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13tinysocks · 3 months ago

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My Dead Girlfriend

He comes in droves, hoards of himself, brokenhearted and wanting, wrecking cities for a chance to get one last glance at you. You're different, more than all of them expected. It's saddening for some, boner inducing for others. [Invincible Variants x reader]

Tw: Suicide, drug use

[Part one] [3] [Ao3] [Chapter Index] [View Full Piece Here - It's mine!]

2 * RX Only [6.7k]

"While my queendom crumbles around me,

I'm fucking stuck here sucking this cock,

I'll kill myself right here on stage,

And it's gonna fucking rock!"

I Win - Go Hang Music

Blood, guts, and sulfur, but no demons rising from the ground. Just a man in the night, backlit by the burning Sydney Opera House. Watching the blinking dot on his wrist cuff disappear. He holds his breath. Horrified. She was an illusion. A trick of a grief addled brain.

The screen automatically zooms out, showing a pixelated view of the northern hemisphere of the planet. The dot reappears in North America. Numbers flash in the left corner of his blue tinted vision. When he first saw his alternates, he thought they'd have the same upgrades. Super computers laced into the fabric of their suits. Considering how stupid they were acting and how one of them asked where Mount Rushmore was- they likely didn't.

He rises, scanning the numbers one last time, burning them to memory before minimizing them. Your coordinates and vitals, both monitored by the cuff. Perfectly healthy, alarmed, scared shitless probably, but healthy. Alive.

The breath he held lets go.

Eyes scan over Sydney one last time. Before he left, he had to ensure his end of the deal was complete. Be absolutely sure Angstrom wouldn't be displeased and send him back to where he'd came from. Sure, he hadn't expected to see (Y/n) here, so soon, he wasn't really done with Sydney. He could level the place if he wanted. Angstrom would approve, but Angstrom's approval didn't matter. All that mattered was bringing you home. Still, he searches for loose threads. Just in case. The machinery in his suit quietly whirs. He sees no survivors. Not with the rubble and fire. But his goggles lock onto the outline of forms in neon green, hiding behind a slab of rubble where he couldn't see. He's there in a blink. Stood at the one and only entrance of the little hovel the family had decided to hide in. Only one of them lives long enough to scream. There, done. Now he could- His lenses lock onto another hidden form. Then another and another. He sighs. Head turning to the floating ball beside him. Angstrom's drone making sure he was doing what he was supposed to. Five minutes, he told himself, five minutes to kill all these fucking people and be done with this place. It wasn't like he was going to lose track of (Y/n). He rose, up, up, up. More and more forms catching in the lens. He pushed a hidden button on the side of his lenses. A tiny segmented timer started in the left corner of his view. Five minutes, on the clock. *** "You're fucking kidding me." First the apartment, now CVS Pharmacy. You stood in the parking lot, breathing in acrid smoke. Looking at the building that was your personal emergency room for the last five years. That mohawked shapeshifting asshole must have rammed right through the place at some point. Bringing the red roof down on most of the building.

Physically, you were fine but there was something you desperately needed from under that crumbled roof. Especially since you were now suddenly living through the end of the world. The automatic glass doors were crushed under concrete but a massive hole, probably where he flew through, was a perfectly fine entrance into the rubble. You stepped carefully over rebar and the body of a cashier. There was no more inside, just parts where the roof didn't cave in all the way, and you were standing in the biggest one. Shelves tipped, chip bags popped open on the carpet floor. You find yourself meandering into the two upright fractions of aisles in front of you, the store so unrecognizable you felt lost. Caligula laid across your shoulders, over the crook of your neck like a scarf. Gray nose gently twitching at the smell of corpses. There were more in the aisle that was for foot cream. One man bisected by a chunk of roof. One lady who lay stiff, hands still clutching her chest where she'd likely had a heart attack. You exit the remains of the aisle. Not sure why you’d gone down them in the first place, pharmacy wasn't down there. You were still reeling from the last half hour. Was that all it had been- had everything fallen apart in thirty minutes? A clatter breaks your reverie, your head shooting towards it. Crawling out from under a piece of roof was a white coated pharmacy tech. The old-timer full-timer, Wes, you used your powers on almost every time you came in. You didn’t wait for him to stand to use your powers on him. “I need my usual.” When he stands, he leans dramatically to one side. The muscles in his side are split, piggy pink insides poking out of his coat. He turns for the wreck that used to be behind the counter, where he’d pass hours by counting pills. Gait short, steps dragging and too slow. “Ignore the pain.” With that, he goes upright. Walking confidently over to a fallen shelf, bending, ignoring the slippage of his guts. He goes from paper bag to paper bag, prescription to prescription. None of them have your name on it. Going official would’ve meant asking Machine Head to pull strings and you weren’t in a hurry for more debt. Controlling the pharmacy techs was the only way. Wes straightens. Walking on uneven ground. Stopping two feet away and holding out a paper bag to you. Prescription for Sandra O'Connell. Probably dead now.

You frown at the bag. Contents soaked into the brown bottom. Dripping out in clear, thick rivulets. You hadn’t been specific enough. Again with semantics, the pain in your ass. “Find me some that’s intact. As many bottles as you can.” *** "No." He's going to vomit. "No." He's going to cry. "No!" He's going to split this planet down the fucking middle, again. His grip on Isotope's throat tightened. "You're lying." Spit flies off his teeth, onto Isotope's cheeks. Together, him, Isotope, and Machine Head, hover over the rubble of what was supposed to be your apartment. A dead woman lying on its very top, head like a maraschino cherry. Machine Head kicked at the air, gargling, "Get us the fuck out of here Isotope!" One look from Dregs pissed off ex-boyfriend and Isotope knew. If he so much as tried to leave, they'd both be dead. "I'm not." Isotope can barely speak, throat the only thing keeping him upright. Hovering twenty feet above the busted building. "She should be on the third floor." "What third floor!?" "The one you fucking knocked down!" Machine Head grappled his arm. Twisting his sleeve, trying to hurt him- him with his weak human hands. His hand tightened on Machine Head’s neck. Something inside his fleshy human body cracked. The man groaned and shuddered but still fought. “That bitch is dead!” His head pounded, like a hammer slamming behind his eyes. His fingers are a flex away from breaking both their necks when Isotope says, “I know where else she could be.” He involuntarily shuddered when his assailant's eyes fell on him. Wild as his wind whipped mohawk. “Spill.” The freak’s grip lightened. Isotope slipped down an inch, latching to the man’s wrist for support like he wanted to be choked. “She’s some sorta dope fiend. Boys see ‘er at the CVS all the time, picking up the same shit.” Isotope’s words came out in heaves as he caught as much breath as he could. “If she’s alive.” At that word, if, his grip tightens, “Hurk— she’s probably at the pharmacy.” His arm came up, red suit creasing at the shoulder, “Right down the corner. Can’t miss it.” His grip clenches tight, shutting Isotope up. “If she’s not there, I’m gonna see how high your body bounces when I drop you ten-thousand feet.” He flew, slower than he’d like, searching for the right building. He knew what a pharmacy was, of course, but this wasn’t his New York. His New York was worse off than this one. Last time he saw it plants were taking over the concrete remains of the city. So he’s slow, only speeding when Isotope coughs and points out another chunk of destruction that looked like everything else in a thirty-mile radius.

***

T-minus eleven minutes until he arrived. He only had to hold onto Mach twelve for that much longer. Think of (Y/n). Think of holding you. Bringing you home. The sound barrier cracked, then there was someone beside him. “What the fuck are you doing in my sky?” Ah. That one. The one that called dibs on the king’s land because at home he was more than a king, better. Clad in his— their— old super suit. Viltrum’s sigil on his shoulders. Shoulder pads thick. "Answer me.” How the hell were they the same person? This version of him was so whiny. More insolent than a child. Apparently, his style was gaudy too. Minutes after they first met he went on and on about his outfit. How he was only wearing ‘this old piece of shit’ because he didn’t want to get his emperors clothes filthy. And still— he’d come wearing shoulder pads and metals of valor that were jittering in the wind, just barely holding on. He’d scoffed at the idea of human blood on his fuzzy emperor's cape. Much as he wanted to, taking on the other version of himself was ill-advised. Sure, they were different but also the same in many ways. He’d know something was up. His lips peeled apart. Glued by stagnant spit and silence. It felt like reopening a wound. “I’m done. Returning to the rendezvous.” His voice came out robotic. A modulator attached on the inside of his suit's throat. The people of his world knew of Invincible but it was better no one saw any part of his face, recognized any inflection of his voice. Whatever was left of it anyways. The other him, Shoulder Pads (there was no way he was calling him Mark), rolled his eyes. “That place better be dirt cuz if I gotta go to that shithole and finish what you couldn’t I’ll—“ “I assure you, the job is done.” Just leave. Go back to torturing people and making weird comments about slaves. Leave me be. Shoulder Pad’s eyes narrowed to slits behind his goggles. “Don’t lie to me.” “I don’t lie.” And that was the truth. Partially. Shoulder Pad’s lips twisted. “Then you won’t mind if I come with you? Be nice to get to know my next commander better.” Under his mask, his eye twitches. He'd heard this before, one too many times. Shoulder Pads saw him and the others as lesser. Good assets for his empire, sure, but lesser. He didn't plan on joining anyone's empire anytime soon.

Putting up a fight would be suspicious. Though his throat was already raw with how much he’d spoke, more than he had in months, he said, “You’re finished?” Shoulder Pads scoffed. “Hours ago. Whole country's ash.” He laughed, though he wasn’t lying. Looking down didn’t provide much of a view. Too much smoke in the way, billowing up from the entire United Kingdom like the thousands of acres were nothing but an overused ashtray. “I’ve been getting bored destroying those things they call islands.” He nodded. A ‘so be it’ kind of gesture. They flew on. Shoulder Pads filling the not-quite silence— ripping through the air at mock twelve was awfully loud— while he thought over ways to get rid of his companion. Too many what-ifs.

What if Shoulder Pads saw you as some human to be killed on the spot, squashed like some kind of bug? What if Shoulder Pads toyed with you, if he tore you limb from limb? Made him relive the same memory in a different universe. Shoulder Pads taking the role of daddy-not-so-dearest. Worse— what if Shoulder Pads was here for the same thing? A second chance. *** One bottle, two bottle, three bottle, four— there was a cute rhyme to tack to the end of that but you didn’t have the energy. Neither did the pharmacy tech, falling stone cold dead soon as he passed you the last bag. You tear open the first bag, medicine for a Nancy Giovanni. You pull out the dark bottle, rolling it in your hand, making absolute sure the dying tech didn’t fuck up. Prescription for: PROMETHAZINE VC/CODEINE [SYRUP] - 4 fl oz. EACH 5ml (TEASPOON) CONTAINS: CODEINE PHOSHPASE USP ... 10 mg PROMETHAZINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 6.25 mg PHENYLEPHRINE HYDROCHLORIDE USP … 5 mg ALCOHOL … 7% [RX ONLY] Oh yeah baby, that’s the ticket. Cough syrup. The actually medicated stuff. Totally illegal to buy over the counter. You didn’t know what in it did the trick. The pain killer, the throat soother, cough suppressant, or the drinking so much you got a buzz part— either way, Codeine and Promethazine were a match made in heaven specifically to fix your powers right the fuck up.

You twist the cap and end up dropping the rest of the bags. Sighing, you settle to sit, organize before getting down the business. Though the only place was wasn’t covered in debris was… “Sorry Wes.” You say as you sit on the dead man's back. Something hard pushes into your ass. Shit, right, gun safety. You pull the six-shooter from the back of your sweats and set it by your feet. Not the top of the market stuff Machine Head's guards get, but a solid piece. Got enough of the latest tech to pop a supe's brains out their ass. Small but mighty. ID numbers sanded off, bought off the black market, given to you by your shithead boss. Sometimes things went south. Your mouth covered or earplugs put in. So you took the gun everywhere, just in case.

You finish popping off the cap, take a breath of the rank air, and throw your head back, brown rim to your lips. There's a joke to be had there, but again, too tired for that shit.

Caligula hops off your shoulders, annoyed. Tail twitching as he pads away to explore under rubble. Looking for mice like he always had in your apartment. You let him go. The cat was loyal as a dog, he'd be back.

The syrup comes rolling down your tongue. Bitter, mucus-thick, gag worthy. Nothing you weren't used to. There've been too many times you were run dry and had to chug the slop mid-shootout to keep your head on your shoulders. So you don't breathe and drink, drink, drink until the bottle is a quarter empty.

You lean forward, elbows on knees. Holding your head as things right themselves. Your throat numbed, blood drying in your nose, head not throbbing, only a light pulse.

It was a funny thing really, finding your personal anti-kryptonite. Three years back you were sick as a dog. Of course, you were on duty. When weren't you? You talked a backstabbing rat up to the roof of his apartment building, holding onto him up all the stairs, weak in your sickness. Right before you told him to jump, a coughing fit cut you short. He escaped your hold, pulled a gun on you, almost blasted your brains on the door to the stairwell. Lucky thing Isotope was there, zapping you out of the way. Pushing the dick off himself, and zapping you to this very building. Suggested you fix the problem, whatever it took, because he wouldn't bail you out again.

He sucked balls but at least wasn't a whole dick.

You got a prescription. Drank the allotted amount. The cold cleared. Powers coming back like a tsunami. So strong they demanded to be used. So you drank more than the prescribed amount. Killed the rest of the rats nest of police informants on your own. Almost got killed again. Machine Head was angry you'd gone alone, when not assigned. But you didn't care. You'd found a power-up. Except, because there's always an exception- the boost only lasted as long as you could stay conscious. You’d overdosed more than a few times.

You recap the bottle. Consolidating the bottles in the front pocket of your hoodie. Tempted to down the whole thing, scared shitless from earlier, but it was a stupid idea while not being in immediate danger. Unless Wes decided to get up and chew you out for sitting on his dead body- you were safe.

But not stupid. You pull out your phone, scrolling through your contacts, trying to call contingency one through twenty-seven. Most didn't answer. Dead or unable to come to phone right now, so please leave a message! Some did, orders were given. Help, in case it was needed, was coming. Things like this had a strange way of being nowhere near over once things get quiet.

Boots come down. Your head lolls over your shoulder. Danger is standing twenty feet back. Holding Machine Head and Isotope by the throats. Isotope pale and passed out. Machine Head weakly clawing at the ground, held down, forced to stay on his knees.

He stares at you, the not-Mark with the dark, deep-set eyes, sat on your human throne. "That's... hm. Did you do that?"

There goes saving the syrup. Out comes the partly drunk bottle, off goes the cap, to your lips the bottle goes.

***

What the hell are they doing?

Two dots on his wrist cuff, side by side. Darting through the projected 3D model of Earth. Heading west fast, over the Northern Atlantic. Making a b-line for another dot. The only one of the three who is where he's supposed to be.

"Got'chu now!" A shadow overcasts behind him.

He presses a button, zooming into the map, not bothering to turn. Had he missed a message from Angstrom? No, not possible. He was the most reliable of all of them, no way Angstrom would cut him out. Certainly, he wasn't stupid enough to think he could.

A mace whistled through the air, coming to split his skull. His arm slices out in an arc behind him. Barley trying. The sound of his would-be assailant so keening and pathetic he couldn't even take satisfaction in the kill. He pulls his arm free, the body falls.

He watches the remains splat onto the last intact chunk of sidewalk left in Seattle. The city was destroyed. The last of the gnats swatted down. He might as well investigate. Double check that he wasn't being double crossed.

***

"Wow, oh wow, you like that." He laughed as the last of the syrup disappeared behind your lips. The bottle is thrown to the debris, to be forgotten. His voice is cloying and saccharine, and way too familiar, "Was that good?"

Bitterness coats your tongue. Chemical smell stinging in your nose. Head swimming but feather light. "No." You say. The syrup leaden in your stomach. Throat numb but soon to burn with vomit. You didn't have much time to dispose of this freak. "But-"

"Dregs! Jesus Christ, Dregs get him the fuck off me!" Machine Head kicked at the ground. Mohawk, you'd dubbed him, because no fucking way were you calling a shapeshifter the name it wanted you to call it. Name aside, he wasn’t about to let Machine Head go, or even let him touch the ground. His dignity just a few short inches away as he gagged and kicked.

"You seriously work for this guy?" Mohawk says. "So weak." His thumb barely flexes and all the air is cut from your boss's throat, the kicks becoming frantic.

You know the shapeshifter is trying to get to you but it gets deep, deep under your skin. You're on your feet, swaying. "Tell me who you really are."

He laughs but the words are pulled out of him anyway. "Mark Grayson."

Your teeth grind. He's not lying. Maybe not a shapeshifter. Maybe a hidden supe. Someone projecting hallucinations onto you, to make you go batshit and somehow kill yourself.

"Tell me if you're real."

"As you are, baby."

"Dregs!" Machine Head screeches the second his thumb relaxes. "Dregs, if you don't get him off me, I'm docking your pay!"

Mohawk's lip twitches, hand flexing. Shit. "Don't kill him." His hand relaxes. Though his eyes aren't as glazed as you'd like. He's still resistant but you've got the upper hand as long as your stomach holds.

"Yes! Yes, now get him to let go!"

The command makes your stomach roil. Probably just the excessive drugs but still, you don't like the motherfucker. He can wait. "Why are you doing this?"

"Made a deal. Break enough shit and I get a prize." Under control, people are emotionless, no use of unnecessary words or turn of phrase. But there he was, talking like a seventh grader.

"Which is?"

"You," you roll out of the way before they touch down. Feet first and much harder than necessary, sending dangerous bullets of rock spraying every which way. You're fine. Clothes dusty whereas Wes's corpse is more cut up than before. Sorry, guy.

If one had been too much, enough to think he was a hallucination, then three was enough to make you consider committing yourself to a ward.

You'd seen one of the newcomers back in Sydney. The other beside him, eyeing you up and down like an antique at auction, was new. You'd forgotten about the cuff on your ankle. You were no techie, but logic and superheroes meant it was a tracker, hell, maybe hand (ankle?) cuffs if activated by something.

"Oh what the fuck!" The mohawked one spoke for you, "I called New York. Find somewhere else to flatten."

"Is this what you were in a such a hurry to finish for?" The newcomer with his stupid shoulder pads kicked a wall to pieces, looking to his companion.

The full-masked one stood still as a statue, quiet as a phantom.

"Course not," Shoulder Pads answered himself, "You came for that," his finger pointed accusingly toward the mohawked one, "isn't that right? He bruised your ego when you first met pretty bad, huh?"

An insult from a version of himself who thought mohawks were peak fashion meant nothing. Sure, he'd called his mask creepy, but he didn't hold enough of a grudge to want to kill the guy over it. He did, however, not like how close he was to (Y/n). Twenty feet was nothing when one moved as fast as they did.

"Who are you?"

"Mark Grayson." The two newcomers answered together. One similar to the voice you knew, if a little nasaler. The other like that Guardian's dickhead, Robot.

You dip down, swiping your gun off the ground. Careful not to move too quickly and let the bottles fall out of your pocket. "Why are there three of you?"

"There's actually eighteen," Mohawk answers. "Dickheads all of 'em."

"To expand my empire." Shoulder Pads says, more responsive to your control.

"To destroy so much, it ruins the life of this dimension's Mark Grayson." The Phantom answers, voice and actually helpful honesty, sending a shiver down your back.

"Dregs-!"

"Shut the fuck up." Your attention on Machine Head is nothing but murderous. As the situation unfolds, you find yourself realizing, for one, Machine Head is most definitely going to die. Villains of the week are stupid, sure, but they also take no prisoners. You’d say Machine Head had less than five minutes' life left on him.

For two, the world was pretty much fucked. Which means- weakness, instability and power up for grabs for Mister Liu to reclaim as his. You could be by his side, his left hand as he already had a right. No more debt, no more humiliation at Machine Head's hands. Because there was no way you were going straight, not after everything. But, you could climb the ladder in the dust of the world and climb it high- as you were right now.

High enough to push Mister Liu off the ledge. High enough to never have to take orders from anyone ever again. Be your own boss. Maybe Machine Head had less than five minutes.

Even better, you could relocate out of the city (which you'd have to do anyway, I mean, look at this place). Somewhere you'd see Mark so little the lingering pain in your heart would maybe start to heal. The thought of killing him had crossed your mind. You placed heavy piles of blame on him for how your life turned out. Still, you ached and yearned for a teenage romance that'd never rekindle. You couldn't kill him, yet, not without crawling into Mister Liu's skin and wearing his shoes awhile. Surely you'd grow into them, give the order for someone to kill your ex without batting an eye- one day.

Your Mark wasn't on the official kill list yet, but these cheap imitations? These dimensional clones or whatever the fuck? Oh yeah baby, they've gotta die.

***

He didn't bother telling his tails to leave. They were all lesser, but still, him. They were good at what they did, destroying things.

"Can you believe that guy tried to trap me in the- what was it- the shadow realm?" The blue and yellow clad gnat yammered beside him. The variant, slightly different from the others without his lenses, blasted up from the Guardian's HQ when he'd flown by. Asking all sorts of questions that were left unanswered and more importantly, unacknowledged. Maybe if he was ignored long enough, he'd go away. "Do'ya wanna know how I got out after I killed 'im?"

No response.

He went on anyway. "So like, after I ripped his heart out his chest the whole shadow realm started falling apart. I was like 'oh shit, I'm gonna die' so I gabbed the guys body and was like 'lemme out'. Shakin' him n' stuff. I dunno what happened, if there was a lil life left in him or what but I think I kickstarted something in him, cuz after eight or nine shakes I was back! Man, I almost forgot how crazy I killed those Guardian guys!"

The other gnat, blue and black and imperceptibly different from this dimension's Mark Grayson, flew up to his other side. "You gonna show me that map or what?"

He did not answer, for they had arrived. Three dots now five, six counting himself. All around the unimportant gray mass of some Earth dwellers' hovel. He stayed above because he was literally above touching down on Earth’s soil. His mother had been from this mud ball but she'd been elevated above the rest of this dirt-loving species by his father when he brought her back to Viltrum, swollen with pregnancy.

The others truly were lesser than he, for they shot down. Too impatient, too stupid to know what it is to observe from afar. They did all have enhanced hearing, did they not?

***

Shoulder Pads shook his head, throwing the control off his brain like a wet dog. "The hell was that?" His head stopped, hair swept across his masked forehead. "How dare you- you-" His head kicked back a degree like he'd been sucker punched. It took him a minute, with the dirt and the outfit and the daring to wave around a gun. He recognised you now. Felt the pain searing hot in his chest. "Leave," he commanded, "All of you but," he turned back to, "you, stay."

Nobody moved to obey.

"I said-"

They came down from the sky like falling angels.

"The hell's this?" You watched him land. Watched him roll his shoulders. Mark, your Mark. Exactly the same. But what the fuck was he doing with this lot? "Where's Angstrom?"

"Not here, duh." The other newcomer says, bouncing on his heels. "Are we gonna turn on each other and fight to the death now? I really hope we turn on each other and fight to the death now." His eyes, lighter brown than you remember, slide from Mark to Mark to Wes to you. "A prize fight! Even better."

You didn't like that word- prize. How he looked at you. Not as a person but as a street dog to collar.

Machine Head's toes displaced rubble. His captor's mohawk stood on end, as if electrified, "Get the fuck out of here." He says, "New York's mine. 'S not the meeting place for when we're done anyway."

The stuck-up one, Shoulder Pads, moved toward you. Ankles breaking rubble as he went, too graceful to do something awkward like stepping over an obstacle. Why do that when you could just break it?

"Leave us now." He doesn't seem bothered by the fact that you raised the six-shooter, aimed straight for his throat. "And I'll consider letting the rest of you serve under me."

He was there in a flash. Arm outstretched in front of his boy king other self, stopping him in his tracks- the phantom. Shoulder Pads stopped, ten feet shy from your person. You don't know what to say because as soon as you really get going, a fight is going to break. You won't survive. You've seen what Mark can do on the news. You don't doubt they can punch holes in you before you say stop. They're not far away like Mohawk had been. They're instant murder close. You have to be careful.

"Don't get in my way." Shoulder Pads sneered to no reply.

The lensless newbie jutted his thumb toward you, "Gonna go out on a limb 'n guess she's also your guy's dead girlfriend?"

The word girlfriend hits you like a sack of rocks. When hit, hit back. You breathe in.

"Dregs!" His voice is nails on a chalkboard, screeching, loud, and desperate. "God damn it! Help me!" Your hold on Machine Head had waned. He was back to whining.

Your hold on his captor had waned as well, telling by his eyes. But he didn't break Machine Head's neck. Instead, he watched, curious, a smile tugged the edge of his lip.

Tension rolled off Phantom and Emperor Shoulder Pads in waves. Lenseless’s knuckles popped, expecting violence with glee. The white clad warrior watched on from above. And your stupid ex-boyfriend just watched you, sneer on his lip like you were the problem. Like he wasn't covered in blood the fucking hypocrite. "I don't kill," my ass. He acted like he was better than you.

"I'll promote you! Right above Isotope." Who was passed out and couldn't be bothered by the betrayal. "We can run this city together. I can get you as much lean as you want! Fuck- I'll put you through rehab if you want!"

A bubble rolled up your throat. Not much longer now before you puke out power. You swallow down the burp. Anger a beat in your throat. "I'm not an addict."

"Sure!" Machine Head laughed, "Sure! Whatever you say, just help me!" Isotope's eyes peeled open. He groaned, barely there. Machine Head noticed, reaching out to shake the man's knee. "Get me out of here!"

Your Mark clicked his tongue. "I can't say I'm surprised you haven't changed."

"Isotope! Hey! Wake up!"

"I used to think you'd be better than," Mark gestures to your boss, to your clothes, to the dilation of your eyes, embarrassingly aware of your high, "this." He sighed, "But I guess the more things change, the more they stay the same or however that shitty song goes. So much potential wasted. (Y/n), Seriously, this is pathetic."

"Dregs, get Isotope up! Get us all out of here!"

Mark smirked, "Name suits you."

Your earlier machinations crumbled. Fuck waiting, maturing. People were going to die here, in this destroyed pharmacy, so why not start with him?

"Hey Mark?"

"Yeah?" It's a shame the others don't reply to the name. Too smart, too aware that if they were locked in conversation and attention, they'd be dead.

"Kill yourself."

One hand to the chin, the other to the shoulder for support, like the first time you tried this trick on his doppelganger. The snap is quick. So powerful it twists his whole body backward, spine ripping out his back. He drops, blood dribbling out his mouth.

A weight lifts off your shoulders. You thought this would be harder. It's sad, sure, first love dead, very Romeo and Juliet, but you're still alive. You wish you could've made him see more, get a more torturous revenge. Or in a perfect world, one you didn't admit but dreamed of anyway, got him to see your side of things.

But you're so happy to see nothing behind his eyes. Dead while you're alive. The laugh forces out of you in a bark. It brings tears to your eyes, doubles you over.

The mood shifts. Tension sizzles away between the Marks. There were expectations, different for each, but this? Certainly was not one.

"Did you just-?" Lensless was at the corpse's side in a blink, poking at his twisted neck. "Oh, he's super mega dead."

"If he was weak willed enough to listen to the whims of a human he should've already been." Emperor Shoulder Pads says. "Better we weed out the weak before going back to my empire."

"Shit, I was gonna kill Seventeen," Mohawk said. "Beat me to it, babe."

"Seventeen?" You question between laughs.

"Uh, yeah? Mark Seventeen. Demsion three-four-five, like neighbors with this one."

"So he's not mine?"

"Yours? Baby, I'm yours- but that guy? Not from here."

Oh? OH! He wasn't yours. Another variant, just awfully close in appearance. Something like relief pools in your stomach, or it's just the promethazine-codeine solution getting ready to come spewing out.

The Phantom keeps his hands at his sides, though they want to go to his head, press into his temples until the pain stopped. You weren’t like this. You weren’t supposed to be like this. Nothing like him. Maybe Shoulder Pads was right. Maybe Seventeen was weak willed, loved you so much he'd do anything you said. You couldn't be a killer. It just wasn't possible- wasn't right.

"Isotope," he was starting to really regain consciousness, head lolling in Mohawk's hand, "Isotope, let's go!"

He was going to leave you. Words of promise meant nothing obviously, you weren't born yesterday but the insult of it was the last fucking straw.

Right as power started to glow weakly from his palms, you say, "Look at me, Isotope."

He does, slackjawed, droll rolling down his lip. Hands still glowing.

Here's the thing about word and meaning induced mind control. Sometimes actions, gestures, are good as words, and as long as you've got your claws in their brain, as long as they're looking at you and understand- a gesture is enough to control.

You lower the gun. As if it'd do anything against Shoulder Pads. One hand slipping off its metal grip, coming to the side of your head right above your ear. Rule number one of gun safety: Never put a gun to your head. So your bare hand comes up to do the job. Pinky and ring curling into your palm. Pointer and middle pressed to your scalp, thumb hanging down like the trigger.

Isotope's hand goes to the holster on his belt. Freeing the pistol, pressing it to the green side of his head, clicking off the safety. Waiting for the last order.

"Dregs! Don't you fucking dare!" Machine Head trashes but his kicks do nothing to Mohawk's balance.

The Mark’s watch, hypnotized like snakes to a charmer.

Your thumb twitches, miming the pull of a trigger.

The bullet goes from one side of Isotope's skull to the other. Stopped by the side of Mohawk's knee, who doesn't even flinch at the lead cracking uselessly against his suit. Pale pink brains splatter his boots and shin guards. Chunks stick to Machine Head's dented metal face. Gravity slowly rolled them down, leaving trails of blood and cerebral spinal fluid in their wake.

The dead weight is so unexpected in his hand, Mohawk is slow to drop the body. Killing another version of him was fair game. They were threatening your planet after all. But an ally? Very un-hero like.

"You murderous yuppie cunt!" Machine Head's hand flies to his own holster.

"Don't talk to me like that, boss." He goes still, gun in hand. Your hand goes to the center of your forehead and so does his. Another twitch of the thumb sends a bullet and shrapnel backward.

Machine Head slumps, gun dropping, body twitching. Not dead yet.

"Access the control panel." You say.

His hand shakes violently as it comes to the side of his head. Pressing a button that makes the front half of his busted forehead come forward. Revealing the computer gore inside his head.

"Remove the leftmost microchip." You'd seen him getting maintenance too many times not to know that the chip contained his very consciousness. He'd yelled at so many paid-off Best Buy employees not to touch it. Threatened their families over it, but here he was, pressing its back so it'd come popping out. Soon as it does, his whole body goes slack.

Killing what you thought was Mark yielded mixed feelings. But Machine Head and his lackey? That was pure cocaine right there baby. You felt like you could climb Everest. Like you really could overtake Mister Liu.

"Holy shit." Lensless let his jaw hang. "Powers, babe!? 'S awesome! Do it again!" His fingerless glove pointed to Shoulder Pads, "That guy! That guy next! Oh, wait, try it on me!" He doubted it'd work. He was way stronger than that pussy bitch Seventeen.

Mohawk pulled Machine Head's slack body high above his head, inspecting. He was dead alright. So dead his bladder released and stained his gray slacks dark. He let the body drop. "You're pret-tee different here, huh babe?"

Another bubble rises up your throat.

"What-" Shoulder Pads started, "What the fuck is wrong with this one?" He was expecting something else. Docile. Sitting at his feet like a good pup. At his beck and call. Especially not powered or alien or experimented or whatever the fuck you were. Clearly, you weren't normal.

Phantom had nothing to say, as usual. Too busy fighting back the tears burning the back of his eyes. What has this world done to you? What had made you so callous? What had made you a killer? Whatever it was needed to burn. This monster in you, it could be culled; he could have the you he knew back. He could have it later, but for now, he fought grief.

In the sky, the white clad warrior lets contentment simmer in his chest. Different, sure, but good different. Nothing like that human he brought to Viltrum to breed. A kicking, screaming crybaby who had no idea how lucky she was. Part of the shreds of resistance left, left alive by him of all people. Nothing like the doting creature his mother was to his father. Relationships like the ones on Earth weren't a thing on Viltrum. His parents were considered strange, but a strange he liked- though he wouldn’t admit it to a living soul.

So disappointing and ungrateful, a waste of time, of resources, he was sour about when he had to kill you. But not here, not this you.

Shadows whipped through the sky hundreds of feet below him. Some came hopping and bounding through the broken street. The few defenders left, not dead due to their own cowardice.

Contingency Six, Twelve, Nineteen, Twenty-two, and Twenty-eight surrounded you in a defensive circle, showing up at just the right time. Machine Head promised security but he wasn't omnipotent, despite his upgrades. You didn't trust him far as you could throw him either. So you had heroes, fellow crooks, and dregs of society on speed dail. Hypnotized at some point in the past with the same little speech.

"See this number right here? Remember it. When you see me calling, you answer, no matter what. I don't care if you're mid-fuck, you'll do as I say. After I snap my fingers, you'll forget we ever had this conversation but a part of you will. And you will never have your phone on silent."

You'd have to reset them anytime you called them in to save your ass from one thing or another. It was always worth the time if it meant you got to live and the other guy died.

Thank God for hindsight. Wait, no, not hindsight, was it foresight? Ah, whatever, you'll remember the right word later when you're not high on power and codeine.

Flesh drones wait for orders. The Mark's wait for someone to make a move. You don't speak, not yet, letting your eyes scan over them all. Thinking of killing them too, how good it'd feel to kill your (kind of) ex-boyfriend over and over. Thinking of the ones not here, the ones you'd seen, the ones you hadn't. You could find them, kill them after. Maybe then you'd be ready for the real thing. No more mixed feelings.

Blood slowly rolls down your nostril. Darkly covering the dried streak from minutes ago. Your stomach rages. Throat constricting as it readies to puke. It hurts so bad, but you can't help but grin. Thinking aloud, "This is going to be the best day of my fucking life."

Orders shoot out your lip. He should prepare for battle, but he couldn't help but be still, staring at you and the malice radiating off you. Lensless tugs on the hem of his mask, swallowing thickly, "Can you hold up a sec with the battle plans? I've got a crazy boner."

#invincible x reader #invincible variants x reader #invincible variants #mark grayson x reader #mohawk invincible #lensless mark #emperor mark #viltrum mark #phantom mark #fanfic #long post #my writing #rea writes #mdgf #guys idk what a tag list is i post on ao3 not tumblr normally lmao #eat my little children eat

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pineconepie · 4 months ago

Note

Yan king???👀

I had a little fun with the worldbuilding because it gave me an excuse to use one of my old ideas.

I'll explain it briefly because I didn't do much explaining in the writing: there are five major kingdoms in the nation of Lepidoptra - Rosy Maple, Atlas, Luna, Death's Head, and the one where reader is from: Comet Kingdom. Everyone has wings that resemble a moth, along with antennae. (yes moths are a huge hyperfixation of mine)

Just thought I'd get that out of the way lol. Anyway, this is probably one of the most yandere characters I've written mwehehe.

TW: Attempted murder (kind of but not really), parental yandere, manipulation, implied gaslighting, infantilization

...

Ever since you could recall, your father had been very protective over you. He homeschooled you, didn't let you leave the house much, only allowed a few select friends, but those friends were also friends with your dad, and just getting paid to talk to you.

Your father would hold you as often as he could, making sure he was the first and last thing you'd see daily.

He had told you, ever since you were just a young mothling, your wings had been cut off by a robber who attempted to kidnap you, and thus, your father had to be extremely cautious in regards to keeping you safe at home.

You never left the house alone, and even if you did, you were monitored.

Sometimes, you'd get strange flashbacks. Almost like deja-vu, but these felt more vivid in your mind.

Once when you saw Castor, your father's, sword, you had a vision of yourself getting stabbed in the chest. Or when he'd look angry at you, you'd recall seeing that exact expression on his face before. But those thoughts went away as soon as they appeared.

Sometimes you'd get horrible nightmares of him. You dreamed he hurt you somehow. And yet, you'd always wake up feeling fine. Nothing hurt physically.

But mentally? Something just wasn't clicking right.

Recently you began sneaking out of the castle, not wanting to alert your father, and you began going to this little tavern at the edge of town to spend time with your village friends, ones you know for a fact your father would never dream of approving.

"Calliope, Osmond, hey," you greet warmly, walking over to their usual table in the corner, sitting down beside them.

"Hey," Calliope says, leaning her head against her hand. "How was escaping the palace? Almost got caught again?" Her bright golden wings flutter slightly as she grins.

"Nah, Dad doesn't suspect anything at all," you proudly state.

"Good, because he would have our heads," Osmond sighs. He shares an uneasy glance with Calliope, then glances back at you. "We wanted to speak to you about something unsettling we found. About your father."

You hesitate. "If this is about him and the Atlas Kingdom again, I told you already—"

"It's not about that," Calliope mutters. She pulls out a huge book from a satchel, one that barely even fits in it. "Okay, I'm about to warn you, this is weird as hell. Even Oz was weirded out."

"Well if he was unsettled by it, then I'm scared to see what it even is," you say with a breathless chuckle.

"We found it in the royal library," Osmond tells you quietly. "And well, this should explain it." He opens up the book and starts flipping through pages and pages until he lands on one in particular, pointing down at it for you to read.

It has your name and picture on it. Your full name, everything.

At first, you find it slightly strange, but think there may be some kind of explanation. Most of the pictures on the book show you when you were younger, being held on Castor's hip while he made speeches at ceremonies. He looks the same as he does now, except maybe with a bit longer hair.

Then you start seeing yourself getting older...

There's one of a memory you don't even recall, of a headline saying the "(Y/n), Child of King Castor of the Comet Kingdom, joins Arkema Mittrei, Academy" in which you're being handed over to the kingdom's most prestigious academy.

You were homeschooled, that never even happened!

Another one shows you using magic abilities, and you look older than you currently even are. And you have... wings?!

"That was our expression when we read it too," Calliope anxiously says. "We weren't supposed to be in the Royal Library since its always locked and guarded, but we managed to get in with Oz's magic. We were looking for more evidence to prove to you that your father is terrible, but instead we just stumbled upon this."

You don't know what to say. "This doesn't make any sense. I never went to any academy, and my wings..."

"And you look older in these photos," Osmond observes. "I don't know what is going on, but this is just further proof you can't trust him. I know he raised you and you love him, but he's controlling your life and clearly keeping things from you. I knew he caused a lot of meaningless wars and was incredibly paranoid about you, but this?"

"I'm at a loss for words, here," you murmur, shaking your head as you feel tears stinging in your eyes. "What the hell am I supposed to do?! Just confront my dad and hope for the best?"

Calliope puts a hand on your shoulder. "Run away with us," she proposes. "Oz's mom is in the Atlas Kingdom, we can find sanctuary there."

"No way am I just abandoning my dad with no warning," you argue. "Besides, he'd try burning down all of Atlas if he knew I was there! I'll just ask him for an explanation. I'm sure there is one."

"And risk letting him know you've been sneaking out of the kingdom?" Osmond scoffs. "Your death wish, not mine."

"Just give us at least a month or two," Calliope says. "Please. That way we can come up with a game plan."

You exhale quietly, your antennae twitching. "Okay. But no longer."

...

"Uhm, hey, Dad? I wanted to talk to you about something."

"Hm?" He peers his eyes away from the newspaper he's reading and smiles at you. "Of course! Come sit." You hesitate as he pats the seat next to him on the couch, and you reluctantly plop beside him. He hugs you closer to his chest. "So," he hums, kissing the side of your head, "what is it?"

"...have I ever went to Arkema Mittrei Academy?" You watch as his smile drops.

He glances off, contemplating a response before returning his gaze to you. "Oh, sweetheart, where did you hear that? Of course not! I think you'd remember something like that." His laugh sounds nervous. "Have you been having those scary dreams again?"

You bite your tongue. "No. I came across a book in the royal library. I know you don't like me going in there unsupervised, but I did. And I saw pictures of myself at the school, and another one where I'm older, and have my wings. Why do I have no recollection of those moments happening?"

His smile drops even more so, and now, his expression is unreadable. "Where did you get the book, baby?"

"I... uh, I got it in the royal library. I told you that," you stutter.

"How did you get in there unsupervised? There's always guards patrolling the library," Castor explains, narrowing his eyes. "Did someone help you sneak in?"

"What? No!" you lie. You start trying to wriggle out of his grip, but he holds you still.

"Baby," he soothes, almost condescendingly, "just tell Dad what he wants to know. I'm not mad."

He's lying. He's angry. You can't see the expression on his face because he's holding you so closely, but you can feel his rage boiling beneath his skin.

"No, I'm not lying. It was just left unlocked! But that's not my question, I wanna know what I saw in those! Why is there evidence of me doing and experiencing things I have zero memory of?!"

"I knew I should've burnt that damn book," he grumbles under his breath. "I thought you were doing so well this time."

"What do you mean 'this time'?!" you nearly cry, flailing so hard out of his grasp you fall to the floor.

"Oops!" Castor chuckles, standing over you with a cold grin. "Gosh, it feels like yesterday when you could hardly walk without tripping over your feet. Always so wobbly and unstable." He stands up and contemplates on something. "Alrighty, kiddo, since I'm so nice, you have two options. Bedtime and we'll forget about this, or you keep pushing me and we'll see where this takes us."

"What does that mean?" you rasp. "What will you do?"

Castor's bright wings spread out widely, as a show to intimidate you and make you feel smaller. "I really would rather we both just go to bed."

He's never hurt you in the past... "I just want to know what's going on."

"Well, for starters, all that information you think you know is irrelevant, it's been rewritten now," Castor replies nonchalantly, looking down at you. "All those things you saw happened, but you didn't experience them because that wasn't you. Not this you. The original you was too disobedient, so I had to reset and start all over again."

"Reset?!" you repeat incredulously. "What are you talking about?!"

Castor runs a hand through his hair. "Fine. Since you think an explanation is worth it. You can't die. You're immortal, just not in the same way I am. This is like..." He pauses. "...your nineteenth life or so, I believe? Once you die, you turn back into a baby. No injuries, no sickness, no memories. A clean slate. I try to avoid it, but whenever you start rebelling or growing too independent, it has to be done all over again."

"Nothing has to be done! You're killing me, just so you can what?! Watch me grow up again, exactly the same way?! What kind of twisted logic is that?!"

"Don't raise your voice at me," Castor scolds. "I'm not killing you, at least not technically. Besides, I love watching you grow, trying to find the perfect way to raise you. But it seems like no matter how I do so—whether I give you your freedom or make sure I'm the only face you see, you always end up leaving."

You shudder at his cryptic words. "Were you the one who cut off my wings?"

Castor waves a hand dismissively. "Only because you kept trying to run away with them. But they always regrow back once you're reborn." He pulls out a dagger, one you now understand why he always carries it with him.

"Dad, please..." you quietly plead, scrambling back in an attempt to stand up. "I'm sorry. We can let this go."

His eyes darken. "Not an option anymore, sweetie. You asked for answers, and you got them. Hey, maybe the twentieth time is the charm." He lunges for you, holding you down so he can lift his blade. "I'm so sorry, kiddo. I promise it'll just feel like a pinch, and then you'll wake up good as new!" His expression is sweet and adoring, but also crazed.

Just as he brings the blade down and you squeeze your eyes shut, all your hear is Castor's groan of pain.

"(Y/n)!" Calliope yells, grabbing onto your hand and yanking you up.

Castor wipes the blood running down his nose, glaring at the two of your friends. "(Y/n), you made some friends, huh? Must've been sneaking out behind my back for a while if they're jumping in their own graves for you." He gets back to his feet and starts approaching. "Step away from my child before you really regret it."

"Let's go!" Osmond demands, opening up a portal in front of Calliope after she pulled you to your feet.

The three of you tumble in, right before Castor tries attacking you as well.

Then suddenly, you're back outside, standing in the forest where your kingdom stood tall. You can hear him scream in frustration from all the way out here, likely calling for guards and barking out orders.

"He knows magic too," you whisper. "He won't be too far behind."

"I can only make portals so far," Osmond murmurs. "We need to run. Now."

#answered ask #parental yandere #platonic yandere #familial yandere #castor oc #tw attempted murder #tw infantilization #forced infantilization #if anyone wants to see part 2 let me know!! :D

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lauren-likes-to-type · 7 months ago

Text

[Resident Evil Village] Donna Beneviento x Female Reader - "Attached"

[Requested]

Summary: Donna gradually manages to get used to how affectionate you can be. So much so that she starts to initiate forms of affection herself.

Word Count: 7.29k Content + Warnings: Slightly OOC Donna (and possibly Alcina), talks of insecurity and loneliness, language (?), brief allusions to sex

- - - - [Masterlist] - - - -

[A/N]: I got a little carried away with some of the dialogue. This was just fun to write, honestly. I couldn't think of a good way to write the ending, so the pacing might seem a bit off. Also, I'm trying out a new banner for my stories, but I'm not sure if I'll keep it.

Enjoy!

Affection wasn’t something that was necessarily common in the Beneviento household. Even with her dolls there to keep her company over the years, Donna very seldom found herself being comforted by their small embraces, subconsciously reminding herself that they weren’t doing it of their own accord. Being reminded constantly of the fact she was in control of every action each doll made, she never truly felt as though there was love in them.

It had been so long since her parents had been around, and even though she was taken in under Miranda’s supposed care, not once in her lifetime did the priestess show her the affection, nor the approval, she had been desperately craving.

All throughout the rest of her childhood, adolescence, and most of her adulthood, Donna found herself alone. Even when she was surrounded by her “family” during meetings and other events, she could never seem to truly rid herself of the feeling of loneliness. She had convinced herself with time that she would be fine all alone – she deserved it, and it would be better for everyone anyway. As a result, she hardly ever left her home unless someone forced her to or if she had to visit the Duke for new supplies.

She grew accustomed to the silence in that cold manor, every unexpected sound causing her to panic until it passed. Improvising unfamiliar acts of affection was difficult to do on her own, which ultimately led her to create new dolls that were more mannequin-like that she could cradle or lean against when she felt particularly lonely. Some mannequins were designed specifically to be able to hold her close, and although she was immune to the effects of the pollen she used to cause hallucinations, she still managed to find a way to force a heartbeat and breathing that wasn’t there in order to bring herself some deluded sense of comfort.

Often, she ended up falling asleep cradled in the wooden arms of her creations, usually in the den on the couch, or on the sofa in the study during the middle of a movie. It was a rare occurrence for her to sleep in her own bed. It was too painful most nights to roll over and see the empty side of the bed, cold and lacking anyone there for her to wake up to in the morning. Most nights, she wouldn’t let herself sleep until she physically couldn’t stay awake any longer.

Because of all of this, her twenties dragged on for an eternity.

Once she realized just how alone her younger sister was once she reached her early thirties, Alcina took it upon herself to send one of her best maids to the Beneviento household to provide her both with help around the house and some much needed company.

She hadn’t given any warning, only sent the poor girl out to the grounds in a carriage with a few other trusted servants to ensure she made it safely. Had she been sent to walk there instead, Donna would’ve taken notice immediately and likely killed the young woman. However, she recognized her sister’s carriage instantly and stopped herself from reacting too harshly. She answered the door herself when a knock echoed down the halls, assuming it was either Alcina herself or her daughters.

Frozen immediately at the sight of a stranger standing there at her doorstep, Donna found it impossible to speak. When you bowed your head and explained your situation, the Lady subtly motioned for Angie to answer for her, screaming at you, the stranger, and asking why there was no warning of your sudden appearance.

“Oh, my apologies, Lady Beneviento. I had assumed Lady Dimitrescu had called or sent a letter prior to my arrival. I hope I’m not intruding on anything important,” you had whispered, your voice so gentle and sincere that Donna couldn’t find it in herself to be entirely angry with you. ‘It wasn’t the poor girl’s fault,’ after all, it was Alcina’s, and she made a mental note to call her later and give her a piece of her mind.

Wordlessly, Donna lifted her hand as a gesture to stop talking, one in which you obeyed immediately. “You silly girl,” Angie screeched, laughing almost maniacally as she clambered to your legs and climbed to your shoulders. “You worked for the Big Hat Lady, didn’t you? Why would she send you here? Were you too useless around her crusty, old, gigantic castle?”

“Oh, no,” you answered with a small laugh, puzzling Donna on how calm you seemed to be. She reminded herself that you had probably seen far worse and more bizarre things while under Alcina’s reign. A talking doll was surely something unordinary, though there were deeper horrors out there that outweighed even the pure discomfort Angie brought to others.

“Nothing like that. I assure you I do my best.” Donna hummed, disinterested and unamused. Still, you continued. “If I’m being completely honest, I’m not entirely sure why she sent me here, but I’m sure she has a good reason. I was honestly hoping I would be able to ask if you knew why, but… well, it seems we’re both at a loss.”

You seemed so casual about everything: you weren’t uncomfortable standing in front of possibly the most feared Lord in the village, you didn’t seem scared or startled when Angie came bounding around the corner, and you weren’t trembling even a little bit under the unsettling views that surrounded you. As annoyed as she was with this sudden intrusion, Donna had to admit she was still a little intrigued by you.

Perhaps some good would come from your stay after all. It would certainly be a nice change to have more time to herself outside of her projects. If someone was there to help take care of the cleaning and organizing, she would have more peace. More effort could be put into her dolls, she would be able to spend more time reading and researching, and she wouldn’t be alone. Regardless of knowing she likely wouldn’t be able to bring herself to talk directly to you, it was still a comforting thought to know there would be someone there – someone she couldn’t control, but someone she could instead rely on to make things lighter on her shoulders.

A moment passed before she sighed, stepping aside and welcoming you almost unwillingly into her estate.

“Thank you, my Lady,” you murmured with another charming smile, lifting your suitcases and carrying them inside. Once the front door was closed, Donna turned to find you standing there, patiently waiting for your first order. “I’ll show you to your room,” Angie announced, still perched on your shoulders. Without getting down, she grabbed ahold of your sleeves and began yanking them in the direction she wanted you to go.

Biting back a small snicker at her motions, you followed her demands and made your way to the stairs, still clutching your bags in your hands. Donna watched until you disappeared into the guest room that used to be her bedroom as a child. She didn’t know you entirely – only caught glimpses of you occasionally during her visits to the castle – though she still hoped that old room would be suitable and you would find it comfortable here. Using Angie distracting you to her advantage, she made her way to the lift and lowered herself to the basement, where she found her landline and dialed her sister’s phone number with a practiced motion.

Two rings before Alcina picked up, and it seemed she already knew who had called.

“Donna, darling, before you start lecturing me, will you give me a chance to explain myself?” Snarling through her words, Donna agreed to stay silent and listen. “Yes, but it better be a good reason. You know very well how I feel about strangers.”

“I know you aren’t fond of new people, but I can assure you I sent that girl with the best intentions in mind. She’s one of my best maids: kind, obedient, very level-headed. I figured she would be a good fit for you. I–” “Scusi?” Donna interrupted, on the verge of hollering. “Oddio mio! Fai sempre quello che vuoi, ed è esasperante!” Before she could continue with her verbal tirade, her eldest sister interrupted once again, prompting her blood to boil further. “Donna, please listen to me, dear,” her voice was almost strained.

A small slipped past Lady Dimitrescu’s lips, almost silent from the other side of the phone. Donna could picture her pinching the bridge of her nose as she spoke – could see her brows furrowing and causing her skin to crease in disdain. “I promise you I will explain myself, but you must listen to the entirety of what I have to say.”

“Make it quick. If there’s no viable reason for that girl to be here, I will send her back immediately.”

“I’m explaining my reasons, if you’ll be patient with me for just a moment.”

When silence fell between them, Alcina took it as a sign of the doll-maker’s reluctant compliance. “I noticed over the years that you’ve been lacking any sort of assistance down in that manor of yours, amongst other things. I know you won’t enjoy hearing it, but you’re alone, Donna, terribly alone. Anyone can see it, that’s how painfully obvious it is. That can lead to horrible tricks from the mind. You shouldn’t have to do everything by yourself. Some company would do you good, even if it’s just a maid there to help keep things tidy. I worry about you, truly, but there’s so little I’m able to do for you if you won’t accept the help I give you.

“That’s why I’m asking you to give this arrangement a chance. A month, at most. If you still aren’t satisfied or comfortable with her being there with you by then, I will send for her return, but I would appreciate it if you tried.”

“Alcina–” Donna started, grunting in distrust.

“Only for a month. I’m in no way suggesting you try to court this girl or even grow close to her. Just be cordial so you’ll have someone there with you that you can rely on at any given moment. She’s kind, patient, and respectful of any person, which is why I assumed she would be a good fit for you. She won’t step over your boundaries or interfere with anything you’re struggling with unless you ask her to. Please, whether you’re ready or not, give her a chance.”

A brief moment passed where Donna could only part her lips, though no words would come forward. She wanted desperately to protest against what her sister had essentially thrown on her so unexpectedly, though some part of her – the loneliest part, she knew – wanted to have someone here with her. Her sister trusted you, and you hadn’t caused any trouble that resulted in reprimand while you were still under her care, so there was a chance you wouldn’t be a nuisance the way she thought just a moment before.

Her mind wandered without her realizing it, filling itself with every potential way of what could go wrong. Silently, she was grateful that the familiar, comforting voice of her sister filled the space once more. “Donna, dear? Are you willing to give her the opportunity to stay with you? I only ask a month of your patience on her behalf.”

“You promise you’ll have her leave if I’m not satisfied with her company by the end of the next month?”

“Yes, of course.”

“Cazzo,” she whispered under her breath, tilting her head away from the phone to hide her words further. Suppressing a small groan, Donna nodded her head, though she knew her sister couldn’t see her. “Fine, she has one month. Be prepared to have one of your carriages sent here by then.” A soft, satisfied hum escaped Alcina’s lips in response. “I’ll have one prepared in case things go awry, but I assure you that you’ll enjoy her company. I hardly wanted her to leave myself, which is why I’m entirely confident that the only reason I’ll need to see her again is when my daughters and I come to visit during the summer months. They’ll be thrilled to see her again either way.”

“If we’re done with this conversation, I’ll have to hang up. Since there was no warning that this girl would be showing up on my doorstep, I’ve made no plans on what she’s to do around here. I’ll have to come up with a few things as I go.” “Yes, I understand. I’ll call you again next month to check in and see how things are going. Does that sound alright with you?”

“Yes. Goodbye, Alcina.”

“Thank you, Donna,” was her only reply before Donna placed the phone down, refraining every part of herself that wanted to shatter it and toss the remains far away.

Just above, she winced at still being able to hear the shrillness in Angie’s voice, and she knew she’d have to join you and the mouthy doll soon enough. To give herself a moment to breathe and steel her nerves, she took the time to straighten out her veil and suck in a deep breath. It took more effort than she would’ve liked to admit to force her legs to carry her back to the lift and not collapse beneath her as she stepped inside, turning hesitantly to tap the arrow and send herself back to the main floor.

When she arrived, Angie was already making her way to the elevator door, cackling as she tugged your hand so you’d follow her. “Donna, the silly girl told me she knows how to play piano! Isn’t that great? Now you’ll have someone else to sit with you and keep you company while you make new friends!” Scowling down at the doll, Donna shook her head, though she didn’t have a chance to speak before you did.

“Angie,” you started, chuckling at the doll’s antics, “I don’t want to impose on anything. I’m sure she’d prefer your company over mine. She seems far more comfortable with you.” Somehow, in the short amount of time you had been left alone with her, you had managed to get on Angie’s good side, which was made evident when you crouched down and lifted the doll into your arms. A smile painted your lips, even as you looked back at Donna.

“Now that you’re back, I was wondering what you’d like me to do around the house. I’m willing to do whatever you need.” Taking some time to think of what needed to be done, Donna made a small motion with her hand, silently asking you to follow her back into the small study. Angie, once you were close enough to the sofa, leaped out of your arms and landed on one of the cushions, excitedly bouncing up and down and causing you to chuckle again.

The Lady sauntered to the desk tucked on the far wall and slid the top drawer open. Her hand dipped into the small drawer and plucked a sheet of paper from a stack, as well as a pen, which she then placed onto the surface of the desk, pushing the drawer until it closed. As you wandered over to join her, she scribbled out a list of chores for you to do, adding a small note at the base of the sheet. When she turned and handed it to you, your eyes immediately scanned over her neat handwriting, specifically the words formed at the bottom. ‘Under no circumstances will you go to the basement.’

She stayed there, standing rigid as a board and staring at you expectantly. “Thank you, my Lady,” you suddenly blurted, that gleeful smile never faltering. Surprised, she blinked. She had partially expected you to question why the basement was off limits, then reminded herself yet again of all you had likely witnessed at her sister’s. “I’ll get started right away. Angie,” some part of her felt disheartened when you turned away to plant your focus back on the small doll still hopping on the sofa.

“Will you be keeping Lady Beneviento company?” From behind her veil, Donna’s eye shot over to Angie, awaiting her answer. “Nah,” the small doll replied, stilling her movements on the cushion and making a dismissive motion with her hand. “I’ve got to make sure you do everything right, after all! Besides, Donna has her other friends to keep her company.” “Other friends?” “The other dolls, silly girl!”

“Oh, I see. I’ll have to meet them sometime.” Donna couldn’t resist clenching her jaw tightly at your words. “Are you mocking her?” Angie accused, now speaking for Donna as she crossed her arms. “No, of course not,” you answered truthfully. It didn’t seem you noticed how thick the tension had grown. If you had, you certainly didn't pay it any mind. “Dolls can be friends. I’d be happy to meet them someday, if you’d allow me to, my Lady.” You turned to her again, and she couldn’t help but fall motionless at the sincerity in your eyes.

You truly weren’t mocking her.

There was no hint of judgment or sarcasm in your tone, nor did it seem like you were saying it out of duress. You were being honest.

Unsure of how to respond, she could only offer you a simple nod, one that would’ve gone unnoticed if you hadn’t been staring directly at her.

Again, you smiled at her without a shred of fear, another gesture she would have to grow used to.

“I’ll get started now. Is there anything specific you’d like me to prepare for dinner?” At that, Angie shook her head rapidly. “No, no, Donna will cook, not you!” A little puzzled, you looked over at the doll-maker yet again. “Would you prefer to cook?” Another wordless nod was sent your way. “Okay, well… in that case, I’m excited to see what you’ll make.”

Then you left the room, still cradling Angie in your arms and entertaining her endless banter. With the list clasped in your hand, you began working around the house, cleaning, tidying, and organizing everything you were instructed to. By the time dinner was served, it was clear you were exhausted, though you made no comment on it. Instead, you were given a plate of one of Donna’s favorite dishes to prepare, left to eat it on your own accord in the dining room.

Donna, still adjusting to the idea of having someone else in the house with her, insisted she’d eat alone in her workshop down in the basement, which was still off limits to you.

Angie was there to keep you company and let Donna know what was happening. The doll-maker couldn’t bite back her prideful grin when you raved about how delicious her cooking was, cleaning your plate off in record time. You were visibly relieved and excited when you learned that she would be cooking every meal herself.

This routine continued over the next month. You’d be given a new list of chores to do for the day, meet briefly with Donna in the kitchen until breakfast, lunch, or dinner was ready, eat alone in the dining room, then carry on with your duties until you were finished. A few days in, Donna had taken notice of how quickly you managed to complete your given tasks, watching with curiosity as you tried to create ways to entertain yourself.

Angie wasn’t always there with you to keep you company, so you had to find new things to do on your own without overstepping your bounds. It didn’t take long before Donna gave you free reign of everywhere but the basement. You were allowed to pick any book you could find throughout the house, could prepare your own snacks in the kitchen, could watch a film if you desired, you were allowed to do pretty much anything once you were finished working for the day.

Donna had forgotten about her scheduled call with Alcina, hardly even giving it a second thought at first when she heard her sister’s voice over the phone. “Donna, dear, how have things been?” Humming, the doll-maker shrugged to herself. “Things have been good here. How are things with you?” “I’m doing well, thank you.”

A long, drawn out silence followed, one in which Donna grew increasingly confused. Finally, Alcina cleared her throat, audibly expectant of something specific from her younger sister. “Well? Do I need to send for her?”

“Hm? Send for who?”

An exasperated sigh greeted her. “The girl, Donna. The maid I sent to you a month ago?”

“Oh, yes, of course. Her.”

“Do I need to send for her?”

She paused, staring blankly at the ground. Off and on throughout the weeks, she had been preparing herself to scold her sister for even having the idea in the first place. She thought of the few choice words she would sneer at her as she snarled out her demands to make you leave at once. The entirety of the past month had been expected to be a living hell, though after she thought to herself for a moment, she realized that hadn’t been the reality at all.

You had been incredibly helpful, never failing to be courteous and respectful with the special charm only you seemed to have. The manor had never been so clean, not even when Donna was a child and still had her parents to help out around the house. No matter how strenuous it was, you ensured you’d clean every part of each room from top to bottom, never missing a spot.

Angie had grown to like you on top of everything, which was a hard goal to achieve. Not once had you treated the doll unfairly. You always joined in on her tea parties, kept her company when Donna needed to be alone, cracked jokes without scolding her for her unruly sense of humor, and overall treated her kindly.

Kind. That’s what you were.

Even towards Donna herself, you never seemed to hold any sense of resentment or disregard for her comfort or security. You’d learned to read her body language alone to know if she was in the mood for chatting, and even on the rare occurrence where she voiced her own thoughts without using Angie, you didn’t pressure her to say more when she fell silent. There was an understanding, it seemed, one that didn’t need to be pointed out to know it was shared.

She was insecure, that much was obvious. Still, you were as patient with her as you were with Angie, and that was something she’d never be able to understand. She was appreciative of how you treated her – seeing her as who she is rather than fearing her every move. In the beginning, she had grown nauseated at the idea of someone convincing you to leave her each time you left to retrieve supplies from the village.

She didn’t understand why she was so anxious over the possibility of you leaving because of her. After all, she was the one who had been on the verge of begging Alcina to take you away. It seemed you had grown on her in such a short amount of time. It was a hard thing to admit to herself, especially as she stood in that hallway on the phone, but she liked you. She enjoyed your company, regardless of the fact she rarely had the courage to speak with you on her own.

She didn’t want you to leave. She couldn’t let you.

“Donna?”

Forcing a small shaky breath to steady herself, Donna was brought back to the present at the sound of her sister’s voice. “No, you won’t need to send for her.”

Alcina chuckled on the other side of the line. “I told you you’d enjoy her company. She’s quite a sweet girl, isn’t she?”

“Sweet, yes. She’s very kind, even to Angie,” Donna murmured, ensuring her voice lowered itself for the last comment. Another gentle laugh greeted her ear. “Well, take good care of her for me, will you? She’s very dear to my daughters, as well as myself. It will be quite a hard task to find a maid as valued as her.” A soft smile graced the doll-maker’s lips. It was rather calming to know her sister thought so highly of you. It lowered the chance of you somehow ending up hurt if you ever joined her on a trip to the castle.

“I promise you she’ll be happy here,” was her reply, voice thick with reassurance and sincerity.

And she kept true to her word, constantly finding new ways to keep you content and even opening herself up to you. It surely took time, however. You hadn’t been given the opportunity to see her face uncovered until you had already lived there for two years. She had led you into her workshop in the basement, requesting for you to tidy things up after she had realized she had neglected the cleanliness of the room for too long.

As you cleaned, Donna returned to her projects, propping up a doll and a few pieces of cloth. A small notebook laid beside the doll, filled with different measurements she’d need for its clothing. It only took a few minutes before you heard her cursing under her breath. When you turned from the desk you had been dusting, you found her holding the notebook almost taut against her veiled face, clearly struggling to read what she had written.

“Lady Beneviento, are you alright?” You had asked, cautiously moving to stand beside the table she was standing at. Her head perked up, turning to you as if she hadn’t realized she had spoken aloud. “Yes,” she stammered, glancing back down at the small notepad, “I’m just used to putting my veil away while I work here. It’s why I haven’t let you down here with me before. I’m afraid I can’t see my writing very well with it on.” A nod was your reply, though you eventually moved to tidy up the desk again.

“Well,” you started, turning away, “you’re still free to take your veil off, of course. Please don’t let my presence here with you stop you from working comfortably.” She shook her head, more to herself than you. “I’m afraid I can’t do that. I’d only scare you away with the hideous monstrosity I hide.” “I can assure you, my Lady, you won’t scare me. I’ve seen horrendous things both in Lady Dimitrescu’s and Lord Moreau’s domains. Besides, if you’re anything like your portrait by the stairs, I highly doubt you have a hideous monstrosity hidden away beneath that veil. You must be just as beautiful.”

Although she stood dumbfounded at your blunt choice of words for what felt like an eternity, you were soon greeted with a scoff. “You’re a fool to believe such a thing. You know nothing of me.” You turned to her then. Seeing the look of pure confusion and what seemed like betrayal contorting your features nearly made her regret her words instantly. “But… Lady Beneviento, I do know you. These past two years–”

“Stai zitto.”

Your small journey to return to her side was cut short at her harsh tone. Such a plain-spoken phrase, laced purely with a concoction of venom and insecurity. You couldn’t bring yourself to move any closer. “All you know of who I am has come solely from those wretched villagers who smear my name through the mud at every given opportunity. They’ve painted a portrait of me, and it’s been glazed over time and time again with their harsh judgment. That portrait is not me, nor is the one you claim to find beautiful.”

Her breathing grew ragged as she spoke, voice leaping in volume as she recalled every rumor that found its way floating through the village like a fog. A short moment passed before she had to drop the notebook onto the table. Her hands were shaking far too violently for her to hold it comfortably.

“Cazzo,” she hissed, clutching at her palms and squeezing them tightly together in a futile attempt to steady them. Finally regaining your courage, you stepped forward, placing a hand on her shoulder only for it to be slapped away. “Non toccarmi!” With your hands held up in surrender, you allowed yourself a brief moment to choose your words carefully. “Please, my Lady, listen to me.”

A mocking laugh met your words, Donna now turned to you with her arms crossed. You could see how her nails dug into her sleeves and skin to a painful degree. “I have no reason to listen to you,” she retorted coldly. “I know that, my Lady, but I’m only asking for a short amount of your time. Will you hear me out?”

Had you been able to see past her veil, you would’ve seen how her eye narrowed as it focused on you – would’ve seen her brow furrowing deeply and creasing her skin – and you would’ve seen her lips pulling themselves tightly back into a scowl. Regardless of being unable to see such things riddling her face, you could tell from her tense figure that she was truly uncomfortable. Even so, when she made no effort to decline again, you parted your lips to speak once again.

“I know you must think that I’ve followed and believed every rumor there is out in the village related to you, but I assure you I’ve never paid any mind to such unnecessary lies. I’ve seen you, and I’ve seen how you treat others, even if Angie is the one to speak for you. During my time at the castle, I was able to watch when you’d spend time with Lady Dimitrescu or her daughters. It was clear there was some tension with your sister whenever you’d speak to her about your meetings with Mother Miranda, but you always treated her kindly.

“I couldn’t understand why the other maids feared you each time you’d come to visit. I still don’t understand. You’re everything the villagers claimed you aren’t. You’re a kind soul, my Lady, and you’ve only continued to show me that with every passing day I’ve stayed here. When I grew bored after finishing my tasks for the day, you and Angie would help me find a way to entertain myself. You’ve provided me with shelter, food, security, and a type of friendship I’d never thought I’d find.” Slowly, you took her hands from her arms and cradled them in your own, watching as the pads of your thumbs grazed soothingly over the backs of her knuckles. She stiffened, though she didn’t pull away.

“I promise you that, regardless of whatever you may think is bad enough to keep hidden even in the safety of your own home, I will never judge you for who you truly are. There’s nothing you could do to make me turn away from you.” Silence became tension once again, though you weren’t sure if it was caused by your words or your close proximity to the doll-maker.

You didn’t pull away, instead standing there and waiting for any kind of reply from her, even if she were to shove you away. Surprise flooded your senses when you felt her hands finally shift in yours to comfortably squeeze them back in return. “You’re an incredibly naive woman,” she mumbled, though there was only affection in her voice. It was clear she was smiling as she spoke. You smiled back at her.

Hesitating, you wondered if it would be acceptable for you to ask her to remove her veil. As though she could hear your thoughts, she slipped her hands out from yours, lifting them to her veil and toying with the hem. When she paused, you glanced back up at her with curiosity. “Would you mind turning around for a moment?” You nodded and obeyed instantly without a word, turning on your heel and waiting patiently for her to let you turn her way again.

It only took a moment for her to shuffle a bit behind you before you were granted permission to face her. When you did, you smiled at the sight of her veil pinned partially away from her face, only revealing half of the same face you saw each day when you’d pass her portrait.

“I was right. You’re beautiful.”

You had managed to gain enough of her trust for her to reveal the healthier side of herself, though it took even longer to see that part of her consistently. Another two years flashed by. You had grown rather close to Donna, so much so that you were finally allowed to address her by her name, and she sat you down in her room one night for a talk. It was then that the whole of her veil was finally removed and set aside. Putting every bit of her trust in you in that moment, she showed you the worst part of her – the part she despised the most.

She had expected anything but the reaction you had. As she built up her courage over time, she had imagined you losing every ounce of color in your face, your skin growing clammy. She pictured you screaming or groaning in utter disgust. She even envisioned you treating her like the monster she was and running for your life, leaving her all alone again.

But you did none of those things. You smiled at her so kindly, and it was a shock to her system to see the adoration in your eyes only grow at the sight of her. “My god,” you whispered, lifting your hands and cradling her face in them without hesitation. It was impossible for her to hide the crimson reddening her face at your actions, affection still an entirely foreign concept to her. “You’re just as stunning as I figured, Donna.”

A quiet laugh escaped her as she shook her head as much as she could in your hold. “I’ll never understand how you find everything beautiful.”

Even as she protested against how genuine you were being, some part of her finally felt at ease. She had shown you her biggest vulnerability, and you were still desperate to stay by her side. Each time she took her veil off in your company, you were nothing but positive, tossing out compliment after compliment in her direction.

Soon, she could be found lingering around the house as she worked, lacking her veil on most days. She’d tug it back on if the Dimitrescus came for a visit or if she had another family meeting with Mother Miranda and her siblings, but she found it far too comfortable when she was alone with you to hide herself away. With time, her trust in you grew alongside her endearment, and it didn’t take long for her to understand what her feelings for you were. She denied them for months, but Angie eventually scolded her for being so cowardly, expressing her annoyance with seeing just how hopeless Donna was on her own.

She spent time – weeks leading to months – trying to conjure up a plan on how she could let you know of her feelings. There were so many things she wanted to try, wanting to ensure her confession was genuine and romantic.

However, none of those plans came to light. Her feelings were made known purely by chance.

You had invited her to watch a movie that Angie had picked out from the Duke’s cart. She accepted with glee, thrilled just as she always was when you made an effort to include her in your plans. With her help, you set up the film and flipped on the projector before planting yourself on the sofa and making yourself comfortable. Donna watched fondly as you bundled up underneath a soft blanket and grabbed the bowl of popcorn you and Angie had prepared ahead of time.

With a smile, she joined you on the couch, albeit leaving a few inches of space between you to avoid coming across as too bold. She let herself lean against the back of the sofa, resting her head against the cushioning with a content sigh as her gaze focused forward on the film. As the movie progressed, you shared a few words with her, though – much to Angie’s dismay – it quickly turned into playful banter, something that had become a common occurrence.

Already knowing where things were headed, Angie snuck out of the room without notice. At one point, Donna moved closer with one of her teasing remarks, her hand sliding to you and resting on your hip without much thought. You didn’t refuse her touch, nor did you seem uncomfortable. You seemed rather inviting with her affection. You made it clear that you didn’t mind when you pulled her into your arms and practically cocooned her with the blanket.

She yelped in surprise at first, but you both burst into fits of giggles immediately after. Her laughter settled before yours, and she was left to gaze up at you, eye stricken with so much love that she was sure you could see hearts in it. Her smile was warm when you calmed yourself and stared back down at her. Curiosity sparked in her for a moment, wondering if you could feel her heart hammering heavily against her ribs as clearly as she could hear it in her ears, though it was diminished and replaced with the all-too-familiar feeling of need and desperation.

No other words had to be shared, she knew. It was clear from the small gleam in your eyes that you were needing her just as badly as she needed you in that moment. Surprisingly keeping her composure, Donna leaned up until she hovered above you, leaving you to feel her breath on your lips as they brushed against hers. One look back at you let her know everything was okay, and she finally allowed herself to close the gap, sighing in satisfaction at the feeling of being so close to you.

Every urge and ounce of desperation for intimacy that had built up over the years finally melted away peacefully that night and was instead replaced by the love that swelled up in her heart. As you laid in her arms, head resting against her bare chest as you slowly caught your breath again, she tilted her head down and pressed another feather-like kiss to the top of your head. When you turned to look up at her, she smiled.

“I love you.”

The next several days that followed, those three words were shared between you and Donna on a near-constant basis. They were heard so frequently that Angie insisted she carry a blanket or pillow around to cover her ears with, whining each time you or the doll-maker made a flirty or corny comment to the other. Donna had essentially attached herself to your side, always wanting to be where you were and vice versa. When you’d end up alone in a separate room, it wouldn’t take long for her to find you and join you in whatever you were doing.

A week after her confession, she’d unwillingly headed off to another family meeting. You had to convince her that morning to get up for the day. She clung to you in bed, groaning and whining anytime you tried to pull away, until you ultimately managed to wake her up properly with the promises of those kisses she adored so much. Reluctantly, she got dressed after a quick shower and wandered downstairs with you, where you peppered her face in kisses before helping her put her veil on, watching with a smile as Angie hopped into her arms once she made it to the front door.

You waved goodbye to her as she left, then returned to bed to rest for a while longer. After waking up only a couple of hours later, you trudged to the lift, then across the house until you made it into the kitchen, which only caused your stomach to growl loudly in anticipation. Rummaging through the cabinets and pantry resulted in you finding a small box of pasta and several herbs and spices to add to it. It didn’t take long to collect everything you needed before you found yourself standing by the stove, chopping up your chosen ingredients with a practiced ease.

After accumulating everything onto the small cutting board, you shifted carefully to the stovetop, where you then began scraping the chopped up herbs into the pot of boiling water, then placed the board to the side as you grabbed the spices and sprinkled them in.

Shortly after setting the pasta into the pot, you heard the front door open and shut. Immediately after, Angie’s quick footsteps echoed throughout the house until they eventually vanished upstairs. You hummed and smiled to yourself. She was most likely looking for you. “Tesoro?” Donna’s voice called out gently, helping you realize she was still by the front door. Heavier but slower footsteps were heard rounding the corner and nearing the entrance to the kitchen, ones in which you recognized right away. You turned to look at her when she walked in, smiling gleefully when you saw her veil had already been removed, fully allowing you to see how her eye lit up and her lips tugged upwards into a smile at the sight of you.

“Hey,” you whispered, voice still thick with fatigue. “You’re home.” She nodded, sauntering to stand behind you and plant her hands firmly on your hips, leaning forward to let her lips graze over the side of your neck. “I missed you,” she murmured against your skin, smiling when you chuckled. “You were only gone for a couple of hours.” “Yes, but I wasn’t exactly thrilled to leave this morning, if you recall. Those damned meetings are never useful anyway. I’m not sure why Mother Miranda insists we have them. It always just ends with Alcina and Karl arguing.”

Humming in thought, you slipped your hands down to rest on top of hers, briefly lifting one to peck the backs of her knuckles before lowering it to rest on your hip again. “Well, it’s over now, so you can relax again. You’re home.”

A sigh slipped past her lips as she moved to pull you back until you rested comfortably against her front, allowing her to wrap her arms around you properly. Again, her face returned to hide in the comfort of your skin, her lips pressed gently against your shoulder. Far before you ever arrived at her home, she had gone to countless family meetings, all of which ended the same: returning to the manor with a throbbing headache that she would have to deal with all alone.

She supposed she owed thanks to her older sister for introducing you into her life. Next time, she promised herself, she would tell her how grateful she was, but for now, she only wanted to cradle you in her arms and let all the stress and tension from the day melt away. You were the very thing that made this place a home – you were her home. Never again would she have to worry about isolation, nor would she dread returning to the estate each time she left, the cold, empty silence a long-forgotten memory now that she had you.

Humming, she hid herself further against you, allowing her eye to fall shut as she took in everything about you that never failed to bring her comfort and peace. She nodded.

“Yes. Now that I have you in my arms again, I am.”

Thanks for the all of the support, by the way!

Started on: November 7th, 2024 Finished on: November 18th, 2024

#x reader #female reader #fluff #slight angst #resident evil village #resident evil #heavy fluff #donna and angie #donna beneviento x y/n #donna beneviento x female reader #re8 donna #donna beneviento x reader

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bloggingboutburgers · 2 months ago

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Hi!!

I don't know if you have the answers I'm looking for, sorry for taking your time either way 🙇‍♀️, but

I was wondering if you could give me some tips on how to make a relationship steady (I'm aroace but with a man who's cishet)

We're sometimes in a long distance relationship. I study far from home, in the same country, but it's still pretty far. I try not to be far from home for more than 20/30 days, and so far we've been doing great, but in the last couple of weeks I've been away I feel like we've been more distant.

He has been more busy, and I know this - I'm not trying to pin this on him, but I feel like he hasn't actually tried to be more close while I (maybe) try too much.

We're pretty great at communicating, but I feel like lately we're on two different levels.

I'm just an aroace girl who wants to feel loved, I don't know what to do

If you have some tips, also in general, I'll gladly accept them

If not, just wanted to say your comics have helped me a lot the past years and I'm forever grateful to you for it 🙆‍♀️💗

Thank you either way!!

Heyyy! Sorry for the late reply TwT

Thank you so much for the kind words, I'm very glad if my comics could help in any way!

Tbh I'm not sure I can compare that well since up until a short time ago, my partner and I were 9-hours-of-time-difference away from each other and could only see each other twice a year at best, otherwise once... And somehow it's suited us fine. I gotta say it depends on the person, I feel like my partner trusted me a lot on many things and I personally have met a lot of the closest friends I have in my life online and they're all over the place, so I was kinda primed to be OK with not being physically close most times. (...Ofc very glad to be married to my qpp now because it makes a lot of things simpler and it's great to be with each other everyday, but... Ye! I guess aside from that one travel ban imposed by the US in the past, it's been chill to navigate to me overall.)

I think a thing that has helped us a lot was to have rituals, like texting every day (kind of a no-brainer), calling once a week at a time that suited us both to watch stuff together, and whenever a time where we reunited was coming close to an end, making preparations for the next time we'd meet so we'd have that to look forward to (their idea, it helped a lot). To be honest it was never forced on our part, and I never felt like any of this was a chore in any way, and if one of us couldn't make it for this or that reason, that was fine. So I've never really felt anxious about things either, not in that sense, I don't think.

I will say, if you're feeling anxious about the situation, the best thing I can always think of doing is voice your fears to him, and if you feel they haven't gotten through to him, insist until maybe you get to some kind of an understanding. I kinda tend to do that to a fault with my loved ones, and I'll admit it doesn't always work, but I can't think of any other way to make things right durably... So yeah, that's kinda my go-to TwT Without forgetting to consider his point of view of course, but it feels like you've been doing that to begin with!

Either way, whatever things turn out to be like, I really hope you'll be OK, and I sincerely wish you all the best!

#aristotle0 #aroace #i hope you'll be ok TwT #hgufig not sure if any of that helped #i'm kinda lucky with my qpp so i'm not the best at advice in a pinch

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the---hermit · 5 months ago

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Hi, I'm actually new to #studyblr and saw one of your post. I'm curious about what amount of hours that you can usually have yourself to sit and study focusly? I saw a lot of YouTube videos that has people in 10+ hours study session and I've been questioning myself because I can't really stay focused for that long. I only manage to focus 1-2 hours so far and it makes me feel like I'm dumb and unproductive.

So can you tell me more about your story and maybe unpopular opinion/tips that you have regarding about the concept of productivity in studying?

Thank you and sorry if I made you uncomfortable with asking question, I just want to connect with people in tumblr since I saw a lot of #studyblr post and want to know more about people's unique journey so that I can learn from it.

Have a great day!

Hello dear and welcome to the studyblr side of our beloved hellsite! I would like to start by saying that it's totally okay to ask, and I am actually very VERY happy you have reached out about this.

Firstly everyone studies differently and everyone can pull different study sessions depending on many many things, so do not comprare yourself to others. Imo 10+ hour sessions sound like something out of a fantasy novel. I could never. I will go about this in no particular krder so sorry in advance if i am a bit confusing (and if i am too confusing do feel free to send me another ask and I'll try to be better).

Your ability to focus can depend on a lot of things, how you and your brain work, lots of neurodivergent folks like me have to work around that as well, what you are working on can impact on how well you focus and how many energies you burn while doing so, and let's be honest sometimes you have other things in your life that can drain your energies and then you have an harder time staying focused. This is all fine. You are not dumb, you are not wasting time, and you are not a failure if you take a longer time to do something or need more breaks.

Another thing I want to get out of the way right away because it is fundamental, is that your mental and physical health should always be an higher priority than school work. You need to pay attention to that. To how you talk to yourself, to how you treat yourself. If you are in a bad mental place you cannot work well, and nothing is more important than you being well. So do take the breaks and the days off, and not just when you are at your limit. You need to find a balance between studying and rest. There is no guilt in rest. You are fueling yourself to then be able to accomplish what you have to do. Okay? I am being very serious about this and I really really need you to keep it in mind always. No guilt in rest. It is not something you you need to earn either. It's something you need and deserve at all times.

Now to get more into your questions. I personally take A LOT of breaks when studying. I need to walk around a bit, I need to snack, I need to make tea (i drink a lot of tea lol). And breaks are great. There are different ways you can approach them and it depends a lot on how your brain works and how you work. If you are not sure i would suggest trying different things and see what works for you! It's super important to know your study method, how you work best, and how your brain works. You could try the pomodoro technique first, or just figure it out depending on your needs or what you are working on (for example taking a break at the end of chapters).

I am a creature of habit so my typical study day at home looks pretty much the same (tho it can vary depending on lots of things, includong the materials I work on). I am an early bird so most of my study happens in the morning. I like to wake up very early around 6.20 because there is nothing I love more than to have the time for a slow morning in which i drink my tea and read my book as I have breakfast (this is one of those very personal things that works for me but i am sure would be hell for many people. Do make sure you get enough sleep!!!). I tend to be at my desk by 8/8.15. In the morning depending on what ai have to work on I have one or two breaks. If i only take one break it's a bit longer and i stop studying earlier. If i take two breaks they are usually around 9.30 and one around 10.30. If i only take one it's around 10 but it's longer and as i said i stop studying earlier. I then have a very long lunch break from either 11.30 or 12 until 15 usually and then I usually study till 17. If I need to work more i do take at least one break in the afternoon as well. This is a typical day in which i focus only on study, if you have classes, work,life things it would be irrealistic. Even if you go somewhere outside your house to study that would be irrealistic. So you need to focus on what can work for you. Again sperimenting different things is the way to go!

Idk if there count as unpopular opinions on productivity but I'll list some of my opinions on the matter and you can decide for yourself:

Your productivity does not determine your value nor your success.

Pulling all nighters and working for 10 hours straight is unhealthy. You need rest. You need moments in which you focus on other things. Schedule time for your hobbies. Meet with friends. Eat foods that fuel your body and soul, it's a source of joy. Create an healthy schedule. It is fundamental. You should never ever deny your needs for studying, it's not worth it.

It's better to take one or two weeks more to finish something than to pull an all nighter or other unhealthy things i mentioned above.

There is no shame in taking your time to do things and there is no shame in taking your time to figure out what works for you study wise. When i started uni i took well over a year to figure out how i needed to study and it started working well after like two years and it's okay. Because i had to learn that by myself with trial and error and if i didn't do that i wouldn't be here now with the perfect study method for me personally.

Nothing will come out perfect on the first try. Do not let it discourge you. Have fun learning. Mistakes are good. They mean you tried and they are there to give you direction for the future. Do not let anyone tell youcthey should be a source of shame.

There's probably more stuff i could mention but my brain is fried after a long day so this is a good start. The last thing i want to tell you is an advice on how you could approach ypir new studyblr adventure. It is how I started using it and how I continue to use it, I am not saying it is the way to go but it has worked positively for me so I thought I'd share it. I started this side blog during the pandemic because I felt unmotivated by studying, I felt like I wasn't doing enough and had a lot of guilt about that. I decided to use this little corner of the internet as a journal, but most importantly as a daily reflection on my productivity. What I thought would be a goal to push myself harder ended up being just a place of reflection in which each day I realized how much I accomplished without realizing. Writin my little daily lists of thinga I have done isn't a way to push myself in the morning, it's a way to sit down at the end of the day and reflect on where my energies went that day and more often than not I am surprised at how much I did, when I thought I had a mediocre day. I really recommend taking time to reflect on your productivity this way. And I also encourage everybody to include self care acts in their productivity lists. Taking care of yourself is an act of productivity, so the fact that you took time to cook your favourite meal counta as productivity, taking a break to go for a walk or to listen to some music that gives you joy is productivity, because you are recharing yourself. Imagine yourself like a phone or any other tech object. If you let the battery die it takes so long to recharge completly. If you keep an eye on the battery, your battery, you can do things to recharge you before you shut down. You can't expect to always be at 100% but you should never push yourself below a certain percentage of battery.

I think i have rambled enough. If you feel like asking more questions or anything my inbox is always open, and I would be happy if you left me a message if you try any of these things or if you find your study balance. I am cheering for you. Good luck and i hope you'll have a good time in this little corner of the internet. I hope it can be a place where productivity and studying can be fun and exciting without pressure, because that's what it should be imo. Hopefully in this huge wall of text there is some sort of answer to your questions or something that might help. Take care of yourself anon and have a lovely day!

#i had a lot to say #but pushing too hard for productivity pisses me off #i am a very guilt prone person and i am very aware of that and i have been working on it for a long time #i do not want others to feel that pressure #studying should be fun there are no standards for productivity #and youcneed balance #you deserve rest #you do not need to earn rest #you are not a machine you are human and you need and deserve joy #so get enough sleep and enough food and eanough breaks #and if one day you stop studying earlier to see a friend or simply because you are tired and your brain isn't braining it is okay #okay i am done i'll stop i have talked enough #ALSO SORRY FOR THE TYPOS I AM TIRED AND I AM TYPING FROM MY PHONE SO THERE IS PROBABLY A LOT OF BAD SPELLING #cris answers #studyblr #studyinspo #uniblr #university #ask #asked #asks #answered #mine #the---hermit

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hyunjinners · 2 years ago

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✧:･ﾟI Thought it Was Something Else → Hwang Hyunjin x reader ˚₊· ꒰☘️꒱

꒰ 命 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 ꒱┊Hyunjin's muscles were tense from the day's efforts, he deserved proper care.

꒰ 命 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 ꒱┊Hwang Hyunjin x fem!reader

꒰ 命 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄 ꒱┊established relationship, cute, soft, funny.

꒰ 命 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 ꒱┊can be read with idol and non-idol, purposeful suggestive insinuation! It doesn't contain anything explicit, just humor and a cute moment between couples. ;)

꒰ 命 𝐖.𝐂 ꒱┊1,05k

꒰ 命 𝐀/𝐍 ꒱┊I have a lot of chapter ideas in my head, but since most of them involve a bit of anguish, I decided to post some cute ones first. English is not my first language! Have a good read, I hope you enjoy <3 - reviews of my writing are welcome ;)

⊹₊˚ʚ❛masterlist❜ɞ

A groan leaves Hyunjin's lips as he raises his arms, his right hand going against his left shoulder in an invalid attempt to ease his pain. His girlfriend watches him lie down on the living room couch while preparing snacks for them to watch movies together. She sighs displeased at the sight of her tired boyfriend.

It's been almost a month since Hyunjin has been coming home very late almost every day, busy with work that overwhelms him and keeps him busy until the early hours. Y/n admired the commitment he had to everything he did, always delivering the best results in his efforts. But when it started to affect him not only psychologically but also physically she had to talk to him.

He just explained with a tired gleam in his eyes that her hard work was paying off and that she didn't need to worry. Of course, she knew she would resist at first, but she couldn't help but worry about him and seeing him fidgeting on the living room couch on what was supposed to be their movie night, it made his bones ache and his heart squeeze in his chest.

Leaving what she was doing in the kitchen, Y/n cleaned the non-existent dirt from her hands by clapping them together before sitting down next to Hyunjin, He lifted her legs so she could settle next to him. "My love, do you want to go to sleep? You're tired and I promise I won't be upset-"

"No, no, no! Nothing like that, I finally arrived early this week and you already want to get rid of me?” His usual playful tone would make her laugh, but Y/n was more worried than anything else. Hyunjin gets up and wraps her in a hug, kissing the top of her head and speaking in a very low tone, his voice almost dragging in tiredness, "I promise I'm fine. I just want to spend time with the most beautiful girlfriend in the world." He laughs, kissing your cheek and then a simple kiss on your lips.

As if in a snap, an idea flashes in your head and a mischievous smile appears on your lips. Y/n quickly gets up, taking Hyunjin's hands as she pulls him towards the bedroom. Still laughing, Hyunjin looks at her confused and curious about where she wants to go. "Honey, what are you doing?" She lightly pushes him to sit on the bed while hovering over him with a loving, cheerful gaze. "Take off your shirt.”

Hyunjin's eyes widen as his voice catches in his throat. He watches her in surprise as Y/n walks towards the bathroom. "What?" He asks quietly, wondering if his tired mind made him hear wrong. "Take it off, I'll get the cream and be right back."

"What do you mean?" He stands up abruptly and feels pain in his back, making him lean lightly on the dresser next to him. His face started to heat up, his ears were red and he put his long blonde locks in front to cover them. His girlfriend enters the room with a smile and a slight expression of doubt as he is standing and clearly a little desperate. "What's wrong? Sit down. I'm sure you'll like it." She rests her hands on Hyunjin's shoulders, forcing him, albeit carefully, to sit on the bed again.

She snorts when she sees his resistance to taking off his shirt and walks around the bed, sitting behind him. She grabs the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. Hyunjin bites his bottom lip, still nervous, but leaves Y/n in control of the awkward situation. After taking it off, the girl ties his hair into a messy bun so that it is not visible from behind.

Hesitantly, Hyunjin waits for what will happen not before he feels something cold on his back, giving him a shiver, soon after feeling small, light hands massaging the area of his shoulders and neck, relief and embarrassment almost completely takes over him, not before being led to lie on his stomach so that he could facilitate the massage being distributed to his back.

He felt his muscles relax with the soft and sure touch of his girlfriend's hands, as if she knew the right spots where the pain presided in his limbs. Some time later, when his eyes were too heavy to keep open, he hears the soft sound of the lid of the jar of cream closing and a weight sinks beside him.

With his sleepy eyes already open, he finds his girlfriend looking at him affectionately with a relieved smile at finally seeing her boyfriend relaxed after days of tension and a lot of effort. He puts the shirt back on but not before pulling it up, where her head rests on his chest now covered by the thin fabric. She breathes in the scent of vanilla and medicinal cream that Hyunjin now exhales, closing her eyes as well, exhaustion finally hitting her.

"Did you like the massage?" She asks softly, hoping for a positive review from her boyfriend. With a low, sleepy laugh, Hyunjin kisses her on the forehead before speaking, "Thank you so much, I loved it. I really needed it, I think I feel a lot better now." He ponders for a moment before confessing quietly, "but I have to tell the truth, I thought it was something else. I'm sorry."

"Another thing? What do you mean" Y/n asks him, confused, but too tired to think about what it could be.

"Oh, babe… it's too embarrassing to say out loud."

A/N - I hope you enjoyed! It was a different style of chapter that I decided to write. I'll try to post the maknae line from the stray kids Headcanons that I posted a while ago! You can access the first part here. Leave your feedback, I will be very grateful <3 like × reblog!¡ original by:: @hyunjinners ^-^

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empressgeekt · 6 months ago

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Trolls - Parental Guidance (Brozone's Parents part 1) Backstory.

Okay this will be a post on my headcanons and backstory for Brozone's parents, and extend family. I'm naming them Jubilee (mom) and Branch Sr. (yes, i headcanon that Branch is named after his father). How they lived, how they fell in love, how they started how they died.....yeah this is going to tear jerker. First it's going to be a backstory post, and then I'll make a what if they survived post, set it FOF based on the vote I put out a few days ago.

Let's start with everyone's favorite grandma! Rosiepuff! In her younger years she worked as a seamstress while running a card playing ring on the side. She fell in love with one of the local baker's boys as a teenager, and they were married young. Her husband was a deep ocean blue troll with bright indigo hair, and pale eyes, named Johnathan. Together they built their family in the mid-branches of the trolls tree, and had two girls. Jubilee and Lotus. Jubilee was the older daughter, and shared many similarities with her father, both physically and personality wise. They both loved music, Johnathan playing an old acoustic guitar while Jubilee sang, and sharing dreams of escaping the tree, finding somewhere out there was that safe. They were happy family.

Until Johnathan was killed working on the escape tunnels. It was the first attempt at escape in years and Johnathan was going to make sure it was going to happen. However, the trolls in charge of the tunnel design didn't really know what they were doing and eventually there was a cave in. Johnathan died fighting for his family's freedom. Jubilee was only 12 and her life changed forever. She stopped singing and her Daddy's guitar was left to gather dust, from then on she was determined not to lose anyone else. She kept up with escape plans and always made sure the pod was ready for a disaster, she never went out to parties or concerts. Lotus' relationship with her crumbled, as they both entered teen years as they clashed from Lotus being more a free-spirit that didn't want Jubilee's protection, calling her crazy. Rosiepuff did her best to keep her family together, but there was only so much she could do, Johnathan was always better at fixing fights. She gave Lotus the space she thought was needed and tried to Jubilee to enjoy her life a little.

"Mama! How could i think about enjoying my life when I might not even have it by next year! I need to keep you an Lotty safe, make sure Daddy's life meant something!"

"Jubilee! Don't you say that. You're Daddy may not have gotten out like he always dreamed, but that didn't mean his life meant nothing. His life meant you, me and Lotus. He had something more important then freedom from this dang cage, he had love. That's all I want for you junebug."

Let's jump to the other side of the family tree for a second.

Branch Sr. was born an only child to Norma Tigerlily and Dorian Meadowlark. Their family lived in the lower branches of the troll tree due to a lack of income, and were at further risk of getting snatched. Their home wasn't all that happy. In the beginning, it was okay. There was always this sort of underlying tension between his parents, due to them having differing beliefs, his father being a strict traditionalist worried about how they appear to others, while his mother was more internally minded only really worrying about how actions will effect the family's wellbeing. However, usually this conflict would remain in the back ground, until Branch Sr.'s first day of school. The day goes fine for the most part, all trollings, whether from the tree top or lower Branches attend the same school, so everyone of his peers were present. Including one little, Jubilee.

Music class always started with a singing test, just to see where each trolling was, it wasn't even that necessary since most trollings could instinctually sing. Jubilee had been a perfect example that day, her voice was stunning, and Branch Sr. couldn't take his eye off her, already in love without knowing what it was. But at his turn...Well...lest just say the teacher and his peers were less impressed, while the picture frame shattered. Branch Sr. couldn't sing....and from there things took a down hill turn for him. After all, a troll who couldn't sing, was hardly a troll at all.

Tensions raised in Branch Sr.'s home, his parents continuing to fight. His father wanting to continue singing lessons in the hopes his son could be remotely "normal", and not put the rest of them in danger. While his mother was more supportive trying to help her son express himself in other ways, she teaches him guitar and how to dance. Both of which Branch Sr. excels at.

When he turns five tragedy strikes again. After a particularly bad blow up between his folks, Branch Sr. runs from the pod and hides in a knot in the bark, what he forgot was Trollstice was the next day. Branch Sr. wakes up to heavy footsteps and people screaming. He stays curled up in that tree knot for hours, scared to move, and when it's all over...his home is gone. The pink and yellow pod was ripped in half, and no parent comes to his cries and screams.

The next roughly decade and a half is a hard life for Branch Sr. He grows up as a street rat, stealing from market venters for most of his meals and living in the half broken pod. Sometimes the parents in the other low hanging tree branches, would take pity on him and let him in during a storm or give him dinner. However he never stuck around one family for long. They always grew tired of him. He only had one friend, a little orange trolling, by the name Peppy, who was notoriously bullied for his squeamish personality, and massive case of stage fright.

He grows up to have this "se la vi" attitude about life, what's the point of working towards anything if it all ends. The other trolls enjoy his company, simply because he knows how to turn up a party, but he still feels like an outsider since he's never able to join in music. Then one night as young adults, Peppy takes him to a restaurant with a karaoke stage, naturally he is not enjoying it, but he isn't the only one who isn't having fun.

Jubilee was also dragged to the event too, by Princess Daisy (Poppy and Viva's mom), after a day of stocking up on suppiles and making food for the tunnel diggers, rather then sleeping off her hard day of work, her only friend decided to drag her out in to the open for a night of fun. She is also not enjoying the night. This draws the attention of some orange troll with pink hair, who knocks his table partner, and mentions that someone else might be more miserable then him. Jubilee did not take kindly to that, sure she knew the others saw her as a kill joy, but she wasn't going to put up with being picked on in public. Somehow she enters a bet with the Green trolls with pink curls that if she successfully got a round of applause from the crowd then he had to actually pull his weight, rather then just lounge around, and go help in the tunnel construction. She wins the bet rather easily, though she feels sick afterward and goes home.

Branch Sr. did not recognize Jubilee initially, in however when her hesitant, yet stunning voice rings out the venue, he's bewitched. It had been nearly 15 years since he heard that voice...and it was just as beautiful as it had been when they were kids, just more filled out, more mature. He has to see her again, so he doesn't complain when he goes to work on the second tunnel system attempt. Jubliee might be banded from digging, buy she still gives out lunch and supplies to the trolls who can.

By now the miners have stumbled upon old mole tunnels and think they might lead to the outside. Branch Sr. Isn't interested a5 first but Jubilee volunteers behind her mothers back. He goes after her. They get trapped outside of bergen town after falling into a worm hole and while trying to get back to the tree to the seeds of romance begin to blossom. Though it isn't without bumps.

Branch Sr: you know I don't get your over obsessive need to do things perfectly.

Jubilee: im not obsessive! I just have a drive unlike some lazy tree knots here!

Branch sr: I'm not lazy! I just don't see the point of working myself to death when I'm just going to get eaten one day!

Jubliee: if you worked hard to escape then we wouldn't have to worry about that

Branch sr: escape? Escape when?! There have been so many attempts at getting out of that tree! I can count on one hand hiw many have been successful . What's the point!

Jubilee: maybe I'm not fighting for myself! Maybe I'm fighting for my family and for anyone esle who can't! Don't you want to fight for your family!?

B: in case you haven't noticed Missy jubilee I don't have a family!

J: but you could!

B: please no one wants a troll like me.

J: no one wants mister party animal? They call me a party pooper.

B: no one wants someone who can't sing. They call me a freak.

J: then I guess we're not that different...

by the time they find the mole tunnels to get back to the tree, they are structurally unsound. And collapse as the make there way back to the troll made ones. They way to freedom is lost once more, and they return to the tree, though Branch Sr. does ask if they could hang out from time to time. Jubilee says yes, though they both refused to call the hang out dates for a while.

Rosiepuff was a little hesitant at first, but she did approve of the match once she saw Branch Sr. playing guitar and getting her little girl to sing again. Lotus straight up did not approve, and nothing Jubilee or Branch Sr. could do would convince her.

Maybe six months after the whole tunnel incident, Branch Sr. finds an Egg in his hair. They are both terrified. Branch Sr. fears that the baby will be like him and Jubilee is worried about raising a child in the tree. Branch Sr. tries to give her an out by offering to breakup, but Jubilee shuts that down, claiming he isn't the problem! it's the environment they were stuck in. They actually consider possibly getting rid of the egg to protect it from being born in the tree.

However Rosiepuff steps in at that point, "Now I understand that you're scared and you have every right to be. But we've been dealt these cards and we'll make due. If you don't want to raise this munchkin, either leave them with me or the orphanage. Yes this is inconvenient, but this is not a mistake. They're a surprise, and nothing more."

Eventually they decide to keep the baby, and Rosiepuff moves Branch Sr. into their pod, not wanting her grandbaby to be hatched in the half broken pod Branch Sr. had been living in since his parents were taken. John Dory is hatched, happy, healthy, and to his father's relief singing before his first birthday. Since were already living together with a baby, Jubilee just goes ahead and proposes. Might as well make their situation official. While wedding planning, Branch Sr, finds himself pregnant once again, though this time its and internal carrying. It's another surprise, but they can't help but shrug. They have one kid what's one more.

Sadly, while Jubliee and Branch Sr, are building their family, Lotus and Rosiepuff's have been falling apart. Lotus started courting Brook Bell-Blossom, a troll who was rather full of himself, and never treated Branch Sr well due to his lack of a singing voice. Now Rosiepuff could put up with a lot, but she wouldn't have infighting between her daughters and their partners, especially with a baby around. This tension rose until a big fight broke out between Rosiepuff and Lotus, and Lotus left to marry Brook, never contacting her mother or sister again.

Spruce is hatched right before the wedding and both boys are in attendance as their father's best men, along side Peppy who had began to court Princess Daisy. They managed to wait about two years before, Branch Sr, finds another Egg in his hair, and Clay is born. With Floyd coming into the picture two years after Clay, with Jubliee carrying him internally. However while Branch Sr managed to carry the first three to term no problem. Jubliee suffered several complications leading to an early laying and hatching. Floyd was born small, and his parents stayed up many a night making sure he didn't stop breathing with his under developed lungs.

For the next nine years they were a happy family, and each of the boys took after their mother in terms of musical talent, though Floyd did ask Branch Sr to teach him guitar. Then one morning, Jubilee wakes up to an egg in her hair, and even they were like "okay we need to stop". While they were happy to receive a fifth baby, this was a little much.

Sadly however they would never get to meet their youngest. Shortly after the egg detached but before hatching, they get snatched by the chef. Royal Bergen weddings were required to have a troll flavored cake so no one was ready when the cage around the tree was opened. Branch Sr would try to fight off the chef giving Jubilee and john dory the chance to run. Jubilee stuffs her eldest into a tree knot and hands him his youngest siblings egg before going back to trya and save her husband.

...they never come back...

----

Well here's the back story of the brozone parents in my aus. Sorry this took so long to come out. I was trying to figure out the plot, making it cohesive and all that. Hope yall enjoyed, and I will try to make a 'what if post' on how Jubilee and Branch Sr. might have survived from getting taken.

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #brozone's parents #brozone #fic summery #grandma rosiepuff #original character #trolls john dory #trolls branch #king peppy #trolls floyd #trolls clay #trolls bruce #pre trolls 1 #trolls eggs #pre canon

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edutainer2022 · 5 months ago

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A great discussion with @janetm74 about this prompt spawned a little Jeff and Scott thing in the early days of IR:

"Scott, I need you to give Kyrano a hand with debris outside!"

The father's voice was strained. Tightly controlled.

"It's okay, Dad! Lee has him covered. I can't let you go any further alone! The building is too unstable!"

"Scott, NO! I don't need you here!"

"It's fine, Dad. I'm almost there! We'll split the search, it'll go faster!"

"I said LEAVE! RIGHT NOW! Don't come any closer!"

He couldn't see his son flinch from the bellow, but he could hear pained hesitancy in the boy's hitched breath. He could hate himself for making Scott recoil later. Right now he couldn't let him SEE what was in front of him. The basement of the building they came to evacuate was obviously used by a human trafficking ring. Or worse. Emaciated, battered people were shackled to walls. They were probably abandoned by captors when the earthquake hit. Most were passed out. Or dead. Jeff would need to reroute Lee and Kyrano there with scanners and first aid kits, but he absolutely, under any circumstances could let Scott step inside. Not when he found his son in a very similar state, manacled and bloody, and barely breathing, in the bowels of a military compound in That Place - not enough time ago. There would never be enough time to erase the image from a father's memory. And he under no circumstances would allow triggering those memories in his son. Not after Scotty was on a good recovery streak - he was eating, he could almost sleep through the night with only one night terror, almost! Those were milestones Jeff would defend with his life. Maybe he was going overboard, hovering and doing the helicopter parenting he had NEVER done before in all of Scotty's life. Maybe it was twenty years or so too late. But Jeff couldn't risk it. Through an unimaginable strike of luck and inhuman effort he got the son back. A second chance to protect him, whereas he dropped the ball before. Too many times.

He was of two minds as to letting Scott train for the fledging Rescue mission he was building. The idea of letting Scott into danger AGAIN made him nearly black out. But the physical régimen was good for the boy. The trauma therapist confirmed the sense of purpose could also go a long way to advance the recovery. There was a SPARK in Scotty for the very first time since so painfully long. A determination. Jeff couldn't let that go to waste either.

Rhythmic steps echoed in the hollow pathway, and Jeff nearly collided with a slender frame in blue, running to him. Jeff used his slightly superior height and now vastly superior bulk to stop the kid on his tracks and forcefully rotate him to face away from the entrance. Scott was startled and struggled against the restraint, but he was no match to a father on a mission.

"Easy, Bluejay! I told you to stay away!"

"I can't let you stay in the building alone, Dad!"

There was hurt in the boy's voice. Disbelief. Scott would think Jeff couldn't trust him in the danger zone. He would hate himself for that later too. Nothing mattered now more than avoiding a flashback.

"Shhh, Scotty, I know that! Now let's go! Nothing to see here!"

"But, Dad!"

The head, shifting to crane to steal a look, was firmly pressed into his father's shoulder.

"It's okay, Scotty! Kyrano will deal with it. I promise! We're not needed, let's GO!"

"Dad, what's going on! You're scaring me! What's inside there!"

"Nothing, baby. I'll send Kyrano in and we'll help Lee with those debris, eh!"

Jeff hadn't talked that way to Scott since he was about three. Not true, strictly speaking. He DID talk to Scott like that through the excruciating weeks at the hospital, then at home - calming him down, placating to let an IV line in, soothing through nightmares and regressions. Jeff wasn't ashamed. He'd spare no cost to pull the boy out of the shifting sands of terror, swallowing him whole.

Here, on a rescue, the protocols had to be ironclad. They were professionals first. There probably would be hell to pay in Scotty's fury. Jeff didn't give a damn. He invested a lot of effort, time, energy, and resources into getting the cutting edge Rescue service off the ground. Time taken away from being there for his children. But he would scrap it all in a heartbeat if he saw it was harming his son more than helping him cope. So he tightened the grip on Scott's tence form and led the way out.

#thunderbirds are go #jeff tracy #scott tracy #scott tracy needs his dad #bereznik headcanons #jeff tracy needs a license update in fathering #my fic #thunderbirds 2015

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bellaciaao3 · 5 months ago

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In dreams

Michael no longer drinks or smokes or binge eats when he has a depressive episode.

He found another way to evade reality in difficult times.

/////

A new day, the same routine for him: watch a movie, maybe tidy up the house a bit, eat at the respective times, go out for a walk around the city, evaluate whether he would go to see Solomon at the recording studio, come back and go on with his daily life as a lonely middle-aged man with few illusions about life and think about what he could do differently the next day.

What would change the next day, or the day after that or the day after that or any of the days after that?

Michael wasn't sure.

It had been days since his routine had been based on the same thing, not because he had no options, but because his mind was still not a safe place for himself. It never had been, although months ago, he would have dealt with it differently, perhaps not healthily, but he would have dealt with it nonetheless. Before, he would have drunk a whole bottle of whiskey or smoked three cigarettes in a row or gone out and stopped at four different bakeries. Or he would have done all three in one day.

Currently, however, Michael didn't want to relapse into things that had already gotten him into trouble with those close to him. He told himself that was why he spent so much time alone at home and refused every invitation to go out from Franklin, Lester, Solomon and even Trevor. His excuses varied depending on the day and the person. The most commonly used were: "I can't today, I have to go to the recording studio", "I'm sorry, I already have an engagement", or "It's not possible, I have to do something else".

The only real one he gave less frequently was: "I can't, I don't feel well".

Michael was sure that his colleagues assumed these were physical health issues and he hoped it would stay that way. Deep down, however, he used to hope that one would notice that it wasn't physical, but mental. Getting up in the mornings was complicated, and then doing basic things like showering, washing one's face, eating or just drinking water became real challenges.

Sessions before leaving him, Friedlander talked to him about depression and offered him the alternative of a medication. Michael hated the possibility that he would end up on medication, as he didn't want to be doped up around the clock or have it limit his day-to-day life. For that reason, he refused the medication and stated that depression was just "something doctors say because they don't take the time to properly evaluate patients". Friedlander mentioned his constant denial about his own health and Michael let out a sarcastic comment and stubbornly refused the card with the number of other specialist.

On second thought and in the absolute silence of his home, Michael wondered if he had made the right decision.

One Wednesday, at two o'clock in the afternoon, Michael arrived home after an unsuccessful attempt to go to Franklin's house. The boy texted him that he could go if he needed to talk or if he simply wanted to get out of the mansion. Michael barely made it two blocks with his car before he turned around and returned to the solitude of his home. He wasn't well and didn't want Franklin to notice and talk about it later with Trevor, Lester or Lamar.

Michael didn't even bother to respond to the message. He got out of his car, went back inside and went straight to his room. There, he changed into light clothes and lay down on the bed, which hadn't been made in days. He covered up to his waist and set an alarm on his cell phone.

I'll sleep for an hour and I'll be fine, he told himself.

He fell asleep in less time than he used to when he drank. He dreamed he was on the beach, on a sunny day like any other, watching the immensity of the sea. The rays of light caressed his face, making him feel relaxed, free from the stress of the busy world behind his back. The sound of the water, undisturbed, without loud music or young people partying, drinking alcohol and throwing their trash, reminded him of the first years he arrived in Los Santos; when he thought he was happy. For once, Michael did not feel the weight of loneliness, quite the opposite.

He took a few steps towards the water and it barely reached his feet in the sand.

He liked the idea of always being like this, calm, without stress or worries. He longed for that genuine tranquility and not the typical escapism of his: sitting on the sun lounger with a glass of whiskey and using his headphones to pretend that the music dulled the noise of problems. That routine had only made his worn-out mind more exhausted. Michael didn't want to fall into it again. He just... wanted to be at peace.

A loud sound made him open his eyes. Automatically, his hand moved to reach for his cell phone and he turned off the alarm, dazed. The darkness of his room made his tiredness grow, all he wanted was to close his eyes.

Michael turned off his cell phone, rolled over to lie on his other side and looked out the balcony door. He could hear the noise of cars, horns and complaints from pedestrians. Not even such a racket could keep him from falling asleep again.

Four o'clock, five o'clock, six o'clock... and until nine o'clock at night, Michael did not wake up. He had slept for seven hours and not even that time lapse could stop him from feeling exhausted.

He turned on his cell phone and found that he had several messages from Lester and Franklin. They read worriedly asking about him. Not wanting to give them reason to go see him, Michael replied that he was fine and wasn't at the mansion.

He didn't even bother to read their answers.

He didn't think he would be able to go back to sleep after doing it all afternoon. And as so often, he was wrong.

He fell asleep after twenty minutes of waking up.

/////

Michael had considered returning to therapy, with a competent specialist who could actually counsel him and not increase his fees each session for the most absurd reasons. However, the times he spent lying around, overthinking, made him end up convincing himself that it was a bad idea. The first idiot had let him down, so why risk the same thing happening again? Besides, what was he going to change? The worst thing was to think that he would have to start from scratch to tell why he decided to go to therapy and the reasons about why his previous therapist 'discharged' him.

His therapist would surely have talked about avoiding taking responsibility and how Michael always found a way to excuse his refusal to try to make changes in his life, starting with his hatred of acknowledging a problem that had to do with him.

Lying in bed or on the couch, he had plenty of time to brood and berate himself. When talking, he could spend the whole day apportioning blame and pointing fingers at people who had little or nothing to do with his miserable state of mind, but in complete solitude, his head would remind him that he was the only one to blame.

When he had an anxiety episode, Michael would spend most of the early morning hours lying in bed, staring at the ceiling and unable to sleep. Nothing would motivate him to leave his house.

And that's what he did most days. The following depressive episodes were no different. Michael still maintained his personal hygiene and ate relatively well, but he didn't leave his house and if he didn't want to know anything about the real world, he decided to sleep.

Trevor wrote to him several times, asking why the hell he wasn't answering his calls. As with the others, Michael couldn't find the will to respond to his ¿friend? The feeling of ignoring Trevor's messages made Michael feel guilty. He had ignored him for ten years and when they met, he kept lying to him. Ignoring his messages felt just as bad.

Some evenings, he dreamed they were back in North Yankton, but not living the criminal life. They had a...normal life. Trevor was still in the air force and excelling as one of the best, and Michael had a quiet life away from his nefarious parents.

And they lived together. Michael didn't fully remember what kind of cohabitation they had, but he remembered feeling like it was a pleasant dream.

When he woke up, he thought about how much he wanted to stay in those dreams forever.

The thought of calling Trevor and telling him about it felt wrong. What right did Michael have to do that after everything that had happened between them? Whether or not Trevor had accepted his apology and their weird, dysfunctional friendship had gone back to the way it was, Michael couldn't think that things would change again because of his depressed state. That state had already alienated him from his family and he was sure it was the same with Frank and Lester. The last thing Michael wanted was for Trevor to walk away too.

And what the hell am I doing ignoring his messages, Michael wondered, lying on the bed and massaging his forehead. His cell phone was off. He hadn't wanted to receive calls and have to explain why he hadn't left his house in days.

Dreams were more pleasant, so Michael rolled over and closed his eyes, waiting for the gentle arrival in a utopian world where he was okay.

/////

Trevor cut off the twelfth call to Michael and tossed his cell phone in the passenger seat. His truck was parked in front of Michael's house and all along the drive, he had been calling him to ask if he was okay and why the hell he hadn't been answering his or Franklin and Lester's messages.

Those two spoke to him and asked him if he knew anything about Michael, claiming that, as his best friend, he should have a sense of what Michael was doing.

Trevor replied that 'best friend' was not synonymous with 'faithful dog'. He didn't tell them that he was going to the mansion to see him, as he wanted to spare them the teasing and the rest of the questions.

To himself, Trevor would not deny being worried about Michael. It could be normal for Michael to not keep in touch by text so often, but for him not to answer calls or take the trouble to be less curt with his messages was a red flag that Trevor learned in short order.

Anxiety flared in Trevor as a bunch of unpleasant ideas came to mind and began to bother him. What was he going to find when he entered the mansion?, he wondered, as he made his way to a half-open window; he didn't want to pick the lock and then deal with Michael's grumpiness about it. Would Michael be lying on the floor, choking on his own vomit? Would he be in the living room, with three bottles of whiskey nearby and clutching his belly from feeling his stomach burn? Or would he have been so drunk that, by smoking, he ended up burning himself? What if it was an accumulation of things that led to...?

Trevor shook his head and went through a window in the living room. He shouldn't get any ideas so soon.

"Michael?", he called to him, entering the kitchen. "Michael, you better not be dead, you selfish bastard!".

Nothing-no sarcastic or angry retort to his intrusion. Trevor noticed that the kitchen wasn't in shambles like that time he showed up, after Amanda and the kids had left with that crazy yoga instructor. Everything was more or less clean, maybe some leftover food, but there were no fast food boxes or used glasses left in the sink.

Trevor opened Michael's fridge to poke around. There wasn't too much: bottles of water, half a dozen eggs, some untouched fruit, and a can of energy drink. He closed the door and checked the shelf where Michael kept the alcoholic beverages. All the bottles were intact.

Trevor walked through the house and found no traces to indicate that Michael had done... anything wrong.

He was left to check his room.

With each step, Trevor felt his anxiety levels rise. He didn't know what he might find when he opened the door and the uncertainty was suffocating.

When he forced himself to open the door and face what he should, all he got was Michael sleeping soundly. His back was to the door, covered up to his waist and holding part of the blankets like a child holds a stuffed animal to sleep.

Trevor quietly entered the room and approached the bed. Michael was breathing slowly and evenly and Trevor never thought he would see his face so relaxed. He wondered what he was dreaming about and concluded that it must be a nice place, away from all the things that bothered Michael, where he could have the peace and quiet he so desired.

Sighing, Trevor decided to leave the room, leaving the door open. He went to the second floor and decided to wait in the living room for Michael to wake up. It was two o'clock in the afternoon. He couldn't take that long to wake up.

To Trevor's bewilderment, Michael woke up around five-thirty in the afternoon. During those hours, Trevor rearranged items in the kitchen a bit, watched TV for a while, and continued to wander around a few rooms, all without making too much noise. He was almost shocked by the hours Michael slept, not realizing anyone else was in his house.

Trevor heard Michael heavily coming down the stairs and going to the kitchen. He didn't hear him looking for something in the fridge or cupboards. Had he even been eating?

"God...", Michael gasped slowly as he walked into the living room and saw Trevor sitting quietly on his couch. "I didn't know you were coming".

Honestly, that wasn't the reaction Trevor had expected. He was ready to hear reproaches, threats or insults for walking in like it was his house. But Michael's look was very much in keeping with the way his words came out. Trevor was more than used to seeing him wearing a smart suit inside the mansion and looking perfectly groomed. Seeing him in sweatpants and a baggy black short-sleeved T-shirt made Trevor arch his eyebrows a little.

What caught his attention the most was Michael's face: he looked completely defeated, exhausted from everything, he had dark circles under his eyes and his eyes lacked the sparkle he used to keep before.

"You didn't answer our messages", Trevor replied, unable to avoid the reproachful tone in his voice. "You had us worried, you know".

"I'm sorry", Michael sighed. "I haven't been feeling well".

"Physically or mentally?", inquired Trevor.

Michael let out a sarcastic chuckle and returned to the kitchen. Trevor clicked his tongue and went after him.

"What's going on?", asked Trevor.

"Nothing. Why should anything be going on?", mumbled Michael, pouring himself a glass of water. "I was just sleeping".

"How many hours did you sleep?", insisted Trevor, crossing his arms.

Michael didn't even bother to answer him. He set the half-empty glass down abruptly on the counter and walked out of the kitchen. Trevor heard him coming up the stairs and knew he had returned to the bedroom.

How hard it was to deal with a closed person like Michael, especially if they had to talk about emotional issues.

Trevor could have left and let Michael sink into his pity party. He had already checked that he was alive and clearly didn't want to talk. He had no extra reason to stay at the mansion.

But he couldn't do it. He couldn't find a way to leave the way he came and leave Michael alone.

Snorting, Trevor climbed the stairs and walked back into the room. Michael had gone back to bed. It would have been easy to tell him he was being silly and that he wouldn't get anything out of lying around. Trevor was good at that.

"Aren't you going to talk?", snapped Trevor.

"No", Michael replied, listlessly.

"Fine. I'll stay with you until you want to", Trevor declared. He rounded the bed and lay down on the other side.

Michael must not have felt like arguing, because all he did was grunt under his breath and turn his back on him.

For an hour and a half, they didn't make a sound. Trevor looked at Michael the whole time and Michael tried to go back to sleep, hoping that Trevor would be gone by then. But as he felt the Canadian's eyes boring holes in his head, the idea was discarded.

Surrendering to Trevor's silent insistence, Michael rolled over and sat up in bed. Trevor did the same.

"Well?", asked Trevor. "What's the matter with you?".

Michael looked away for a moment and Trevor heard him sniffle lightly. When the older man turned back to him, Trevor saw the same dull expression, but his eyes crystallized and filled with sadness.

"I don't know", Michael admitted. "I didn't feel like doing anything but sleeping".

"You haven't been out in the last few days?".

"I tried, but... I can't", Michael repeated, staring straight ahead.

Trevor wasn't sure what to say. He was the worst person when it came to trying to offer words of comfort. Anything he said could be misinterpreted and he was sure that, if it happened, Michael's condition would get worse. So, he opted not to speak and to act. He moved a little towards Michael and pulled him to himself.

Michael didn't put up any kind of resistance, but instead let himself fall against Trevor's shoulder. He couldn't remember when was the last time he had a shred of human contact.

They didn't continue to talk. Michael didn't tell him in depth what was wrong with him and Trevor didn't force him to talk about it.

Although they were silent as Trevor held him and when Michael settled down so he could fit snugly into the Trevor's arms, the companionship felt pleasant.

"Thank you for... coming," was all Michael said.

"You'll need to do more than disappear for a few days to get rid of me, sugar".

#trikey #trevor philips #michael de santa #References to Depression #Excessive sleep

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lemon-russ · 1 year ago

Text

you've heard of walk of shame, now get ready for-

thunderhawk ride of shame. it's the same thing but now on a space ship.

I should think of a name for this whole thing but anything I think of makes me recoil into my own skin with cringe i'm terrible at this.

Part 6/ ???

1 :: 2 :: 3 :: 4 :: 5 :: 6 :: 7 :: 7.5 :: 8 :: 9 :: 10

Cato Sicarius x F!Reader

CW: Talks about sex, Cato being a bully (verbally)

Summary: Going home to the big ship in the sky (that makes it sound like they died they're ok it was literal)

word count: 2,050

A fresh thunderhawk met you a few miles away. With much less drama, you were able to get on and take off, leaving behind the angry rebels below.

You watch Cato talk on a vox device with Guilliman. “Yes- it was a trap, sir. Yes, she's- well fine is a stretch but physically mostly unharmed. …no, no real injuries, just scrapes and bruises, though I'd like her checked by apothecaries for head injury-” he glances away as Guilliman say something in his ear. “Ah- well, she was just, bumped around a lot, and there was a thunderhawk crash…” he glances back at you, brow scrunched as he eyes you up and down. Are his cheeks pink…? No, it must be the lighting.

“Yes, she… performed her job admirably, my lord.” He said, looking at his feet and pursuing his lips. You roll your eyes, smirking. of course he's embarrassed to praise you in front of you. Ass.

“Yes, the leader had it planned from the beginning, The Ambassador had no chance. It is my fault I did not see it coming faster, I'm sorry, my lord.” He said, sounding actually regretful. You hadn't actually seen much of Cato interacting with his genefather, and you're a little surprised in the change in his demeanor. He's never sounded so respectful, and you're even surprised to hear genuine remorse in his tone.

Cato turned away, listening to Guilliman again. “Very well, sir, we're on our way up now. Oh, permission to lead the charge, Lord Guilliman? Yes, I think it would clear my mind a bit to return with my company and cleanse this world and bring it into the Imperium that way. …excellent, thank you, my lord.” He says, smiling and ending the communications. He lets out a sigh and leans on the wall. “Thank the Emperor, something real to do…” he says, shoulders relaxing.

You roll your eyes a little. “Don't let this make you think diplomacy never works.” You say, “I've brought plenty of worlds into the Imperium safely and with minimal loss of lives through paperwork and cooperation.”

He raises a brow. “And how many of those rebel instead, like this one? Or rebel right after? I understand manpower is a luxury, but it just feels easier this way.” He says, rolling a shoulder and stretching his arms. “I can't wait to cut through those men. How dare they oppose the Imperium of man.” He huffs a bit. “And how dare they kick you around-” he frowns, interrupting himself. “-Us, how dare they kick us around…” he mumbles, looking away again. He walks to a window, looking down at the dark desert below them. “I'll teach them the Emperor's light through the most tried and true method.” He smiles, patting the hilt of the Talassarian Tempest Blade.

You sigh. You suppose they did kill those three men and take down your thunderhawk, it was hard to care much about it. You just prefer when things don't go sideways. “Well, I hope it helps you process your…” you wave a hand at him, “emotions.” You say tiredly. He frowns at you. “I have no such things.” He says with a small harrumph. “My only emotions are loyalty, service to the Imperium, and rage.” He grumbles.

You smirk a tiny bit. “And lust.” You add teasingly. He flusters and glares at you. “That- that was a momentary lapse in mental faculties. Leftovers from a time before I was reborn through geneseed. A hiccup.” He snapped quickly, looking, dare you say, embarrassed.

You quirk an eyebrow up. “Oh? And you haven't been repeatedly eyeing me since then? I'm imagining that?” You say, smiling at his increasing discomfort. He grimaces angrily at you, almost pouting. He takes his helmet off of his hip where it was maglocked, and makes a point of putting it on while staring at you, hiding his face. He turns back to the window, arms crossed, and stares out. By the throne, he is so dramatic. You can't help the chuckle that squeaks out at his indignant display.

He looks back at you over his shoulder, “What are laughing at now, cackling like a swamp hag?” He snaps. You try to stifle your giggling, “N-nothing, of course.” You snicker, “Just- you look like a toddler in time out right now. You are radiating grumpiness.” You giggle.

He huffs, and stomps off to the door to the helm, slamming the door close button behind him. What a petulant child he can be, all because you pointed out he obviously gets horny, literally an hour and a half after he fucked you in a dirty cave while being hunted by an army.

You chuckle to yourself a bit, then sigh and rest your head against the seat. You touched the straps on the seat holding you in. You're never going to forget to put these on again, that's for sure, it was lucky Cato strapped you in the first time before the mortars hit the thunderhawk.

You shiver at the memory, the sickening feeling of losing altitude making your stomach flip. This time, you got in the thunderhawk and he didn't even put you down, he walked you over to the chair and strapped you in immediately. You smile and eye the door he probably was just fuming on the other side of. How can a man be so stupid about his own feelings but so smart with combat and military tactics?

He obviously has feelings for you. He admitted he cared about you, he's been fretting over you like a mother hen even if he's an ass about it while he does, and obviously he finds you attractive. Your hand runs over the bruises and bite marks across your neck, and you use a dark window to check them. Holy Terra, Cato. you could kill him. You flush at how marked up your neck and shoulder are with love bites and hickies. Your gown is in tatters, the only thing on you is Cato's cape, tied around your shoulders like a blanket. How are you going to explain all this? You have to see Lord Guilliman when you get back. You flush redder and sink in your chair, sighing.

The rest of the trip back is uneventful, and Cato only returns to where you sit in the hold when the ship is nearly landing in the flagship. He has his helmet off again, and sits in the seat farthest from you, crossing his arms and staring ahead.

You raise a brow at him. “Why are you so pouty? You were all “Cato Sicarius is the best at all things” a bit ago.” You ask, crossing your own arms. He frowns, sparing you a sideways glance. “I have to go tell my Primarch his stupid ambassador almost got herself killed on my watch. Excuse me for my lack of enthusiasm.” He said gruffly.

You roll your eyes, “I didn't do anything though, I was just there and things happened to me.” you say, getting annoyed again. Why does he keep blaming you for this? You literally were just explaining contracts when you were shot at and then you spent the rest of the day being tossed around like a sack.

He huffs, looking away. “Walking around unarmored when you're so breakable means you are always trying to die.” He mumbles. You roll your eyes again. No use trying to fight insanity, he's going to blame you for being killable as the reason you almost die. This stupid, stubborn man. You shake your head and unbuckle.

He twitches, sitting up quickly and staring at you. “What are you doing?”

You frown. “We're almost landing? I'm unbuckling.” He glares at you, scooting to sit next to you and redoing your straps. “Stupid, vapid woman-” he grumbles. You sigh, giving up. First he doesn't feel “emotions”, but then he won't even let you unbuckle your seat before landing.

“Can you just make up your mind already?” You say with a little more acid than you intended. You're getting frustrated with his back and forth though, and it's starting to irritate you.

He scowls, looking up from the belts with hands still near your thigh. He meets your irritation with his own. “Can you pretend you can form sentient thoughts?” He retorts, sharply tightening the strap on your leg. You flinch and your expression hardens.

“You are insufferable. Which is it, you're a cold hearted killing machine, or you actually can feel and just don't want to admit you clearly like me, and I mean for more than angry cave sex.” You snap back, voice rising again.

He growls in his throat, putting his arms on either side of your legs, caging you in on the seat. “You-” he forced through clenched teeth, “Are the most infuriating creature I have ever met. Why can't you leave things alone? Why are you obsessed with what we did? Drop it and try a little harder not to die” he growled.

You wince, face heating up. This asshole- he wants you to drop it? Forget the whole thing? After he's the one who kissed you, after hes the one who confessed to caring about you-

You grit your teeth and snap back, “I don't like being yanked around!”

His expression falters as he sees your face getting emotional.

“I don't want to forget it- I want to know if you actually like me or not! You don't get to tell me all those things and act all worried over me and then tell me I mean nothing to you!” You shouted, tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

He pales at your tears, face contorting with a little panic, “Hey, don't do that now-” he said, venom lost from his voice. He kneels in front of you so he's eye level. “I- I didn't say you mean nothing-” he stutters defensively, “I just said I don't feel those things- Astartes aren't supposed to feel those things, I…” he grimaces as he watches a tear roll down your cheek. “Ah, fuck- hey, don't- don't cry-” he stammers a bit, awkwardly patting your knee.

You bite your lip and look away from him, trying to hide your frustrated tears. You hate this, you hate him, you hate letting him see you cry-

He looks at you like you're ticking pipe bomb. “Oh, come on- ah fuck” he mumbles as more tears escaped. He lets out a long, tired sigh, “okay! Okay- fine- I probably feel something about you-” he admits, looking like he was being forced to stick his hand in fire.

You glower at him, lip quivering as you did your damnedest to hold back your emotions. You were failing, as more tears kept dripping off your face. He grimaces, then seemingly in a panic of not knowing what to do next, he leans over and hugs you.

You freeze in surprise, then feel your face slowly heat up. His massive frame dwarfs your body, but he very carefully unbuckles your straps so he can pull you against him. You weren't sure if this was exactly comforting, since he was still in full armor and it wasn't exactly cuddly, but he leaned his head down to the crook of your neck and your heart stuttered.

“Please don't cry” he grumbled, “throne I hate women crying…”

You blinked. He was so scared of you crying that he backtracked all his nonsense and hugged you. You chuckle a little at the absurdity. All the horrors in the galaxy Cato Sicarius has bested, and his weakness is women crying. You giggle a little harder, sniffling and laughing through tears, and he pulls back and looks at you, face etched with confused concern.

“Let's uh, get you that head scan at the medicae…” he says carefully, like he's talking down a feral animal. You laugh a little harder. He just looks so scared right now, even with the blood of enemies still dried on his armor.

“By the throne, you're impossible-” you chuckle out, wiping tears with the back of your hand before you pull him into a kiss, shocking him frozen.

Maybe you won't strangle him. Yet. You think you might be able to do something with this disaster of a man.

#cato sicaruis x f!reader #cato sicarius x reader #wh40k fic #my work #cato x diplomat fic #Xreader #X reader

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