glance.

E.g the quickly drawn hand is so not the best drawn hand just a quick render to know what I wanted. Or for reference I had one short box presenting a dark area of thhe short dialogues pacing between frames. This I later returned and drew the figures standing instead over the current dialogue given instead the same impression the short dialogue gave using perspective to shape this and drawing over dialogue that may be unnecessary. But instead make it in between two more prominent frames a similarly long one added pulled back image of the scene. Allowing for more emotion to be felt through the black space surrounding the characters.

Similarly in my first proof of concept I hinted to a while bsck in a previous update shwoing some images from it. Where elements have since been added like this change and added slides as it is like yg to make it into the story, but the concept remained to ensure the way I was intending things would work to be added. But it in itself may be as is or in an adapted way make it in the comic or stay outside it maybe to be posted as a side story alongside a rest period or just something I show later patreons, etc . This is just a frame of reference to use as I get further along and a way for me to ensure directions I'm headed would work in the way I intend.

The below is related to S.T.R.Y.

[determinedwriter]

Whumptober 2023 Day 1: "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Ro

I told Dad I’d be fine. I told him I could handle a mission. If Peter can, why can’t I? I have good control over my powers now and there’s no reason to think I’ll get into any trouble.

Well, of course I had to be wrong.

It’s just the same old shit with people who think they can rule the world with the small amount of power they find themselves stumbling upon. Of course, it’s still troublesome.

Especially when the people you’re fighting have alien tech from the battle of New York. Ordinary people weren’t supposed to be able to get their hands on that stuff, but where there’s a will, there’s a way.

Which leaves me fighting one on one with a guy whose weapon I destroyed with a fireball. I didn’t think he’d be very tough without it, but he’s a skilled fighter.

Even with my reasonably quick reflexes and fighting, he gains the upper hand with a swift smash to my head with the defunct weapon. "Grab her!"

I hadn’t really thought of it being a blunt object he could actually hurt me with, but here we are.

One good hit to my head and I’m down, vision swimming. I’m instantly extremely dizzy and nauseous, the pain making everything crank up to eleven.

I think I’m out for a minute or more before I come to, the fight still very much alive on the field.

“Hnnnghh…” I groan in pain. The man with the blunt weapon stands over me about to strike again when I see a flash of red and blue. Peter.

Kicking my assailant and knocking him out, Peter is soon kneeling beside me. “Oh man, I saw that hit! Are you alright?! I think they tried to kidnap you!”

His yelling makes my head pound more. Everything is too loud. “H-Hurts…”

“How many fingers am I holding up?” Peter asks, holding up an unknown amount of digits.

“I…don’t…” I mumble. “I…can’t…tell.”

“Just throw a number out there then.” He insists.

His fingers just look like blobs that blur together. “Three.”

“Uhh, I mean…close?” Peter sounds nervous, trying to make me feel better about my likely very wrong answer.

“Ro.” I can’t really distinguish the face of who is speaking but I recognize the voice as my dad’s.

“D-Dad…” I say.

“No more missions for at least a month, you got it?” He scolds.

“Now, Tony?” I hear Steve reply, slightly exasperated. “She can barely keep her eyes open.”

Dad’s following silence isn’t an angry one. Even in my current state, I can sense the worry and nervousness in him.

“Well you’re gonna keep those eyes open for me aren’t you, Ro?” He says breathlessly.

Before I can stop it, vomit is spewing from my mouth and I’m being turned over to my side by Dad and Steve, Peter reassuring me, though I don’t hear his words very clearly.

Dad brushes hair out of my face. “Battle’s over now. I’m getting you home. Just keep your eyes on me, Junior.”

“Hmph…” I mumble, trying to communicate to him that I am listening. “Mmhmm…”

“Good.” He mutters back.

“Dad?” I ask.

“Yeah?” He replies.

“Mm sorry…” I groan. “Sorry…”

“Don’t worry about any of that right now. You’re alright. Promise. You kicked a lot of ass today.” He reassures me.

“It hurts.” I tell him.

“I know. Just hold onto me.” Dad holds his arm out and I cling to it.

“P-Peter’s okay?” I ask.

He squeezes my arm comfortingly. “He’s fine. Keep looking at me. Ro, look. You see me?” I blink in confusion, unable to ground myself. “It hurts.”

“You already said-” Dad stops himself. “I-I know. It’s okay.”

His voice is shaking. “Dad…you’re scaring me…”

He gulps. “There’s nothing to be scared of, baby.”

Baby

Yeah, there must be something wrong. Dad never calls me that. It usually only slips out when he’s scared or particularly soft for some reason. I have to be in worse shape than he’s letting on.

He brushes hair out of my face as I vomit again, rubbing my back with his hand, circling slowly and soothingly. “Oh kiddo, you’re gonna be alright.”

Crying and gagging, I cling to Dad as he hugs me. “Dad, I h-hate this. I don’t f-feel good. It hurts so bad.”

Sounding like a child much younger than I really am, I can’t bring myself to feel too embarrassed in the moment. This is absolutely miserable. Dad seems to understand this vulnerability. “It’s alright. You’re alright. I won’t let anything bad happen to you. I promise. I promise, kid.”

Melting into his arms, I am soon passing out, waking back up in the med bay at the compound. “Dad…?”

“Aurora, good. Good, you’re awake. Take it easy.” Vision much clearer now, I see Steve. “I told your dad I’d stay with you while he went to find some stuff to make you feel better. I should get Dr, Strange. We got him to stop by and take a look at you so you could stay home and out of the hospital.”

He stands to leave. “Don’t leave me alone…” I beg, tugging his sleeve. “Cap…”

“I can stay!’ Peter bursts inside. “Go find the doctor.”

Steve nods. “Alright, son.”

Peter takes his place beside me, watching Cap leave before he speaks, grinning. “Son. He’s funny.”

“He’s like a hundred years old, Pete.” I reply.

He chuckles. “That’s true. How do you feel?” I groan. “Like crap.”

He puts his hand over mine. “You got hit pretty hard. I think I heard someone mention a concussion. Probably could’ve turned out a lot worse. I’m glad you’re, you know, alive.”

“I’m glad you’re alive too, Spider Boy.” I tease.

Peter is quiet for a moment. “You know Ro, I really-”

He’s interrupted by Dr. Strange entering. “I can’t believe I got called to the compound over a concussion…”

“Sorry, Doc.” I say. I’ve heard of the guy in passing, but I’ve never met him.

“I’d like to be out of here by dinner, but when do I ever get what I want?” He mutters grumpily. “You’re a kid. I don’t get how the hell you got cleared for a mission. This is what happens when you take some kid and put the world on her shoulders. Gives you a false sense of power. What, do you know karate or something?”

“She’s The Flare, man…” Peter says.

“Can’t say I know that one. I get why Spider kid is a part of things, but what’s your thing? What put a teenager on a battlefield?” He asks.

“I can control fire.” I explain. “I don’t need your approval, dude.”

Dr. Strange rolls his eyes. “Just lie still and shut up for a minute.”

Checking my vitals and my head, Dr. Strange stands up when he’s done. “Just a bad concussion. Bedrest and lots of fluids for at least two weeks. No strenuous activity for a while. Don’t do anything stupid.”

“What a ball of sunshine you are.” I sass.

Dad enters the med bay as I say this. “That’s what I’m saying. Feeling okay, Ro?”

“Been better, but Merlin here says I need bedrest for a while and I’ll be fine.” I reply. “You look like a wizard, are you a wizard?”

Dr. Strange groans. “Sorcerer.”

I nod. “So, a wizard. Got it.”

“Who the hell is this kid, Stark? Pick another stray off the street?” He asks my dad.

Peter gives him a look. “I’m not a stray…”

Dad rolls his eyes. “This is Aurora. Ro. She’s my daughter. I thought that was pretty obvious.”

“For God’s sake…” Dr. Strange mutters. “Are we done here? I have a reservation.”

He waves him away. “Leave then. Shouldn’t have bothered calling you and your big head.”

“You’re one to talk, Stark.” Strange says while walking away.

“Thanks for coming out!’ I yell to him sarcastically.

Once he’s gone, Peter speaks up. “Someone takes himself too seriously…”

I chuckle, hurting my head in the process. “Oww. Everything hurts.”

“We’ll stop talking your ear off.” Dad replies. “I got you Pedialyte and pain meds. Let me get you to bed.”

“Mmm, Pedialyte.” Peter comments.

God, I love that boy.

Helping me to my room, Peter and Dad stick around while I take the medication, soon trying my best to get some sleep. Having two of my favorite people at my side certainly helps.

My head still hurts like a bitch though.

[benthebeloved]

After the day of hearing stories about you, and the several weeks he's been texting you, hanging out with you, etc., Ben comes upon the realization that....

He loves you. He has deep, unavoidable feelings for you that he can't ignore no matter how hard he tries.

And boy, does he try. So much, in fact, that it starts to take away from his success with daily activities. Even in simple conversations, he seems distracted, or like he doesn't care. Truly, he does- he loves conversing with people.

But how could he possibly focus when all he thinks about is you and his child, all the way on Alderaan?

It gets to a point where one day, Feemor sits him down halfway through a conversation, studying him intently.

"What is the matter with you?" Feemor asks him quietly.

Ben shakes his head a little. "Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Don't play that with me." Fee warns. "You and I have always been two of the most focused gentlemen I know. And right now, you're about twenty planets away. Talk to me."

"No." Ben studies his older brother. "I can't."

"You can't?" Fee raises a brow, "or you won't?"

"I-"

"What is it Ben?" Fee pushes, his voice getting angrier by the second.

"I'm in love," Ben blurts. Panic immediately sets in and he looks away as tears burn his eyes.

"You're- what?"

"I'm in love," he dares to say it again.

Feemor studies the distressed man for a few moments before finally saying, "Tell me everything."

Ben starts to cry, "I- I had a one night stand and-"

"When did you-"

"Just let me talk," Ben snaps, "I won't be able to do this if you don't. I- I was on Alderaan to help Bail and I had a one night stand with a doctor and she ended up- she's pregnant. I have a child." He quickly continues as Feemor's eyes widen, not giving Fee a chance to respond, "I have a baby on the way and this woman - her name is Lili - she's so beautiful and kind and loving and I can't help my affection for her. I can't. She's so wonderful. I think about her all the time and I know I shouldn't but dammit I do. And I dunno what I should do about it. I-"

"Ben-"

"No Fee-"

"No." Fee snaps, reaching to hold Ben's face. "Listen to me. I know... I know I haven't been easy on you. At all. Growing up I was very strict with you and I - I implemented rules that not even Father told us about. He was always a bit more loose with which rules to follow- and the fact that he loved Mother proves that. Tahl was a huge part of my life. And I'm... I'm sorry that I-" he pauses and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes, "I... am also experiencing feelings. For someone."

Ben's eyes widen. "What?" he breathes, shaking his head, "What- Fee what're you talking about?"

"Ro," Fee whispers. "I'm- I'm growing very fond of Rocket. So I... am in no position whatsoever to tell you what to do with your emotions and choices."

Ben stares at Fee, shocked into silence. What? You mean the golden boy of the family, the do-no-evil Jedi of the lineage, is actually in love??

"Fee..."

"I know." Feemor nods a little. "I know. It's been a lot to deal with and I've hurt Ro in the process. Just- that's why I want you to know that I'm not... going to punish you for this or- or tell the Council. I won't even tell grandfather. But I do want you to do something for me."

Ben blinks. "Alright- anything."

"I want you to go after her," Fee encourages him, continuing as Ben starts to scoff in surprise, "I want you to text her or call her and- take her on a date or something. Let her know how you feel. Let yourself know how you feel and actually let yourself feel it. Don't miss out on something wonderful just because you're afraid of what I might say. The Force knows this is one of the smallest rules we could worry about. I'm sure the whole 'don't use the Dark Side' rule is far more important."

He pulls Ben into a tight, long hug, the two of them falling into a long conversation about the people they love.

And then, later that night, when Ben is finally alone in his room and has processed the depth of that bonding moment with his older brother, he texts you.

I'm packing a bag and I'm leaving in the morning to come see you. I'd like to take you on a date. Any restaurant you'd like- I want to take you there. Please.

There’s about a million things I could say in response to this message, but as I begin to type, almost nothing comes out,

What about the Order?