#and now he has four more for each of his space spouses

[mikeystrawberry]

tired doodle of post-finale/future hairstyles

[shirefantasies]

How Many Kids Do They Want? LoTR Edition

This is just a headcanon set I like to think about because I love little ones & think all of the characters would make great parents in their own way 🥰 I definitely am going to expand on this in the future but for now enjoy!

Aragorn

He wants to bring a life into the world, but only under good circumstances. When the time comes, he favors a small family he can focus on- one child is enough for him. As much attention as he can possibly give goes to his little one that way, no resentment, no competition, all of the time in Aragorn’s world to spend with those dearest. Despite the pressure to have a son, he is happy to have either a son or a daughter as long as they are happy and healthy and provided for. Aragorn’s child will grow up with an amazing guide to do what is right and care for their friends and family, not to mention learning Elvish and many skills to survive outdoors if need ever arises.

Legolas

Open-minded for sure, but I think he actually leans toward a larger family. No extreme amount, but four or five sounds good to him! Legolas is very caring, patient, and even has a playful side that all lend well to spending time with wee ones. No strong preference on sons or daughters, Legolas cares more for smiling faces and fair hearts. He pretends to be competitive with his children to motivate them, but always caves and lets them win in the end! They’ll all become amazing archers if he has anything to say about it.

Boromir

Having a big family warms Boromir's heart. He wants to be different from his father, carve out space for each and every child individually. Having a big family shows in his mind how much he loves his spouse and can provide for everyone, too. Boromir is definitely the type of dad whose children just come barreling toward the door upon his return home, rocketing into his arms as he manages to catch them all! If you ask him, Boromir's ideal family size would be four or five children. He loves the idea of having a son or sons to train up, but really doesn't want to miss out on having beautiful daughters too, so his hope is for a mix of both. Constantly encouraging his sons and praising every achievement at their passions. The girls are ladies of Gondor and nothing shall take that from them, least of all their father, who is always joining their tea parties and letting them take turns as queens knighting him and each other.

Gimli

Dwarves tend to have smaller families, whether that is by choice or happenstance. Gimli enjoys the idea of having three children, a moderate amount, and of course he really would love a son. He wants a mini-me as they say, a small reflection of himself to share all his favorite things with and teach to defend all that is important to him. Daughters are less common among his people, thus of course they are of great value and would be a blessing were he to have any as well. Gimli would constantly be hyping them up and reminding them that they are worth so much, any man in their life had better treat them so or else!

Frodo

If he were to have children, Frodo favors a smaller family. Growing up, it was just him and his uncle for as long as he remembered, and he likes the idea of being able to focus more on his child. Thus, his perfect family size if you ask is simply one or two children. In his mind there’s something about having a son, perhaps a mirror to his own youth or someone to impart his lessons into in the sense that feels most traditional to his family dynamic, but the idea of having one of each makes him so happy- Frodo’s little girl would have him wrapped around her finger!

Sam

I know I said at one point Sam only wants like three but that’s because I didn’t realize he canonically has so many forgive me. We all know Sam loves the idea of having a big family! Canonically he’s even down to have thirteen children, but of course he is fine with a smaller number too. Just definitely more than one, at least three or four. Sam has so much love to give and he adores bringing life into the world and nurturing it more than anything. Every little one is their own unique person he loves to foster and dote on. He wants some of each of course, but just loves the idea of having little girls especially!

Merry

Really wants one of each. His family will feel like a full package that way and he wants every type of experience he can have, walking a daughter down to her wedding and letting her dress him up and playing games with his son. Teaching both of them how to stand up and fight for themselves, of course! Merry is so the type who wants a mini version of both him and his spouse if he can have it. Would make so many jokes about the little clones and just melt for the child who looks like his partner. Regardless of who she looks like, his little girl has his exact smile and you'll always catch them making it at each other before the next moment of teasing and mischief!

Pippin

Wants so many kids. Five to ten, no problem. Numbers aren’t his concern so long as he can be involved with each and every one of them. Just the type who wants his family to be a small army! Definitely wants to experience having sons and daughters, but statistically he’s going to anyway at his rate! So good at getting down to their level and having the greatest time with them, but also showering them with love and calming words and learning their needs by actually listening. Just Pippin and his little army of fellow neurodivergent sweethearts all with different passions and gifts and special interests.

Faramir

Willing to concede to his partner especially if that’s who actually bears the children. Faramir adores the idea of having a family, of doing everything differently than he experienced, of pouring true love and respect into a little soul doing their best, and that is where his happiness truly lies. A part of him likes the idea of having two sons as full atonement for his and Boromir’s difficult childhood, but even one would make him happy. He is so patient at explaining things to a young mind and his optimism comes out all the more when spending time with a little one- all the world’s beauty is that much brighter!

Eomer

Big family! More than a number he dreams of a boisterous, active home where no one is ever lonely. A warm hearth and the voices of children nearly ever-present. His heart swells as he imagines having one in each hand and plenty more all around him. Eomer, for whatever reason, has the number six in his head. Of course he wants sons, sons to train as fine riders and fighters, but his sister has proved to him that that future is not lost on Rohan’s maid either. He would be so much softer, gentler with his daughter(s), still showing her things like how to shoot an arrow or how he sharpens his blades but with greater care. Gathering everyone for story time is one of Eomer’s greatest delights.

Haldir

For much of his life, Haldir did not think about children, was uncertain that was a future he would even attain. Thus, as the time approaches for consideration he realizes he simply feels blessed by the prospect and is very willing to listen to his partner about their wishes. Granted, he does not wish to live beyond his means or in a way that he could not provide for all he needs to, but in general he is open. The beauty of Lothlórien grows with every new addition, every fair member of elfkind so he is happy with boy(s) or girl(s). He would teach his daughter(s) to walk with grace and uphold their ancient strength and remind his son(s) that honor and respect must center all their actions.

Eowyn

Traditional housewife ‘duties’ were never her desire. Thus, she does not want a large family, though the idea of raising a little life with her partner makes her happy. She only wants one child, maybe two so they can play together, and her family will feel complete. Any child(ren) of hers will surely be active, so she and her spouse will have their hands full with whoever! Strength is a matter of the heart, and Eowyn will raise a strong family no matter if they are male or female. She loves the idea of having a daughter or daughters to share her stories and triumphs with, though- future Shieldmaidens of Rohan!

Arwen

She wants to be able to focus on her family, so ideally not a huge one. Carrying on her legacy and having someone to care for with her partner, a living breathing proof of their love and commitment, is the most important part. She has never been too particular about if the child is a boy or a girl, just that she wants to be there for them and a calming, loving presence in their life as much as possible. So good at holding and reassuring them it’s like magic.

Elrond

Elrond is patient, steady, and he likes to take his time both with his children and between having them. He is happy with a smaller or average-sized family, two or three children. That way he can spend his time, care, wisdom, on them all and lavish Rivendell’s resources on them in different ways. Perhaps they are interested in the rich history, the weapons of old, the art, textiles, the sheer natural beauty of the location. Whatever it may be, he will offer it to them so long as they use it well and with respect. It appeals to him to have one of each, but we all know he would have a soft spot for his daughter!

Lindir

All I can picture is twin dad Lindir. Don’t ask me why, all I know is this man elf has his hands full with a baby on each side. Exasperated but lovingly shaking his head as the two identical little elves/half-elves try to convince him they are their sibling again! Or even having one of each on one fell swoop, teaching them both their favored instrument and singing with them! Lindir doesn't mind so much whether he is to have sons, daughters, each, so long as his children have the finest things in life and know that he shall always give them what he can.

Taglist: @kilibaggins @lokilover476 @fuckyoumakeart | Reply/Message/Ask to join!

[eowynstwin]

Do you have any recommendations for longer cod fics with plot?

Yeah, plenty!

A few from @391780 (and their ao3) (if you decide to explore their other fics PLEASE read the tags first, early writes some very dark work that may not suit you):

The Arrangement

The ad reads "Looking for a woman (25-45) to enter a discreet and unusual arrangement, with monetary compensation. Must fill out application and send photo.", and for some reason that you can't even fathom yourself, you apply. AKA John Price, who knows better than anyone what a liability having a spouse or partner is, decides that the only way he's going to find a beautiful soft woman to put up with his absurd schedule and dangerous job is to simply hire them.

the space in between

a shortcut through a construction site at night leads you to a run-in with john price, leader of the local crime family. (or, mafia Price romance with a desk jockey who didn't sign up to be a crime boss' obsession or sole confidant)

Into Your Veins

Ghost is a vampire during a zombie apocalypse, sent on a mission from Price to recruit you to join the little gated community of survivors that he's rounding up. You're a survivor who just wants to be left in peace to tend your garden and occasionally clear out your moat and booby traps of the undead. Neither of you gets what you'd planned on.

Then we have milk0 on ao3

Incompetent People

You share a group chat with your team and you sometimes wish you didn’t. (or, a very fun fic that started as a group chat piece and has evolved into a poly 141 romance. Otherwise known as my favorite fucking trope ever. The reader character has such a fun voice, I adore this fic.)

Next of course is @ceilidho (emphemeron on ao3) (same deal as with early—read their tags if you explore more of their fic, they also write darker work)

take me home, country road

You have nothing on your person apart from a hastily packed suitcase and the dress you came into town wearing, on the run from trouble back home. Too bad John's missing a bride that matches your description. Or: the 1800s (mistaken) mail order bride au

Following up with @alittleposhtoad (smoggyfogbottom on ao3)

"it's gonna get me by the end of the night"

A year after the attack on the Urzikstan embassy, Stacy Davidson struggles to move on. Whumptober Prompt: No. 23: “It’s gonna get me by the end of the night.” Shadows | Stalking | “Who’s there?” Note: I picked Gaz x OC because this ship doesn't exist on ao3, and I wasn't sure how to classify it for searching purposes. Stacy has a minor role in the game!

oh bury me not on the lone prairie

You are a doctor on the frontier, recently widowed and left to fend for yourself. You cope by keeping a strict routine, one that is threatened by the arrival of four strangers one hazy summer night. (141 western AU)

a handsome stranger on a cold autumn day

You work at a small-town library doing the same thing day in and day out, until a handsome captain approaches your desk.

rounding out this list is @lunarvicar who is on hiatus but still fully worth reading. (you can find them here on ao3)

exit row

ghost is that hot guy at the airport you wish you could talk to. good thing your seats are next to each other on the plane and you can fantasize alllll you want. (or, you hook up with Ghost in an airport and meet, months later, after you join the 141. he is not happy about it. or is he?)

to the flame

Moth has barely escaped her first captors, but tumbles headfirst into the care of the 141. She has to decide whether to trust them and their prickly leader, Captain Price - who also happens to be the sexiest motherfucker she's ever met.

a stranger at the table

tudor era AU. John Price is an old friend of your new husband's, come to help on the farm for a season. Your vows are tested in ways you could never have imagined.

All of these I've listed are multichapter fics, but every single author's one-shots are just as good. I highly recommend reading those too!

Now I'm just going to list a few writers who you really should just take the time to go through their masterlists, because you can't go wrong with anything they write.

@yeyinde

@peachesofteal

@moondirti

@charliemwrites (dark fiction, be aware)

@ohbo-ohno (also dark fiction)

honorary mention of @guyfieriii who has removed most of her cod fiction from tumblr due to a frankly disgusting amount of harassment, but I'm sure if you ask her very very nicely she'll send you where you need to go. (seriously. be nice. or you'll see me in your bedroom holding a knife at midnight)

P.S. if you're reading this, and i've expressed love for your work in the past, but you are not on this list, it is NOT intentional exclusion. It is my absolutely horrible memory. I love you and please link your own work if you'd like!

[fadingdaggerr]

one hundred and seventeen

pairing: larissa weems x gn!reader

summary: from the second she left, your world stopped spinning on its axis

warnings: grief/loss, angst, more angst, a little more angst, discussion of death, mentions of suicidal thoughts (nothing explicit, a single statement), long-winded but on purpose, little bit of wenclair to breakup the noise, happy ending bc im NICE

note: this one was a bit personal but i hope you enjoy it. sorry for being ia i’m not doing to sexy funky fresh mentally :)

day 1.

broken. everywhere. glass across the floor, picture frames and cups shattered. dents in the wall from your fists, another from the door handle. you held your hand in pain in the bathroom as you tweezed glass and cleared dust from your lacerations. all you could bring yourself to do was throw a few bandaids on and wrap your bruising wrist before you melted into the bed and let tears fall for the first time since you’d heard.

day 16.

an unusually warm day in december slowly melts the snow around nevermore. puddles scattered the grounds, still and undisturbed. the water dripping from the eaves reminded you of the tears that had fallen for the first fourteen days. now, only a heavy feeling in your chest and a pain behind your eyes lingered. the last two days had been spent in the same position on her side of the bed, curled into a ball. how you don’t suffocate in your sleep is a mystery to me, sweetheart. your face stayed shoved in her pillow, your back to the mess of broken items across the floor from your blinding rage from the first day. you’d been telling yourself you’d clean it, that you’d do a lot of things, but not once did you leave the four walls of the bedroom. most your days were spent in bed, staring at her vanity until you fell asleep.

day 34.

a doubled-trash bag and a lot of sweeping later, the only remaining evidence of your rampage left was dents in various walls. pictures were put into new frames, but only the ones of her alone were hung back up. the happy person beside her in those pictures is gone, gone the second she was.

a shower. the first in two weeks, if you’re being honest. moving from your bed to even grab some water was all you could afford for first month, leaving her side of the bed was a physical challenge. the cold water was nearly unbearable, but you didn’t change it. it was nice to feel something other than pain for once.

day 56.

move-in day, her second favorite day of the year, her most favorite has been and always will be the poe cup. you watch from afar on a balcony as the students greet each other, holding each other tighter than they ever had before. you almost smile, almost. you’d always stood here together, watching everyone say their hellos and settle before making her rounds. you’d always make your way back to her office and prepare the space for some dinner and wine, talk about everything and nothing. now the balcony just felt cold. the plan to stay and watch from your safe distance is ruined when coach vlad approaches.

“i wondered if we’d see you,” is all he says, not prying.

“they appointed me interim principal. i have to be here,” you say through a heavy sigh. there’s never been a point in hiding anything from vlad, he could read you like a book.

he clears his throat, “well that’s not right. you’re a teacher, not a principal. you have classes to teach.”

a bitter laugh leaves you, “according to the board, being the spouse of the ‘late, and dearly missed, principal gives me the qualifications’ to be two people at once for a while.” you hardly felt like even one person, but you didn’t say this to him.

vlad’s hand rests on your shoulder, “well, principal, i think you should greet your students. i know there’s a few that would like to see you,” he watches you frown a bit, “only for a little while, then you can disappear. we can all help you together, we’ve got your back.”

you shake him off, “i hate when you’re right.”

walking to the courtyard, parents and students alike hide their stares, some wave, most give a sad, tightlipped smile. it wasn’t until you kept walking that a blur of blonde and stripes collided with a solid thud into your body. your arms instinctively wrap around them, knowing it’s one of your students. the fierce grip they have on you tells you all you need to know.

“hi, enid,” you whisper into her hair. she squeezes you tighter before you push her back a bit to see her. the marks on her cheek from fighting the hyde were healed, just three pink line resting across her face. she was still the same enid you met on her first ever day at nevermore, just stronger.

“hi, professor,” she says timidly.

“where’s your girl?” you ask softly, smoothing enid’s hair down from her collision into your chest.

her cheeks heat up, “she’s saying goodbye to her parents and pugsley,” she toys in her colorful nails, “and- don’t be mad please- missus addams wants to talk to you.”

you close your eyes for a moment to ground yourself, “and if i asked you to say you didn’t find me?”

she giggles, “then i didn’t find you because wow! it’s so crazy busy, and like there’s so many people i couldn’t possibly find you that easily.”

“thank you,” you caress her cheek, “now, go unpack and decorate your room. i’ll check in later, okay?” enid only nods as she jogs away to presumably find wednesday.

day 60.

a knock on the door of your personal quarters draws you from deep thought. looking at the clock on the wall, it’s 11:56 at night. you’d be mad if you’d been sleeping, or watching tv even, but you’d been staring at the same spot since 8:30, so maybe this was a sign to get off your ass. you wrap her white robe around yourself, not bothering to try and look presentable. there was already a ninety percent chance it was vlad anyways.

it was definitely not vlad when you opened the door. but instead, wednesday addams in black flannel pyjama pants and a black long sleeve. she stared at you until you moved out of the way, inviting her in.

“it’s past curfew, wednesday.”

“same could be said to you. looks like you’ve been up past several curfews.”

you sigh, “touché, miss addams. why have you graced me with your presence at nearly midnight?”

she glances down to her feet, then back to your eyes, “i wanted to say i’m sorry i failed.”

your head cocks to the side, “failed what, wednesday?”

she blinks a couple times, “it was all my idea, to fool laurel. she didn’t want to, but i made her and she died for it,” she takes a deep breath, “she was asking for you.”

you held back the choked sound that fought to escape you and closed your eyes, steadying yourself. you pictured her hands holding your face, the touch itself was enough to bring you down from any great stress. but now you only had that memory, but it would have to do for now. wednesday’s pain was more important than yours at this moment.

you take a deep breath and open your eyes, “wednesday, i’m going to put my hands on your shoulders. is that okay?” she nods, barely perceptible, but enough that you know it’s okay. your hands rest on her shoulders, willing her to keep looking at you, “none of this is your fault. you wanted to stop someone from hurting everyone, larissa wanted that too. maril- laurel’s actions were her own. you’re still a child, wednesday, brilliant and very capable, but still a child. i will never blame you, wednesday.”

her hand moves up to pat the the top of one of yours, a silent thank you. you drop your hands, and lead her out, back to ophelia hall. wednesday silently unlocked and opened her door, the sound of enid’s light snores enters the hallway. you turn away and pretend not to notice the loving smile on the addams girl’s face when she sees her girlfriend.

day 72. the spring formal was something larissa had been planning since she finished planning the rave’n. the theme, decorations, food, drinks, everything was carefully curated and tucked into a binder sitting on the shelves to the right of her desk. you knew the plans were in there, in her office, in her handwriting. you psyched yourself up for the walk in, you hadn’t been in there yet. you’d avoided this hallway the entirety of the semester thus far, but with the formal a month away, it was necessary.

her office was the same it stood that morning, just with a thin layer of dust across the surface. slowly, you step in, shutting and locking the door behind you. you rounded the desk, just staring at everything. raven still perched behind cracked glass, reading glasses folded neatly off the side next to her favorite pen. it writes so well! darling, look at this. my penmanship has never been better! to the left of her lamp, a photo of the two of you stared back. wide smiles and crinkled eyes, her lipstick on your cheek, your hand gently cradling her face. there was so much love in one picture.

bitter tears welled in your eyes. eight years wasn’t enough time. eight decades, centuries, millennia, none of it would’ve been enough. nothing would ever fill this gap left behind by her. she’d taken your heart with her and left your soul in this wasteland that you called life. but this wasn’t a life, not without her.

it wasn’t until a droplet landed on her desk that you noticed your tears. your shaking hands angrily wiped away your tears, only making your face more red in the process. you moved to find the binder, you’d spent many nights watching her work on this formal, giving your opinion when asked, dragging her to bed when you were too tired and too stubborn to sleep without her. i’m just in the other room, sweetheart. it’s cold without you, my angel. how you wished you could pull her back now, bring her to your room and never leave. just you and her, no one and nothing else.

hastily, you grab the binder and leave the office. you wipe the last of your tears before heading back to your own office. your quick steps raise the attention of a couple staff members in the hall. when they saw where you can from, their eyes darted down as they pretended to be busy with whatever was in front of them. pity the widow, everyone’s new favorite game, you thought with deep resentment.

day 93.

it’d been six years since she proposed. you don’t leave your room. vlad left breakfast, lunch, and dinner outside your door with a knock. each time he came to collect the plates, they were in the same place, untouched. he felt defeated but he wouldn’t push, not today. tomorrow he will. he’s not watching his best friend dissolve into dust in front of his eyes.

day 100.

spring formal was a welcome distraction. you’d spent days preparing decorations, gluing, taping, stapling until your hands ached. every single minute detail larissa noted, even ones she decorated with question marks in red ink. you’d become quite good at lugging the ladder around to hang the floral decorations. you’re only change was swapping jasmines for pink lace azaleas, they were her favorite. were, were, were.

this dance had a darker color theme than the last. the tables had black cloths, the only source of color were the flowers draping across every beam, table, column. the lights matched the colors of the purple wisterias and lisianthuses, blue bom dendrobiums, gently placed forget-me-nots, and larissa’s azaleas.

the students were happy, smiling and dancing and chatting. they’re happy. they’re safe. the gates are locked, entrances are being watched. nothing, not even a normie, is ruining this for them, for you. you look to vlad an hour in, he knows you’re already in need of a break. he gestures to the door, silently allowing you to disappear.

your long black coat keeps the light chill of the spring night off your skin, but allows enough in to feel something. the docks call your name, and you sit with your legs dangling over the water, laying on the dock and staring into the stars to find constellations larissa had taught you. syphilis? that’s a dreadful name for some stars. you could still hear her hearty laughter. you know damn well i said cepheus, you menace!

sometimes you wonder if she’s watching you from the stars, watching you miss her. could she see how your face had hollowed and your eyes had sunken in? you hoped she couldn’t, you hope she missed every night you lay awake staring into the darkness until the sun peaks through cracks of the drawn shades.

“i love you,” you speak into the night, letting your words rise to wherever she is. “every night i wish to fly to you, but i can’t find the strength,” you’re ashamed of your own words, but you continue, “gods, larissa. why did you have to leave me here? i don’t want to be, not without you, it’s not fair. ” your hands cover your face, willing yourself not to cry. you had to return eventually, and you didn’t need more attention than you already got.

after some time, your tears settle and all that’s left behind is the pain in your head and the lead in your heart. your sit up and stare along the water, following a leaf flow across with assistance from the wind. a boat for fairies? she had giggled. i’m sure they enjoy taking the scenic route time-to-time! you’d defended. i guess that could make sense… to a child. she was playing to win, and she did. fuck, you missed her. she haunted your every thought and memory, like your mind was trying to convince you she was right there.

you finally stand and turn back to nevermore. you hadn’t been gone too long thankfully, but you’re sure vlad would’ve let you irish goodbye this without any problem. you start to think you should, because you just feel like someone’s staring at you. but they always are, maybe it’s just your mind again.

day 109.

tonight’s inability to sleep brought you back to the docks, lantern in hand and book tucked under your arm. you had to introduce this book to the class soon and a refresher would be nice, at least that was your excuse your reading instead of trying to sleep. you sat with one leg dangling over the dock, the other tucked under you. the lantern was carefully arranged to provide as much light as possible to the pages. opening the book, you skip the preamble and head straight to chapter one, reading aloud to yourself.

by chapter four, your eyes were beginning to grow tired. in the middle of chapter seven, the hair on the back of your neck stood on end. your eyes scanned the lake, pine trees, water lilies, not out of the ordinary. the persistent feeling of being watched only grew more intent, closer even. you picked a leaf off the ground and placed it as your bookmark, grabbed the lantern, and rode to your feet.

even with the ‘don’t be a horror movie first girl and look around’ feeling ringing through your mind, you felt as though you had to. you mindlessly trailed around the lake, finding no signs of anyone else, not even an animal. i’m finally going mad, you thought to yourself. with a heavy sigh, you walk back towards nevermore with your eyes on the ground.

halfway back to the dock, your eyes catch a glimpse of indents in the soil. two rounded triangle with a dot a few inches below each. you stared for a bit, eyes squinting and turning your head for new angles. as you put your own foot next to it, it dawned on you. high heel marks, facing the dock you’d been sitting at.

day 110.

tonight you went to the docks earlier, only a lantern this time around. you’re determined now, no matter how crazy you think you’re going. you find where the heel prints had been last night. nothing was there now.

how this was your final straw, you don’t know. a guttural scream leaves your throat, echoing across the black water. “you said you wouldn’t! leave me! you said forever at that altar, you lied to me,” your words come out hoarse, thick with tears. taking deep breaths, your fingers unconsciously played with your wedding band. “i’ll forgive you for leaving if you just come back,” your tears fell to the ground where the footsteps once were.

for the next hour, you sat against the tree behind you, staring into the lake and following its ripples. the feeling of being watched returned, your ears were warming from the attention. this time, you confronted the feeling.

“i know you’re there,” you spoke loudly, “i don’t like this game anymore. show yourself,” your tone was nearly a growl from the anger and sadness boiling within your heart.

nothing.

day 117.

six hours and thirteen essays later, the school day was done. as you stretched your arms about your head, you caught a glimpse of red ink dyed your finger tips. packing your bag, fast clicking in the hall caught your attention.

your door swung open and the cause of the clicking was revealed. the front desk assistant, clea, was heaving in her place. you quickly ran to her, hands gently on her shoulders.

“clea… clea! breathe, deep breaths. what’s wrong?” you hoped the stroking of your thumb on her shoulder would help her focus her breathing.

“the office door was open… i was checking to see if you’d gone in,” her voice shakes, “most definitely not you.”

your eyes are hard, “clea. if you are not straightforward with me within five seconds, i won’t fire you, but i’ll think of something.”

her eyes widen with fear, “she’s in the office.”

and you’re running. you’re pushing yourself off the walls to turn, not risking slowing down for even a second. the north hall was just within reach. the administrative hall, her office, seconds away. you slammed into the wall near the door, scrambling for the handle. a deep breath in, and you open the door.

staring out the window in all white, she was right there. silvery dress and overcoat. her hair down, she was facing away but it was still her. you’d know she was there if your eyes were closed.

“mon ange?”

when she turns, her eyes find yours. big, blue crystal eyes staring back, tears flowing over her lashes and down her cheeks. you both slowly step toward each other, your hands finding her face, smoothing over her jaw and cheekbones. she was here, in tact. larissa evangeline weems, your wife, the one you’ve mourned for 117 days, is alive. rage. red rage.

“what sort of sick, twisted joke do you think your playing?” you push her away from you, “you’ve been here the whole time, haven’t you? watching me? you’ve seen everything and didn’t come back? let me think you’re dead?” you’re screaming at this point, something larissa never saw from you in eight years.

her hands reached out, you wearily allowed her hands to hold your face, “i- baby… i couldn’t move for so long, i was shifting beyond my control for weeks. by the time i could move again, so much time had passed.”

your hands wrapped around her wrists, “so much time you thought i’d not want to see you? that i wasn’t waiting for you for all three months, three weeks, and five days? i’ve watched that door every day, every single night i’ve sat there waiting,” you hands move to her face, “waiting for you.”

she’d never been more beautiful then she was in this moment. right here, with you. her hands grip your cheeks, pulling you into her kiss. one hundred and seventeen days you’d waited for her, waited for her lips and hands on you. you pushed her back until the back of her thighs hit the desk, biting her lip in the process, making her gasp lightly.

pulling away from her lips, you keep your eyes shut as you speak to her, “if you ever put me through that again, i will kill you for real. then bring you back to kill you again,” you nose nudges against her cheek, “understood?”

her lips press to the skin under your eye, “i understand,” she says with a chuckle, “i won’t put up a fight.”

you allow your eyes to open slowly as your fingers trace her face. she’s real, she’s alive. she smells the same, tastes the same, touches and feels the same. she’s your wife, your larissa. fingers trace down from her face, down her neck, shoulders then down her arms, grabbing her hands.

“can we go home?” her voice is so soft, the way it had been the first time she kissed you.

“i’d like nothing more. we can talk more in the morning,” you kissed her knuckles.

this had a very different ending originally but i decided to be nice. this time :D

tags: @gwendolinechristieiscute

[laylainalaska]

I watched Foundation S1-2 this week and really enjoyed it, for certain values of enjoyed, copying over my write-up from DW, now with corrected character names since I've looked them up rather than spelling them from vague osmosis from the show.

(Blacklist the Foundation tag if you don't want to be spoiled from gifs, as I plan to promptly go seek out the least hinged gifs from this entirely unhinged show and bombard everyone with them.)

This show is a bonkers SF soap opera with gorgeous production values, Lee Pace hamming it up in crop tops, and a series of increasingly off the rails holographic versions of a dead chessmaster mathematician deploying his 9999-step plan to save the galaxy. I've literally seen nothing about this at all in my social circles, to the extent that I didn't even really know about it until the spouse started watching it. I was kind of halfway glancing at the screen now and then, if I happened to be in the room, for the first half of season one (and have only the vaguest idea what happened in the first few episodes, based on later events), then got invested and eventually completely hooked in season two, which also picks up after a 100-year timeskip so the cast has changed a lot anyway. Although between stasis pods, cloning, and holograms, it's mostly the same actors. (We have a running joke that by season 3 the cast will be at least 50% Cleons and Hari Seldons by volume.)

Anyway, so it is good? Hard to say! It's sort of like if Expanse and Game of Thrones had a (somewhat more optimistic) baby, in which the budgets are huge, the planets are beautiful, the spaceships are shiny, and lots of Big Feelings happen. The Evil Empire is run by an endless series of clone emperors played by Lee Pace in Romanesque armor and capes with massive amounts of scenery-chewing and an immortal robot bodyguard he occasionally has sex with. They have All The Clones in storage, so if he gets killed, they'll just transfer his memories and activate another one! Meanwhile the rebellion is being orchestrated as a 4000-step multi-century Xanatos gambit by a guy who started by having himself killed and activating a digital copy. Interestingly though, there is so much going on, and it's taking so much time for his plan to come to fruition, that it never really feels like the two of them directly pitted against each other (at least not that much), it's more like all of the stuff that happens along the way, the planets and the pretty spaceships and the people we meet who struggle and fight and save each other along the way.

I have to say that while I'm occasionally reminded by certain plot points and tropes that this is a series based on books from the 1970s, they did a good enough job with racebending, presumable genderbending, and so forth that it rarely feels like it. (Also, though I only know the books from general osmosis, I'm fairly confident the plot has gone way off-book anyway.) In season two there are no less than four young female characters of color in major plot-defining roles, there's a central gay couple whose loyalty to each other in the face of the Empire is a major plot point, and in general it's just a pretty, pretty show full of pretty people and pretty planets (and occasionally some really dazzling space-operatic SF stuff). It is definitely the most OTT and operatic thing I've watched since probably the MCU, and I'm really enjoying it.

Under the cut, out-of-order and largely out-of-context comments on various things I had a reaction to (mostly season 2 since that's where I got invested).

This show is an emotional roller coaster of the highest order. How many different instances of presumed dead and identity-switching can we pack into a single episode?

CONSTANT MY BELOVED. Season 2 in general gives great female characters, I already loved Salvo (;__;) and I also really enjoyed the ladies from the Cloud Dominion, but Constant!! She's just so funny and fun and so absolutely deadpan about everything from conning randos on some backwater alien planet to kidnapping a guy. I was so glad she lived through all of the half-dozen times she almost certainly should have died.

I was surprisingly upset about formerly-trapped-in-the-Radiant half-crazy Hari's death, "surprisingly" because, well, Hari being Hari, and also, it wasn't like this leaves us entirely without Hari Seldons, there's still Creepy Monolith Hari and who knows how many other copies out there. But that one had been through enough with Gaal and Salvor that he really felt like a different person. He's still a manipulative sack of dicks but I liked him! I was sad, but at least hoping he was backed up somewhere! And then two episodes later the most excellent reveal that he and Gaal faked the whole thing! I thoroughly loved all of that. Gaal hugging him! <333

"Don't trust the planet of the creepy utopian space psychics!" Orion and I were chanting at the screen, while they proceeded to not listen to us and it was, predictably, a bad idea. Seriously, when in all of sci-fi was trusting the creepy psychic utopia a good idea?

I had guessed/hoped that the guy with the whispership (can't remember his name) was going to warp into the plaza and save Constant from execution, but I really wasn't sure, and even with an inkling it was going to happen, that was an AMAZING entrance, A+++, no notes. Especially after Constant gave her speech and everything seemed to be setting her up to be a martyr to the Foundation, I was less and less hopeful she was going to get out of it alive somehow. Excellent rescue, very pleased.

I really enjoyed the entire subplot with the Evil Empire Honorable Space Admiral (can't remember anyone's names here either) and the scene in which he justifies his continued loyalty to the Empire is really a good scene. I mean, it's awful. But you can see his reasoning. He can't overthrow the Empire, if he refuses orders it won't change anything, he and everyone he loves will die, and someone else will be put in his place and follow the orders anyway. But then the whole thing with Constant's rescue points out that it may not be possible to change the entire Evil Empire, but you can make a lot of difference for just one person.

But I still wanted him to make better or at least different choices on the blowing up the planet sequence! I guess it all worked out according to Hari's 9999-step plan (my death is only the beginning! the death of my planet is only the beginning!) but that hurted.

Between Honorable Space Admiral and his fighter pilot husband, I was absolutely *not* expecting the husband to be the one of the two of them that survived. However, Honorable Space Admiral and whispership guy got a dynamite final episode (the fistfight with Cleon! never has a man deserved so much punching! the airlock switch!) and they both got to go out in an excellent death scene.

The entire thing with Terminus getting blown up! And then Deus Ex Monolith! And Constant's dads and Space Admiral's Space Husband are alive after the whole exploding planet fell on them! (I was SO happy Constant's family got reunited, I was so afraid she and Space Dads were going to go down each thinking the other one had died.) I think this episode gave me emotional whiplash.

SALVOR NO. WHAT WAS THAT EVEN. She just randomly died at the end there?? Come onnnnn. We already got like 12 death fake-outs in the last couple of episodes! Why'd that one have to be real?!

If time passes differently in the monolith, does that mean the entire rescued Terminus population are still going to be around after the second 150-year timeskip? I have questions!

Speaking of time passing differently in the monolith, best dialogue: Whispership guy: Whoa, it's dark. How long was I in there, anyway? Constant: Three years. Paulie: More like three hours. Constant: We agreed we weren't going to tell him! I love them. <3333

That sure was A Lot with the Cleons. And now I guess there's an entire Cleon/Cloud Dominion dynasty out there somewhere just waiting to cause trouble.

So yeah, I'm really enjoying my bombastic sci-fi soap opera! Season 3 when pls.

[bayonettalvr]

I have a headcanon that every year for mother's day now that the teens are married they sneak their signatures onto the card Taylor makes for his mom. Taylor is not pleased.

Here's a little blurb I was going to post on AO3 but I have to figure out how to embed images first lol. I'll update with a link after but here we go:

--

When Link, Normal, Scary, Taylor and Hermie got married, not only did they each gain four spouses each, but a boat load of in-laws.

While none of the Swallow-Oaks-Garcia-Swift-Marlowe-Li-Wilson-the-Unworthies were quite sure how legal a space marriage officiated by a demon from hell was, it hadn’t come back to bite them (yet anyways).

As Link once put it, there were no rules in this marriage, and it mostly just became a joke among the five teens referring to each other with pet names such as “my husband” or “my darling wife” or “honey” to get under each other’s skin when the situation warranted it.

This also extended to calling each other's respective parents / siblings "mom", "dad" or "sis".

But far and above, everyone's (except Taylor’s) favourite annual tradition, was Mother’s Day.

Normal had once jokingly called Cassandra “mom” and Taylor lost his shit, shrieking “NO” like a banshee. Of course, this meant more than anything that Link, Normal, Scary and Hermie were legally and morally obligated to refer to Cassandra as mom as much as possible.

Every time there was a sleepover at the Swift household, Cassandra was suddenly barraged by “hi mom!” or “how’s it going mom?”

Taylor despised it and loudly complained every time.

But the pièce de résistance was Mother’s Day.

Every year Taylor made a Mother’s Day card for his mom and somehow every year without fail, Normal, Hermie, Scary and Link would sneak their signatures onto the card.

The first time it happened, Cassandra was really confused by the four extra signatures on her Mother’s Day card. Taylor was outraged, but the same thing happened the following year despite his best efforts.

Cassandra got over her confusion quickly and actually looked forward to her annual Mother’s Day card from her “five kiddos”.

After all, she just figured Taylor had finally succeeded in building one of those “harems” he always talked about.

---

Some notes/ headcanons on the card:

1) I guess BNHA comes back in the future?

2) in my head Taylor 100% tries to get his handwriting to emulate the font they use in every manga. He also hand draws the card every year because that's how much he loves his ma.

3) Normal's signature is always a toss up between bubble letters and power puff girl font.

4) Lincoln, being home schooled, got so used to tracing those writing practice sheets with the dotted letters for practice that he just writes like that now. In fact, the Li-Wilsons all have identical writing because Grant and Marco would also do the practice sheets with Link (so he wasn't lonely) and now all their writing looks like that.

5) Scary practiced her signature. She was aiming for a style of letter that was scary but not too scary.

6) Hermie, as an aspiring thespian has the nicest signature. He's been practicing for the day that someone asks for his autograph.

[casspurrjoybell-17]

HEART'S PRICE - CHAPTER 48

*Warning: Adult Content*   

By the afternoon, Noah Hunter has pretty much recovered. 

He might not heal as fast at some Wolves and maybe he’s a bit more susceptible to things like the common cold than most but he’s still a Wolf at the end of the day. 

Speaking of days, Noah has learnt he’s been out of it for most of the last two and that now only two remain until the full moon. 

In the meantime, he can't stop thinking about Ambrose Thorne and about what exactly had triggered his abrupt reversal. 

In the space of twenty-four hours, Ambrose had gone from charming Noah out of his clothes to throwing him out of his life and Noah wants to understand why. 

He wants to know if this is really what Ambrose wants or if whatever he discovered drove him to do the only thing he could to keep him safe. 

Noah’s just worried that by the time he figures it out, if he ever does, it might be too late either way. 

When Noah raises the topic of keeping a watch on Ambrose's house, though, his brother, Alpha Dane Hunter surprises him.

"We have been. Freya and I are taking it in turns. There's been no sign of... well, anything," he says. "No one's come in or out, and most of the lights stay off at night. It's almost like there's no one home."

They're standing outside, watching Julian and Freya throw Dougal's ball as far out into the meadow as they can, making him hunt for it through the tall grass. 

The weather has turned, the clouds clearing off and the afternoon sun is golden and warm and feels good on Noah’s back through the borrowed sweater he’s wearing. 

 "Almost?" Noah asks and Dane shifts his weight, leaning against one of the posts supporting the porch's overhanging roof.

"We've seen lights in what I take it are the bedrooms," he says. "It seems like everyone's holed up in their own, probably only coming out at predetermined times for meals and so on."

"I guess that makes sense," Noah reflects.

Dane just shrugs. 

"It's the best they can do, in the circumstances. The thief and/or murderer has been able to infiltrate even the most secure spaces without detection. Of course, if I were them, I'd put the final gift-relic somewhere beyond reach, at least until after the full moon, a bank vault or something but I'm guessing Aileen isn't willing to part with it."

"I'm not sure she can," Noah says. "I mean, once they all realized what was happening, that would've been the thing to do, right? Lock the relics away somewhere more secure. None of them have done that, though. I think that's probably what the thief has been counting on. If she or he, knows where the owner is, she knows where the relic is, too."

"It's the warnings I don't get," Dane says. "Why alert the victims to exactly when and where each relic would be stolen? It's done no good but why give them the chance to prevent it from happening at all?"

"Maybe that's the point," Noah considers. "Maybe the thief is giving the Oakfields and Thornes one last chance to... to give up what's most important to them in order to protect it."

Dane regards his brother, a slight frown pulling at his mouth. 

"If that is what Ambrose is doing, then he's the only one out of them all who's managed to pass that test. I think you ought to respect that."

"What do you mean?" Noah asks, returning Dane’s frown with his own.

"I mean it's clear that, for whatever reason, he wants you nowhere near that house. I don't either. Freya and I will keep watch but I want you here, where it's safe."

"Dane, I..."

"This is still my case," he interrupts, "And it's not over."

"You were hired to protect a painting," Noah remind him, "And the guy who hired you is dead."

"Yeah, well. If I were in this for the money, I'd be following cheating spouses around with a telephoto lens. I finish what I start."

Noah looks at him, noting the stubborn set of his jaw and the slight hunch in his shoulders, which tell him Dane's ready to dig in for the fight if he doesn't let it drop.

"Fine. I'll stay here."

Dane relaxes, his expression softening.

"Good."

Noah looks away, squinting against the sharp angle of the sun. After a moment, Dane adds... 

"You know it's not that I don't trust you, right? Because I do. I know I haven't done a great job of showing it so far but I trust you with my life and my heart, Noah. If you hadn't been here to help Julian when you did... Well, I owe you, especially given how I treated you for it. I wanna say again how sorry I am for that and I'll understand if you don't but if you decide to stay, once this is all over, I mean, I'd be honored to have you in my Pack."

Noah can only nod, not trusting himself to speak and Dane leaves it at that, giving his little brother’s shoulder a gentle pat before heading back inside. 

A minute or so later, Freya gives Dougal's slobbery tennis ball a final toss and then she and Julian return to the house as well, a sufficiently exhausted Dougal in tow. 

Later, they enjoy a light supper of some fresh-caught fish sent over by Julian's bear-shifter ex, Ian Foley, which Dane eyes with suspicion, probably wondering if bear-shifters substitute flowers for fish when making overtures of affection. 

He needn't worry, given that the bear has an incubus, named Sam Asato, permanently attached and Julian's eyes haven't strayed from Dane since the moment he met him  but it's his nature to be possessive of his mate. 

Noah forces myself to eat and talk and smile, to reassure the others that he’s okay but it feels like he’s playing a part or like he’s controlling his body from afar, a disaffected puppeteer pulling strings, making his marionette dance while he sits behind a curtain, slowly drowning his sorrows in the dark. 

Finally, the meal comes to an end, and Dane and Freya prepare to depart, Dane as a wolf and Freya in human form, to surveillance Ambrose's house overnight. 

Once they're gone, Julian introduces Noah to a funny show about vampires he's been binging, starting over at the beginning for his sake but after a few episodes, Noah makes his excuses and retreats to the relative solitude of the lumpy futon on the floor of Julian and Dane's office room. 

As he stares down at the makeshift bed, Noah wonders again how he came to this. 

Barely two months ago, his life had seemed so stable, so promising. 

Maybe not exciting, maybe not entirely fulfilling but safe and... close enough to happy that he hadn't noticed or minded the missing parts. 

Noah had a clear path, goals and a future to aim for, a home and someone to share it with. 

Now he had a few square feet of borrowed space, an old car, a box of clothes, a dog and a broken heart, now broken anew. 

He’s not even sure it's worth picking up the pieces this time. 

Noah forces himself to shower and brush his teeth and he’s just about to lie down and try to read on his cell-phone when a notification pops up, an email, sent to the address Noah only uses for personal stuff. 

The subject heading is blank but the address is familiar enough. It's from Thomas Flynn. 

Knowing it's a bad idea but curious anyway, Noah opens the email app and stares at the new message for a few minutes, contemplating whether or not to open it.

"Oh, fuck," he sighs. It's not like he has anything else to do.

He taps the message and it opens to reveal a very brief note.

See the attached image. I have more.

Scanning the layout of the email, Noah spots the attached document and taps it.  

His crappy phone barely has enough storage to download it but eventually it manages the job. 

He stares at the screen for a long time, not quite comprehending. 

Eventually, he focuses enough to put words to thought and derive some sort of meaning from what he sees. 

It's a grainy, low-light photo, taken on a deserted street at night. 

An orange-toned streetlamp illuminates two figures, one in a long tartan robe, the other completely nude. 

The naked one seems just to have emerged from the brush at the side of the road and walks toward the other, who greets him with open arms. 

It's Noah and Ambrose, the night Brutus died, when he'd returned from tracking the scent of the thief to the lake. 

The timing, angle and direction of the shot tells Noah a number of things.

 First, Thomas has been watching him for a while now, day and night. Second, Noah is almost certainly, he is the driver of the car that tried to run him down. 

Third, Thomas was there the night Brutus died, taking photos of Ambrose's house and of the street. 

Finally, he might have seen something more, something important. 

Thomas might have seen the killer, the thief or both and he might have proof. 

Quickly, Noah types out a reply, keeping it simple and open-ended to start.

What do you want?

A moment later Noah’s cell-phone rings.

 He waits until it's almost gone to voicemail and then answers it.

"Thomas."

"Hello, Noah."

Noah waits.

"You got my message, then?" Thomas asks.

"Obviously."

"Right."

Thomas sounds pleased with himself, the professor holding the class in suspense.

"Oh yes. Lots." Thomas laughs softly. "Not just of you, either. Your brother. Your... sister. You're a bunch of freaks, aren't you? You and all those dogs you keep. What is it, some kind of bestiality cult?"

Noah breathes a sigh of relief. Thomas hadn't seen anyone Shift, then, just a few naked weirdos and some wolves. 

"The night you took that picture, the one you sent me, you got more?"

"Of course. Must've been some strange party you had."

"What do you mean?" Noah asks, trying to sound frightened and horrified and not interested and hopeful.

Noah hears a shuffling sound as Thomas shifts the phone from one side to the other and Noah wonders where he is right now, if he's outside Ambrose's house or if he might even be watching Julian's somehow.

"Listen," he says, with the cool confidence of a man who knows he has the upper hand, "Meet me. I want to deal. You care about your family, right? You wouldn't want those pictures getting out, for example, would you?"

"No," Noah breathes and that's true enough.

"No," Thomas agrees and then laughs as if amused at his own joke. "You know, I was ready to play the long con with you, Noah, the whole 'illness and sympathy' schtick. Then your brother had to go sticking his nose in my past like some mongrel cur rooting through trash. Fortunately, I have my own 'eyes' looking out for me and they alerted me that the game was up. So, what will it be? Shall we meet and discuss terms or should I just post these photos in the relevant feeds?"

"Where? When?" Noah asks.

"How about... tonight. You know the old railroad bridge, where it crosses the river at the pass?"

"Yes." 

It was a scenic spot on the west side of town, where the Crystal River cut through some steep granite ridges on its way down from the peaks.

"I'm staying at the lodge nearby. Let's meet at the overlook on the south side. An hour."

Noah swallows. It's a stupid, reckless and textbook dumb thing to do, meeting the blackmailer alone, at night, somewhere remote and far from help. 

Still, it might be Noah’s one, last chance to do something useful, to pick up some kind of clue, maybe even one that will help solve the case or help him save Ambrose from himself. 

And Thomas doesn't know everything. 

He doesn't know Noah has his own reasons for wanting those photos and as much as he likes to think he does, he doesn't know Noah at all. 

He doesn't know that the animal he's backed into a corner is a Wolf with nothing to lose.

"Fine," Noah says. "I'll see you there."

Noah hangs up before he can say anything else, dresses in his discarded clothes, grabs his wallet and keys and slips silently out the back door.

[huicitawrites]

Re:incarnate

“Reincarnate”

Yandere! Sukuna x Curse! Reader

(fanart not mine, artist not found)

Word count: 1,377K

Warning: gore, mentions of death, yandere themes

AS HE IS THE KING OF CURSES, it would be expected of Ryomen Sukuna to hate. That, being crafted from the scourge of men’s heart; of envy, of wrath, of sadness, of vast egos- such a creature would ‘hate’ in his innate nature.

Yet, the king of curses never lowered himself to such pathetic, trashy emotions. It was a waste of time, curses or humans alike, Sukuna relished in their pain. He never hated, because hatred would not allow him space for enjoying the shrieks of his victims and the taste of the mixture of blood and tears. Sukuna felt joy under the suffering of others, by his hands of course.

The way his victims begged for their lives, how they squealed like lowly pigs, the way tears spurted from their eyes, the dawn of horror over their face as soon as realization fell over their tiny, squishy heads.

Yes, Sukuna felt joy over the death by his hands.

However, if Sukuna felt Joy, then he could very well experience Grief, and if he could grief, then the King of Curses could love- and then, he would hate.

This predicament fell over him when he met the one he’d title the Curse of Solitude, [Y/N]

[Y/N] was born from pain entirely, and the worst kind there is- heartache; abandoned children and spouses, betrayed friends and lovers, castaways and friendless people. Hence, [Y/N] was lonely from the start- though Sukuna found them.

The King of Curses found the curse as a newborn, lost within the woods. In spite of the rejection their tears brought him, Sukuna experienced something which he had never before.

Sukuna’s four eyes had softened its gaze at them, and the first thing that came to mind was to comfort them. On the days to come forward, Sukuna would nurture the Curse of Solitude. He would provide the tear-stained curse a home within his shrine, curses at their liege, villagers to pray on, and last but most importantly- company by his side.

Eventually, and as curses grew fast, the King of Curses and the Curse of Solitude became great friends and partners in crime. Together, they would bring forth suffering, misery and death upon countless villages.

They grew strong together, over years and years he got to see how they developed. Though [Y/N] was tied down to sadness, they’d wear a casual, warm smile on their lips and a soft look on their eyes. Their voice was pleasant and sweet in his ears, relaxing in his mind- ridding him of his existence as a curse and the blood on his hands. Soon, Sukuna found himself satisfied and content with the delicate [Y/N].

In spite of his feelings, [Y/N] did not reciprocate- at least, not as he would wish.

Because the Curse of Solitude yearned for their innate loneliness to banish. For hours, they found themselves observing fondly the way human children ran around with sticks, the way humans would eat and laugh together, or hold such intimacy between them.

Such was not possible with the King of Curses- not even after the afternoons they spent together, or the skies they gazed at, no. [Y/N] was not born human, and they despised themselves for it- for how children would crumble at their touch, how adults would turn away in despair only to be consumed by their shadow.

Then, [Y/N] would cry and thrash and hate their predicament. Truly, a pitiful existence which Sukuna would treasure and cling desperately to- if only they would focus on him, think solely of him, yearn for him as much as they did for those pesky, disgusting humans.

Ah, yes, Sukuna began to hate.

The King of Curses’ dark heart, but not empty, would putrefy in envy against the humans which stole his beloved’s sight and it would as well putrefy on the drunk lust he held.

His, his, his, ONLY HIS.

And thou still, his feelings are not returned but in fact, stolen along the clan he’d curse for all eternity to come, Zenin vermin.

Such ultimate, lowly, scum of the head of the top three clans which barely attempted to pose a threat to him - and to his partner.

[Y/N] could not see this, no, they were blind. Blind to his love and to the deceit of the dark-haired man’s lies.

The Curse of Solitude snuck each night, when their shadow could not stand out, to observe the peculiar man which had caught their eye. His eyes, the cursed user had felt, held the peace and warmth they craved.

After many nights, they had put up the courage to talk to him. In the midst of the shock upon the sorcerer’s friendliness, perhaps because they had at last mastered the art of disguise, the Curse of Solitude found themselves relieved.

On forth of the nights to come, the lonely curse would sneak from the King’s shrine and embrace to seek the doomed and forbidden love- Megumi Zenin.

The pair would only meet at night and celebrate under the pale white of the moon, and with hopes for the future, they would relish in their company.

That is until the King of Curses would find out at a night’s noticed absence, and in fury he would watch the way the Curse of Solitude had found warmth in the company of the stupid, imbecile scroundel Zenin.

Thus, he came to hate and destroy the village under the custody of the Zenin. In ecstacy, he relished on the screams of children, men and women as he massacred each one by one.

A few survived, Sukuna scolded himself as he picked up his widened-eyes and tear-drowned fiance.

Peace was short lived when stepping at the stairs of his shrine came the three angered clans, annoyed Sukuna had to move his fiancee from the custody of his lap and strong, four caging arms.

“Don’t move, I will return once the garbage is dealt with” with a fast peck [Y/N] wished to rid off, the Curse of Solitude watched helplessly as the four-eyed beast lunged forward into battle- or to cause yet another massacre.

As the dreading seconds went off by the sounds of pierced flesh and blood-curdling screams, [Y/N] awaited impatiently, that is until they sensed the presence of their beloved. At the speed of wind itself, the curse ran down the path to their beloved, across the battlefield and onto their arms.

Without wasting any more seconds, [Y/N] quickly brought their thumbs up his cheeks and wiped away their tears.

“I love you, Megumi” the curse confessed and thus, both kissed in desperate reunion- which lasted mere seconds as a cursed weapon was driven onto the curse’s back- and into his lover's chest.

Ah, yes, Sukuna despised.

A roar, a cry of pain so audible and chilling, echoed through the battlefield and blood was spilled mercilessly. Bones creaked, muscles were shredded and throats were torned.

Carefully, he encased the vanishing curse onto his arms and cradled them close as the King wept and screamed. The void in his heart growing rapid and aching strongly as ever.

He could, though, bring them back with his reversed technique but before he could lift a single one of his twenty-clawed fingers, he was sealed in despair.

For centuries, the harboring hate, despair and yearning grew within his cage soul.

A clumsy, salmon-haired boy found him and oh lucky Sukuna was to found a proper vessel, and even luckier he was.

Destiny had blessed him, for he had found them once again- this time void of cursed energy and with the soft features of a human yet familiar ones.

The boy had befriended the reincarnated scum of the -now- Fushigoro, but at last, Sukuna had found what was rightfully his-

“[Y/N]”, without warning Yuuji’s hands grew sharp nails and his voice turned volumes deeper- like a guttural growl. “I found you at last,” the tall unknown yet familiar figure said, as his strong arms wrapped so perfectly and nicely as would a cage they had been accustomed to would fit, “I will not let you go, never again”

He spat, his eyes opening sharp and glaring with spite at the dark-haired man standing behind her.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------A/N: It has been a long time since I've published something. Hope you like it.

[jlalafics]

"Photograph"-a Royal!Everlark story

This was inspired by this prompt from @writing-prompt-s:

When you were seven, you held a fake wedding by the swings with a kid you met at the park. You never saw your childhood “spouse” again after that day. Today you received a letter summoning you to a foreign country… where your wedding to the heir to the throne twenty years ago is seen as valid.

This is totally unedited. Thank you to @sparklingdust4612 for bringing this prompt to my attention. Looking forward to everyone else's interpretations along with this one and the story by @jhsgf82!

I actually have more of this but I thought I'd show y'all a little bit of my interpretation of the above prompt.

****

We keep this love in a photograph

We made these memories for ourselves

Where our eyes are never closing

Hearts are never broken

And time's forever frozen, still…

-Ed Sheeran

Photograph

Katniss Everdeen loved building castles.

In the massive sandbox, she packed another bunch of sand into her bucket before placing it upside down to set. While waiting, Katniss imagined how she would decorate the inside of her palace, a delighted smile growing on her face as she thought of the possibilities.

First, the walls would all be yellow. Not the ugly yellow that looked like snot—but yellow like Prim’s, her baby sister, golden locks.

Yellow meant hope: that’s what Daddy always said.

Knocking on the sides of the bucket to loosen the sand like Mommy showed her, Katniss slowly lifted it revealing a perfect tower for her castle.

“Yes!” she hollered, jumping up in excitement.

Her eyes went to Mommy who was sitting on the bench across the way. She was talking to a pretty, yellow-haired woman with a big tummy. Prim was asleep in her stroller, her binky hanging from her mouth.

“Mommy!” Katniss rushed over, stopping just a scant from toppling over on the concrete. “Look! I’ve made the perfect tower!”

Her mother smiled proudly.

“That’s wonderful, Katniss.” She turned to the woman next to her. “My Katniss is always building and dreaming on how to make her perfect home. Her teachers tell me that she has such a creative mind for a seven-year-old.”

“How absolutely charming,” the woman responded kindly, a smile on her pink lips.

Katniss tilted her head at the sound of her voice. There was something different about the way the lady talked—the dips of it sounded strange—but still nice.

“Why do you sound like that?” she asked bluntly.

Her Mommy frowned. “Katniss Everdeen! Please apologize!” She looked to the woman once more. “I’m so sorry—”

“That’s perfectly alright,” the lady assured her. The pretty woman turned to Katniss. “I have a little bit of an accent because of where I’m from, that’s why my voice sounds different.”

Katniss nodded. “Okay, but it does sound nice…like a song!” She smiled. “What’s your name?”

The woman glowed like an angel. “My name is Marguerite.”

“Hello Miss Marguerite.” Katniss looked to where her sandcastle waited. “I better go before someone takes my stuff! Bye!”

Throwing a wave at the woman, she plopped back down onto her space in the sandbox ready to add some detailing to her newest tower—

The foot crushing her tower landed straight in the middle of it creating a space between each side.

Katniss fumed and her eyes went up to the blond-haired boy with the snooty face.

She stood, her hand slamming into his chest. “Hey! You destroyed my castle!”

The boy stared at her in shock. “No one ever touches me!”

“Until now—”

Katniss was suddenly blocked by another boy, tall and dark-skinned.

“No one touches his royal highness,” he declared, and the blond boy stuck his tongue at her.

Another boy, this one dark-haired and sharp-eyed, approached.

“Prince Peeta has decided that you will be his bride,” he stated with a scowl.

Katniss made a face, crossing her arms to show them how disgusting that sounded. “Gross.”

The so-called Prince Peeta walked over to her.

“As my bride, you can make as many sandcastles as you want,” he explained. “I’ll build a bigger sandbox than this for you!”

Something inside zinged at the thought. “Really?”

The boy shrugged. “Sure. Why not?”

Katniss eyed him suspiciously. “Why would you want to marry me anyway?”

Peeta shifted in his stance, the confidence in his blue eyes suddenly wavering. “I like your eyes.”

“My eyes?”

A rise of pink colored his cheeks. “They’re soft…and pretty.”

That had been it for her.

On that warm afternoon, by the swings of District 12’s only playground, Katniss Everdeen married the so-called Prince Peeta.

“You may now kiss the bride,” Gale, the dark-haired boy, said. He looked at Peeta, a teasing smile on his face. “Go on—kiss her!”

“Close your eyes,” Peeta told her.

Katniss, wearing her paper towel veil courtesy of the park’s public bathroom, did what he said and closed her eyes.

SPLAT!

She barely registered being shoved down into the muddy puddle.

Katniss looked up at the sneering boy, feeling the rise of anger in her body.

“That’s what you get for pushing me.”

++++++

Twenty years later…

“Katniss.” She looked up from laptop to find Prim at her open doorway. Her sister held out a Fed-Ex envelope. “This just came for you.”

Without even glancing at it, Katniss tossed the envelope on her bed, going back to the open page on her screen.

“Don’t you want to open it?” Prim stepped into the room and plopped onto the bed, picking the post up to examine it. “It looks important.”

“Probably one of those things saying that I’m eligible for another credit card.” Katniss frowned, sitting back, and staring at the blinking cursor. “I’m so stuck on this blog post!”

“Is this the one about kitchen flowers?” her sister asked, and she nodded. “You got some great pictures from Madge’s shop.”

“I know but my writing inspiration is zilch,” Katniss explained. “I need to get this done if I want to post by Mother’s Day.”

“Speaking of Mother’s Day, mom is wondering if you’re bringing anyone to Sunday dinner,” Prim informed her.

“I love our mother but lately every conversation we’ve had is either about my lack of a dating life or my withering eggs,” Katniss said. “Right now, I need to focus on getting more attention on the blog. It’s just gaining momentum!” She rested back and turned to her sister. “This is important to me.”

“I know,” Prim replied. “And you are good at it. I mean, look at what you’ve done to our apartment! To this room!”

Her sister’s bright blue eyes looked around the buttercream room, beautifully decorated with white-washed furniture. The console that her television sat atop was bought at a nearby thrift shop and refurbished by her. Katniss had sanded it down before putting a whitewash over it and adding lacquer to give it a more modern look.

In fact, most of the furniture in her and Prim’s apartment was completely refurbished by her. She had always had an eye for decorating and instead of going to a four-year college, Katniss had opted to go to design school.

Creating something new from what people considered junk gave her a special kind of thrill��almost akin to being in love.

At least that’s what she thought it might feel like.

“Whoa!”

Katniss whipped over to her sister—who was holding an unfolded paper in her hands.

She stood from her seat and went to Prim. “What?”

Wordlessly, Prim handed the piece to her—it was a letter.

The letter was on marbled paper, an elegant insignia atop it, and she could see that the elegant calligraphy was done by hand:

Dear Miss Everdeen,

You are hereby summoned to the kingdom of Panem to present yourself to His Royal Highness, King Peeta.

Photo documentation has validified that you are the Queen Consort to His Royal Highness.

Attached is my business card, please contact me to arrange your travel to Panem.

Respectfully,

The Rt. Hon. Effie Trinket

Private Secretary to His Royal Highness

“This is a joke!” Katniss tossed the letter onto her desk and laughed. “Photo documentation? There is no such thing—”

The laugh fell from her lips as Prim turned the FedEx envelope upside down and a single photo fell onto her bedspread.

“There’s a business card in here, too,” Prim told her carefully.

Walking over, Katniss could see that the photo was facedown.

Trembling, she picked the print up and read the elegant cursive atop it:

‘Peeta and his new bride, Katniss Everdeen!’

Next to the caption was a happy face; it was obvious that this statement was made in jest.

Turning the photograph, a wave of nausea hit seeing the image of her seven-year-old self, a paper towel veil atop her head, joining hands with a blond boy—

Prince Peeta.

Or to be more precise, His Royal Highness King Peeta of Panem.

[himbodiaz]

Watch Me Fall Apart (And I'll Be Yours to Keep)

1856 words. After a tough rescue, both Eddie and Buck end up in the hospital. 

title from only love by ben howard. i wrote most of this in one sitting with no beta so just *gestures vaguley* here 

They've both been here too many times to count—covered in soot, smoke in their lungs, sweat plastering their hair to their faces, but never at the same time. Never where the other can't be near to see, to place a hand on a shoulder, to lean against in support. A fire in a high-rise, a family trapped on the upper floors, and that's all it took for Buck to grab the ropes, Eddie behind him, because where one goes, the other follows. It's their routine, their deal, the promise to have each other's backs, to support whenever needed, it's just never ended them both in the hospital at the same time.

Eddie is the first one released—Buck had been the first to go in, and made sure that Eddie was out before him, because of course he did. And maybe Eddie should've insisted that Buck get out before him, should've argued with him for an extra five seconds, should've done something so that Buck doesn't have to spend the night in the hospital alone. But he didn't, and now Eddie is being sent home and the doctor is refusing to let him see Buck.  

"Mr. Diaz," the doctor says, "Your friend is fine."

Eddie wants to argue with her, because friend? Friend? Like Buck and Eddie have been anything but friends for a long time. Like Buck isn't laying in a hospital bed alone, when Eddie should be there to support him. Like by denying him seeing Buck, all the smoke that was in Eddie's lungs returns and it's almost impossible to breathe for the second time tonight.

"He's asleep now and resting," she continues when Eddie opens his mouth to argue, "Which you should be doing, too. You need to go home and rest, you can come see him in the morning."

"But—"

"Mr. Diaz," she cuts him off, remaining polite, but obviously frustrated, "Visiting hours have been over for a long time, and Mr. Buckley will be discharged in the morning. Someone will give you a call, and you can pick him up then."

The doctor's tone is one of finality, but Eddie can't take no for an answer. Before he can continue pleading his case, Bobby arrives. He comes over to Eddie and the doctor, placing a reassuring hand on Eddie's shoulder. "I've got it from here, thanks doc," he says, before steering Eddie toward the exit. They've barely made it out the doors before Eddie shakes Bobby's hand from his shoulder, and turns on him.

"Bobby," he all but begs, "You have to let me see him. They brought us in at the same time, but I haven't seen him since. I know it's smoke inhalation, and probably some fatigue and dehydration, but they won't let me see him." Eddie knows how he sounds, knows it's desperate in a way he normally isn't, but it's Buck. It's Buck, who has ended up in hospitals more times than he cares to count, who is his partner, who made sure that Eddie got out of the building first, even knowing it would land him more time here—he can't just leave him behind.

"Eddie," Bobby says as evenly as possible—it's the same tone he uses on distraught spouses, and Eddie wants to cry, "I need you to take a breath for a minute, okay? Just take a moment to calm down, and then we'll figure it out."

And yeah, Eddie probably does need to collect himself, because while smoke inhalation can be serious, Buck is getting exactly the care he needs right now. There's nothing for Eddie to do, yet it doesn't stop the helplessness that's settled in the space between his ribs, which only worsened after the doctor told him he was being discharged without Buck. So, Eddie shuts his eyes, and allows himself a few moments to just breathe, to focus on the air entering and then leaving his lungs, to focus on the feeling of his chest rising and falling. It helps steady him, helps him come back to a relatively even keel.

"Are you good to drive?" Is the first thing that Bobby asks once Eddie opens his eyes. He doesn't think he can talk without freaking out again, so he nods his response. "Okay, good. What's going to happen is I'm going to drive you back to the station, you're going to get your truck, take it home, see Christopher, and go to sleep. Because the doctor was right, you need to rest. And in the morning, when the hospital calls you, you'll go pick up Buck. Sound like a plan?"

Now that he's calmed down and the adrenaline that's been keeping him alert has worn off, Eddie feels a deep tiredness settle in his bones, and it takes all his remaining energy to stay on his feet. Again, Eddie nods in response, walks over to the car, and says, "Take me to the station, Cap." And that's what Bobby does.

Normally, when one of the crew returns from the hospital, the rest of the shift is there to greet them, but no one is there when Eddie arrives, and he's grateful. His nerves are fried, he's exhausted, and he doesn’t think he could handle the team's questions right now. All he wants to do is shower, grab his bag, and go home—thankfully, he's able to do that without even hearing the low hum of conversation that's ever present in the loft.

Eddie is locking the front door behind him and taking off his shoes while he debates whether or not to wake Chris just so he can give him a hug. It's only when he's finally made it to Chris' door that he has his answer—not because he came to a decision himself, but because one was made for him.

Chris' bed is empty, and for a heartbeat Eddie panics, because Christopher isn't in his bed, but then he remembers: he was injured on hour twelve of a twenty-four-hour shift, so of course Chris isn't here. And Eddie should feel relieved, should feel calmer now, but all he can think about is the fact that he can't see his son, and he can't see Buck, and suddenly it's like the anchors that were holding his mooring in place have let go, and he's adrift.

Eddie tries to breathe, tries to remind himself that both his boys are okay, they're both being looked after, they're both safe. He goes to the kitchen, fills a glass with water, and drinks it all in one go. He fills it again, this time bringing it to his room, setting it down on the table beside his bed. Eddie changes into an old t-shirt that Buck left behind ages ago and an old pair of army sweatpants before he slides into bed.

Now that he's home and in bed, the exhaustion should be catching up with him, all but dragging him to sleep. Except, now that Eddie's alone, he can't stop thinking about how quiet the house is, how empty it feels. Even on nights when Chris is away at a sleepover, Buck would always come over, and they'd watch a movie, or a hockey game, or just talk over beers. The negative space, normally filled by laughter and jokes and, god, even Buck's snoring in his ear, feels like a noose around his neck. No matter what he does, Eddie just cannot sleep.

So, Eddie lays in bed and does his best not to think about the call that ended him up here, and Buck alone in the hospital. Does his best not to think about how he should have told Buck to take the daughter out while he got the father. Does his best not to think about how Buck removed his mask to help the victim breathe, and putting himself in danger. A shuddering sob rips through his chest, and he forces himself to sit up because he needs to get air in his lungs or he'll choke on his guilt and fear.

The clock on beside his bed reads quarter after five, so he figures that's good enough for morning, and gets up. He can't stay in his empty house any longer, so Eddie slips on the worn sweater that he keeps hanging off the back of his door, grabs his keys and wallet, puts on his shoes, and then he's out the door.

The drive to the hospital is quick, but now he has nothing to do but wait. He turns on the radio, but keeps it low so that it's just a hum in the background. At some point, Eddie must doze, because the next thing he knows, he's being startled awake by his ringtone and the clock on his dashboard reads half past seven.

"Hello, is this Mr. Di—"

"Yes," he interrupts the caller, not caring how he sounds, "I'm outside."  

"Okay, we'll send him to you now." And it's all Eddie can do to mumble a quick thank you before hanging up.

He doesn't go up to the doors, but his truck is parked close enough to the front that Buck can't miss him. Still, he gets out, leans against the driver side door, and waits. It doesn't take long, maybe a minute or two, and Buck is walking out the doors, looking side to side, eyes searching. He's clean, his curls are soft, if a little messy, and his whole face lights up the moment he sees Eddie.

"You look like shit," is the first thing Buck says to him. He comes right up to Eddie, less than a foot away, and Eddie has to clutch his hands together so he doesn't reach out and touch. But even without touching him, the weight that has made a home in Eddie's chest since last night melts away, like it's made of ice and Buck of flame.

"Well," Eddie tries to joke, "Not all of us got our beauty sleep." But he can't hide the heaviness in his voice, he can't help how it wavers now that the tension is gone, he can't help but lower his head.

"Hey, Eddie," Buck says earnestly, taking hands he didn't even realize were shaking in his own.  

And it's the softness in his voice, the thumb running over his knuckles, the pulse he can feel once he lets himself grip Buck's wrist, that gives him the strength to answer, "Yeah, Buck?"

"We're okay," Buck tells him, like a promise. Like the answer to a question Eddie hadn't dared ask because it terrified him. Buck's hands move from their grip on Eddie's, one hand sliding around his waist, the other coming to the back of his head.

"Yeah," Eddie whispers into the space between Buck's shoulder and neck, "we're okay."

Buck only holds him tighter now, his lips pressed to Eddie's temple, as he releases a shuttering breath. They stay there, each clutching the other, until they no longer feel adrift, until their moorings are once again anchored in a cove, and no longer lost in the rolling waves of the open ocean.

[where-does-this-go]

Part 1

New post because last one was getting long.

So when we last left off, Len had removed his helmet to give Barry a kiss and seal the deal. He turns to the ship, orders it to ready and it moves immediately. He’s dreading explaining this but, at least,

“Guess you weren’t kidding.” He says as he turns back to the hologram demon turned physical demon. He looks almost identical to his hologram self - lanky and pale with soft-looking brown hair. Expect now he’s starting stock still, staring wide eyes at Len. “Weren’t expectin-” He’s mid sarcastic comment when the demon cuts him off.

“What’s your name?”

“Shouldn’t you ask that before marrying someone?” Len teases and the demon almost flinches. It’s a 180 to the smirking figure that had appeared as the ship powered up, even more so the rambling figure that had revealed itself a moment ago.

“Please, just tell me.” The demon says, soft as he shuts his eyes.

“Leonard Snart. Friends call me Snart, and I suppose demon spouses can as well.” The demon nods his head but its more a movement of resignation than acknowledgement. “Yours?” He flinches again.

“Barry Allen.” He finally whispers.

“Not much of a name for a demon.”

“It’s short of Bartholomew.” He says, giving a half laugh. “Guess it finally fits, huh?” He opens his eyes and his mouth immediantly drops back into a frown. It doesn’t look right. Len’s around a lot of people that frown, Barry doesn’t look like someone who should frown. “What year is it?”

“The fuck is a year?” Len retorts.

“Right, I guess that wouldn’t make sense as a measurement of time in space.” Barry mumbles, stepping past Len to the controls. He moves his hand and a screen appears, displaying a number in the four thousands. “Fuck.”

“What year did you want it to be?” Len asks, suspecting whatever number this was it must be the ‘year’.

“2032.” Barry answers. He moves his hand again and this time Len recognizes the screen as a star map.

“We really are in the middle of no where.” He realizes, wincing.

“That was the plan.” Barry says in a way that suggests he doesn’t mean to say it. “The rest of the ships are gone.”

“You had others like this?” Len’s never seen a ship like this, he can’t imagine there are any more. Especially if there over 2000 years old. Although he supposes he has no sense of the length of a year, it might only be a half-cycle or something ridiculously short like that.

“No, they were basic. Just duds really.” Barry shrugs a shoulder then clears his nearly gained throat and suddenly the sad shell is gone. “So, where are we headed to Captain?” Len raises an eyebrow but doesn’t ask, they might be married but they only just met after all.

“I’m meant to be meeting my crew in Oiris.” Len zooms the map out until he can finally find something recognizable and finding the Oiris station. “It’ll take a few cons to get there, I doubt they’ll be hanging around but we can send a message.”

“I have no idea what a con is, unless you mean a job, but we should get there in no time.” Barry claims.

“I doubt it.” Len argues but doesn’t press the point. “No time like the present, let’s get The Barry moving.”

“The Barry?” Barry repeats, making a sour face at the term.

“You are the ship demon, isn’t it named after you?”

“No.” Barry says, the sadness returning for a moment before he shakes it. “Her name is Gideon.”

--

The trip to Oiris only takes a week and a half, a con as Len calls it, which is considerably shorter than any ship Len’s ever seen. Still it’s a week they spend alone, getting to know each other and their new bond. They can’t spend much time apart, Barry grows exhausted and Len grows itchy in a way he’s not used to and doesn’t like. Luckily, their are few places they can be apart. Although it only takes a few nights to realize sharing a bed is the best option for both of them.

Beyond their bond, Len starts to get to know Barry the human - the demon, really. He’s a chirper character, although not in the obxious way that grates on Len. He’s smart too, and largely unbothered that Len is an outlaw so much as there is law in space. Although he does request Len stick to crimes with at least a moral high-ground.

Len also realizes there’s something more to Barry, something he’s hiding away. There’s those moment of sadness, usually spurred when he doesn’t think Len is watching him watch him. Sometimes he’ll move and frown, like he doesn’t understand his movement. Len supposes it’s because he used to be a hologram demon, but even that doesn’t hold much water. Because Len’s starting to realize there was a before to that.

The mystery shouldn’t bother him, it has nothing to do with him, but Len finds it itching away at him anyway.

--

When they reach Oiris, Barry looks like a kid in a toy shop trying to spot every single thing in the station. Although he claims he’s been to a space station before, Len isn’t sure he believes that. Still, it’s kind of cute how excited he is.

Or how excited he was until they reach Len’s crew.

Lisa throws her arms around him the moment they get there, Mick makes a grove noise vaguely sounding like ‘don’t scare us like that’. Even Cisco gives him a very, very quick hug before ducking out of punching range. Hartley, Sara, and Ray are more controlled, though on the latter’s part that might be the cast his arm is in.

The ship behind them is totaled, which Len supposes is a good thing given the new one.

“Whose the tag along?” It’s Mick that finally asks, inclining his head to Barry. He’s got the happy mask on but Len’s already started to notice when he’s faking it.

“He’s the ship demon.” Len explains and refuses to elaborate as they give introductions and he leads them to the new ship.

Things settle into a normal over the next few collections, a year as Barry calls in. They take jobs, avoid getting killed, and make sure to have some fun along the way. Slowly but surely Barry settles into the group. He hits it off with Cisco, even though Len gets the impression he’s trying really hard not to. Impossible when Cisco’s trying to grill Barry for information.

“You and Lisa grew up together?” Len overhears Barry asks one cycle, when he’s finally caved and let Cisco open up a wall ONLY with his supervision. Something in his tone makes Len stop. He sounds almost... surprised. Odd, considering Cisco and Lisa don’t exactly hide it.

“Yeah man, she’s practically my sister.” Cisco answers, shrugging in the wall. “Len’s more like a scary older cousin, but he’s still family ya know? I kinda had one, but uh, they didn’t like me much.”

“Too busy doting on a brother?” Barry guesses.

“What? Nah man I was an only child. They just didn’t like that I was obsessed with space travel, thought it was a sign I was gonna become a Black Lantern. In my system everyone was super practical.”

“So the black lanterns are still around then.” Barry says, shoulders sagging like he’s holding the weight of the universe. “Are they still obsessed with killing humanity?”

“Yep.” Cisco pops the ‘p’, not nearly as unbothered by the reality as Barry seems. “Man everyones going on about you being immortal but you can’t be that old if they were still around.”

“I wish.” Barry mutters. Len plans to stick around, but then Cisco makes some big discovery and he decides the conversations over.

--

There are other moments like that, moments of Barry realigning with the universe. It has the ship guessing just how old their demon is. Len hasn’t joined the betting, in part because they’re also betting on if Len and Barry are dating and he can’t bet ‘already married’ without bringing up questions.

It should be more odd to think of them as ‘married’, Len supposes one night with Barry curled up beside him. The demon is also careful not to cuddle, up until he falls asleep and starts clinging. He supposes outside their sleeping together, which contains more clothes than Len would like some nights, they’ve started doing ‘married things’. Barry is touchy, especially when he’s feeling low, and Len... doesn’t mind. For all he minds everyone else. There’s been a kiss or two, shared in quiet moments, but nothing serious. Nothing that screams marriage.

Maybe that’s why he’s not finding it weird, Len decides knowing full well thats not it.

--

One night he wakes up to find Barry missing. Concerned, he leaves their shared room to find the demon sitting at control center looking at a holographic image that Len can’t quite make out from this angle. He takes a step closer and Barry startles, the image immediantly disappearing.

“What are you doing up?” He asks, trying to hide the way he dries his eyes.

“Looking for you. I can’t sleep for two, you know.” Len drawls. He also knows when Barry stays up because he’s extra exhausted the next day. It’s been happening more often recently. “What were you looking at?”

“It’s...” Barry looks back to the void of space, now sans on holographic photo, “it’s nothing, just some old pictures. Let’s head back to bed.”

Len wants to push.

He doesn’t.

--

There’s been dozens of times they’ve taken Gideon into fire, and Barry gets anxious every time. But they’ve never been under fire by the Bats. Probably the largest colony the humans have, even including a planet they’ve claimed, and someone (Hartley) had been dumb enough to get caught stealing their supplies. The captain ship comes around in front of them, it’s guns arming in a clear threat. Everyone’s a little anxious. Len has no idea how they’re getting out of here.

Then Barry does something stupid.

“Disengage.” He orders, jumping over a chair to reach the controls. He’s never overriden an order of Len’s before, Len didn’t even know he could.

“Barry what the hel-” But Barry’s not listening to Len hissing at him.

“Hail Batman.” He orders, equally ignoring the confusion and shouts from the rest of the crew. A video comes on screen, revealing a creature that is mostly mist and red eyes. Even Len’s a little frightened. Barry is not.

“I swear to god if you blow up Gideon I am going to haunt you.” Barry tells the figure of smoke. It doesn’t have eyes but Len thinks it raises one.

“Your ships looking worse for wear.” It eventually comments. “I didn’t recognize it without the paint job.” Barry gasps in offense.

“You know that was a prank that your son was involved in.” He claims. “Lets talk about how your ship has new parts! And new guns! That are still pointed at me by the way!”

“Disengage.” The smoke figure orders and the guns on the captains ship disappear.

“What the hell?!” A female voice from beyond the camera declares.

“They’re friends.” The smoke figure assures her. “We’ll land on the asteroid belt nearby.” He adds.

“Got it!” Barry is grinning from ear to ear as the call cuts.

“Who the hell was that?!” Hartley shouts, attempting to jump from his chair.

“Another demon?” Cisco guesses.

“A friend.” Barry claims. “I’m taking us down.”

--

The shadow figure is shading behind Captain Browne as they land within the artifical oxzone the Bat’s have already placed. The second Gideon lands, Barry races out the door and leaps at the thing that seems to take human form to catch him.

“I have a reputation.” The now humanoid figure claims, fondly.

“Your reputation can suck it, I missed you.” Barry returns, burying his head in the figures shoulder. Captain Browne clears her throat, but Barry doesn’t even turn his head.

“I’m sure you can arrange the retrieval Captain.” The once figure says, like he doesn’t have a grown man hanging from his neck, “we should set up camp for a while afterwards.” He leaves without a word, carrying Barry into the Bat’s ship.

Len returns the goods, making Hartley carry them for getting them into this mess. Captain Browne accepts them, just as awkward and tense as the rogues, before ordering a few people about to make camp. All the while they hear nothing from Barry and the figure.

The rogues are supposed it takes this long for Len to sneak about the Bats ship.

He finds the two supposed friends sitting in a random hallway near the controls of the ship.

“You haven’t slept at all?” Barry asks.

“Lot of good it did you.” The figure retorts.

“Come on Bruce, I’m like half speedforce. Of course it wasn’t going to help me.” Barry claims, rolling his eyes.

“Were half speedforce, I’ve noticed.” The shadow, Bruce apparently, comments. Barry looks to his hand, holding it still.

“I think it’s the deal I made with... well, I guess you know, what with Stephanie out there.” Who the hell was Stephanie?

“...It’s the first time it’s happened.” Bruce says, softly. “It’s nice but...”

“It’s weird.” Barry finishes. “But you dodged the question. You should sleep. This can’t be good for you.”

“There’s work to be done.” Bruce shrugs. “Besides, I did sleep. For a few hundred years. Before... A father shouldn’t outlive his sons.” Barry nods like he understands although Len can hardly keep up with the conversation.

“Where they happy?” Barry asks, fragile and quiet. Bruce takes a moment to find their answer.

“I think so. Wally was thrilled at the prospect of terraforming a dead planet, Dick humored him but only Tim could even begin keeping up. But they all had a role in the world we led them to, and they were enjoying it. Even Jason.”

“I’m glad.” Barry says, just as softly. “I almost... I wanted to come find them so often. But I was terrified I’d lead some black lantern there and it’d all start over again.”

“It was never meant to be a life sentence, but Zatanna...”  Bruce stops and for a moment they sit in silence. Len takes the time to contemplate what he’s over hearing. Clearly they two are important to each other, although Barry’s never mentioned this man before. He’s never mentioned anything about his past before, and this man seems to know all of it.

Len’s not jealous.

“We became grandparents.” Bruce breaks the silence.

Len’s not jealous.

“We did?”

“Dick and Wally had two kids. They named the first Mary, after Dick’s mother. Wally joked about whose middle name to give her, what with his dads. Eventually they decided on Mary Nora Grayson, for your mother.”

It’s petty, its stupid and petty but Len can’t stand another word of this.

“I’ve been looking for you.” He announces his presence, walking over like he hadn’t been standing around the corner for the last several minutes. “You can’t just run off into an enemy ship with no explanation Barry.”

“It’s not an enemy ship, it’s the Bat Shuttle.” Barry claims, the smile he gives Len forced in a way that makes Len regret stepping in.

“Oh my god, it is not the Bat Shuttle.” Bruce groans, raising his hands to his face. “Dick was eight when he named the car Barry, eight.”

“It’s a Bat Shuttle.” Barry doubles down. Len raises an eyebrow and finally prompts the introduction. “Len, this is Batman.”

“Bruce is fine Barry, we’re 2000 years passed having secret identities.”

“Well excuse me for having habits.” He should have just walked away, Len thinks as the two continue chatting like old friends even as they make their way to the campsite.

He’s jealous.

--

Captain Browne, under suggestion from Bruce or Batman or whatever his name is, offers them a job. It’s permanent and at least semi-regular, just retrieve their stolen goods and ferry some between outposts. Out of spite, Len wants to refuse. But it’s good money and a good ally so he grits his teeth and shakes hands with the Captain, all the while Bruce gives him a knowing smirk.

--

Hmm, once more super long and yet still no posion. I swear its coming but its almost 2am and i gotta sleep. This plot bunny going while okay, we got summaries, we got shorts, we got everything in this bisch.

[katzkinder]

Little Drops of Water

Tetsu is his pride and joy.

It goes without saying, really, that his dear Eve is his greatest treasure in the world, and that the Item he has been given, one half of the set of four hairclips Tetsu used to keep his hair out of his face all throughout middle and highschool, are almost equally as dear to him as the boy himself. Long after Tetsu is gone, their shiny plastic, ocean blue, will last and Hugh will add them to his treasures. There they will remain alongside a young noble girl’s favored comb, a king and hero’s favorite embroidery (done by the steady and lovely hand of his wife), and… A peasant girl’s dress, carefully, lovingly preserved against the ravages of time, so delicate now that only the most trusted of his subclass are allowed to care for it.

Yes, Tetsu is his pride and joy, and yes, it goes without saying that Hugh holds him near and dear to his heart… But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t brag about him to whoever was fortunate enough to have to listen to him.

...Which is why the situation in front of him is so… Frustrating.

Now, call him a coward, call him a fool, call him a doddering old man… Perhaps he was all those things. But he was not so fool enough as to blindly praise working oneself into the ground, nor was he the type to give praise where it wasn’t due.

Tetsu was not the brightest.

He would admit this, albeit no longer to his Eve’s face. And while he would admit this, he would also much more readily sing Tetsu’s redeeming qualities. Tetsu was a hard worker. Tetsu was steadfast. Tetsu was loyal. Tetsu was a good listener.

Tetsu was all these things and more, but most of all, Tetsu was dedicated.

Which is how Hugh found himself acting as tutor, with his brilliant mind and sharp wit, while his dear Eve prepared for university entrance exams.

It was heartbreaking, though, how hard he worked. Not because Hugh believed he would fail, oh no, far from it. Tetsu might not have been the sharpest tool in the shed, but he was fastidious, and really, Hugh thought, the thing that held him back the most was his lack of confidence in his own abilities, to which Hugh proudly thought he had been quite instrumental in rectifying, if he did say so himself.

It was heartbreaking because… Sometimes, it felt as if the only one who believed Tetsu would succeed was Tetsu himself.

And Hugh, of course.

Now, don’t get him wrong. He didn’t believe Tetsu’s family meant to discourage their son. Far from it, they wanted nothing more than for Tetsu to succeed, and they supported him fully in his university career endeavors. Except, well, Tetsu had told him that he wanted to go to university for one very simple, but very heartfelt reason.

He wanted to save their inn.

The inn which… Tetsu’s own parents felt had no future.

But Tetsu and his iron will, of course, thought otherwise, and he refused to give up on the family business, the place he had grown up and loved and worked so very hard to help run, even as far back as before he and Hugh had met. It was charming. It was lovely. It made Hugh want to fight for him, more than ever before.

The inn was something that, even more than a contract with Hugh, Tetsu took Pride in.

So Hugh, in order to nurture that pride, in order to care for his Eve, would do everything in his power to teach Tetsu everything he needed to know to make that dream of his come true. To make their home, because that’s what it is, this place. This little inn is Hugh’s home now, too. It’s no grand castle, no stone walls or towers or awe inspiring, imposing structures, but he loves it all the same, loves the people who make it such a warm, wonderful place.

He wonders how he could have ever considered letting this place die.

Hugh knows the answer, of course. It’s because he was a coward, a fool, and a doddering old man.

He refuses to be that way any longer.

***

“Hugh. Are you tired?”

The Servamp of Pride exaggerates his yawn further, rubs at one of his eyes with a tiny fist, and mumbles that he is fine, he can keep going, let them continue the lesson. Tetsu frowns at him, adjusts the reading glasses he now needs (and he’s grown into such a handsome young man, Hugh thinks, barely able to keep the smile off his face to continue his ruse), and sets the heavy prep book aside.

“No, it’s late. What time is it?”

“Check your phone, my boy… It’s almost a quarter to eleven,” Hugh informs him, just as Tetsu makes a startled noise when he confirms as such with his own eyes.

“It really is that late… Hugh, that’s amazing. You never need to check a clock or anything.” He shakes his head, willing the distraction away. “Sorry. I should have kept a better eye on the time. Let’s stop for the night. I didn’t notice, but… I’m kind of tired, too.”

And just like that, Tetsu starts tidying his space, placing his glasses back in their case and his books back in his bag while Hugh goes to fetch their pajamas. His Eve pats his head when he returns, murmuring a quiet thanks while Hugh soaks up the attention in a way very few people who aren’t big brother are able to earn from him, and after that, it’s the rest of their bedtime routine as normal. Getting changed, brushing their teeth, rolling out the futon, and climbing in together, Hugh always forever tiny against Tetsu’s larger frame, forever his Eve’s favorite teddy bear.

It suits him just fine, and he chitters softly, contently, when he’s snuggled close, tucks his head up under Tetsu’s chin and inhales the scent of pine he finds there, that wafts from Tetsu himself and his futon each. It’s soothing. It’s home.

Hugh cannot allow himself to fall asleep yet, no matter how tempting it is.

He lies there, being held, being loved, and waits for Tetsu’s breaths to slow, waits for his arms to go slack, just a bit, because once Tetsu is asleep… His real work begins.

It’s easy to slip away. A bat in the night, easing the door to Tetsu’s room open and swooping out into the halls, a wandering pet no one will see in the dark and no one will hear, silent as the beat of his wings are. He pauses, only briefly, when passing by the front desk where the lovely spouse of Tetsu’s elder sister still diligently works, greeting Miyako with a swoop and a cheep. She smiles at him, bids him safe journey.

“I’ll leave the lamp on for you. Take care, Hugh~”

A charming young lady, and she treats Tetsu well. Hugh can’t say he disapproves of her, even if her family is one he could do without. Of course, he never says as much, neither to her face nor to Tetsu’s.

That would be rude.

...To All of Love, however, he will gladly complain.

***

Hugh does not return until hours later, when the moon has passed its highest point in the sky and is on its journey back down to the horizon, chased by creatures neither he nor humanity can see, and yet, if you had asked him once, he would proclaim for certain that they were there.

Now, though, science tells otherwise, and he mourns the loss of that mysticism of the past at the same time he celebrates the inventions of the future, because it is only through the inventions of the future that he is able to monitor what needs to be monitored, and complete the tasks that need to be completed.

Such as keeping up with the local subclass, not all of which are his.

It is… Exhausting work.

Tokyo is a large place, and even without the Melancholy vampires to look after, knock on wood that it stays that way, even without Lust subclass, godspeed to All of Love, the number of them in Tokyo is staggering. Most of them are his, yes, and he does not regret granting them new life, no, never, not one bit, but… Well. Some of them need more assistance than others, and between tending the inn alongside Tetsu, studying, and this, his schedule is just… Completely packed full.

He wouldn’t trade this mind numbing feeling for the world. Not after they worked so hard to achieve what is still, unfortunately, an unsteady peace, but it’s an unsteady peace that has allowed his siblings and his subclass to prosper. To be happy, and healthy, and it leaves him puffing out his chest, tired but proud. Tired but happy.

Hugh would do even more if it were asked of him, he thinks as he sits to start putting together more flashcards and mnemonics and memory games, pens and books and note cards spread out in front of him while he lies on his stomach and gets to work. He would do even more, do whatever he could, if only to secure Tetsu’s future even more surely than the rising of the sun.

Because Tetsu is his pride and joy.

And as his pride and joy… Hugh would make certain that his Eve could rest without a single ounce of guilt.

Sleep well, my dear. The future is yours.

[lilyharvord]

I saw another anon on king mavens page ask how Cal would react if mare died and they didn’t wanna answer bcuz it’ll make them go into a depressive state. So if u don’t mind how do YOU think Cal would react if Mare died. If u don’t wanna write this u don’t hv too tho

I too saw annie's response, and while it makes me super sad to think about as well.... I've thought about it... I may have started writing a fic about it once (it was like once chapter), and I had an idea. So I'll give you my branched ideas. They're loooong so I have put them under the read more.

idea 1: Mare dies before they are married, before anything.

It's horrific. People are shocked... the little lightning girl? Dead? Impossible. Cal doesn't immediately hear about it, he's so busy he's doesn't know something's happened until he walks into a room and everyone goes quiet and slowly looks at him like he might collapse right then and there. He finds out because Farley pulls him aside. She takes him away from everyone to a quiet little garden with a fountain and tells him what happened. When he hears, he just sort of gives her this confused look, like HE doesn't understand, doesn't believe. Then he sort of sinks down onto one of the benches and just sits there. Doesn't move, doesn't even seem to be breathing. Farley thinks he'll explode in a ball of heat and rage and pain, but instead he just gets really really quiet, and really cold. The air around her gets so cold her breath fogs in front of her. He asks her to leave him alone and she does. He sort of draws into himself after that, doesn't really speak to anyone, spends a lot of time running and sitting at his desk and staring out the window. He attends the funeral but is quiet the whole time, he only speaks to the Barrows and even then, there isn't much to say that wouldn't hurt either party. After that he BURIES himself in his work. He gets so good at it that one day he looks up and ten years have passed. He's still got the stack of letters they wrote to each other, and he even has the letter he had been drafting to send to her on the front where he lost her. It ends with the phrase: I miss you. And god does that ring true. He miss her like a limb he lost. It feels like a part of him was torn away, just like with Maven, just like with his father, just like with Nanabel when she passed a few years back, just like the hole his mother left without him even knowing it was there. He visits her grave that year, just sort of sits under the little tree they planted, looks out at the mountains as the sun sets behind him, and talks to her like he does with Maven, tells her about everything that's happening. After a while, he just falls quiet and sits there, digging his hand into the grass and dirt right above the grave, like he can dig down to her, like it's her skin and he can still feel it's warmth. He swallow really heavily and then says: I never met anyone else that made me feel the way you did... I don't think I ever will. You were it. You were going to be it. And then he gets up and leaves. He runs into Gisa down in the Ascendent, they grab coffee at what was once Mare's favorite coffee shop, now it's Gisa's. They talk about everything, never mentioning Mare. Gisa only asks once if he's seen anyone, and he just shakes his head, and she gives him a tiny smile and says: she wouldn't have minded... well if a random bolt of lightning came from the heaven and struck you, then I guess you would know she minded. They laugh about that, and then he leaves cause he has an early flight home. When he gets back, he puts the letters in a box and then puts that box in a drawer. He never sees anyone else though. Doesn't even really fool around with anyone either. He tries once, and the whole time he just thinks about her, thinks about all the what if's and could be's. He apologizes profusely to the girl and says that it's not going to work. Something in her understands, some weird warmth that she gets that makes her pull him into an extra tight hug before she leaves from his little apartment in Archeon. He doesn't mind being alone as much, he has his friends and a strange little belief/hope that someday, he will see Mare again. And when he does he is going to pull her into the tightest hug and never, ever let go again.

idea 2: Mare dies after they are married and have at least 1 child

This one hurts far more. He knows she's on missions, and they made a pact to never be on missions together so that if the unthinkable happens and one of them does die, Coriane will have the other at least. Its a god awful early hour of the morning when there is knock on the door. Coriane is sleeping in his and Mare's bed, she had a nightmare and immediately came for comforting snuggles. He thinks he's dreaming when the knock comes again, a little more instant this time. He gets up, and Coriane sleepily trails after him, curious as a cat always. When he answers the door, he picks her up and is still sort of half asleep. When he sees the young soldier standing on the porch in uniform and the most pained look on his face, he is suddenly wide awake. The soldier reaches up and removes his hat before pulling out an envelope with the official Montfort seal on it. He holds it out and quietly says, "I'm sorry."

When Cal takes it, he worries that his hand is shaking, but it is perfectly still, Coriane is falling asleep on his shoulder, not even aware of the ramification of what this little envelope means. And he just sort of looks up at the man and asks, "Do the Barrows know?" The man blinks before saying, "Protocol dictates immediate family are informed first... spouses are immediate family along with children. We leave it to them to inform the rest...I'm sorry again sir." Then he gives a little clean military salute and leaves. Cal stands there for a long time looking at empty space, wondering what comes next, what he is even supposed to do. Coriane answers for him: by lightly tapping his cheek and whispering that she's cold. He closes the door, and sets the letter on the little table by the door. There are already four other letters there. One, an invitation to Farley's wedding to Cordelia at the end of the month, and another is a letter from Julian addressed to all of them, most likely about his trip with Sara to see the land north of Montfort. But there is her name in beautiful script on both envelopes. There is her favorite jacket hanging on the peg she always hangs it on. There is the book she left on the table, chaptered at the exact part she was on. There is her favorite mug in the sink because Coriane asked to drink her milk from it last night. She is everywhere in the house, and yet that letter means she will never be in it again. Those were her things. They not longer are. He carries Coriane up the stairs and puts her back in their his bed and then lays next to her, watching her chest rise and fall as she sleeps, a tiny smile creeping to her lips as she dreams, completely and blissfully unaware of how her life has fundamentally changed now. Then he rolls and stares at the ceiling, but the tears come and they don't stop as they fall silently. He gets up and showers at dawn--he didn't sleep-- and cries a little more there. He has to crouch down under the scalding water and bite down on his knuckle to keep from sobbing out loud and waking Cori. It's pitiful, and he knows it. She would be furious with him for not being honest about how he feels and trying to hide it like its some ugly thing. But it feels ugly, a twisted ugly thing in his chest that is screaming and clawing at his insides. He stands, turns the shower off, steps out, shaves, does his morning routine, and then wakes Coriane and gets her ready. She's still sleepy, doesn't understand, asks him when mommy is coming home, when she will be back so they can go to the market and get ice cream. He says they'll go today, but his voice shakes, even as he tries to hide it. Then he takes her to the Barrows, tells Ruth and Daniel to gather all of them together. When they are all sitting before him in the living room, packing it to the brim, he takes out the letter and reads it. There is a horrible silence when he finishes and folds it before putting it back in the envelope. Ruth slowly pulls Coriane toward her and then lifts her into her lap and hugs her so tightly Cori actually whines about it for a second before she sees the look on Cal's face. They all sit in the kitchen after that and Ruth makes tea and she makes hot chocolate for the kids and gives Coriane an extra 4 marshmallows. The kids leave to go play and the adults sit and discuss the logistics, where is the will, was the a will? Do they have to adhere to anything if there isn't one? Would she want to... to be buried on Tuck with Shade? The will would probably say. Should they do that if there isn't one? Ruth offers to take care of Coriane while Cal deals with everything, settling paperwork, etc. etc. Then everyone kinda starts talking about everything again, and he just sits in silence and stares at this knot on the table that Mare pointed out to him because she said it looked like a turtle on its back. He traces it a few times, just sort of thinking about that moment and all the other times they would be in this kitchen doing dishes after family gatherings etc. Farley watches him from across the table

before getting up and nodding for him to follow her outside. Everyone pretty much doesn't notice them leave, or they pretend not to notice. They sit outside on the back porch in silence, just the two of them. After a little bit, it starts to snow. The first snow of the year. Farley holds her hand out to catch the flakes and says quietly: "I hate that it doesn't rain when these things happen. It always feels like it should be raining." He nods silently in agreement, and then she sets her hand on his shoulder, and he bends forward, letting the weight of it drop his head into his hand. He doesn't cry again, he honestly doesn't understand why he feels nothing now, just emptiness, and numbness from the tips of his fingers all the way to the tips of his toes. Even with Maven he didn't feel this way. He felt something then, something biting and hot like a pan that he touched when it just came off the stove. They sit like that for a long time before Coriane comes outside, and slips underneath his arm to snuggle against him. Farley gets up and leaves then, sensing she's said her peace and he understands she's there if he needs her. He holds Coriane close when the back door closes, and she whispers quietly to him, "Mommy's not coming home, is she?" and he just squeezes her once in answer. She frowns and stares out at the snow for a second and then turns around to face him and cups his cheeks in her little hands like she had seen Mare do a hundred times when Cal was in the middle of an especially hard day. She looks at him with a very serious expression for a child and he can see Mare in her when she does that, in the crease of her brows and the slight squint in her eyes. In the hint of chocolate brown in the curls of her hair. She will be furiously beautiful like her mother, and he had a feeling someday she will break a man's heart like his is breaking now. She looks at him for a good little bit and then says, "don't worry, I will take care of you." And he laughs, knowing that Mare always said the same thing. He pulls her close again and whispers with a thick voice, "it's my job to take care of you. But it's just us now... we have to take care of each other."

The funeral is in the spring. Cal pushed it off. Mare hated the winter. Even though she had happier memories of it now, her childhood and the painful clenching of her empty belly were like a permanent stain on the season. He would not bury her in that time. When the snow thaws and the ground melts, they release her ashes on a hill and leave stone for her on a hill under a tree, with a view of the mountains. There is a long line of epithet underneath her name: beloved daughter, sister, friend, wife, mother. Staring at it, Cal wonders if she knows just how important she had become. If she knew that she wasn't just a captain, or a figurehead that brought a centuries old regime to its knees. Everyone leaves after, the Barrows going last, but Cal and Coriane stay. Cal just sitting in the grass next to the grave, the wind in his hair while he watches the mountains for a little while. Coriane sits on the grave, probably not the nicest thing to do, but she does, and traces Mare's name over and over again on the stone with her little finger. "Mommy had a long name." She says as she traces the four names on the stone. Cal hesitated to put his name on there with hers, but he adopted the Barrow name as much as Mare took the Calore one when they married. And in the very, very short will she had drafted, that he almost didn't read because reading it made everything real, she asked that he put both their names on it (but to put his name before hers and she even made a little quip at him in the will about it which made him laugh, even as it made him cry). He glances at Cori after she says that and nods. She then crawls into his lap and they sit watching the mountains before Coriane says, "Uncle Julian says that when people die, they become the dirt that feeds the trees and the grass... do you think mommy is happy to be tree food?" He laughs and hugs her really close before saying, "She's not tree food. That dust we let go of today was mommy. She's on the winds now, traveling everywhere."

He does not remarry, no matter how many years pass, and how many women try to infer that it might be for the best if Coriane had mother in her life. He thinks its a stupid notion that he can't raise his own child on his own. And its hard, god is it hard. But he does it. He makes Coriane Barrow Calore into a women that Mare Molly Calore Barrow would have been very proud of. And he holds onto the notion that someday, when he dies, and they scatter his ashes, that his will find Mare's and they'll be together again that way.

[pan-fangirl-345]

Not All Are Bad

Summary: Dabi, formerly known as Touya Todoroki, was arrested. While being interrogated, he spills everything that his father did to him and his siblings until the day he disappeared from their lives. Now, not only are you and Shouto in danger of losing your pups, your friends are too. It's up to you and Shouto to prove that not all Pro Heroes are abusive parents and spouses.

TW: Enji Todoroki's A+ parenting (heavy 600 ton sarcasm), abuse, swearing, referenced child abuse, abusive relationships (not anyone from Class 1-A), nosy reporters, A/B/O dynamics (I don't think that's a warning, but I'm adding it anyway.), mentions of sex but not actual smut because this is a SFW blog, mentions of pregnancy, discussions of pregnancy. If I forgot anything, or anyone wants me to add something, please let me know! Slide into my DM's or leave a comment. I would hate to make anyone uncomfortable and I will change it as soon as I see the notification!

A/N: This just popped into my head today, so I figured I would write it out! Also, a little run down of how my A/B/O scenarios work is under the cut with the rest of the story in case these kinds of things make anyone uncomfortable!

Quick run-down (if you don't care skip past all of the italics and find the bold words and the space where the story starts):

Alphas: An alpha is someone who's alignment makes them a lot more domineering in certain situations. They tend to be natural leaders and don't appreciate being questioned by someone they perceive as lower ranking than them. They release strong pheromones that allow them a certain level of control over the other alignments, usually omegas, but there are omegan protection laws that keep alphas from using this to their advantage in unsavory ways.

They get ruts twice a year, which means that they just get really possessive of their mates and anyone they consider family. This is expressed in different ways, from your typical A/B/O scenario when they get really h*rny, to simply scenting their mates and family more than usual. They tend to take their ruts off from work, because the chemical imbalance in their brains can sometimes make them go feral.

*When an alpha goes feral they will attack anyone they perceive as a threat to them or their families. They can sometimes go after their mates or even their pups if they think their pups are hurting their mate. It rarely happens among families, but there are extenuating circumstances. Common signs include an excessive amount of growling, snarling, howling, snapping etc. Sometimes, depending on how strong an alpha's alignment, their eyes will flash a deep crimson. (Think Kurapika from Hunter X Hunter)

*When an alpha offers to share their rut with an omega or beta, it is either a related family members (or found family, someone they feel no sexual attraction to), or someone they have been courting with. It's a big deal when an alpha requests that someone they're courting spend their rut with them. It shows that the alpha is ready to commit to a more serious kind of relationship.

*These are the alignments most likely to impregnate an omega or a beta. Rarely are alpha x alpha relationships able to conceive and bring a pup to full term. (For the sake of ease, it's the usual nine to ten months.)

Betas: These tend to be your more neutral alignments. They can smell pheromones, but they tend to have less of a reaction to the other alignments. They tend to keep the peace among packs, simply because they are less likely to become swayed by pheromones. They can snarl and growl like alphas, but they also purr like omegas, they are kind of in the middle of the spectrum.

*They don't have ruts or heats, but they aren't sterile either. They can impregnate an omega or even another beta with little issue, though they have a harder time impregnating alphas. They also have a hard time bringing a pup to term. It's uncommon, but it does happen.

Omegas: Now, most A/B/O scenarios I have read make omegas seem weak and taken advantage of. Not mine. An omega can just as easily sway an alpha with their pheromones as an alpha could with an omega. There are certain things that are just courtesy when in public, and there are laws about using one's pheromones to one's advantage. Omegas also tend to have more of the maternal instincts, but that's not the entirety of their character.

*They are the most likely alignment to get pregnant, and they are the least likely to impregnate another alignment.

When omegas get their heats, it shows mostly the same way as when an alpha goes into a rut, but sometimes they also become a lot more affectionate with younger members of their family since their maternal instincts are on a high, and they tend to become more clingy to people they see as protectors, for lack of a better word, usually their alpha friends or parents, depending on the age. Alphas tend to get possessive, while omegas become more clingy and touch-starved.

Please note: Sex and gender have nothing to do with one's alignment. One's alignment is simply something that happens by chance and rarely makes one less worthy of something than another.

Children are called 'pups' but they are still referred to as kids and children etc.

Children start presenting from as early as nine to as late as eighteen, and it's different for every child. The alignments all have different symptoms.

Alphas become easily irritated, possessive, sometimes they become destructive or even go feral when they present. They also tend to run a fever, and their eyes sometimes turn crimson, even if they don't go completely feral. Female alphas don't get their periods. They just get the rut.

Betas just tend to have their scents change. Pups smell a certain way, but when one presents, the scent changes. They also tend to be more in tuned with their packs' feelings.

Omegas become touch-starved, clingy, and sometimes more emotion. They tend to get cramps and muscle aches. Think about a girl on her period, minus the blood. Female omegas don't get periods or bleed during their heats, and neither do male omegas.

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

"Touya, Reizo, come on guys, we're going to be late if you don't hurry up!" you called, laughing as your pups practically climbed over each other to get into the hallway from their room, Reizo with his sweater on backwards and Touya almost falling on his face trying to get his pants up over his knees and his very colorful Pro Hero Shouto boxers.

"Moooommmaaa!" Reizo whined, blue eyes shining brightly as he fixed his sweater. "Touya pushed me!"

"Reizo bit me!" Touya argued, face flushing redder than his hair.

"Come on boys, come here," you cooed, crouching down and gesturing them over. "Do you love me?"

"Of course!" they cried.

"Do you love Daddy?"

"Yes!"

"So you guys must love each other right?"

They glanced at each other, frowning, but flushed, telling you everything you needed to know.

"We're family," you told them, keeping your arm firmly around each of their waists, despite Touya being almost as tall as you. "And that means that no matter how much you fight, or how much you irritate the snot out of each other, at the end of the day, you love each other. Right?"

"Yeah," they muttered, albeit a little reluctantly.

"Okay then," you said, ruffling their hair softly. "And remember, no matter what happens, your father and I will do whatever we have to to protect you and your cousins."

They nodded.

"Alright, now Daddy has the car running downstairs, so we need to get going!" you said, ushering your boys out the door, making sure to lock the door behind you.

"No one forgot anything?" Shouto asked, climbing out of the car to make sure that the boys were strapped into the car properly. "Everyone has jackets?"

"Yup!"

"You have your keys, phone, wallet?" Shouto asked you, opening the door for you.

"Of course," you replied, buckling up, letting Shouto know that he could shut the door.

"Alright, well, we have to get going anyway," he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple before he moved to close your door.

"Momma, Dad, why do we have to do an interview?" Touya asked, frowning.

He was your oldest boy, thirteen and a spitting image of his uncle, who he was named after, save for a white streak in his hair that covered his left eye, that he inherited from Shouto.

His quirk was a fire type quirk, and it relied on his emotions. His flames changed color based on how he felt, and when his emotions got out of control, so did his flames. Unlike what Enji had done with Touya, you and Shouto had taught your son to understand and channel his feelings so that he didn't harm himself or anyone else by accident. He was extremely in tune with his feelings, and his communication skills were through the roof, despite his age.

He was also intelligent, already having skipped two grades, and he was much more mature than most kids his age.

You supposed that with both of his parents being Pro Heroes, along with most of your found family, that he had heard and had to deal with things that other kids hadn't been exposed to. Not to mention that he had started taking care of Reizo more and more while you and Shouto were gone, despite both of you trying to make sure that one of you was always home with them.

Reizo was named after his grandmother, and he was ten, with white curls with (Y/H/C) undertones, and heterochromic eyes. One was gray, the other was the same shade of (Y/E/C) as your eyes. No one knew where the curls came from, but you were assuming it was from your side of the family, since most of the photos you had seen of Shouto's side of the family made it clear that it wasn't from him. Reizo's quirk was also some sort of mutation quirk. He was able to manipulate light at will, it didn't matter what kind.

One night, after you had woken up from a nightmare, you had checked in to make sure that both of your pups were safe and found Reizo sitting up in bed with a small ball of light in his hands. He had turned four a few months before, and while the doctors had assured you that he had a quirk, he had yet to manifest it physically.

Shouto had assured you, and vice versa, that it didn't matter if your pups were quirkless, you would love them regardless.

Reizo, even at four, had known that you were upset, so he had put on a little light show for you, and had managed to keep permanent star charts all around his room as he got older. He had memorized so many constellations and their stories that it made your head spin.

You and Shouto couldn't have been prouder of your boys, but that didn't mean that you subjected them to the media the way some heroes did with their kids.

In fact, you had tried to keep your kids as far away from reporters as you could, but you had also coached them on how to deal with them as they got older.

Touya, a recently presented alpha, had become much more protective of you and Reizo when reporters tried to stop you in the streets for questions.

Touya had never been violent, and you had been so proud of him when he had hung a reporter with his own tongue after they had gotten under Touya's skin with personal questions they had no right asking a thirteen-year-old.

"Because some things have been happening with your uncle Touya recently, and people are nervous. We're hoping that this makes them feel safer," you explained, turning in your seat to look at your boys.

Shouto's grip on the wheel tightened enough that it made a small noise, and you reached over, touching his thigh lightly.

"Hey," you whispered, turning back around, "it'll all be okay, we haven't done anything wrong. They have no reason to take the boys from us."

"I know, but he screwed everything up, not just for us, but for our friends too."

"Wait, what?" you asked.

"Bakugou called me to tell me that every hero with pups is going to be getting investigated, just to be sure. He and Kirishima might lose Kazuki and Eichiro," Shouto murmured.

"Fuck," you muttered, quietly enough that you knew your sons wouldn't hear you.

"Bakugou isn't exactly thrilled, but he's too afraid to do anything about it like he normally would."

"I can imagine," you replied. "But it's fine. No one from our class is going to lose their kids. We all love our pups, and we love everyone else's."

Shouto nodded, and you could tell that he was really trying to believe you.

"Hey," you murmured. "We're gonna be okay. Me and the boys and you. We're all gonna be okay."

He nodded again, and his grip on the wheel relaxed a little bit.

Interviews like this always made Shouto edgy, but he was extra concerned about this one and what was at stake.

He hated putting the boys in the spotlight, he hated even taking them to a news station, but he knew that you all had to do this if you wanted to stay together.

"I love you," he murmured, taking your left hand, kissing your hand lightly.

"I love you too Sho," you told him, smiling at him softly.

"Ready to walk through hell?" he asked as he pulled up to the building.

"With you by my side?" you inquired. "Always."

Shouto, as always, climbed out first, drawing a cheering crowd, and opened your door for you.

Then you each grabbed a boy.

Touya moved to stand dutifully by his father, and they both moved to your side.

You had your hand wrapped tightly in Reizo's, who was on your left. Touya, on Reizo's left, had an arm around his brother's shoulders protectively, and Shouto stood at the other end of your little line, glancing at you and his boys every few seconds.

Cameras flashed, and there were fans there to show their support to you and Shouto. Some of them held signs, other had merch.

Touya copied his father, his eyes steadfastly forward unless he was checking on you or Reizo, and his head held high with a confidence you knew wasn't entirely faked.

Reizo, on the other hand, was glancing nervously back and forth as you made you way inside.

"Momma, I don't like it out here," he said.

"I know baby," you murmured, barely pausing as you scooped him up into your arms, hiding his face in your shoulder.

Reizo was small, even for ten years old, and you could easily carry him in one arm while the other rested on Touya's shoulder, a comforting gesture.

Reporters shouted questions, fans screamed for some attention, and some people just watched, stone faced and blank.

Touya opened the door for you, and you ruffled his hair affectionately while Shouto kept a protective hand on the small of your back.

Shouto, who had been the first of you to meet the hosts, lead your family through the building, waving away assistance with enough politeness that no one got offended, but got the point across that he didn't need their help.

"Momma," Reizo murmured sleepily.

"Yeah baby?"

"Are Touya and I going to be taken from you and Daddy?"

"Not if we have anything to say about it baby," you whispered, trying to control the pheromones that were leaking around your scent reduction patches.

You had been straight with Touya about what was going on, he didn't appreciate being treated like a child, but you had sugar-coated the explanation you had given Reizo. He still understood, but it was terms he could understand.

"I love you Momma," Reizo said, clinging to the back of your shirt.

"I love you too baby," you told him, kissing his forehead lightly.

You and Shouto had declined the list of questions the station had sent you, and your PR managers had already 'leaked' it to the media that you and your family were winging this.

You had told the boys to answer the questions honestly, unless they didn't want to answer a question that made them uncomfortable.

You and Shouto had had a long conversation with the boys about this kind of thing, about personal information protection when being questioned, tone of voice, all of it, but at the end of the day, you knew that someone would find a way to twist everything.

Everything seemed to pass in a blur before you entered onto the stage, Reizo still in your arms.

Shouto and Touya were on either side of you, and you suddenly felt as if you had two bodyguards.

"Nice to see you again, Mrs. Todoroki. Mr. Todoroki, Mini Todorokis," Nariko, one of the hosts, said.

Shouto nodded, wrapping an arm around your shoulders absentmindedly.

"Nice to see you again too, Ms. Tanaka. I apologize for my husband, his second cup of coffee hasn't really settled in yet," you snarked, nudging your husband playfully.

"Dad doesn't function properly until nine in the morning," Touya added, flashing one of those dazzling smirks that would have people bowing to his every wish in a few years.

"My own son," Shouto muttered, making you laugh.

"It seems like your youngest takes after his father," Tatsuya, the other host, offered.

"Reizo does like his sleep," you agreed, rubbing your son's back soothingly.

"He's been spending too much time with his Uncle Katsuki," Shouto muttered, and you chuckled.

"Hey, when we were in school, you and Katsuki were the only ones that went to be bed before ten," you reminded him, wrinkling your nose in a teasing way.

Shouto opened and closed his mouth a few times before he pouted, tugging, very lightly, on a stray piece of hair that fell into your face.

"So, Touya- is it alright if we call you that?- what's it like? Having both parents be Pros?" Nariko asked.

"I don't mind if you call me Touya," your son said, looking surprisingly relaxed. "You guys don't ask the weird questions that some other reporters do. But, to answer your question, it's been . . . interesting, for sure."

"How so?"

"Well, for once thing, it's always stressful seeing them fighting on TV, no matter if it's a small time attention seeker or a high profile criminal. Dad has been my role model since I was little, even more so since I presented as an alpha. And I'm not ashamed to admit that I'm a Momma's boy," Touya said, sending you a fond look. "So I want to make sure Momma's safe."

People in the audience cooed, and you let out a small purr, ruffling your son's hair.

"What do you have to say to that Mom?" Tatsuya inquired.

"Both Shouto and I already know that Touya is a Momma's boy," you informed them. "Both boys are, though recently Reizo has been spending more time with his father."

Reizo shifted in your lap, slowly peeling his eyes open, glancing around.

He rubbed his eyes as they asked Touya a few more questions, before he crawled from your lap into Shouto's.

Shouto waited for him to get settled before moving to make sure Reizo was secure in his position.

"So, Mrs. Todoroki-"

"Please, call me (Y/F/N)," you interrupted. "We've been doing this since I was in high school."

"Fair enough," Nariko said, smiling at you. "(Y/F/N), what's it like for you? Being a mother and Pro?"

"The separation anxiety in the beginning almost made me quit," you joked, waiting for the laughter to die down before continuing. "But seriously, being a mother is stressful enough, but I was rising through the ranks, so was Shouto. We both knew that our jobs were dangerous, and we made sure that we talked it through thoroughly before we even got together. When I found out I was pregnant, we both took a few days off to talk about things. We both agreed that I was going to take myself out of the field, stick to desk work, that kind of thing, and then we argued on baby names."

"Speaking of baby names," Tatsuya said, making sure you were done before continuing, "you named your son Touya. Care to explain the name choice, given everything that's happened?"

You and Shouto glanced at each other, and you could tell by the look on his face that he was leaving this one to you. He wouldn't be able to get through it if he answered.

"Until recently, we didn't know that Dabi of the League of Villains was Touya Todoroki. Shouto and the rest of his family thought that he was dead. I don't know the full story, since Enji didn't like me to begin with, and Shouto doesn't talk about him much. Shouto was separated from his siblings because of his father."

You tried to reign in all the angry pheromones leaking out, but it was hard. You had never really liked Enji Todoroki, in the uniform or out of it, and hearing about the abuse over the years from Shouto and his siblings had lowered your opinion even more.

"Anyway, when we started talking about names, Shouto brought Touya up. He said, 'I want there to be one Touya Todoroki that gets to see all the good the world has to offer'. Once he told me that, I couldn't say no, besides, I wanted there to be one Touya Todoroki that saw what love was supposed to be."

You took Shouto's hand, interlacing your fingers, and your son took your other hand.

"You got what you wanted," your son told you, voice cracking with emotions.

"So, Touya, do you think that your parents are a good example of love?" Nariko asked.

"Without a doubt," Touya replied, almost instantaneously.

"You answered that very quickly," Nariko told him, eyes wide.

"For those who don't know, my quirk reacts with my emotions," Touya said, setting his hand on fire, the flames a bright gold. "The flames change color based on my emotions. From the first day that my quirk appeared, neither of my parents have ever lost their patience with me. They have both taken the time to communicate with me. They taught me that showing emotions isn't a bad thing, it's something that makes us human.

"My parents have never raised their voices at us, me or Reizo. Even when we probably deserved it, they've never yelled at us out of anger or frustration. Never. They've never laid a hand on us either. I've never seen Dad's eyes change color even a little bit when talking with me, my brother, or my mother. He's gotten mad at a few people who can't take a hint, but he's never been violent around the house. He's never yelled at Momma, and Momma's never yelled at him either. Not in the time I can remember. Dad taught me how to be a good alpha. I said earlier he was a like a role model to me.

"I watched the way he treated Momma and followed his example. Now I know how to treat my future mate, and how to make things work. My parents are a good example of a healthy relationship, love, acceptance, parenthood, and a bunch of other things. They taught me and Reizo that communication is the key to everything. If only it was the key to cooking, because I think that's the only thing neither of them can do."

The audience had been cooing at your sons little speech, then laughed at his unexpected joke.

Tears stung your eyes and Touya seemed to panic a little bit.

"Sorry Momma, I didn't mean to make you cry!"

"I know honey," you said, wrapping your arms around him. "I'm just happy."

He sank into your hug, arms tight around your waist.

Shouto rubbed a hand down your back soothingly, and you pulled away, wiping your eyes.

"So, Mr. Todoroki, you've been very quiet," Tatsuya said. "Why are you letting your wife and son answer everything."

"If there's one thing I've learned in the fifteen years that we've been together," Shouto said, "it's that my wife has a way with words that I lack. Luckily, both our sons have inherited that from her. Besides, I like hearing her and my children talk. I like hearing their voice much more than I like hearing mine."

"And you said you didn't have a way with words," you teased, and Shouto chuckled.

Reizo rubbed at his eyes, glanced around, and crawled over your lap to get to Touya, who let his little brother tuck himself into his side, yawning.

"Finally awake baby?" you asked, turning your attention to your youngest son.

"Yeah," he murmured, stretching before he settled down again. "'M not used to being up this early on a weekend."

"We know," Touya teased, patting his brother on the head.

"Rude Touya!" Reizo whined.

"Boys," you chirped, "save the bickering for when we get home okay? Let these people do their jobs."

"Sorry Momma," they both muttered.

You smiled at them, and Shouto shook his head with a small smile.

"Are they always like this?" Nariko asked, trying to hide a giggle behind her hand.

"Pretty much," you admitted, smiling brightly. "But they are our sons, it's to be expected that they get a little snarky."

"We certainly were," Shouto muttered.

"To say the least," you agreed. "God, high school was rough. We were such problem children, I don't know how Aizawa dealt with us, or any of our other teachers for that matter."

"Speaking of your U.A. days, Touya, you're in class 1-A currently, aren't you?"

"Yes, I recently got my acceptance letter," he confirmed. "I can't wait! I already met some of my other classmates already, since they're cousins of sorts, but it's gonna be great to see where Momma and Dad went when they were my age."

"And you were accepted through recommendations, but you took the public entrance exams didn't you?"

"Yeah," Touya said, nodding. "I wanted to show everyone that just because I was accepted through recommendations didn't mean that I didn't have the power to back it up, or that I thought I was better than anyone else. I wanted to prove that it was through my power that I got in."

Shouto's eyes shined at the words his son used, and you took his hand, remembering the words that Izuku had told him at your first Sports Festival together.

"That's my boy," Shouto murmured, leaning across your lap to ruffle his son's hair.

Touya grinned, fixing his hair.

"Reizo, do you want to be a hero?" Tatsuya asked him.

"No, I want to be a natural disaster first responder."

"Why don't you want to be hero?" Nariko inquired.

"Because I don't want to steal my brother's spotlight," Reizo teased, cutting a playful glare at his brother. "Besides, they're heroes too, they just aren't Pros. Most civil servants are heroes, they just don't have the same title. Momma and Daddy taught me that!"

Reizo beamed at you, and you couldn't help but smile back at him, wrinkling your nose at him, which he did back at you.

"(Y/F/N), Mr. Todoroki, do either of you have anything to say to the people who are questioning whether Pro Heroes can be effective parents?"

"I can't speak for all Pro Heroes," you said, your voice going colder. "But I can confidently, without hesitation, tell you that the entirety of my graduating class- those that have kids- are better parents than most of our grandparents were. None of them would ever hit their child. And yes, we're all training our kids to use their quirks, but it's to teach them control, and we aren't training them for battle. Our children are not soldiers. And I think some people need to be reminded that while heroes are capable of handling situations that others are not because of our training, we're still human.

"Every time we leave our kids, every time we go out, we know that we might not make it back home. I worry about my kids whenever I leave for patrols. Every time I come across a strong opponent, I worry about whether my kids are safe, whether Shouto is safe, whether I'm going to make it back home. And to those that are specifically questioning Shouto's ability to be a parent, I'm disappointed in you. For those that are more than willing to let him walk in harm's way to risk his life for them, but doubt his parenting skills, well, ask any alpha from our class and they will tell you that I was not an easy omega to get to know.

"As an omega that was almost deemed unbreedable, unmateable, for me to let Shouto anywhere near me should be proof enough, not to mention the fact that we have two amazing pups. Not every hero is Enji Todoroki. Not every hero is thinking only of themselves or their image. The reason we're heroes is to help the world. We're not looking for fame and glory. We're looking to keep the world safer for our mates and our pups. We're heroes, but we're human, we're parents. I'm disappointed in every person that ever praised Enji Todoroki for his parenting skills, I'm disappointed in everyone that was fooled by his 'hero' persona. He may have had a license, but when it came down to it, he was no hero, not in any of the ways that mattered."

You leaned back against the couch, tearing your eyes away from the camera, leaning against Shouto's side.

"I have to agree with my wife on this," Shouto said. "My father set the bar pretty low when it came to what being a functional parents as a hero looks like, but our class is setting the bar high. None of our friends have pups that are terrified of when they walk through the door after patrols. None of our nieces and nephews have ever hated their parents with serious intent. Every member of our class, which we all know is still referred to as 1-A, adores their children. Even Katsuki does, and when we were in high school all he cared about was being number one. He took time off from work to raise his pups, and if that doesn't speak volumes, I don't know what does. When we get home, Touya and Reizo always jump to their feet and hug us.

"Katsuki's kids are the same way with him and Eijirou. The number of times (Y/F/N) and I have been knocked over when we get home from patrols is insane, honestly. Denki and Hitoshi's kids are just like Denki, always smiling. We've made mistakes of course- what parent doesn't?- but that doesn't make us bad parents. My father was a bad parent, most of the time he was a bad person, and I made it my mission to not be like him in anyway. I think I did pretty well."

You took Shouto's hand, squeezing it.

"Our class is one big family," you murmured, "and every time the kids are with us or any of our former classmates, they always smile. Like Shouto said, we've made mistakes, and we'll probably make more. We're human, it's what we do, but we're trying our best to be good parents. Our boys know that we just want what's best for them, that we support them no matter what. We taught our kids that it's alright to be afraid of things, but we also taught them that we shouldn't be something they feared. Class 1-A wanted to be the kind of parents where instead of them thinking 'Oh shit, I can't tell Mom or Dad' we wanted them to think 'I'm in trouble, I need to call Mom and Dad'."

"It sounds like you did a very good job," Tatsuya said.

"He's right!" Touya and Reizo chirped.

"You all agreed to wing this interview. We personally watched your PR agents tear up the copy of questions we were going to ask you, though (Y/F/N)'s went further and dissolved hers in water, so you had nothing to prepare yourselves with. Why would you do that?" Nariko asked.

"Momma and Dad are great parents," Touya began. "We knew that any questions you asked us would have only good answers. They get frustrated with us, they get mad, but they handle it well, they never take it out on us. Twist our words however you want, but at the end of the day, that's my final answer. I wouldn't want anyone else to raise me."

"Same," Reizo said. "And anyone that thinks Momma and Daddy are bad at what they do needs to get their eyes checked."

"Reizo," you chided.

"Sorry Momma, but it's true," Touya agreed.

"My boys," you murmured, pulling them both closer, resisting the urge to cry.

"There you have it folks," Nariko said. "I don't think there are any other questions we need to ask."

"None," Tatsuya agreed.

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

A few days later, the interview was on TV, and you couldn't resist the urge to watch it.

You were home by yourself for now. Shouto was out on patrol, Touya was at the dorms getting settled in, and Reizo was at a friend's house for the night.

It was clear how much your boys adored you, and it was clear that neither boy was frightened at all of you or Shouto.

Katsuki had called, practically in tears, though whether that was from the sappiness of you and your family or the kind things you had said, you weren't sure.

Most heroes had been cleared of any suspicion, they had started in the higher ranks and worked their way down, so you and the rest of your class had been cleared already.

After you had all learned that you were cleared, kids had been dropped at grandparents' and other trusted family and friends so the adults could celebrate.

It had been nice to see everyone, and there had been a lot of tears (Izuku and Katsuki were the worst, though you had been close to them), but there had also been a lot more laughter and drunken shenanigans that you would never tell your kids about.

Your ranking, along with Shouto's had shot through the roof after that interview, and you and your husband had both gotten tons of fanmail apologizing for ever doubting, and other that said they had never doubted at all and that they were glad that you were cleared.

Shouto had been so relieved when the investigations had been dropped, like a weight had been lifted off his shoulders.

"I told you," you had told him one night, and he stumbled across the interview on twitter, along with someone's breakdown of it.

You were lying in bed together, his arm wrapped around your waist as you laid on his chest.

"I know," he murmured, kissing the top of your head.

"You will never be like your father, and you will always be my hero, same with the boys."

"Speaking of the boys," Shouto began, cheeks tinted a little pink.

"Oh no," you teased, pushing yourself up to see his face.

"I . . . I want to have another pup," he admitted. "I want to try for a girl this time."

"Upset that both of our boys are almost as devoted to me as you are?" you asked playfully, moving to sit in Shouto's lap as you both readjusted.

"No, I love that our boys love you as much as they do, but they are Momma's boys," he said. "I want a Daddy's girl."

You couldn't help but chuckle, leaning down to kiss him.

"Let's ask the boys in the morning," you suggested. "Then we can try for a girl."

Shouto beamed at you, and you shook your head at him, kissing him again.

"Dork," you muttered, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"I would've asked sooner, but with the investigations going on, I didn't think it was the right time."

"You're right, it wouldn't have been, but we would've worked it out. We always do."

Shouto nodded, burying his face in your neck.

"I love you Shouto," you told him.

"I love you too (Y/F/N)."

[buckyjamess-archive]

𝓻𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓮 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓲 ❁ 𝓫𝓾𝓬𝓴𝔂 𝓫𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓮𝓼

chapter eighteen • a/n: last chapter folks- wanna thank all those who interacted/read it, I hope you enjoyed it! ♡ gonna miss these fools, ngl • wordcount: 2k • warnings: nothing but fluff. Parenthood. Babies. Kids.

summary

going through  rough years after losing your husband, you try to raise your daughter the best you can. With the help from the wilson's you make the best of it but the road is bumpy when sam introduces you to his friend.

masterlist

His hands are warmer and maybe even bigger as his fingers are intertwined with yours, gently swaying back and forth, his thumb rubbing the back of your hand or a light squeeze to remind you he's still there. 

a few steps ahead, rosie groans, huffs and puffs as she pushes the stroller the best she can. Talking to her little brother who gurgles back just as much. 

"You're really heavy!" 

a soft pink, round handbag with minnie mouse printed on the front hangs loosely in Steve's other hand. Handed to him seconds after leaving the restaurant by Rosie herself as she offered to push her little brother back home. A heavy diaper bag he'd taken off the stroller to take away some weight, hangs of his shoulder– you told him you could carry one of the two but Steve being Steve, refused your offer and instead clamped his hand in yours.

A day out planned by the man walking next to you. A day with the four of you, letting Rosie and JJ get used to Steve being around for more than the two hours every night before getting tucked in. That Steve wasn't just a friend anymore– though Rosie 'just knew' when you told her Steve was more than a friend, a special friend. 

'I don't kiss my friends like that' 

Rosie didn't mind, or at least you think. She was good with everyone, stranger or not. Opening up to Steve wasn't a problem, becoming friends with Steve came easy for the girl. 

And bucky, bucky would always be dad.

'Now I have three daddies. My real daddy, my normal daddy and steve.' 

And though you never intended to let Steve in your life so quickly, it became serious pretty fast. 

Delicately glueing back each other's pieces left of a broken heart; giving solace, a shoulder to cry on and someone to hold. Steve and you never intended to become this, you were just friends, used-to-be-coworkers. It happened. Bucky no longer floating through your head every other minute or feeling that ache in your chest– just you and Steve and for now after the heartbreak Bucky caused you could in all honesty say that Steve Rogers treated you better than anyone ever did.

The stroller comes to a halt when Rosie stills in front of the apartment block. She let's go of the stroller and places both hands on her sides, bright yellow sunglasses resting on the bridge of her nose, she sighs heavily. 

"That was heavy." 

You and Steve chuckle at Rosie her stance as if an old man admiring his self-built furniture, sarcasm dripping from her body yet as innocent as can be. 

"I bet it was, kid." 

"Yes, JJ eats too much." 

"Says the girl who ate all my fries." 

Letting go of your hand, Steve hands Rosie back her own bag which she happily takes– slipping the diaper bag from his shoulder, you wrap your hand around it and carefully toss it over your own. Hand digging in to find your keys. Taking the few steps up the building, you push open the door and watch how Steve casually carries the stroller and JJ up the steps and follows Rosie in the building.

The walk to the elevator is short, the three of you and the stroller packed tight in the small space– you stay quiet, watching the interaction between Rosie and Steve, your heart grows ten times its size. You thank the gods above for giving you all these amazing men in your life, even if they broke your heart in different ways- teaching you the ways of life, giving the best things to ever exist, trusting you, caring about you..loving you.

Riley, your first real love. The one that changed your life forever. Teaching the ropes of this crazy thing called adult life. Be the calm to your chaos. Showed you love like you'd never had before– sure enough about it all to put a ring around your finger and giving you the most important job of them all; be a mother to a beautiful, funny and feisty daughter. Riley who gave you real heartbreak, leaving an empty hole in your heart and took a piece of your soul with him

Sam who stood by your side through it all. Going through the process together of losing a spouse and partner on the field. Your shoulder to lean on when things got rough, a friend of your man turned into your best friend– showing you the meaning of family by letting you into his own.

Bucky who stole your heart so fast, you never had a chance to let it settle– a wild man willing to wait. A wild man who showed you that life after Riley could be something beautiful; taught you how to love again, brought you back to life and gave you the gift you call your son, gave Rosie a father figure. Bucky the best mistake you'd ever made in your life.

And maybe all these men were needed to get you with the one. Without Riley no Sam and without Sam no Bucky, and you'd never have met Steve if you didn't move to Brooklyn. All these men lead you to him.

Steve. The man who picked up the pieces and put them back together– the man you so desperately needed in your life. The calm that Riley once gave you and the wild and silly bucky once showed. The one for real this time.

Even if things didn't go your way, men changing every chapter of your book– life was pretty amazing. 

Steve must've seen the slight wobble of your chin and your eyes filling with tears. His firm hand back into yours, you look up to meet his blues, you shoot him a tight lipped smile.

"Mommy, why are you crying?" 

You inhale deeply, quickly wiping away the tears that have made their way down your cheeks and not trusting your own voice, you smile at your daughter but shrug. 

"You know what I think?" Steve quips, the hand that's intertwined with yours now snaking around your waist to pull you ever closer into his side "I think mom's just really happy." 

Rosie nods unsure but gives a toothy grin "then I'm happy too, then we're all happy." 

"Then we're all happy." 

He reads you like an open book, something you got to love and hate over the last few weeks. Nitpicking little flaws to get under your skin or be the biggest sap whenever you're feeling down; he knows you like the back of his hand. 

"This is so stupid," you breath out a shaky chuckle "Jesus, I'm crying in an elevator–" 

"It's not stupid," Steve reassures "we're all just very happy, right?" 

"Yeah." You nod. 

Squeezing your side, Steve let's you know he's there and plants a kiss to your temple before resting his chin upon your head.

"I love you, sweetheart." 

Bucky can't quite believe it himself; just a month ago he labeled Steve Rogers as his arch enemy and wish bad things upon the blonde and now, now bucky hopes and wishes the blonde would treat you better than anyone else– welcomed Steve into the mess. 

At ease, okay, alright but above all grateful. You didn't kick him out of your life or that of his kids– you wouldn't be the first mother to do such a thing, he's seen it on TV multiple times. Bucky's grateful that you and him still were a thing just not the same. Parents of your kids, friends.

Though jealousy would strike once in a while and he reminded himself of the mistake he'd made, It was good this way.

Big helium balloons in the shape of letters and numbers float above the table shoved against the wall, reading 'JJ 1 YEAR'. Silver birthday garlands hanging from ceilings along the baby blue and white balloons– table filled with snacks, gifts and drinks. Cramped in your apartment but done together– texting back and forth, nights of planning brought you all here, JJ his first birthday.

Friends and family here to celebrate something the two of you made from love.

Bucky leans against the kitchen bar, one hand tucked deep into the pocket of his jeans and the other wrapped around a bottle of beer. Eyes upon the small crowd gathered and lands on Steve, barely on his knees next to a side table, small plastic tiara on his head as Rosie applies makeup on the guy's face from the set she'd just got as a gift from uncle Sam.

Bucky smiles, at least you picked a child magnet, a guy who'll love his kids as much as the two of you do. 

Bucky scans the crowd again and spots you without any problem, another smile on his face at the sight of his godchild hailey holding JJ, probably gossiping around with you.

It's good this way.

"Hey man." 

Snapping out of his own world, Bucky meets the eyes of a man he hasn't spoken to in months; sam. Not since he got to learn about Bucky's mistake.

"Hey." Bucky shoots him a tight lipped smile.

Standing still next to Bucky, Sam leans against the bar in the same stance and follows Bucky's gaze to the crowd to you, his son and hailey.

"He looks like you." Sam confesses "scary." 

Letting his head fall, Bucky chuckles and nods "at least we know it's mine." 

Sam chuckles along till it dies down, silence falling over both men as they keep watching the scene in front of them. How you leave Hailey with her nephew and mingle with some friends– bucky can feel Sam's eyes burning on his face. 

"Told you so, didn't I?" 

Bucky snorts "Let's not go there, I've learned my lesson." 

"Do you?" Sam quips with a grin on his face "No new love on the horizon?" 

Bucky nods, he has learned his lesson and he knows he'll never find someone like you again– he has definitely learned his lesson and definitely not ready for something new.

"No man, I'm going to focus on my kids." Bucky breathes out a soft chuckle "apparently I still have two." 

"Rosie loves you– I have to thank you for that, giving Rosie a father figure." 

"Wouldn't trade it for anything else." 

"I know." 

Another, comfortable silence falls like a thick blanket. Knowing each other well enough to know what they're thinking– a smile creeping on both men's faces at the sight of you pushing yourself past some people and beelining towards the duo.

"Mind If I join?" 

Scooting aside, both Sam and bucky make space for you in between and your arm that snakes around Bucky's back gives him a warm and fuzzy feeling– he pulls you closer into his side with his arm dropped over your shoulder 

"A year ago you nearly passed out." You mumble softly 

"I didn't pass out." Bucky scoffs 

"I said nearly–" 

"Not even nearly." 

"The nurses had to sit you down." 

"They never–" 

"They did!" 

It's a game of back and forth, getting underneath each other's skin and Bucky hopes things like this will never change even if you decided to spend the rest of your life with steve. The silly arguments, the silly fights and the lame jokes– bucky would be alright as long as that stayed. 

The squeeze around his side makes Bucky aware you're still there. Locking eyes with yours, one's he's found himself lost in many times before, he copies your smile. 

"What?" 

"Nothing– we did good." You state.

Though things didn't go the way it was supposed to, the two of you did good indeed, more than good even. 

"I think we did amazing." Bucky smiles back.

Wrapping his arm around your shoulder a bit tighter, he places a quick kiss on your forehead before following your gaze into the crowd, his daughter, his son, his family and steve.

It's good this way.

"So, guys," Sam clears his throat from beside you "really gotta know what happened on hailey her birthday party that day." 

"No, you don't." You and Bucky chuckle in unison "you really don't."

Taglist: @farfromshawn @Nicollettemarie @wooya1224 @felicityofbakerstreet @agentmstark @sierrax023 @lilyevanswhore @qhbr2013 @buckybarnesobsessed @themaddies-obx @aloserwithoutacause @aanngie @sebby-staan @sweetth1ng @starrystarkey93 @libidinexx @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @gasly-kvyat @brown-bi-beautiful @peter-laufeyson @im-squished @meshlababy @lindseyrae20 @cb97skies @qwccrr @ssprayberrythings @yougottalovefandoms @jbcalway @realgaytrash @natyvwe @poetryazenth @winterberryfox @ahahafudge @okiegirl24 @0moondoodler0 @why-wait-4-eventually @abzidabzy

[haztory]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

--nanami kento x gn!reader; hurt, comfort, minor character death, established relationship, death from a disease

--summary: Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on. He's no stranger to it nor the quiet that follows it. But when it plagues you like this, he finds himself at a loss.

a/n: I don’t know where this came from. it just happened. have I mentioned I'm a huge nanami simp as well? something about capable men just gets to me hehe. anyways, enjoy!

i listened to ‘clouds’ by luke faulkner while writing this

(w.c. 2302)

Death is part of the process, Nanami Kento learns early on.

It’s not one he has to particularly enjoy, but it would be advantageous in the resting of his conscious to make peace with it. Rather than let death ruin the few hours of sleep he can manage a night, it’s significantly easier to never let it weigh too heavily on his mind, never let its stay linger for more than necessary in the space of his thoughts. His occupation demands a certain air of nonchalance from him, requires the detached, almost stoic acknowledgment of the situation. Eventually, familiarity will settle in the depth of his recollection and death becomes something one needn’t blink twice towards. 

It’s not an aspect of the job he likes, per se, but it’s significantly better than the alternative. This seemingly apathetic conception of human life is unfortunately an evil requirement. Instead of festering over the lives he didn’t save, he can focus on the ones he has yet to protect. His slate may be tainted with copious amounts of red— inky, dark, bleeding red; the kind that looks black as it accumulates— but in true Kento fashion, he’ll wipe it clean. Gently, with a clean rag and with slow, circular motions, he’ll wash away the evidence of his failures with as much respect as he can, regardless of how exhausted he may be and how much easier it would be to just run his body, suit, and knife through the stream of water.

The victims may no longer be of this earth, but their last physical embodiment lay wickedly upon his person, his weapon, and his soul. Where he couldn’t save them, the least he can do is lay their last parts to rest with as much kindness as one can muster: with a slow wipe and a silent prayer. 

Death is part of the process, but, if one allows it, it can also be the fuel towards excellence. A drive that settles in after the brief misfortune, kickstarting the desire for improvement; A need to do and be better. To work harder and save more people. But that’s all it must be. No residual guilt, no lasting regret, only fuel. That’s what Nanami Kento learns early on.

What he learns rather recently, though, is that death is much different when it’s inevitable. 

When there is no amount of slashing, no amount of fighting, no amount of improved skills that can prevent it. Even worse, when you know it’s coming and preparation can do very little in settling the grief. 

Death is part of the process, but how can one rationalize it when it doesn’t come from the immediate life or death situation he so often faces? When it doesn’t come from the hands of maniacal cursed spirits or the wickedness of greedy men, but instead, from the unforgiving nature of nature itself? How does one reconcile the inevitability of death when it happens to someone so young?

Cancer. 

She was only eleven.

Death is part of the process, Kento used to think, but as he stands amongst the sea of black on this fitting day of grey, he can’t help but notice how incredibly unfair this all is. Her mother stands a few feet away, silent as they scatter her ashes by the river she used to play in as a child. She stands flanked on either side by loved ones, and yet, the abysmal look on her face betrays any ideal that she may be comforted by the closeness of others; Hardly even cognizant of the fact that they’re there. He’s seen that look before, once on himself.  

It’s the face of vicissitude, the kind that casts someone past the rocks of sadness and out onto the sea of loneliness and despair. A place that no one can follow.

Spouses are called some variation of widow, children are called orphans. What does one call a parent who’s lost their child? No doubt the lack of a label only helps to contribute to the loneliness of it all. Suspended in pain without even the decency of a customary societal title attached to one’s name. Left with nothing but the echoing emptiness of a broken heart.

Grief personified. A hollow shell of a being. Just another person who lost someone they loved. Nothing more, nothing less.

Kento is used to death, but this? This has heartache weighing heavier on his shoulders than he’s used to, forcing his impeccably straight posture forward with a sag of tragedy. The silence of the fellow attendees forces him to maintain some morsel of composure, in fear of disturbing the serene devastation of it all that’s composed so fragilely. So delicate that even a sigh will break the glass of still anguish. As her ashes are scattered to the river and the priest begins the common prayer, the image of her weak smile in her last moments plays vividly behind Kento’s tinted glasses. He can hardly swallow the lump that tightens his throat.

He can hardly imagine how her mother feels. Can hardly imagine how you feel. She was your niece after all.

His eyes trail towards your figure. Standing to the right of your sister, dressed in the customary black, and hand held tightly in hers in solidarity of the magnitude of the loss. Kento didn’t mind standing towards the back, away from the bubble of intimacy that surrounded the two of you. It would’ve felt like an invasion of the sanctity of family to stand anywhere near. A foreigner, he’s always attributed himself to be whenever accompanied with your family— not out of their refusal to accommodate him, but rather his own voluntary maintenance of separation from their sphere of loving connection that was more or less absent from his own life— and any meager effort to share sentiments of sorrow would feel, more or less, inauthentic. At least at this moment.

So he waits, towards the back of the gathering. A far enough distance to ascertain his separation from the immediate family, but close enough to where, should you require him at any point, you need only turn around to seek him out. And he will come to you, as fast as his legs may go, regardless of the people that may be in the way. For his hand has been twitching this entire time with the need to physically comfort you and his eyes continuously dart back to your figure in watchful consideration.

The priest ends his prayer and the last of the ashes are sent off and silence once more encompasses the gathering. The aching kind, the one that wants to be disturbed so badly, but remains untouchable. The kind of agonizing mute that has surrounded his life since you received the fateful phone call a few days before.

Kento is no stranger to quiet. It’s his preferred method of life, not the kind of person to find delight in unnecessary, boastful noise, nor the kind to entertain it often. But this is the kind of quiet he finds greats distaste in. Especially since it’s deprived him of his favorite kind of din— yours.

The life that is so intricately intertwined with yours has held virtually no recognizable clamor in four days. No low chatter from the television, no raucous laughter induced from one of your social media apps, no prolonged discussion of each other’s days or interesting points of conversation. Only silence has filled every gap and crevice as you two packed bags and made arrangements to head to your hometown in preparation for the funeral. Lamenting silence filled the space as you sat side by side on the train towards your destination. Mournful silence encompassing the home of your sister upon your mutual entry into the area. Silence so thick yet so delicate, so long and so void that any attempt to dismantle it feels boilingly uncomfortable.

He doesn’t like the wall it has unintentionally placed between you two, wanting nothing more than to tear it down with his bare hands and have you back within the safety of his arms. But he knows better. 

Death is part of the process, and he must let grief run its course. He’ll just remain in the shadows as a beam of support, intent to provide the space and time you need, but always keeping a trained eye on you.

That’s what love is, he supposes. It’s an odd thing to think, especially as solemness surrounds him as it does now. The drag of sadness competing with the surge of love that overwhelms his veins. It’s burning, and intense, and while his is mostly in consideration of you (as most things in his life nowadays are), it’s peculiarly indicative of the moment. Poetic, almost. 

Bleeding affection borders this ceremony of gathered friends and family in a proper send-off, love encapsulated in the silent tears trailing down faces and memorialized in the air of stagnance. Pouring in every direction as they all gaze sadly at the traveling ashes of the young girl down the steady waters of the river.

It’s grief, yes, but also love, for what is grief but love with nowhere to go?

The ride home is like all the other days, incredibly hushed. Inaudible. He can barely hear your breaths. He wonders, and not for the first time, if when he dies, this is how you will grieve. In this tragic quiet, moving with such stillness that was he not watching, he wouldn’t know you moved at all. A vacant soul wandering just to survive. Jujutsu sorcerers unfairly make their peace with dying early on in their tenure, and maybe he’s committed you to a life of tragedy by involving himself so intimately with you. 

When he dies, and he will— this life that he has chosen spares him no luxuries, not even false beliefs— he will condemn you to a brutal reality that he could have spared you from were he not so selfish. He hates seeing you like this. Hates it with every fiber of his being.

Death is a part of the process. He understands that. He just wishes it wasn’t so collateral. A prolonged state of your affliction that resulted from his hand would surely be a more painful fate than any gruesome death.

Your parent’s home is warm, in sharp contrast to the events of the day. And while they stayed with your sister, Kento insisted you return to your place of stay to wash and change if only to give you a moment alone; So he can check on you in the sanctity of privacy, grant you a brief respite from the unrelenting tide of sorrow, cherish you in these sparing instances that he can never take for granted. 

You bathe alone, he gives you that. He makes tea the way your mother taught him how, even though you quite like the way he makes it and has it set on the table upon your return. Dressed in comfier attire and seated blankly at the table, he settles in beside you. His shoulder touching yours hoping to convey in this minute action that he’s here. 

He doesn’t need the words to say it. Just his presence. 

His hand too, as you settle your own silently in the space of his large one, gripping tightly onto the rough skin. He rubs his thumb along the back of your hand, bringing it to his lips as he placed two long kisses on its surface. You’ve made eye contact all day but this is the first time you’ve really looked at each other. 

Where he can see the pain swimming in the pools of your irises behind the film of unshed tears and you can see the unrestrained sympathy and worry in his. 

“She was eleven,” you whisper, unable to speak any louder.

He doesn’t say anything. There’s not much he can say, only press his lips harder to the back of your hand.

It’s the only moment you’ve had alone together since arriving, and while he was so desperate before to hear something, anything come from your mouth, he finds that the inactivity the fills space once more is rather appropriate. One that he doesn’t want to disturb. Not when there isn’t anything he can say that can heal this wound, nothing he can do except love and care for you when you’re too weak to do it yourself. 

He places a hand behind your head, tilting you forward as he places his lips upon your forehead and smoothing the stray hairs that have displaced themselves from your formal hairdo. Fingers travel down the back of your neck and rub gentle circles on your shoulder, healing any aches with his touch. 

“Drink,” he murmurs against your temple, and you do. A sign of progress that he relishes in. He’s more than eager to see the slow trek back to a state of normalcy, but he knows it’ll be different from here on out. There’s a hole in your heart and it will take a while to heal. 

But he’ll be there. For as long as he can, whenever he can. Because that’s what love is.

Death is part of the process, but he finds it’s infinitely more manageable with you. He knows you feel the same way when at the end of the day as you lay side by side in the guest room of your parents’ home, you take comfort in the safety of his arms and finally, fill the air with something other than the prolonged silence and let him comfort you. 

Death is part of the process, and he knows the inevitability of his own part in it. But in this moment with you, he’ll let himself indulge selfishly in your noise. It’s his favorite sound, after all. 

end notes: come shoot me a message! i love hearing from yall.