#and to save those you care about it means going into those grey areas

[fenrysmoonbeamswife]

Masterpost #2

Topic: Nesta Archeron is autistic coded

Black and white thinking

This is a case of seeing things in a very right or wrong, no inbetween way, and struggling with abstracts and grey areas and this is how I would describe Nesta's way of viewing almost everything.

Eg. The way she acts towards Elain and Feyre in ACOTAR, it's practical and very clear to her.

"But I knew that Nesta would buy Elain time to run. Not my father, whom she resented with her entire steely heart. Not me, because Nesta had always known and hated that she and I were two sides of the same coin and that I could fight my own battles. But Elain, the flower grower, the gentle heart, Nesta would go down swinging for her."

Nesta knows that Feyre doesn't need her and that she's capable of fighting her own battles. She sees this in a very black and white way and doesn't waste time pretending because it's very simple to her. In this instance, Elain needs her and Feyre doesn't. Therefore, she directs all of her attention on Elain.

Nesta always dedicates herself fully to one issue and the thing that has to be done, the practical thing. She doesn't half ass it, she doesn't split her attention between two things when one is absolutely necessary and the other isn't.

Now, this doesn't mean that she sees Feyres protection as unnecessary or doesn't care about Feyre. You can even see that Feyre herself doesn't see it that way, Nesta just knows how capable Feyre is and how Elain is the one who needs protection in this case. While Nesta is quite an emotional person, when it comes to things like this she sets that aside and it's all from a completely practical sense. You could even argue that her emotions actually fuel her practicality to an even greater extent. I would also say that Feyre actually sees it this way as well.

Not understanding/caring about social niceties

This ties in with the previous point. The socially acceptable response to Feyre looking after herself is to pander to her (we even see this in the fandom villainize Nesta for not doing this) and offer help even when it would be rejected or hinder what Feyre is doing. Which it would be, I mean, Feyre doesn't need Nesta's help and I believe she would tell her that. People seem to view this situation as one sided but I think it's very clear that both Nesta and Feyre have the same views on their living situation.

We should remember that when Feyre started hunting Nesta did try to help. She asked Feyre to show her how to hunt (because that was the practical choice) and then when it turned out that she was no good at hunting but that Feyre was very good, the next practical move was for Feyre to continue doing the work that she was good at and for Nesta to do the work in the house which she was good at and was also necessary for their living. Nesta understands this and she doesn't feel the need to waste time when she knows the answer and she knows what's required of her. The offer to continue helping to hunt might be the more polite/socially expected thing to do or an expected way to show that she cares but societal expectations are what dictate that this is how you show you care and to Nesta it's impractical and not what they need so it's an empty and pointless gesture. Logic shows her that Feyre can take care of herself so Nesta focuses on where she's actually needed and where she can actually help. In this case that's protecting Elain and doing the more domestic work.

However, when Feyre does need her and Elain doesn't, Nesta does everything in her power to help Feyre while leaving Elain.

Eg. When Tamlin takes Feyre, Nesta leaves Elain and goes to save her. This is not exclusive to Elain, this is just an example, it's just how Nesta is. It's the same when she protects Cassian in ACOWAR, when she shares her story with the high lords, when she becomes the human emissary. Nesta doesn't waste time protecting those who can protect themselves, she puts all her focus on protecting those who can't.

Black and white thinking .2

Nesta's black and white thinking also applies to how she views the world and the people around her.

Eg. The way she views her father. Her resentment and hatred for him are completely full on, he did bad so he is a bad person. She wants nothing to do with him and it's as simple as that. He allowed her to be abused, he let their mother die, he let them starve, he doesn't try and he neglects them so she hates him completely and utterly.

And don't get me wrong, these feelings are completely valid. I'm not saying this is wrong of her, it's just how she is and I'm totally on her side.

Easily manipulated

This is also why it's so easy for a narcissist like Papa Archeron to manipulate her in ACOWAR, which is a really common autistic experience. It's very common for autistic people to be manipulated and to be around abusive people.

When things are in simple good and bad, black and white terms, they're easy for Nesta to work out. Her father is bad, he doesn't do anything to contradict that and there are no good and bad actions there's just bad. Then we see she struggles with the grey area when things seem to change. Her father brings ships to help them and then dies defending her, supposedly, and this makes it more complicated, it's not as clear cut. Now he's good and bad and there's "evidence" for both and she can't handle it. She feels confused and upset and she can't place her own feelings, which is actually also an autistic trait, because things can't be put in a black and white box anymore. There is a lifetime of bad but this last act is good which challenges the absolute way she views things. Suddenly he isn't an absolute and she can't process it, that on top of this final act being extremely manipulative results in all of that shame that we see her experience. This manipulation mixed with her black and white thinking causes the blame to turn into self hate rather than be placed where it rightly belongs.

Black and white .3

Nesta deals in these black and white extremes for almost everything. It's yes or no, the word maybe doesn't really exist to her.

"What happened to Tomas Mandray?" I asked, the words strangled. "I realized he wouldn't have gone with me to save you from Prythian." And for her, with that raging, unrelenting heart, it would have been a line in the sand.

Before, Nesta said that she loved Tomas. It's debatable whether that was actually true but she was going to marry him and move out and then she completely changes her mind because of how she views this action. She has a set view on right and wrong and immediately draws that line in the sand with Tomas when he chooses the "bad" or "wrong" action. It completely changes how she sees and feels about him because she functions based on absolutes, no grey areas. This is how she views the world and the people in it. She sees going to save Feyre as the only option, it's the right thing to do so it's the only thing to do and when he doesn't do that or align with that he's completely changed to her.

Even with Rhysand we see that she doesn't like him as a person, he's arrogant and an asshole and she does not like him, end of story. But, that practical side of her acknowledges that he is a good ruler (debatable👀) and has done a lot for his people. She can acknowledge both the good and the bad here because it's still black and white. Rhysand as a person is bad, Rhysand as a ruler is good.

TBC

[illarian-rambling]

Thanks for the tag @melpomene-grey!

OC Interview

I feel like I've done all of my protags, so let's go in a different direction >:)

Are you named after anyone?

"My first name, Vermir, just means sea bird, which is sort of a fucked up thing to name a baby. My surname, Nadvalsib, is in keeping with Teaban traditions. My mother's name was Nadval and I'm a woman, so hence the -sib."

When was the last time you cried?

"I can't anymore, so... about five hundred years ago, in that case? I think I cried all the tears I had left when- when I saw the results of my experiment with the dark beyond. I never meant for things to end like that.... I was supposed to have saved them...."

Do you have kids?

"Absolutely not. I don't mind kids, but I've never had the desire for my own."

Do you use sarcasm a lot?

"For people smart enough to pick up on it, sure."

What's the first thing you notice about people?

"If they're sorcerers or not. I might prefer to plan out my captures, but I'll take what's given to me if it comes down to it."

What's your eye colour?

"They were a dark brown when I was human. Perfected as I am, they shine an electric white."

Scary movies or happy endings?

"Oh, scary endings! I love anything with practical effects, especially. The craftsmanship is incredible."

Any special talents?

"Other than my incredible intellect, unbreakable determination, and willingness to do what needs to be done to save the people of Illaros? I've always had an impeccable sense of direction. I don't know if I've been lost a day in my life."

Where were you born?

"In the town of Laben, in what you would now know as the Janazi principality of Teaba."

Do you have any pets?

"Can't say that I do. I don't have the time to take care of one."

What sort of sports do you play?

"Son, I'm in the middle of conquering a planet in order to buck the boot of our tyrant gods. And you think I have time for sports?"

How tall are you?

"I was about 5'5" before my ascendency, but I'm a solid 7'0" now. It feels good."

What was your favourite subject in school?

"I never formally went to school - those weren't so widespread when I was a girl - so I learned my trade through apprenticing under the former mage of the village. He was a nice enough fellow, even if he never had the ambition to add any more to his knowledge than what he'd learned from his predecessor. He did, however, have an incredible knack for alchemy. Learning the potion trade from him made up for his failings in other areas."

What is your dream job?

"It's not ruling Illaros, if that's what you're thinking. I will rule Illaros, don't get me wrong. I'll do it, make the world the best it can be, and keep it spinning that way until it can stand on its own. This is my sacrifice for the greater good. Perhaps after my empire is established though, I'll be able to step back and dedicate myself to my studies alone. I've always wanted to finally crack the secrets of the dark beyond."

I'll tag @the-golden-comet @evilgabe29 @aesthetic-writer18 @autism-purgatory and anyone else who wants in :)

Blanks under the cut

Are you named after anyone? When was the last time you cried? Do you have kids? Do you use sarcasm a lot? What's the first thing you notice about people? What's your eye colour? Scary movies or happy endings? Any special talents? Where were you born? Do you have any pets? What sort of sports do you play? How tall are you? What was your favourite subject in school? What is your dream job?

[mywingsareonwheels]

Here be yet more Fred Thursday musings ;-)

[Long post and spoilers for all of Endeavour here.]

So, I was thinking yet again (for the billionth time ;-) ) about Fred Thursday and the three people we see him kill over the course of Endeavour while trying to save someone else:-

Mrs Coke-Norris

Ludo Talenti

Raymond Kennitt/Peter Williams

The show seems to be pointing us into believing that the third of those is somehow much, much worse than the first two and I... have a problem with this.

I mean, in all three cases Fred was responding to an immediate threat to life (of someone he cared about, and in the second and third cases also Fred himself). In the case of Mrs C-N Fred was officially on duty which gives him some extra legal cover, but I'd say no extra moral cover.

I'm no legal expert, but from what I understand, under English-and-Welsh law, none of the three were murders; you're looking at manslaughter at worst, at best a good case for self/other-defence, which... is a grey area but certainly a decent defence lawyer could have had a good go.

(It is worth noting, of course, that this is the morseverse and this is Fred Thursday; he's made so many enemies both in the criminal justice system and among criminals, mostly through doing actively good things, that his chances of either a fair trial or then surviving prison are basically non-existent. I think we have to weigh all of Morse's decisions in "Exeunt" with that in mind because there's no way Morse isn't aware of it. Sam's chances of surviving prison for drug-dealing I think we can assume would also be remote, again due to the enemies Fred has made. And I think again, we have to weigh both Fred's and Morse's decisions with that in mind.)

So... yeah. I think there are only three things that you might consider as making the killing of Raymond Kennitt worse than that of Ludo Talenti or Mrs Coke-Norris:-

the use of the knife rather than a gun, which makes it theoretically possible that Fred could have found a way to end the fight that didn't involve killing Kennitt. That does strike me as something that's probably easier to see from a backseat than if you're Fred in the middle of what's happening, but still.

we know Kennitt's horrifying backstory (not that Fred does), and so feel huge amounts of compassion for him even though he's obviously awful in the "present", and sympathy for the grief that Jakes would feel if he knew what had happened. That's inevitable I think, but, well. Can we be sure that Mrs C-N and Ludo aren't child abuse survivors too? (We do know that Fred and Charley both are, though not the details.) All in all, I think this is a show that wants us to feel compassion for as many characters as possible, and I don't want to assume that Mrs C-N and Ludo didn't end up Like That for no reason.

the fact that Fred kills Mrs C-N and Ludo in defense of Morse (the protagonist, Fred's protege, and a character we all love) and kills Kennitt in defense of Sam (a more minor character, and Fred's son). I would hope that Morse wouldn't see it like that and that neither does Russell Lewis because obviously that's a dreadful position to hold, but... yeeeah. It would annoy me a lot if that's part of the reasoning of the show, but protagonist-centered morality is a flaw in an awful lot of fiction, and while Endeavour mostly doesn't give into it, I don't think any writers are immune. So I do have a horrible suspicion that this is the bit that makes the actual difference, even though I really think it shouldn't be. If Fred had killed Kennitt to save Morse rather than Sam... would we as an audience feel differently? (I ask that of myself as well as of anyone else who wants to ask it of themselves! And honestly, I probably would feel better about the killing if it was for Morse, even though rationally I know it's no different!)

I'd actually say that in the case of the killing of Kennitt there are a couple of minor mitigating factors that the first two lack:-

Fred is in the worst state mentally we ever see him in "Exeunt", and is completely falling apart; earlier in the day he had some form of heart episode or possibly severe panic attack. At any rate: he's going through hell and he is ill as a result.

I can't actually remember if he has his gun with him during the fight with Kennitt, but he certainly isn't willing to use it given the situation; the knife is Kennitt's not his, and a weapon you aren't intending to use is for practical purposes not here, so he's... taken on an armed man while essentially unarmed. Fucking berserker that he is. Rather than two people with guns going up against each other.

you can see a moment of decision in Roger's face for the killings of both Mrs C-N and Ludo; by Fred's own account to Morse (which I think we can take as honest) he didn't make any conscious decision to kill Kennitt (see above re awful mental state).

Honesty? I think that killing in immediate self-defence and/or defence-of-other is however as close to necessary and justified as killing ever gets, and I'm inclined to be extremely forgiving about all three deaths. I'm not sure Fred had a real choice in any of the three cases.

What Fred does do in the third case that really is different of course is the cover-up, in misleading everyone, in being an absolute arsehole to Morse when he comes to check on him that night. In all of it it's massively, massively understandable (as he's a) ill, b) still trying to protect Sam). Morse's sense of betrayal though is also massively understandable. Ugh. My heart hurts. *shakes fist at Russell Lewis, and also at Roger and Shaun for being so amazing*

Anyway. Do I have an overall point? Probably: Fred Thursday is a complicated character and I love him and I want to hug him and also throw things at him. He has horrible violent tendencies but he isn't a murderer under English-and-Welsh law, and I don't think s9 makes sense unless we interpret him as very mentally unwell by the end of it. Also: Morse and Thursday both need different jobs, holy shit. Also also: I reckon Morse ended up forgiving Thursday and being in touch with him, because he is pretty fair when given time to process things, and he doesn't have Morse-centered morality. Also also also: Russell Lewis is a meanie and I want more fix-it fics. ;-)

[wearingaberetinparis]

I love your fics so much! Jily is amazing, and you write it brilliantly. I wanted to ask what you think of their canon relationship in that James once tried to blackmail Lily into going out with him? Like ethically, what's your thoughts about that? And do you think it ever came up later - how can she trust him without talking about those things kind of talk?

Hi anon! Thank you so much for your question! Obviously, I love Jily and I am glad you like my interpretation of them! ❤️

In all honesty, I think that all of us make mistakes and James Potter was an infatuated, teenage boy who did something he should not have done in an attempt to ask out the girl he fancied, while also not wanting to lose face in front of a crowd of people, seeing as he was “the cool guy”.

This does not mean that his behaviour is excusable and I certainly think this is something that he and Lily would have addressed. Personally, I imagine that James would have apologized for his action, very badly right after - which did not necessarily help him, because she would have been fuming still - and - after some reflection and conversations with his parents and maybe some of his friends too - in a much more mature and aware manner.

Clearly, I am very fond of both James and Lily, meaning that I wear rose-coloured glasses around them a lot of the time, but I am also a teacher and see this exact demographic of teenage boys and girls every day. Not to mention, that adults are as fallible and make tons of errors too.

I think the important thing - when doing something you should not have - is that you take accountability and recognize that you should have handled things better. What I know from canon is that James Potter was a Gryffindor, that he was a Quidditch Captain, that he was appointed Head Boy, that he was an intelligent young man, that he would rather die than betray his friends, that he became an Animagus to help his suffering werewolf friend, that he was there for his outcast best friend, that he married (Muggleborn) Lily - who always saw the best in people, but also recognized their faults - was a loving father to his son and died protecting two of the people he loved most, facing their enemy without a wand, knowing that he would not survive this encounter.

Rather than looking at his teenage errors, I would like to look at his growth and admire the fact that James Potter - as a very young adult - is incredibly brave and must have loved both Lily and Harry more than he did himself, his final action being the ultimate sacrifice in the hopes of stalling Voldemort enough to save their lives.

This - even though this was not the point of this ask - in juxtaposition to Severus Snape who wanted Lily all to himself and did not care if the people she loved most would die, as long as he could have her.

What I thus see is a true, loving and heroic redemption arc, which leaves much to the imagination, something I am incredibly grateful for.

There is no such thing as black and white, the grey area in between is what makes our characters interesting, but I do believe that James and Lily were inherently good people who chose light and love over darkness and hate.

[messydiabolical]

Just saw a poll about what in fanfics you dislike the most and it reminded me about a specific plot line I see in Thane fics a fair bit and, well I have a lot to say. I've thought about writing this before but I chickened out tbh, I hate getting into discourse generally. I feel the need to preface that this is personal opinion and feelings, no fic authors owe readers a damn thing, and you can write what you damn well want to! Just to make that abundantly clear. This is also not written with any one fic/author in mind, this aint some vague posting attack on any person in particular. It is a trope I have seen occur on multiple occasions with Thane in particular, and one that gives me a lot of feelings. I bloody LOVE a Thane lives AU. That's my jam, no doubt. It's a cathartic, soothing balm for me. And how you choose to get there can vary massively and I love that too. I would say that I prefer when his motivation to persue treatment is based in wanting to live for Kolyat and especially for himself, and not just because his love of Shepard. And while they break my heart, I also think stories that follow canon, or divert from canon but still have him die, are also super important and I applaud the writers who go there, because ouch. Disability and terminal illness are difficult, real subjects and having that representation is so important. I completely understand why there are people who dislike Thane lives. So to the thing I really dislike: nothing makes my stomach drop faster than the disregarding or removal of Thane's bodily autonomy/consent on his own health. They tend to go like this: Thane has decided not to persue any potential treatments, collapses/is rendered otherwise unable to have his say on the matter past his already stated wants, and while unconscious Shepard overrides his DNR wishes and has him given life saving or extending treatments. He wakes up and is upset at Shepard, but ultimately forgives or even thanks them for making that decision for him (basically saying that he was 'wrong' and Shepard was 'right'.) I do think this can be written in an interesting, character study way. There's also those grey area tangents: For example, what if the treatment suddenly becomes available after he's already unable to give consent, one that he was not aware of. Or what if the source of the treatment changes; before he was against a transplant because it would mean taking from another drell, but suddenly cloning or something else becomes available? etc. Perhaps such plot lines have been explored and I've missed them, because unfortunately after reading a handful of the type where he is just wholesale disregarded by Shepard if I get even a whiff of this kind of plotline I abandon the reading. As for why this does not sit well with me at all? It creates a situation where you have to basically make out that Thane was somehow in the wrong for ever feeling that way, that his acceptance of his terminal illness is bad, his motivations wrong. Again, something that can be explored- but not by just wholesale disregarding and overriding him then later teaching him why he was 'wrong'. We are getting into the very murky area of "if a person is depressed/mentally compromised by trauma/their past enough, they are no longer able to make decisions on their own health, this is for their own good'. And- yikes. Red alert. Because that is a story that needs to be handled with so much care, and it absolutely should not be used as a temporary source of angst to further a fucking romance plot. I think this hits hard for me especially as a disabled person who has had to deal with my fair share of medical fuckery. I'm also neurodivergent and have mental health issues. Advocating for myself is something I have had to battle many a time. Anyway hoo I had that one pent up hey? Again, I hope no one feels personally attacked by this. It's my own ick, one that might resonate with some, one that others might completely disagree with.

[threadsun]

👌NOM NOM NOM! That’s some good soup right there! But I’m guessing it could be one of those, “If I had a nickel for every time I said that” kinds of things right? The power y’all doms have I swear! Got me sweating like a sinner in church 😂 In any case, that makes total sense that people would hire him to be more dominant in the bedroom because of his looks. My brain might have a little more trouble imaging a submissive Joesph, but that’s only because of how heavily subby my mind is. It’s also why I’m so grateful seeing other people’s views and perspectives of a character that I may have never thought of before, so how you describe why Joesph would be more of a sub leaning person helps me better connect the dots. OOO but that also means that his sub side kinda still pops out at times as Jack because of his need to make his sunshine feel good and how things like aftercare are so sexy for him. It’s almost taboo for him to have anything similar to Joesph, so those desires to want to be useful connecting both sides of his sexuality could be considered sinful to him in a sense. Like stealing a bite of a cookie that you said you’d save for later because it just tastes so good, but you know it’s bad. I wonder if it’s slightly empowering for Joesph too being a sub. Since he’s felt small and helpless when he was younger, I can see how feeling that way with someone he loves could be healing for him, knowing that they’ll stop if he wants them to. It’s SAFE and like you said, it allows him to be vulnerable. So do you think Jack lied to himself so much about how he would be more dominant to the point that he actually BELIEVES he’s dominant or do you think he’s aware of that sub part of himself he’s repressing? Healing ending Jack/Joesph accepting all parts of himself, including his sexuality is just chicken soup for the soul. Freaking YES to everything you said about Jack.👏 I don’t know how to add on to the deliciousness of that last part so I’m just going to clap instead lol.

-🎃

Oh I love domming, so like every time it hits I'm like >:3c it's just too fun to make people squirm! At all times I'm actively trying not to use my dom voice when talking to people on here. But it turns into a grey area when it comes to writing about sex, so... sometimes it slips out :3c

I think both Jack and Joseph have the full capacity and desire to be switches, but their respective circumstances have pushed them to crave domination and submission respectively. Like I think in a time and place where Joseph feels 100% safe and loved and comfortable in every aspect of his life, he'd want to dom and sub equally. And in a time and place where Jack feels 100% safe and wanted and settled in every aspect of his life(?), he'd want to dom and sub equally too. But in the places they are, Joseph craves the ability to submit fully to someone he trusts to care for him, and Jack craves someone who is devoted enough to submit to him fully. But a bit of it slips out both ways, definitely. Sometimes Joseph's partner just looks so small and cute and flustered by his strength that he can't help but want to dominate them. And sometimes Jack's partner makes him feel so safe and warm and secure that he wants to submit to them and show how good he can be. They're both definitely service oriented in general. Whether they're domming, subbing, topping, bottoming, at the heart of it is service to their partner.

I don't think Jack is aware of any of this. I don't think he's capable of self-awareness without acknowledging more of Joseph than he's comfortable with. If he starts to open that door, if he starts to introspect or think too hard about himself at all, the mask of Jack starts to slip. And he can't allow that, so I think he intentionally refuses to even think about it. So he's wilfully ignorant of his own feelings and motivations and everything beyond the surface level stuff that he can justify as being Jack's.

[fistsoflightning]

sudden deluge

for wolcredweek day 4: rain/sparks

i think everyone should know this one was saved as was ‘thunderclap to ur bf to hug him’

“Looks to be clearing up,” Thancred said, peering through the window across the room, and leaned his shoulder against the wall beside it, arms crossed over his chest. True to his word, when they glanced up the thunderstorm had died down enough that it was only drizzling over the Crystarium, the afternoon skies gone a light bluish-grey with the clouds. “If only you’d seen Captain Lyna’s face when I told her I could take care of the storm.”

Their hands were still occupied toweling off their hair, but Zaya huffed and rolled their eyes from where they were sitting, knowing they were just at the edge of Thancred’s field of vision even half-turned to the window. It was the Scions’ collective delusion that they were the cause of any unnatural or frequent storms in the area—weather was so fickle, and only bowed in the face of immense aetherial disruption, or whatever Urianger had said. After a hundred years of Light of course the weather would be strange, now that it wasn’t being forcefully dragged into eternal stillness.

Still. It did tend to rain a lot when they wanted to go adventuring, especially when they weren’t looking for it. There was only so much they could write off as bad luck before they started to wonder.

They bent over to comfortably dry the back of their head with the too-large towel; it draped over their forehead and caught on the tips of their horns. “You di’n’t do anything,” they said, muffled but teasing. It was nice to hear him not calling himself useless for once—or unneeded, or other words with similar meanings—but this was a little silly. Probably why he was able to do so, but still.

“I came to get you with an umbrella.”

“Still soaked.”

Thancred paused thoughtfully. “Here I thought that was on purpose,” he said, his voice too close to actual remorse, “but if not I apologize for my late arrival. Never studied the weather in Sharlayan, I’m afraid; I was hardly expecting the cloudburst either.”

“‘s okay,” they said, reaching back with both hands to wring their hair in the towel one last time. A haircut might be nice, soon, but they liked how long it was now even if it was a nuisance when wet. “I did stay in it f’r a bit. Was nice.”

He laughed softly. “It is rather warm today, isn’t it? Ryne’ll be complaining about how humid it is later, I’m sure.”

Zaya made a small noise in acknowledgement, finally freeing themselves from the formerly-white towel; they’d forgotten about their face paint earlier, distracted by all the water dripping down their chin, and now there was a blue smudge smack in the middle of it. Thancred hadn’t seemed to care, though, only giving it a amused look before he walked over to the window. Satisfied that their hair wasn’t dripping onto the shoulders of the dry shirt they’d changed into, they reached down for their shoes to dry off the insides, then glanced up again at the window, and to Thancred.

He was still looking out the tall window at the rain, but there was a certain distant look in his eyes. His voice was quieter when he said, mostly to himself, “Never thought I’d end up homesick for rain.”

They blinked a few times. It was a little too easy to forget how long everyone had been living on the First for, some days. Five years on their end had only been a handful of moons back home, even if those moons felt impossibly long for them.

Thancred glanced back at them, as if suddenly remembering he wasn’t alone to—reminisce, or brood, whichever he was doing—then looked back out the window. “It rained for three days straight before you arrived on the First,” he said, voice clearer now for them to hear but no less sentimental. “Somewhat of a blessing, at the time. Upon seeing the night return to Lakeland, Ryne ran away from me to find your fellow Warriors, and you know well how that went. The downpour kept the Eulmoran airships grounded while the Crystarium gathered its forces—and you, though I didn’t know it then.”

Zaya didn’t know what to say to that. They slipped their now-dry leather shoes back on quietly, the light tap-tap of them putting their feet back down on the tiled floor and the patter of rain against the window the only sounds for a while.

When he spoke up next it was with an exhale, like he was clearing something heavy from his lungs. “When I managed to catch up to Ryne, close enough to see Laxan Loft and the Eulmorans, I remember seeing the curtain of rain and thinking—‘They’re finally here,’” he said. He looked at them almost teasingly, except his eyes were too soft at the corners, matching his smile just shy of a smirk. “It was as if the skies opened the floodgates in preparation for your arrival. Had to get to the Crystarium just to be able to dry off.”

That was even sillier than the belief that they left rain and storms in their wake—they weren’t even on the same shard when it had happened—and Zaya started to laugh without sound but not out of mirth, the muscles in their throat feeling tight and relieved all at once. Thancred finally turned away from the window and the rain to look at them with a slight frown.

“Was what I said that ridiculous?” he asked, but they shook their head and left him to sort out the confusion on his face. Tossing the towel onto the bench, Zaya stood up and with a light crackle of sparks at their heels rushed over, appearing at his side before he could register the sound and wrapping their arms around his neck, pushing up on their toes to not throw him off balance any more than necessary when his head dipped down suddenly from their weight.

“Missed you too,” they said, voice embarrassingly thick for something so little as words. Their face grew hot, but maybe Thancred would pass both off as a side effect of having to tilt their head up not to stab him with their horns, their throat pressed right against his shoulder.

It took a moment, but eventually Thancred returned their hug, and it didn’t matter that they’d already told him how much he was missed before because he tipped his head to press a kiss to their pulse and said, “I suppose I did, didn’t I.”

[waitingforwinterwinds]

ASOS; Steel and Snow: 14 CATELYN II (pages 188-201)

Robb returns to Riverrun, Catelyn meets her surprise new daughter-in-law, and Edmure learns his victory against Tywin was not the best outcome.

-

"King Robb has returned from the west, my lady," the knight said, "and commands that you attend him in the great Hall." It was the moment she had dreamt of and dreaded. Have I lost two sons, or three? She would know soon enough.

Reading this line and my first thought is just "there's more than just one way to lose someone." And I think Cat's aware of that, especially with how she's been treated and shunned for releasing Jaime, even if Robb returns alive, he might turn his back on her too. Treat her like the enemy because (it feels like) she's the only one who even seems to remember that Sansa and Arya are still hostages.

(Well not really Arya, not that anyone knows that at the moment outside that little in and King's Landing. But very much it's like no one else cares about the why now that Ned's dead.)

"- Love is not always wise, I've learned. It can lead us to great folly, but we follow our hearts... wherever they take us. Don't we, Mother?" ... "Forgive him, Mother." "If you will forgive me." "I have. I know what it is to love so greatly you can think of nothing else."

Cat, my beloved, let me translate what he's circling around. "Ma, I kinda sorta fucked up, because I couldn't keep it in my pants, but also let's not focus on that too hard because you fucked up too and honestly I think we should all just let bygones be bygones on this one, okay? no blame for anyone? plz?"

all hail king robb, the oathbreaker. but let's not talk about that. I'm sure it will have zero consequences later down the track. (exhausted sarcasm)

She had the uneasy feeling that someone was missing, too. ... It was only then that Catelyn realized what was amiss. The wolf. The wolf is not here. Where is Grey Wind? She knew the direwolf had returned with Robb, she had heard the dogs, but he was not in the hall, not at her son's side where he belonged.

It's actually kind of interesting, ... how to put this? I dunno, I'll just ramble it out and hope that it makes sense.

First of all I suppose: look at that foreshadowing, Grey Wind not being with Robb, and we'll call back to one of Ned's chapters (GoT) just after Summer saved Cat and Bran, where Ned realised that the Wolves were sent to protect his children.

This is the moment, for those of us who've already read or seen the show, we know that Robb's done something he can't come back from, this is the moment we see him set on the path to death.

But it's interesting in that, with Bran and Rickon and Jon, there's a steady presence of their wolves even when they go hunting or aren't by their side, there's still a connection, between the boys and the wolves and Winterfell/the Stark family.

The girls both lost their wolves, Nymeria to the wilderness, Lady to misplaced duty and death, but it's not them being cut off from their heritage at all, it's representative of how their home intertwines with the support they've been receiving. ( "support," "receiving," for given values.)

Sansa (and I have seen the theories that Lady's death means she's not a Stark, and the theory that like the warg who got stuck in the bird, Lady did a reverse and is still with Sansa in spirit) has no help from former allies, she's stuck in place, her help is coming from people with a connection to her mother, and from herself.

Arya literally just reconnected with a man from Winterfell after helping free some of her brother's men, she and Nymeria were in the same area, Nymeria was helping her, but Arya's path is leading her back north to Winterfell (for now) and reconnecting her with those allies (for good or ill) before she'll be lead away from that path again to Braavos (the wilderness, metaphorically).

Jon and Bran are both shown warging with their wolves, but the wolves are both wandering away from them and home to them, and their own paths lead them away from and back to allies and familiarity.

And Rickon is a feral baby.

There is a reflection in the wolves and the fate of the stark children, not about blood rights, or inheritance, or whether they are part of the family, but in... pack bonds, for lack of a better term.

For Grey Wind to be missing in these moments, feels like a reflection of the broken bond, the broken oath which will lead to Robb's death.

... Well, at least Lady Mormont and Greatjon are on Catelyn's side with the Jaime-exchange plan... or understanding of it.

The first thought that flew across Catelyn's mind was, No, that cannot be, you are only a child. The second was, And besides, you have pledged to another. The third was, Mother have mercy, Robb, what have you done?

quick on the uptake, if only her eldest son had inherited her intelligence. I'm sorry Robb, I'm being very mean to you, but you just did such a stupid thing.

"- Jeyne had me taken to her own bed, and she nursed me until the fever passed. And she was with me when the Greatjon brought me the news of... of Winterfell. Bran and Rickon." He seemed to have trouble saying his brothers' names. "That night, she... she comforted me, Mother."

Oh? She got you in her bed before she got you in her bed, did she? I'd love to know whose plan that was, hers or one of the adults in her life.

Well played though, shame their efforts to secure themselves to Robb's crown safety are what led to the Red Wedding. (Let's not kid ourselves, it was probably the crown.) And involved taking advantage of an emotionally vulnerable, possibly medicated boy.

(I do wonder if the swap from this Jeyne to Talisa more about false-feminism brownie points - Look, our love interest isn't like other girls, she's a cool battle field medic! Girl Boss! Empowerment! Don't you mansplain politics to her you man! - or about making Robb look like less of a boob by giving him pseudo-agency, and turning his flustered teenage boy hormones and sense of honour into a battlefield romance.)

"- If I'd listened to you and kept Theon as my hostage, I'd still rule the north, and Bran and Rickon would be alive and safe in Winterfell." "Perhaps. Or not. Lord Balon might still have chanced war. -"

Oh he would have, he'd already given Theon up for dead (or worse: turned into a delicate wilting flower like the rest of those land-lubbers!)

Robb bristled at that. "The Westerlings are better blood than the Freys. They're an ancient line, descended from the First Men. The Kings of the Rock sometimes wed Westerlings before the Conquest, and there was another Jeyne Westerling who was queen to King Maegor three hundred years ago."

... which Maegor? Cause babe? Probably not the positive argument you think it is.

...brb, wiki.

... Maegor as in Maegor the Cruel... Jeyne was one of three women he widowed during the wars then wed in a single ceremony (where her son by her dead husband was used as a hostage to force her to go through with it), called the 'black brides' ... got pregnant and ... ah, yeah, there it is: premature labour resulting in a still-born and malformed feotus, Jeyne died shortly afterwards.

Robb: "She'll make a great wife mum, she even shares her name with another queen!" The other queen: widowed and killed in childbirth losing the baby.

Damn. GRRM did not pull punches on this one.

"- Grey Wind doesn't like her uncle either. He bares his teeth every time Ser Rolph comes near him." A chill went through her. "Send Ser Rolph away. At once."

Cat's got more of an eye for the wolf warnings than the boy with the wolf bond. Probably helps that she's not addled by hormones right now, but you'd think Robb would be vibing.

... oh good, and now Robb and Blackfish are telling of Edmure.

I feel I'd enjoy that a lot more if it didn't boil down to "how dare you do things without telling us, now you've upset the plans we had that we told you absolutely nothing about nor indicated you needed to stay out of, how dare you take initiative."

People in this series either need to stop getting upset at people for taking initiative and acting with incomplete information, assuming they get any information to begin with, or start sharing information with their family members/closest allies.

... learning that Edmure's sallie against Tywin led to Stannis' loss from the rear at King's Landing does change the context of Edmure being the sacrificial Groom at the Twins.

[serenailith]

forgiveness is such a simple word (but it's so hard to do when you've been hurt)

for @dreamlingbingo

Square: b5, too late Rating: g Word Count: 4465 Ship(s): dream of the endless/hob gadling, eleanor & hob gadling, death of the endless & hob gadling Warnings: none Additional Tags: alternate universe - no powers, alternate universe - human, heartbreak, begging for forgiveness Summary:

Hob will do anything to win Morpheus back. Unfortunately, Morpheus isn't as receptive to those attempts as Hob might have hoped.

Link: on ao3

second half of this (ao3 | tumblr) masterlist

Hob stares at Doctor Morris (which sounds so similar to Morpheus that it causes a physical ache in Hob’s chest, or maybe it’s the same ache that has yet to disappear since Morpheus left). His boss stares back. There’s no amusement on his face, and Hob knows without a doubt that this is his final chance. Doctor Morris means it: If Hob doesn’t get his head on straight, he’ll be out of a job. A job he actually enjoys.

Promising that things will change, he forces a smile and waits for his boss to walk away. Hob sighs and drops to sit on the stool. How can things change when Morpheus is still gone? It’s been two weeks, and there has been no sign of him. Hob hasn’t heard from Morpheus, and it’s killing him inside.

What’s worse is the jumper that Morpheus left behind. It used to be Hob’s. It had been his favourite golden-yellow wool thing, but Morpheus had borrowed it the first night he stayed over in Hob’s flat and that was it. Hob refused to take it back–“Looks better on you, love,” he’d said. “Though, if I’m honest, it would look much better on the floor.”

It still smells like Morpheus, and Hob dies a little bit more as he clutches it to his nose, breathing in the scent of clean linen and cloves.

Morpheus’s candles still reside in their places on the shelves around the flat. Hob burns one for approximately five minutes: The smell of a rainstorm is too much. He leaves the candles where they are and avoids looking at them. Sometimes, though, he thinks he can smell them in the air.

He can still hear Morpheus’s laughter, quiet and measured with everyone else but so carefree with Hob. He snorts at the end of each laugh when he’s laughing with Hob. Hob remembers the first time he’d heard the little snort. Morpheus had flushed so deep a red that Hob worried for his heart. After all, that much blood rushing to one area couldn’t have been healthy.

After a while of no judgement from Hob, Morpheus had grown more confident and stopped caring about how his laugh sounded. Hob has thought it beautiful from the start.

Everything about Morpheus is beautiful. His bright grey-blue eyes that say so much, the wild mass of hair atop his head, the stretch of pale skin as he lies nude, sprawled beside Hob in their bed. There has always been a depth to his soul that captivates Hob, his words planned to maximise effect, to elicit emotions Hob never thought he possessed. He can craft worlds and stories as fine as silk, as detailed as the richest tapestries.

Hob misses the nights Morpheus would whisper plans for his newest novel in the dark, as if speaking the words in the daytime would ruin the magic. Perhaps it would. Hob would never fall asleep until long after Morpheus did; he was too preoccupied with the imagery dredged up in Morpheus’s voice roughened with his fatigue. Many nights, Hob dreamt of the worlds Morpheus spoke of.

His novels remain on the bookshelves. Each one stares back at Hob, judges him for letting their author go. Hob scowls at them, yanking Morpheus’s debut from the shelf. What do they know, anyway? But they know as much as Morpheus. He’d poured so many tears and a lifetime of love and devotion into each word. Hob had spent hours listening to his boyfriend rant about plot-points that wouldn’t resolve themselves, gush about the characters he brought to life, lament about the latest critical review while blushing at every positive one. Hob has each of them saved in a document on his laptop.

Morpheus never understood, but he didn’t need to. It was enough for Hob. His pride for his boyfriend was enough.

Why couldn’t he be?

How could he have let it get to this point?

Morpheus grins up at him, his hands tangled in Hob’s hair. He tugs Hob down until their lips collide, and he opens easily until Hob is drunk on the taste. He groans and settles more securely over Morpheus. The kiss drags on, barely interrupted as Hob shifts to align his cock with Morpheus’s. To stroke them as one until they come together—or as close to “together” as he can get. It doesn’t matter; it’s a gorgeous sight to see Morpheus falling apart beneath him, to taste the desperation on his tongue.

Hob startles awake, squeezing his eyes closed against the hot tears burning paths along his cheeks. That had been the first time they ever did anything intimate. He hadn’t been ready for more, and Morpheus had been so damn understanding. He hadn’t pushed. He’d only waited until Hob took them further. He’d promised Hob that it was worth the wait: “It was as amazing as you are,” he’d said before pinning Hob beneath him with another searing kiss.

Eleanor arrives on his doorstep only thirty minutes after the phone call. In one hand, she holds a bottle of wine. In the other is a box of tissues. Hob nearly breaks down at the sight of her there. They may have broken up long ago, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t still friends. Or perhaps the time has allowed them to move from lovers to friends again. She bustles about the kitchen as if she lives in the flat. As if she knows where everything is. Maybe she does.

Hob has been accused more than once of being a creature of habit in some regards.

“Oh, Hobs,” she groans when he tells her the truth nearly forty-five minutes later–three-quarters of an hour spent drinking wine in silence. He tells her that the man he loves left almost three weeks ago and hasn’t contacted Hob at all. Not even to tell him to fuck off and die (as if Morpheus would ever say such a thing). “You utter idiot.”

Hob snorts and curls further in on himself. “Thanks, El. Knew I could count on you to make me feel better.”

“You rang me to tell the truth, not to sugarcoat and lie. And the truth is you’ve done a poor job of being there for Morpheus lately, haven’t you.” She sighs and reaches for his hand; he lets her lace their fingers together. “Hob, you always went out of your way to make me happy, often to the detriment of your responsibilities. You did the same with him until recently. What’s changed?”

Hob stares at his feet, at the sheep print on his socks. Morpheus bought them for him. Morpheus bought a lot of novelty socks for Hob, and though he didn’t like many of them, Hob never got rid of a single pair. Not even the ones with his face printed on them, mouth agape as he drooled in his sleep.

Eleanor’s question is a good one. What has changed in the last few months? She’s right: He has always, without hesitation, put his relationship before a lot of things. Work, friends, even his family sometimes. He can’t think of anything, any reason that he would have cast Morpheus aside as he has.

He admits as much to his ex-girlfriend, and she blows out a breath and squeezes his hand. Hob swallows down the last mouthful of wine in his glass then sets it down to grab the bottle. The very empty bottle. He exhales sharply and flops against the back of the couch. Eleanor glances at the clock on the wall, cursing under her breath when she sees the time.

“I’m so sorry, Hob, but I have class. I can stay if you really want me to, though.”

“No, no. Go on. Don’t let me hold you up.”

She rises to her feet with a grace that reminds him too harshly of Morpheus. Her ocean-deep eyes find his, her gaze so knowing and–not pitying, she’d never, and she cups his cheek with a warm, gentle hand.

“Things won’t always be so bleak, Hobsie.”

“What if he doesn’t come back?” Hob croaks out, and her thumb brushes away a tear.

“Oh, love, you always were a resilient one. You’ll make it through, no matter how it hurts.”

She leaves him with a kiss to his forehead, and Hob watches the door close behind her. Her perfume lingers in the air, so familiar and not what he wants to smell. He gropes blindly for the blanket Morpheus always keeps on the back of the couch and wraps it around himself. There is no chill in the room; it’s all from within.

“I don’t want to make it through,” he whispers, a broken crackle of sound in the silence, “not without him.”

The quiet is deafening.

It’s been one month, two weeks, four days, seventeen hours, five minutes, and thirty-nine seconds… Forty… Forty-one… Hob wrenches his gaze away from his watch and knocks again.

Footsteps approach on the other side, the click of heeled boots. She must have just arrived home. Hob would feel guilty for disrupting her time, but this is more important than she is.

“Oh.”

“Hey, Tel.”

Morpheus’s sister sighs, hand coming up to rest on the door frame. “What are you doing here, Hob?”

“Is he here?”

“No.” Teleute raises a brow then sighs again. Her expression softens. “He left a few days ago.”

A few days. Hob is late by a few fucking days, and now Morpheus is somewhere out of reach once more. He clears his throat but can’t breathe properly. Teleute cocks her head and shifts her weight between her feet. Her gaze is too knowing, too heavy on Hob’s shoulders, and he wants to scream. He wants to curse at her for not sending Morpheus back home to where he belongs. He wants to rail against the universe for everything that’s gone wrong lately.

It’s his fault, but damn it, it’s unfair.

“Where did he go?”

“Hob, you know I can’t tell you that.”

“Please. Please, Teleute. I need to know.”

Teleute scowls and clenches her fingers around the doorframe. Hob fully expects her to shut the door in his face, so he’s surprised when she speaks: “You hurt him, Hob. Like, really hurt him. I’ve never seen him so upset, and I was there for his first heartbreak.”

“Tel–”

“No. You listen. Morpheus has never loved anyone as much as he loves you, and you decided to be selfish and forget that. You took advantage of the fact that he was always gonna be there for you. Whether you meant to or not is irrelevant. It happened, and now I’m the one helping him pick up the pieces of his heart.”

“I–”

“Hob.” Her shoulders slump, and she closes her eyes for a moment. When she opens them again, the deep brown glistens with unshed tears. “He was devastated when he showed up here. He never wanted to leave you, but you pushed him away.”

“I want to fix this, Teleute. You have to believe me.”

“I do,” she murmurs after a moment. “I do believe you. And I know that once upon a time, you made him happier than ever. I… I want to believe you can again.”

Hob doesn’t dare breathe as she stares at him. He doesn’t dare believe she’s saying what he thinks she is saying. After all, she’s angry for the way he treated her brother. He is angry at himself for the way he treated her brother. Teleute holds up a finger and walks away. Hob waits and waits and waits until she comes back. Between her fingers is a piece of paper.

“He’ll hate me for this. Make it worth it, Gadling.”

“I will. God, I fucking will,” he swears as he turns toward the street.

“Oh, Hob?” she calls, and he glances back at her. “If you fuck this up again, I will be first in line to beat you senseless.”

“I’d let you. Thank you, Tel.”

The paper holds an address. Hob punches it in on his GPS and frowns when the data loads. The dot pings in the middle of a sea of green–trees. There’s nothing around that Hob can see. Where the Hell is Morpheus at? Instead of wasting time questioning it, he puts the car into gear and peels away.

The entire two-hour drive is spent rehearsing, practicing promises and apologies over and over until it’s smooth. Perfect. Enough to win Morpheus over once more. It’s everything Hob thinks will work. It has to work. Hob can’t lose another love, especially not Morpheus who has brought joy to his life in ways no else ever has..

Thunder rolls, lightning forks across the sky in the distance. Hob runs his hand through his hair and prays to reach his destination before the rain lets loose–he loathes driving in inclement weather. His car can hardly handle it, and his nerves definitely can’t.

His GPS dings, tells him he’s approaching the turn-off, so he slows and flicks on his indicator. The smooth road disappears from under his tires with his turn. The driveway is little more than dirt, and the car bounces over small hills and divots in the ground. He grits his teeth at a particularly deep pothole, muttering an apology to his car as if it can hear and appreciate his words.

Finally, Hob comes to a stop behind a small silver sedan. Teleute’s, he knows, having borrowed it once when his own was in the shop after an accident. Morpheus had vowed after that to never get behind the wheel again; it took seven months before Hob convinced him that it was an accident and therefore nothing to feel ashamed over. Hob certainly wasn’t angry that Morpheus had been sideswiped on his way home from the shops. All he cared about was that his boyfriend was uninjured.

Even with Morpheus’s assurances that he was without damage to his being, Hob had doted on him for weeks after. Spoiled him rotten.

Shaking violently, Hob draws in a steadying breath and pushes open his door. Dry grass crunches beneath his feet as he strides toward the cabin before him, and he wonders without real curiosity how Morpheus even found this place. His knuckles ache with the force of his knock, and Hob grimaces at the sound. He hadn’t meant to knock so hard.

The door opens, and Hob gets a split-second look at Morpheus’s pleased smile before it disappears. Before Morpheus slams the door shut once more.

Hob swallows against the lump growing in his throat. He hadn’t expected a warm welcome, of course; that would have been absurd. This is actually exactly like Morpheus. Sweet though he can be, he’s also got a temper that doesn’t allow much room for listening. Not at first. It always takes him far too long to open his ears.

But this is important, so Hob will wait as long as it takes. Even if it takes years, he will wait for Morpheus’s patience, his understanding, his forgiveness.

So he knocks again, calling out loudly enough for his voice to carry through the wood, “I’m not going anywhere, Morpheus. I’ll stay here all night if I have to. I—I can’t leave here without you.”

Silence but for the slow-rolling thunder overhead. Hob knocks again and, when there is still no response, blinks quickly to rid his eyes of the burning. Resting his forehead against the door, he squeezes his eyes closed and fights to quell the sob struggling to break free.

“Morpheus, please. I just… I don’t want to lose you for good. I love you, even though I’ve been shit at showing it lately. I need you. You are the better half to me, the one person I have always counted on to be by my side. You—you make me laugh, and you make the bad days less awful. You make them amazing, just by being in my life. Being there when I get home. Please. Don’t—don’t make me live without you.”

It’s hardly the polished speech he’d practiced, but it’s far more heartfelt, he thinks. He raises a hand, hesitates, then curls his fingers in against his palm. Knocking does no good. Morpheus is far too stubborn to give in. Hob knows it. He had just hoped it would be different. That Morpheus would realise he needs Hob just as much as Hob needs him.

That he would open the door and forgive Hob, come home with him. Hob is so goddamn tired of sleeping alone, of being alone.

“Morpheus. I’m begging. I’ll get on my knees for you, if that’s what it takes.”

In response to his pleas, the sky breaks open. There is no warning, there are no slow drops; the dark grey clouds release all their moisture in one go. Hob’s hair plasters itself to his skin within seconds. His clothes are no better. He shivers in the sudden chill but doesn’t move.

He made a vow to himself to not leave without Morpheus.

His voice grows hoarse with use by the time the door opens a crack. He hadn’t heard the locks over the thunder and crash of rain on the leaves of the surrounding trees. He pushes a lock of soaked hair from his face and meets Morpheus’s gaze.

Guilt lives on the other man’s face, and he glances behind Hob before stepping back. Hob hurries inside before Morpheus can change his mind. This is good, he thinks. This is one step toward reconciliation.

“You can sleep on the couch,” Morpheus says quietly, “and leave in the morning.”

Leave? “So there’s no chance you’ll hear me out, then?” Hob croaks, and Morpheus frowns but avoids looking at Hob.

“I already have, if you recall the last two hours. But nothing you have said changes how you made me feel for too long.”

“I know. God, I know this. I just… I’m asking—begging—for another chance. I’ll prove I’ve changed. That I’m the man you fell in love with.”

Morpheus’s blue eyes finally focus on Hob. Dark lashes frame them so beautifully. He chews on his lower lip for a long moment, then: “That is not a risk I can take. I deserve better than what you have given me.”

He turns away before Hob can speak. Hob stands there, rainwater dripping to the wood floor, as Morpheus moves about the cabin. He comes back with two towels and a thick blanket. He stays silent while handing them to Hob then disappears into what Hob assumes is the bedroom.

The door closes with a pointed click.

Hob bites the inside of his cheek to stop the curse. Stripping quickly, he scrubs himself dry before draping his wet clothes over the back of the dining chairs. His skin prickles in the cool air of the cabin, despite the fire in the fireplace. He rushes toward the blanket he’d tossed onto the couch, wraps himself in it, and drops to sit on the cushions.

The bedroom door stays shut. Tears burn in his eyes, slip down his cheeks without permission. He doesn’t bother wiping them away. More will only take their place, anyway. He’s never felt this way before. He’s never felt as if Morpheus is so close yet so far. There’s an ocean between them, and Hob isn’t sure if he’ll sink or swim.

He slowly, eventually, falls asleep.

“—no right.”

Hob’s eyes fly open at Morpheus’s voice. It’s a tone he hasn’t heard in a long time, not since Dee nearly broke them up six months into their relationship. Sitting up, Hob scrubs a hand over his eyes and shamelessly listens in.

“No, Tel, I do not care for your reasons!… Because I left for my own reasons. You should have respected that… Yes, I know that. And I love you, too, but he is not the best for me. Not anymore.”

Hob claps a hand over his mouth to stifle the sob that suddenly bursts free. He reaches for the throw pillow and buries his face in it.m as Morpheus continues.

“He is leaving today… I’m certain. And Tel? You would do well to never meddle in my affairs again.”

By the time Morpheus emerges from the bedroom, Hob has dressed in his still-damp clothing. He swallows past the lump in his throat, tucks his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Morpheus stands before him in a pair of sweats and his favourite jumper.

“I guess I really am too late to change your mind, so I’ll leave you alone. I… I’m so fucking sorry for all I’ve done to hurt you, Dream.”

“You lost the right to call me that,” Morpheus snaps. It takes all of Hob’s willpower to not rear back at the venom in his great love’s voice. Then Morpheus’s shoulders slump, his face twisting up. “Do not call me that. Please.”

Hob snorts, shakes his head. “You’ll always be my dream, even though I’ve not shown that to you in quite a while. I wish you the best.”

Hob turns away before Morpheus can see the tears and heads out to his car. Thirty minutes and a lot of cursing later, he gets the vehicle unstuck from the mud. He can see Morpheus’s face in the front window as he leaves the cabin behind.

Three days. Three days after Hob admits defeat. That’s all it takes before Doctor Morris fires him. Security shows Hob from the building, though he wasn’t planning on making a scene. He may love the job, but it’s lost its joy. So many things have lost their appeal. God, he needs Morpheus again.

His phone fills with missed calls and unanswered texts from Crispin, Eleanor, even Teleute. He ignores them all; none of them bother to search for him at the rundown pub he sequesters himself in night after night. He avoids the White Horse—they know to look for him there. It was his and Morpheus’s favourite place to drink and people-watch. Hob no longer people-watches. It hurts too much to see happy couples and remember all the backstories Morpheus would create about perfect strangers.

Unfortunately, no job means no income. He’s spent the last three weeks drinking away the money he’d had squirreled away; he would have had more if it weren’t for the box hiding at his parents’ house.

He loathes himself for having to ask his mum for help covering his rent. I’m officially the lowest I’ve ever been. How pathetic he’s become.

He stumbles to the door, vision blurring and world swirling. His chest still aches, feels tight in a way that hasn’t gone away since Morpheus left. He can barely put one foot in front of the other; he thinks it might not be just the drink. His entire body has hurt this entire time.

“Hob.”

Hob barely registers the way Morpheus’s eyes widen when Hob opens the door, as if he’s horrified by what he sees. He repeats Hob’s name in an undertone. Hob squints though he means to glare.

“What are you doing here?”

“We need to talk.”

“Thought nothing I say can make you love me again,” and God, his voice slurs. Yeah, he’s pathetic.

“I will always love you, Hob. That is the problem.”

Hob flinches at Morpheus’s word choice, quickly moving aside when Morpheus brushes past. He comes to a stop in the middle of the living room and waits until Hob has closed the door to speak.

“I cannot stop loving you, no matter how I try. I… I thought I could push down everything I feel for you except the hurt and anger. I needed to hold onto those, or I would have allowed myself to fall back into the rut we became stuck in. However, trying not to think about you meant all I thought about was you.”

Hob curls in on himself, crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, well, who says I want to hear what you have to say?”

“Listen, please. I am begging you.”

“Fuck no! I begged you to listen to me, to hear me out, yet I wasn’t worth the time. And don’t give me that shit about how badly I hurt you to the point you couldn’t give me the time of day despite the claims that you love me.”

“Shut up!” he shouts, and Hob’s teeth clack together as his mouth slams closed. “Let me speak, fuck.”

It’s the curse that does it. Hob stumbles to the couch, dropping inelegantly to sit on the couch. Morpheus remains standing, and Hob has the wild thought that Morpheus has always been bigger than him, bigger than life. A being of endless everything. Morpheus finally sits beside him.

“Though I said I did not want to hear you out when you showed up at the cabin, I did. I listened to every word, and it hurt to hear. I listened, and I ached for you. I wanted nothing more than to throw myself into your arms and forgive you. To go back to how things were before.” Morpheus sighs. “I couldn’t, though. I said it before: I deserve better than how things grew to be, Hob, and I can’t let anyone, not even you, treat me less than that.”

“I apologised for that,” Hob protests. “I swore to you that I’ve changed. Why forgive me now?” he asks softly, voice cracking.

“Because I was reminded by Teleute that you made me happier than I had ever been before. She told me she was always jealous of how fiercely you love me, how you did everything to make me happy. I realised I… I do not want to live without you, either, Hob.” He turns toward Hob, cool hand coming up to cup Hob’s cheek. It slides to wrap around the back of his neck, and Hob shivers. “I love you, Hob Gadling, and I am so sorry it took so long to remember that.”

Hob’s breath hitches, a slight sob, as Morpheus kisses him gently, hesitantly. It hurts—it kills Hob—to be kissed like this after so long with nothing. Hob cherishes the ache, the pain. It means everything to him. He pulls away far enough to rest his forehead against Morpheus’s.

“Love…”

“Can you forgive me?” Morpheus whispers.”

Hob laughs hoarsely and nods. “Nothing to forgive, my dear Dream. Forgive me?”

“I do.”

Hob loves the sound of that, the words that have slipped from his love’s lips. He wants to hear it in every setting, but especially before family and friends. He doesn’t say that, though—it’s not the right time, but it will be. Eventually.

He kisses Morpheus once again. And again. And again, for good measure.

[captainmdhridoyhossain-blog]

[ad_1] A couple of months in the past, the C.E.O. of Poggio Labs, a San Francisco instrument corporate, sounded an alarm. “If you happen to’re a instantly man elderly 25 to 35,” he tweeted, ladies are judging you “in keeping with a suite of requirements created via an individual named tinx.” The arbiter’s complete title is Christina Najjar; as a teen-ager she followed the title Tinx, which is how her just about two million social-media fans know her. “They’re most commonly ladies,” she stated the opposite day. She wore a inexperienced sweatshirt, grey leggings, and cantaloupe-colored wrist weights. “They've disposable source of revenue and need to know the way to spend it. They need to have margaritas and get up at 6 A.M. and pass to a exercise. They don’t need to be dicked round via fuck boys.”A former freelance creator, Najjar, who's thirty-one, joined TikTok in 2020. “I used to be, like, I don’t give a shit anymore,” she stated. “I’m hungover and by myself. I’m going to make some TikToks, as a result of differently my simplest interplay might be with my Amazon gadgets.” She satirized alternative-milk adherents, “fundamental” New York millennials, and wealthy mothers, describing how they could acclimate to quite a lot of areas. (Brooklyn: “You’re going to wish one thing delicate, like a $15 million townhouse in Park Slope.” Higher East Aspect: “Get a bit of crusty white canine that’s no longer that lovable. Title it Tabitha.” Beverly Hills: “Oddly sufficient, a large number of other people in Beverly Hills have completely no style . . . a couple of lion statues out entrance by no means harm.”)“It’s part satire, part aspirational,” she stated, surroundings off on her day-to-day “rich-mom stroll” via Beverly Hills, the place she lives. “Everyone hates the wealthy mother, the archetypal anal lady who doesn’t devour carbs and has the five-thousand-dollar stroller, however they’ll additionally say, ‘Ooh, I'm going to the similar espresso store as her.’ It’s the closing crew of people who you'll be able to safely poke amusing at.”Najjar grew up in London, the daughter of an expat company legal professional, and attended Stanford and Parsons. “I used to take footage of my outfits and describe them in humorous techniques, get a hold of those rich-mom characters,” she stated. “It began in grad college, when all my pals had those cool, high-powered jobs and I used to be crying in a espresso store in Tribeca, seeking to write a paper.”Each and every Monday and Thursday, she invitations her Instagram fans to “Ask Me The rest,” addressing such subjects as how one can care for relationship burnout (“Take a ruin,” however “set a point in time”), which Nobu is the most efficient Nobu (“Malibu”), and what to do whilst you see your ex for the primary time after breaking apart (“Shove them right into a bush”). Najjar varieties every solution in a daring, sans-serif font and posts it on her Instagram account.“I took a couple of psych categories at Stanford, however not anything severe,” she stated. (She majored in English, which, she has stated, taught her “how one can bullshit.”) She added, “My entire ethos is, if in case you have a roomful of girls and any person has an issue, any person in that room has the solution. It’s about sharing data.” She went on, “If I will save a lady 3 weeks of feeling crummy a couple of fuck boy she’s relationship, or if I will give any person recommendation so that they don’t waste cash on a face product, that’s a win.”At a espresso store, Najjar ordered an iced Americano and ready to deal with the day’s A.M.A. “I’ll get upwards of 10000 questions inside twenty-four hours,” she stated. On her telephone display was once a grid of purple squares, virtual Publish-its: “Can I ask any person on a same-day date?” “Any recommendation for condo searching?” “Perfect hen hands in L.A.?” “I’m gonna solution that one,” she stated, tapping her display, “since the solution is Delilah”—a West Hollywood membership frequented via Drake—“clearly.

”“ ‘Who have been your celebrity early life/teenage crushes?’ Vin Diesel. I’m simply warming up with mild ones at this time,” she stated, working a Google Symbol seek for Diesel. “You’ve gotta upload a photograph,” she defined. Posted. Again to the questions: “How one can recover from activity rejection?” “How one can discover ways to love your self?”“Let me take into accounts this one,” she stated, biting her lip. “On occasion I dictate, since the font will get so small.” Seven mins later, she posted a paragraph about journaling, gratitude lists, and doing extra of what you like. “I all the time attempt to couple woo-woo with sensible.”A person approached. “Tinx? I met you on the Grove some time in the past, when I used to be with my female friend—neatly, ex-girlfriend.”“Oh, no, I’m sorry,” Najjar stated.“No worries.” He labored at a dentist’s place of job. “We maintain a large number of superstar clientele,” he stated. “I’d like to hook you up.”“You’re so candy,” Najjar stated.“I low-key need to get you within the place of job simply to make my ex jealous,” he stated. Najjar laughed uncomfortably. “I in fact need to get her jealous at this time.”The dental man scooted subsequent to her for a selfie and dropped a industry card. “Let’s see,” Tinx stated, resuming scrolling: “ ‘Ideas on texting the fellow and no longer responding to his reaction?’“We waste such a lot time on video games,” she stated. “You must simply assume, like, Why am I taking part in this sport? Extra incessantly than no longer, it’s ego.” ♦ [ad_2] #Tinxs #Box #Information #Wealthy #Mothers #Unhealthy #Boyfriends

[windfalling]

[thaenad]

I see a lotta posts like "your feedist partner should be allowed to purposefully lose weight" and yes...technically. But these posts neglect to mention that losing weight on purpose is a very very serious risk to both physical and mental health. The only reason a person should be losing rather than maintaining is if they are forced to for surgery etc. Treating losing like it's nothing speaks of a distance from fat activism & current science. Also of not realizing how permanent gaining is.

I think about this a lot. I agree that the community should be more educated about the risks of intentional weight loss - but there is a lot that we don’t know. I don’t know how the average person dieting compares to a feedist who has been eating more than their natural body/appetite calls for, deciding to cut back - meaning they’re making less caloric food choices not necessarily restricting themselves but simply eating what they normally would eat without the motivation to gain. Would their body return to a smaller set point? I think it’s possible. But this specific scenario has never been studied.

To those who may not know: The issue with traditional dieting/restriction is that you are ignoring your body’s natural hunger cues and eating less than your body needs, so it slows metabolism, increases cravings bc your body is trying to save you from starvation. It also places moral value on food, saying you shouldn’t eat this or that or a certain amount surrounds “bad” foods with feelings of shame. You cannot control your body the way that diet culture claims you can. Most people who diet end up gaining the weight back (and then some) because 1. the starving body fights to save energy and 2. it fosters an unhealthy relationship with food. And it traps folks in this awful cycle bc diet culture puts shame/blame on you if you cannot keep the weight off. You “failed” because you were not resilient or disciplined enough. That’s all a load of bullshit. This is a 72 BILLION $ industry, folks.

This has been studied over and over again, but only in non-feedists. Non-feedists who get to be superfat usually (not always) gain that much weight because of a history of dieting, trauma, and an unhealthy relationship with food.

Plenty of feedists may have gone through these experiences too, but I believe there is a big difference between the relationship to both food and their bodies that set feedists apart from diet culture.

I can’t speak on this because there’s a lot of grey area. I’m not going to tell anyone not to lose weight.

I will say this: be aware of the risks, know that intentional weight loss through restriction & strenuous exercise are hard on your body both mentally and physically. Know that permanent weight loss has not been attainable for the vast majority of dieters.

Only you know your body. Listen to it. I think it’s okay to experiment and figure out what feels right for you.

I think everyone would benefit from practicing intuitive eating. Look it up if you aren’t familiar with it! I do think that upholding diet culture directly clashes with fat liberationist values. There’s a lot that the feedism community still needs to unlearn in terms of weight science and stigma.

Thank you for opening up this discussion!

Be careful everybody ❤️

[lucifer-is-a-bag-of-dicks]

Grabbing Smoke

As much time as Sam spent with her best friends, sometimes she enjoyed a little bit of time alone.

Tucker was helping his mother bake cookies for some kind of fundraiser for the hospital, and Danny was busy visiting Pandora for fighting lessons. Apparently they were using swords today.

As fun as it sounded, Sam opted to stay behind, it had been a while since she'd been down to the park to feed the ducks. She didn't get quiet moments like that very often any more.

There was an uncharacteristic skip to her gait as she walked to the park, a canvas tote bag swinging from her arm.

Living in Amity Park, and especially hanging around with Danny, gave her an eerie sense to when something was amiss. Nothing quite like Danny's ghost sense, but she'd learned to detect a particular chill to the air, a prickling at the back of her neck. It could easily be mistaken for a chilly breeze, but Sam knew better. The crunch of gravel under Sam's boots was the only sound permeating the still air, not even the trees were rustling.

She continued her walk through the park, past the wishing fountain and through a trail where the trees grew slightly more dense.

The trail opened up to a large pond, it wasn't anything especially picturesque, the reeds were a little overgrown, the ground was muddy, but there were a few simple weather worn benches by the path that looped around the water.

Sam took a seat, pulling out a bag of frozen peas. She opened it, tipped a few into her hand and tossed them into the water.

The ducks immediately sped across the pond toward her, fighting for the peas that the turtles hadn't already gotten to.

Instead of grabbing another handful, she held the bag out to the empty seat to her left, waiting for a moment before shaking the bag impatiently.

A green hand slipped into the bag, pulling out a handful of peas before tossing them into the water.

"How'd you know I was here?" Kitty asked, now sitting visibly on the other end of the bench as Sam poured out more peas for both of them.

"I have my ways." Sam smirked. "What I want to know is why you've been following me all week."

"You knew for that long and you didn't say nothin'?" Kitty huffed. "Damn, I gotta up my game."

A duck waddled up and nibbled on her boot.

"Alright alright, ya hungry little doofus." Kitty lowered a hand full of peas and cooed as the duck happily ate from her palm. "Aww these guys aren't shy at all, do you come here a lot?"

"When I can." Sam tossed a few more peas into the water for the turtles. "So why are you following me?"

Kitty sat back and pressed her lips together, thinking.

"Look it's just... I don't remember much from when I was livin', you know? It's all sorta grey and fuzzy, I can't remember what anyone looked like, except Johnny." she tossed some peas to a smaller duck at the back of the group. "But as soon as I showed up here in town and I saw your face, I thought I felt... I dunno, somethin'. Like I'd seen you before, or maybe you just reminded me of someone, but I can't remember who, it's like grabbing smoke."

She lobbed a few peas a little harder than was necessary at the water. The turtles sucked them up greedily.

"So you've just been following me hoping you might remember something else?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," Kitty sighed. "But it's not working."

Sam swung her foot idly between a pair of scuffling ducks, splitting them up before tossing out some more peas.

"Maybe I'm related to someone you knew. Where did you grow up?"

Kitty frowned down at the water.

"I... I don't know." she said, deflating somewhat. "I didn't even realise I forgot that."

Sam couldn't help but feel for her, Danny had told her that ghosts would often forget things from their past, especially once they'd been dead for longer than they'd been alive. Somehow she had never really considered how terrifying that must be.

"You know..." Sam started carefully. "I could show you some old family photos. Maybe you'll recognise someone?"

Kitty looked up, eyes shining brightly.

"Really? You'd do that for me?"

"Why not?" Sam shrugged. "If you were here to cause trouble you would have done it by now."

"Aw, I never thought you'd wanna do something like that for me." said Kitty, smiling brightly. "You always seemed like such a bitch."

Sam laughed.

"If you'd spent a week being someone that wasn't Paulina, I would probably have seemed like less of a bitch."

"So you guys are big rivals or somethin'?" Kitty asked, grabbing some more peas and giggling as three ducks tried to eat from her hand at once.

"It's more that we have... conflicting ideologies. She thinks that appearances and reputation are the most important things in life, just like my parents." Sam lobbed some more peas into the water, they both watched them disappear as the turtles quickly snapped them up. "It's shallow and stupid, and I don't get why they have to push that shit on everyone. I don't care what people think, I just want to be whoever the hell I wanna be without having to fight for it all the time."

Kitty's face turned contemplative as she tapped her nails on the back of the bench.

"I think... I was like that." she said, slowly. "I wanted to feel fun and exciting, but my parents..."

She trailed off, frowning.

"My parents... I didn't like them. They didn't like me bein' the way I was, I can't really remember why."

Sam emptied out the last of the peas and scattered them over the ground, she scrunched up the empty packet and shoved it back into her tote bag.

"You know, if we went to school together we would probably have gotten along." said Sam as she stood up, gesturing toward the path. "Let's go check out those photos."

Instead of floating invisibly behind, Kitty walked by Sam's side as they headed back to her house. She idly waved at people as they drove past, grinning when someone stared a little too long and almost ran a red light.

"You know, it's nice bein' able to walk around in the day." Kitty said, skipping a little. "Wish I could do it more often."

"What's stopping you?"

"What do you think?" Kitty's lip pulled up in disgust. "Any time I show up your dumb friend sucks me up in his stupid thermos. Only reason I can walk around right now is because I got you as my get out of jail free card."

"Danny doesn't care if you just want to walk around." Sam scoffed. "He lets ghosts wander around town all the time, he only gets involved when you start breaking things."

"Uggghhh but just walking around is so boring." Kitty pouted. "I mean yeah it's nice and I like it but it gets old real quick."

"Then you'll have to get used to getting tossed back in the ghost zone. Do not pass go, do not collect $200."

"Don't you ever get sick of his goody goody attitude?" Kitty asked. "I mean you and I aren't so different right? You're all about the rebel gig, don't you ever feel like keyin' some asshole's car, or takin' a baseball bat to some mail boxes?"

"Only if they deserve it." said Sam with a smirk. "But I feel like you aren't especially picky about whose stuff you're breaking."

They approached the door to the Manson mansion, Sam hopped up the steps and stuck the key in the lock. She touched the mezuzah on the doorpost without a second thought before opening the door and standing aside to invite Kitty in.

The ghost stared up at her warily.

"I can't get past it."

"Past what?" Sam asked.

"The mezuzah, it keeps me out."

"What?" Sam frowned. "It hasn't stopped other ghosts from getting in."

"Well it stops me." Kitty insisted. "I think it's got somethin' to do with what we believed in when we were alive. I haven't got a problem with churches but when Johnny tried to ride his bike through one he couldn't get in. His mom raised him Catholic, he says he doesn't believe in any of that stuff, but I think he still does, deep down."

"So does that mean you were Jewish?" Sam asked, smiling curiously.

"I AM Jewish." Kitty crossed her arms. "Bein' a ghost hasn't changed that, it just... means that we got a few things a little wrong."

Sam thought about that for a moment, before stepping aside and gesturing toward the door again.

"Well, if you've been invited and you're not going to cause any trouble, then I don't see why you shouldn't be able to come in."

Kitty climbed the steps slowly, fingers reaching out and cautiously brushing over the mezuzah, she didn't feel anything unusual, no zap or burn or pain. She took a step through the doorway and passed the threshold without issue, no invisible force or barrier like the last time she tried to follow Sam inside.

"Well, what do you know." she said, grinning.

Sam lead her into a large, open planned kitchen and dining area, the tiles were bright white save for the specks of mud Sam's boots tracked through the room. The decor was minimalist, the atmosphere bland and sterile, she could smell some kind of citrus surface cleaner.

The back wall was all windows, leading to a patio surrounded by perfectly trimmed grass. As they approached, Sam turned, heading towards a door to their right.

The next room felt a lot more friendly, it was full of bookshelves and red tones. The lounges looked soft and inviting, a fireplace sat cold and empty against the back wall, but Kitty didn't have to try hard to imagine it roaring to life, filling the room with its warm glow.

"This is basically my Grandma's part of the house." Sam informed her, voice low. "Her bedroom is just through there, she's usually napping around this time of day so try not to make too much noise."

Kitty slipped off her jacket and laid it over the back of the lounge, already feeling at home in the cosy little room. She looked over the books as Sam fussed around some kind of large ornate chest.

"Here it is." She hefted a large photo album from the chest, carefully closing and latching it again. "Let's see if you recognise anyone in here."

Kitty sat down beside Sam as she opened up the pristine book, the outer cover was beige with the name Manson inscribed in golden cursive on the front. The first page was full of old faded photos, in greyscale or sepia tones.

"Ugh, I'm not that old." said Kitty, flicking ahead a few pages.

The pictures were colourful now, but still grainy, there was a young blonde boy in seventies style jeans leaning casually against a Chevrolet.

"Wait hold up," Kitty pointed at the boy. "Him, I feel like I've seen him before."

"That's my dad." said Sam, surprised. "His name is Jeremy, did you know him?"

Kitty hummed a little, gently tracing a finger over the picture.

"Jeremy... Jeremy, I'm not sure," she frowned. "But he definitely looks familiar."

They continued through the book, when suddenly Kitty slapped her hand down roughly on a photo of a pair of young women.

"Her! I know her! She was a mega bitch!"

"Shhh keep it down." Sam hissed.

"Sorry," Kitty pointed to the blonde girl in the photo. "That one! I don't know how I knew her, but I definitely knew her. She was a total brat."

Sam slipped the photo out of its sleeve and read the neat cursive on the back.

"This is... my Aunt Caroline, in 1985. She's my dad's sister." Sam looked up at Kitty, amused. "I can't believe you had beef with my family."

"Your family are snobs." Kitty sniffed. "Carrie was such a ditz, she thought she was sooo bitchin' because her daddy bought her a Mercedes."

"Yeah, that sounds about right." Sam grimaced. "Did you guys go to school together or something?"

"Maybe..." Kitty took the photo from Sam's hand, staring intently. "I'm pretty sure I skipped school a lot, I hated it there. It was a private school, we had to wear uniforms, barf."

"I would never have guessed you were a private school kid." Sam shook her head. "But most people would say that about me so it's not like I can judge."

"You went to private school?" Kitty asked, "How'd you end up in that Casper High dump?"

"Got myself expelled." said Sam, voice thick with pride. "Elementary, middle and high school, got kicked out of all three."

"Damn, you're good."

Sam grinned, slipping the photo back in its sleeve and continuing to the next page.

Kitty pointed to a few other photos, remarking on their familiarity, but not quite able to grasp how she knew them, the memories only flickered in her periphery.

"Wait," Kitty whispered, fingers brushing over a polaroid containing three people. "This is..."

The picture looked as though it were taken at some kind of party, a man and a woman faced the camera, each with a glass of champagne raised in their hands. The woman's other hand rested on the shoulder of a teenage girl with auburn hair, pulled into a tidy braid. She stared glumly at the camera.

"That's Katherine." Sam said, pointing to the girl. "She was my dad's cousin, but she got hit by a car when she was-"

Sam paused, looking over at Kitty's wide eyes and then back to the photo.

"Noooo way." Sam pulled the photo out of the sleeve. "Is this you?"

Kitty took the photo in trembling hands.

"I... I forgot I used to look like that." she fiddled with a lock of her green, teased hair. "I remember this party, I didn't want to go but mom and dad threatened to take away all my records and cassettes if I didn't."

Sam stared at Kitty, mouth agape.

"You're Car Crash Katherine?! My dad talks about you all the time! He always told me about the shit you used to get up to, he'd tell me that any kind of 'rebellious behaviour' was a slippery slope to 'dying on the back of some delinquent's motorcycle'." Sam put a hand on Kitty's shoulder. "You were my bad influence role model."

Kitty's red eyes shone with tears, photo still in hand, she wrapped her arms around Sam.

"This is majorly wicked! My legacy lives on! Corrupting the youth from beyond the grave!" Kitty laughed. "My parents would go totally mental."

She stopped laughing, her face turning forlorn as she drew back from Sam and stared down at the picture.

"Are they still alive?" she asked, a tremble in her voice.

"Yeah..." said Sam. "They live in a retirement home in Florida. They don't come around very often."

Kitty traced a finger over their faces.

"I wonder if they miss me." she said quietly. "Or if they were glad to be rid of the family embarrassment."

Sam didn't answer, she had wondered the same thing herself, if her parents would even care if she died. They hadn't given her a lot of reason to think they would.

She rested a sympathetic hand on Kitty's arm.

"Oh, you have a friend over bubbeleh?" a croaky voice spoke from the bedroom doorway.

Sam and Kitty both turned to see Ida Manson shuffling into the room, cleaning her glasses with her sleeve.

"Sorry Grandma, we didn't mean to be too loud." Sam apologised. "This is my... um, friend, Kitty. Kitty this is my Grandma Ida-"

"Ida?!" Kitty shot to her feet, staring in shock at the old woman. "Aunt Ida?!"

Ida squinted at Kitty, before quickly setting her glasses back on her face.

"Well as I live and breath, is that you Kathy?"

"Oh my god this is getting super weird." Sam whispered.

Kitty leapt over the ottoman to wrap Ida up in a tight hug, the old woman was surprised for a moment, but held her warmly in return.

"It's me Aunt Ida! Not really living or breathing but it's me!" Kitty laughed breathlessly.

"Oh my goodness, when all the ghosts started showing up all over town I wondered if I would ever see someone I knew." She rubbed comforting circles on Kitty's back as the ghost choked on a few sobs. "It's good to see you again Kathy."

Ida pulled away and wiped a tear from Kitty's face.

"And I'm so glad you aren't stuck wearing what your parents buried you in."

Kitty couldn't help but laugh through her tears.

"Let me guess, it was that putrid blue dress, wasn't it?"

"The dress wasn't nearly as bad as what they did to your hair." Ida snickered, patting Kitty's hand. "It had little ribbons in it and everything."

"I almost forgot you." Kitty placed her palm gently against Ida's face. "You were the only one in the family who ever loved me for being me, and I almost forgot you. I'm so sorry, I should have come to find you sooner but I just-"

"Shhhh, it's okay bubbeleh." Ida grasped her hand tight. "I think being dead is a pretty good excuse for forgetting a few things."

Sam stood beside the lounge, watching the two in shock, she wasn't entirely certain whether or not to intrude. Whatever she had been expecting to discover with Kitty today, it certainly hadn't been this.

Though in hindsight, it did explain Kitty's familiarity with Sam, people always said she had taken after her Grandma.

Ida let go of Kitty and hobbled over to the photo album still sitting on the lounge.

"Oh you don't want to look at that album." she said, as she shoved it onto the coffee table. She wandered to the other side of the room and began rummaging around in a small cupboard. "You want this one."

She pulled out a book with well worn, peeling edges. Pieces of the plastic sleeves had cracked off and crumbled away. It was old, and weatherbeaten, it was obvious that Ida had looked through it many many times.

"Here we go." she sat down in the middle of the lounge, gesturing for the two girls to come sit beside her. "These are the forbidden photos."

She opened the pages, the photos inside were entirely different from the 'official' album, there were no perfectly poised, prim and proper photos of people in nice, presentable clothes. They were all candid shots, people in the middle of eating or laughing, some were stumbling around blind drunk, a few were smoking joints. There were pictures from parties and protest rallies, in backyards and drive ins.

There was a picture of Jeremy as a young boy, grinning with one of his front teeth missing and grass in his hair.

"Only in this family would losing your baby teeth make a photo 'unsavoury'." Ida grizzled as she continued through the album. "I saved so many pictures that my husband would have thrown out otherwise."

"Ugh, Uncle Peter was such a prude, he wouldn't even let me in the house if I didn't have my shoulders covered up." Kitty rolled her eyes.

"He used to be so much more relaxed when we were young." Ida sighed. "He changed when he inherited his father's business, he forgot how to have fun."

A few pages later Kitty squealed in excitement.

"Oh my god! That's Frankie! She was my best friend, we used to do everything together!"

The Kitty in the photo looked far more like the Kitty Sam knew. Her hair was teased up, and she was wearing a crop top and a miniskirt. The other girl, Frankie, had short curled hair and a leather jacket. They each had an arm around the others' shoulder and grinned wildly.

"I love this one." Ida smiled as she pulled the picture out of the sleeve. "That was the night I gave you a lift to that concert."

"Oh that show was sooo good! I got my nose pierced there! It got so infected, Mom grounded me for a month." Kitty laughed.

"Man, and I thought I was cool for skipping school to go see Circus Gothica." Sam grinned. "I'm gonna have to come home with a tattoo next time."

"I can't believe I forgot about Frankie, I can't believe I forgot about all of this." Kitty held the photo close to her chest, a few tears running down her face. "I'm so glad it's not gone for good."

She kept the photo in hand as they looked through the rest of the album. There were many pictures of Ida, all of them with other people of all walks of life.

"Oh this was when you took us to that pride parade!" Kitty smiled. "You made Frankie so happy, and you knew a lot of the drag queens there, like a LOT."

"Grandma took me to a drag show when I was 10," said Sam. "Even took me backstage to meet them all, my parents thought we went to the theatre to see Romeo and Juliet."

"Oh I have photos from that." Ida flipped through the pages, getting closer to the end of the album. "Here we are, oh Evelyn just LOVED you."

Sam looked at the picture of Evelyn, frowning slightly.

"Oh weird, she kinda looks like Mr Lancer's sister, he keeps her photo on his desk..." Sam paused as she processed what she just said. "That's not his sister is it?"

"You probably shouldn't bring it up." said Ida gently. "Teachers can get in trouble for associating with this sort of thing."

"That's so bogus!" Kitty cried. "I really thought this kinda stuff would be better in the future!"

"It is," Ida assured her. "But we're a long way from perfect."

Ida flipped back through the album, searching for more pictures of Kitty and Frankie. There were a good few of them, each one Ida pulled out and passed over for Kitty to look at and hold onto.

"Oh woah, is that Johnny?" Sam pointed to a picture of Kitty sitting on the back of a motorcycle with a blonde boy. "He looks exactly the same, just a little less pale."

"Oh, did Johnny come back as a ghost too?" Ida asked.

"Yeah! We've been together all this time, in sickness and in death." Kitty beamed. "Mom and dad blamed him for everything I did, even if he wasn't around when I did it. They said him and Frankie were 'corrupting' me."

She rolled her eyes.

"I bet they blamed him for my death too. They'd be so mad if they knew we were still together."

"Just goes to show they had no chance of keeping you two apart." Ida said. "Not even death could do that."

Kitty held the photo tight in both hands, her shoulders began to shake slightly.

"It was my fault you know." she said with a trembling little giggle. "Funny huh? My parents always blamed him for everything, but in the end it was my fault we got hit. We were havin' a fight over somethin' stupid and I distracted him-"

Ida wrapped an arm around Kitty, patting her head comfortingly as she laid it against the old woman's shoulder.

"I think you're being too hard on yourself bubbeleh." Ida whispered gently into her hair. "It was raining, the truck that hit you was running a red light, the driver was charged for both your deaths. Even if you did distract him, you weren't the only card at play that night."

She gave Kitty a light shake.

"And don't think I didn't see the way Johnny used to drive that thing, he was reckless. I have no doubt that he wasn't paying as much attention as he should have been." She placed a kiss on the girl's forehead and squeezed her tight. "It's not fair to hold all of that responsibility on yourself, even if you both did everything right, that truck still would have run that red light, it still would have been raining. It was just pure rotten luck."

Sam had never heard a ghost talk about their death before, even Danny didn't like talking about his accident, and asking about it was incredibly taboo. Sam had been pushing her luck earlier just by mentioning the car crash.

It said a lot about Kitty's love for Ida that she chose to open up about it. Sam couldn't say she was surprised, her Grandma had always been like that. Never anything but an endless well of love and support, and the occasional kick in the pants if you needed it.

"Johnny's always had rotten luck." Kitty sniffed. "Follows him like a shadow."

"Literally." Sam snorted.

After a few more moments, Ida pulled herself away from Kitty, she got up and began rooting through the cupboards, muttering to herself.

"Aha, here it is."

She brought over an empty photo album, it was roughly the size of a small pocketbook, containing only one photo sleeve per page.

"I meant to fill this with photos for Sam to keep." Ida admitted as she shuffled back over to the girls. "But I don't think she'll mind donating it to a good cause."

She winked at Sam, who nodded back.

"Here," Ida pressed the little album into Kitty's hands. "Memories are a fickle thing, but photos are forever."

"I can't take these!" Kitty insisted, pushing the album back. "They're your memories too!"

"Oh my god you're both so old." Sam laughed, "Dad has a printer/scanner. I can make copies."

As Sam took the polaroids to her dad's office, Ida and Kitty pored over the rest of the album, Kitty picking out more photos to copy. She chose a few of Ida and Sam, and even one of Carrie.

"She was a total loser and I hated her but I don't hate remembering her, you know? I want to remember everything, even the bad stuff."

She took a photo of her parents, just one.

When Sam came back with the last batch of photos, Ida finished slipping them into the little album.

"There's still a few sleeves left." Sam pointed out, holding up her phone with a smile. "We've got room for a couple of family reunion pics."

The two girls squished up against Ida as Sam snapped as many shots as she could. Ones where they smiled, ones where they laughed, ones where they laid haphazardly across the lounge together.

Then Sam took a few candids of just Kitty and Ida, as they looked through the new album they'd just made together. Capturing Kitty laughing at something as Ida looked at her with a soft, loving smile.

Kitty clutched the album to her chest as she gave Ida a long, drawn out hug.

"Thank you so much." she said, her voice thick with gratitude. "It's like I can see my life in colour again."

She left the house with the assurance that she would always be welcome back, at any time, and a promise that she would always be looking out for her 'new favourite cousin'.

Sam flicked through the photos she took on her phone, she would have to make sure to have copies printed by the time Kitty returned to visit.

She knew Kitty coming over regularly was going to make things complicated, her apparent newfound protectiveness over Sam could potentially backfire in many spectacular ways, she was petty and troublesome when in the right mood.

But then again, so was Ida, and so was Sam.

At least she had better things to do now than beat up strangers' mail boxes, Danny was certainly going to be glad to hear that.

[americancowgirl19]

Nobody to Somebody

Summary: You started in Riley’s newborn army and now you’re moving up to Volterra, Italy.

Warnings: violence, hints of possessiveness, fluff, 

Reader: Female Reader

Pairings: Felix, Demetri, Jane, Alec Volturi x Female Reader

Word Count: 3,114

A/n: Might make more parts to this, idk. Also, I know that Alec and Jane are supposed to be really young but I imagine them as older teenagers. Also, Alec and Jane are not mates. The guard are not mated together they just share you, the reader, as a mate. So, no incest.

Masterlist

You were a nobody. Honestly, you had nothing to do with the drama of the supernatural world yet you were still pulled into it. You were innocently driving through Seattle to Mount Vermont when you were killed. 

Riley had dragged you out of the motel parking lot and bit you in the neck. The pain is indescribable. You screamed so loud yet nobody came to your aid. When the torment stopped a different pain started. A hunger that could only be satisfied with the blood of humans.

You turned into a completely different person within a span of a couple hours. You were stronger, faster, and deadlier. You were put into a group of others like you. It was a constant battle for survival. Everyone fought for their food. Everyone fought to be higher on the pecking order. Everyone fought you.

You were at the top, just below Riley. You weren’t in charge of anything but you certainly were the strongest. Those with the balls to go up against you found themselves dismembered before they could touch a hair on your head.

You were one of the few that were gifted. You had the ability to control people. You couldn’t control their thoughts. No, you controlled their bodies. You could force anybody to do anything and they couldn’t fight against it. At least you haven’t found someone who could fight against it. 

You could make them rip off their own arms, bite off their own tongue, set themselves on fire and burn to death. You could force two or more of them to fight themselves if you so pleased. Your ability to control made you valuable. Riley did everything in his power to keep you. 

You loved the power you had over everybody. You loved the pampering Riley gave you. You were arrogant but not quite ambitious yet. You were satisfied with the way things were, for the moment. You didn’t think about the future, you didn’t think about expanding your power. You just lived in the moment.

You were also the only one who met Victoria. She had a special plan for you. She whispered promises of grandeur that you couldn’t deny.

No longer were you the family girl that was content with a normal life. No longer were you the girl who was satisfied with being in the background. No longer were you the girl who wouldn’t harm a fly.

No, now you were the girl who killed anybody who got in the way of what you wanted. You were the girl with power and riches. As far as you were concerned, you were on top of the world. You could take anything you wanted and as the months passed, your ambition grew. You were beginning to want more.

However, you felt obligated to help your creators with their Cullen problem. You vowed to help them. Once they were taken care of you would move on to grander things.

When the time to attack the Cullens came, Victoria kept you by her side. You knew she had a vendetta against someone specifically and you were chomping at the bits to tear someone apart.

“They’re not here,” Victoria growls loudly. You growl as well wanting to join the fight but loyally stayed by her side.

“Where could they be?” You ask her. Victoria huffs racing through the woods. You pursed your lips but quickly followed after her. Riley joined up with the two of your as you made your way into the mountains.

Riley steps into view of the Cullen and human first. You observe them from the cover of the trees. The Cullen stood protectively in front of the human. She shared the same scent that had lead the other newborns into the clearing. Had all of this fighting been over this human?

“Riley... Listen to me. Victoria is just using you to distract me. She knows I’ll kill you. In fact, she’ll be glad she didn’t have to deal with you anymore.”

“Don’t listen, Riley,” Victoria pleads standing on a rock to the side of Riley. You slowly make an appearce behind your creator. The Cullen’s eye moves to you as does the humans. “I told you about their mind tricks.” 

“I can read her mind. So, I know what she thinks of you.” He tells Riley.

“He’s lying.” Victoria insists.

“She only created you and this army to avenger her true mate, James.” Your eyes go to Victoria. “That’s the only thing she cares about. Not you.”

“There’s only you. You know that.” Victoria vows him but you can tell that she’s lying. You smirk enjoying the show unraveling before you.

“Think about it. You’re from Forks, you know the area. That’s the only reason she chose you. She doesn’t love you.”

“Riley, don’t let him do this to us. You know I love you.” Victoria promises. You watch Riley curiously. You could sense the doubt in him but then he goes to attack. You flinch and move away when a wolf comes and chomps on Riley. Your eyes scan the area for more wolves not wanting to fall victim to one of them.

“You won’t get a chance like this again!” Your head turns back to the Cullen and Victoria. He continues to taunt her while you turn your focus to the human. You take a few slow steps toward her until her eyes catch yours. Your gaze hardens as you try to control her. Your intrigued when you find her just standing there when she should be choking herself.

You step back into the tree when the human moves with her vampire. You wanted a good fight but you also wanted to observe. Everything made sense now. Victoria wanted revenge for the death of her mate while the vampire tries to protect his. I guess even as a deadly vampire you’re still a romantic. You weren’t quite sure who you wanted to win.

Riley came back into view, you briefly wonder about the wolf. He and Victoria gain the upper hand until the human cuts herself with a rock. Your eyes instantly go black and all you can think about is the blood. Before you know it you’re running for her but her mate grabs you and throws you into the woods.

By the time you return you gain control of yourself. You had been working hard on control when you found out you were stronger and more dangerous with a clear head instead of being controlled by animal instincts.

“Victoria!! Victoria!” Riley screams, breaking your concentration. You felt bad for Riley and took a few steps toward him before you stopped yourself. 

Riley and Victoria knew you wanted to branch out on your own but that didn’t mean they would let you go without a fight. You knew how valuable you were to them. Nobody gives up their strongest player. 

You didn’t want to be the one to kill him, you still felt the slightest connection to him for turning you. However, while the connection makes you not want to kill him it doesn’t necessarily compel you to save him.

You smirk, stepping back from the scene. You would let the wolf take care of your problem. You hoped that the other vampire would take care of Victoria as well. Then, you’d be free and could do whatever you wanted.

You look away from Riley and back toward Victoria. You were pleased to see her losing the fight. Only when you stopped hearing Riley’s screams and saw Victoria’s head on the ground did you turn to leave the scene.

“Wait!” The Cullen calls after you. You turn your head ever so slightly.

“I have nothing against you and your family. I won’t cause any trouble.” You promise him.

“I know,” He nods, stepping closer but keeping his body between you and his mate. You smirk slightly knowing he could stop you from getting to her if you truly wanted too. “I can help you.”

“You help me?” You tilt your head. “Oh? How so?”

“You want power, you want to be at the top. Have you heard of the Volturi?” He asks.

“No.” You answer, your eyes narrowing.

“They’re vampire royalty. They’ll be at the clearing to assess the damage. You can leave with them, join their coven.” He tells you. You stare at him.

“And what do you get out of this?” You wonder.

“Time.” He says, turning his head toward his human mate.

“I’ll stick around, doesn’t mean I’ll go with them.” You say before leaving them on the mountain. You find the clearing and unsurprisingly see all the newborns dead.

“Wait! Don’t hurt her!” A woman with short hair shouts when you walk out of the forest. You eye the wolves and the Cullens cautiously. “The Volturi will be here shortly.” You slowly nod. Eventually The two from the mountain join you. You watch as a stray newborn almost kills a wolf before the drama seems to end.

The Cullen clan stand together. You notice Bree standing behind them. She had been in the army. She was one of the lower vampires, a vampire that didn’t do much. You’re slightly surprised that she survived.

You don’t have much time to dwell on Bree when something catches your attention. Four distinct yet mouthwatering scents. Scents that tempt you more than any amount of fresh blood. You can just feel your eyes darkening even more.

Four figures in cloaks enter the clearing. The two in the middle wear midnight black ones while the outside two sport charcoal grey robes. They lower their hoods and their ruby red eyes fall on you at the same time.

Your instinct is to move to stand by them, your body even shifts toward them but you’re hesitant. You don’t know how to act. You don’t know what to do. Logic tells you that your scent appeals to them as theirs does to you but you hesitate nonetheless.

Seeing the conflict in your eyes, the furthest from you, the shorter of the two in the grey cloaks, holds his hand out in your direction. There’s a sly yet inviting smirk on his face. Your body reacts before your mind. You rush in front of him, your hand instinctively falling into his gloved one. He yanks you into his chest, his arm snaking around your waist.

Both of your heads fall into each others neck. You both breathe in each others scent but he’s the only one brave enough to place a gentle kiss on your marble skin.

“Impressive,” A melodic voice reaches your ears. You pull from his neck to look at her. He refuse to release you forcing you to shuffle around in his arms. 

When you’re settled, his grip tightens forcing you impossibly close. With your back pressed against his chest, you watch the exchange between the Cullens the the cloaked vampires you assume to be the Volturi. Any anxiety that may have been present disappears the longer you’re in his arms.

“I’ve never seen a coven escape an assault of this magnitude intact.”

“We were lucky.”

“I doubt that.”

“It appears we missed an entertaining fight.” Your eyes shift from the blond girl to the one beside her. You wanted to be closer to them but you didn’t want to leave his arms. You didn’t understand and the unknown was frustrating you.

“Shh,” He whispers in your ear as he senses your growing distress. “Just a little longer.” He promises bumping his nose against the side of her head.

“It’s not often we’re rendered unnecessary,” She mentions.

“Had you arrived a half an hour ago you would have fulfilled your purpose.” You glared at him as he spoke to her rudely. Before another work could be exchanged you broke his arm without lifting a finger. He tries to hold in his groan but everyone picks up on it. Naturally, everyone looks to the blond on your side of the field but you just stand there with a satisfied smirk.

“You missed one,” The attention turns to Bree.

“We offered her asylum in exchange for her surrender.”

“That wasn’t yours to offer,” She tells him. “Why did you come?” She asks but Bree doesn’t answer. Your eyebrows instantly raise when the newborn falls to the ground screaming. You look to the blond beside you and realize why the all mistook the vampires pain to be her doing instead of you. “Who created you?”

“You don’t need to do that, she’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“I know,”

“I-I don’t know,” Bree whimpers. “Riley wouldn’t tell us. He said that our thoughts weren’t safe.”

“Her name was Victoria, perhaps you knew her.”

“Edward, had the Volturi had knowledge of Viktoria they would have stopped her. Isn’t that right Jane?”

Jane. A name so simple yet so perfect for the beautiful blond. You found yourself desperate to know more about her. To know more about all of them.

“Of course,” Jane assures them.

“Whatever Bree doesn’t know, Y/n will. She was in the thick of it with Victoria and Riley,” Edward tells them. The cloaks look at you but you keep your hard stare on Edward.

“You wouldn’t be suggesting something about our mate, would you?” The man equipping the midnight black cloak questions Edward, his voice edgier than before. As he spoke, the man holding you tightens his grip even more.

Mate. Of course the logical part of you knew but to say it out loud and to accept that it’s real is something else. You wanted to feel relief that they acknowledge that you’re their mate but you can’t help but to feel tense. They’re weren’t reacting to Bree very well and you had done more damage than she ever has. How would they treat you?

“No, of course not.” The leader of the coven promises before sending Edward a look.

“Felix,” Jane says, turning her head slightly toward the tallest. 

“She didn’t know what she was doing!” Jane stops Felix. “We’ll take responsibility for her.”

“Give her a chance”

“The Volturi don’t give second chances,” Jane states causing your body to go tense. The man holding your nuzzles shamelessly into the crook of your neck. You can hear him purring quietly. It helps calm you down but the anxiety in your chest lingers. “Keep that in mind, Caius will be interested to see that she’s still human”

“The date is set.”

“Take care of that Felix. I’d like to take our mate home.” Jane says. Felix glances at her then to you before moving to take care of Bree. You flinch when Bree’s screams abruptly stop.

“It’s alright,” The man holding you whispers. “Come on.” He grabs ahold of your hand and leads you out of the clearing. You follow them, leaving the Cullen’s behind without a second thought. They don’t stop until you reach an airfield where a private jet is waiting for you.

You take a moment to stare at it. You’ve never been on a plane before. You wonder where they’re taking you but you keep your questions to yourself. You figured you could count your lucky stars you didn’t end up like Bree, now isn’t the time to push your luck.

You knew that if you needed too you could destroy all of them but the thought of putting them through any sort of pain is displeasing to you. In fact, you hated the thought of them in pain. You knew you would destroy anybody who harms them. Though, this meant you wouldn’t be able to defend yourself against them should they decide to tear you apart. You’d much rather choose death.

“You’re thinking very hard,” You turn to look at Jane. You hadn’t even realized that the five of you had boarded the plane. “You must have questions for us.”

“Umm... Names would be a nice start,” You say, surprised by how quiet your voice is. The last few months you’ve had to be authoritative and demanding yet now you’re quiet and walking on egg shells.

“Of course,” Jane says giving you a gentle smile, a complete contrast to the girl you had seen in the clearing. She still seems reserved but she’s also more relaxed. “I’m Jane and this is my twin, Alec. That is Demetri and Felix.”

“Y/n,” You introduce yourself.

“You’re still tense,” Demetri notices. He sits beside you and rests his hand on your leg. “What worries you?” You look at him for a moment debating if you should keep your worries to yourself.

“No harm will come to you,” Alec promises. Your eyes turn to him. He notices the subtle relief in your posture. “We would never allow anything to happen to you. You’re safe with us.” Demetri leans over and kisses the side of your head as Felix sits besde you, the twins occupying the seats across from you.

“I thought you didn’t give second chances?” 

“You’re special,” Jane tells you. “You’re our mate. Our masters will be forgiving toward you.”

“Masters?”

“How much do you know?” Demetri questions.

“Up until yesterday I thought we burned in the sun,” You tell him. “I don’t know much of anything and I’m sure whatever I do know is most likely wrong.”

“When were you turned?” Felix asks. “We’ve been watching the army for a few months but we never smelt you.”

“Victoria and Riley liked to keep me separate from the others. I’ve only been a vampire maybe 5 months? I was only allowed with the others if they were getting too rowdy and needed to be knocked down a peg or two,” You tell them with your naturally cocky smirk.

“Oh? And what did you do?” Demetri questions.

“I can control people. I can make you do whatever I want,” You tell him.

“So, you could make someone shut up when they talk too much?” Felix smirks sending a look at Demetri.

“Well, yes but I normally just make them bite off their own tongue,” You state. Their eyes return to you and you suddenly get the feeling you spoke out of turn.

“Beautiful and deadly,” Demetri hums rubbing his head against yours as if to scent you. “Perfect,” He growls.

“Completely perfect.” Jane agrees. Your eyes turn to her. “You’ll fit right in, my love.”

“And where are we going?” You ask her.

“Volterra, Italy.” She tells you. “It’s where the Volturi reside and where you will live with us.”

“Sounds fun,” You smirk, holding her gaze feeling completely unintimidated by her despite knowing what she can do.

Volterra, Italy. Sounds like the perfect place to satisfy your ambitions with your mates by your side. 

[marshmallowprotection]

I sometimes wonder about what would happen in Saeyoung's route with me when we are at the apartment, honestly.

I'm not sure I would be able to talk back and that, especially if he starts yelling brooo- 😭✋✋

I'm pretty sure I'll flinch and might even start crying on the spot cuz if something gets me upset, I miiiight start crying on the spot and I would probably avoid him but still glance at him sometimes since I have to be in the same room istg

Like?? I'm not sure I would have the courage to express my feelings for him later on or even say other stuff that the MC says in the game.

A lot of people have left me in my life so just thinking that he is gonna leave as well would probably make me hide under blankets and sob as quietly as I could AMSNQHDHAH

It's really something-

See, nobody is the same person so your actions are going to differ greatly from the options MC is given in the game. Your time with him won't look like anyone else's. Is that scary? You know how the story goes with someone who can handle the storm, but you don't know if you'd be able to do the same thing as MC. But, that's just the thing, it is you. You are the one defining the factors ahead of you when you're going in not knowing what comes next.

You never know what you'll do at the moment. You can't assume you will respond one way or the other unless you went into that moment as you are. You might just surprise yourself. Sure, you might not be able to respond like a bold, brazen, or confident MC. But, does that mean you should count yourself out immediately? No, it doesn't. It doesn't mean that at all.

The MC in Mystic Messenger adapts and changes depending on the love interest, so even MC won't respond the same each time, and in a Route, depending on the end goal you're targeting, good, bad, or the normal, those reactions aren't the same, either. So, why beat yourself up over being different when MC is never the same way twice? That's a helpful thought for me since while I share traits with Ray's MC, I've got a lot of differences, too.

You have to take a breath and remember one thing. Saeyoung is in love with you from the second he hears your laughter during the first phone call when you listen to his attempt to prank you. That's when it's over for him and he feels a flutter in his chest that only becomes more dangerous the more that he speaks to you with a smile on his face that makes him have loose lips that go against what strength he thought he had.

He does need space in the apartment. If he makes you cry, he'll feel bad about it. He knows that he can't stay away from you no matter how hard he tries, and even if you aren't nudging him over and over again, he'll still see your pain and want to comfort you. He won't be able to stop himself from offering you comfort... it'll just be a sort of conflicting debate for him as he brings you a blanket or food so you don't "forget" to take care of yourself.

The thing with Saeyoung isn't a matter of pushing him... if you push too hard, you get his Bad Ending, but if you don't push at all, you will not be able to reach him fully. You have to exist in the middle area. It's a grey area, really. You don't have to pressure him, but you do have to remind him that you care about his well-being.

Listen to him, talk to his concerns, and back him up in the chatroom.

He doesn't even specifically confess his feelings for you until later, only saying that he can't leave you behind and he wants you to come with him to save his brother. So, it's okay if you've got fears or even insecurities. All you need to ask yourself is if you believe in Saeyoung as a person. Do you? Do you know that he's strong and can let go of control long to let you hold him when he's ready? Give him space and empathy.

You cannot love Saeyoung Choi wrong.

If you struggle to voice your feelings out loud... text him. Admit your heart and be bold that way. You cannot handle this wrong. You love him and that's what will bring him back to you.

[invisibleanonymousmonsters]

Could you please write Jason and Y/N (Father of Mine Universe) with prompts 48, 31, and maybe 30? could go either way.

Even if you choose not to write this, thanks for creating Father of Mine, it's one of my favorite fics!

Father of Mine

48. Using your body to shield them from attack.

31. Hurriedly checking for their pulse.

30. Performing CPR when they stop breathing.

Jason and Y/N were walking along the water after getting dinner.

Most of the harbors in Gotham were run by one crime lord or another. Which meant that there were very few areas on the water for civilians to enjoy – or feel safe. 

But Jason knew of a strip that was under the radar.

There were a few other couples with the same idea. And random groups of kids and teenagers hanging out and messing around.

Jason was relaxed.

That was his first mistake.

Jason had immediately clocked a random middle-aged man who was covered in sweat and was visibly trembling.

Being far too familiar with the sight, Jason assumed the guy was another unfortunate addict. 

But then he noticed the man was carrying a backpack.

Jason had all of 5 seconds to realize what was about to happen.

He shielded Y/N with his body while screaming as loud as he could, “Get down!”

Jason knew he couldn’t save everyone, and Y/N would always be his number one priority.

The next second, the bomb exploded.

The impact knocked Jason unconscious.

For how long, he had no idea.

He was disoriented from the explosion, his ears ringing from tinnitus and his vision struggling to focus from the vertigo. Yet, somehow he could still hear the beating of his heart in his eardrums. 

People were screaming in pain around him and others were crying as they looked down at their loved ones. Half the harbor was on fire from the explosion. Cement and debris was everywhere. Jason’s hair was grey from it.

He blinked and then panicked.

“Y/N!” Jason screamed when he realized she wasn’t anywhere near him.

He jumped to his feet and whipped around in every direction looking for her.

“Y/N!” He screamed even louder, his throat burning from the effort.

Then he realized when the explosion when off they had been standing next to the railing that blocked off the water. The railing that had now been blasted away and into the harbor.

Jason sprinted to the edge and looked down at the black water below.

Without hesitation, he dove into the depths.

It was almost impossible to see anything.

But just seconds later, he found Y/N unconscious and completely submerged.

Jason had never swam faster in his life.

But when they breached, Y/N didn’t gasp for air.

She was completely unconscious.

Jason’s eyes darted around, trying to find their escape.

By some miracle, there was a rusty ladder that led back up to the pier from the water.

Jason put Y/N’s body over his shoulder as he climbed the ladder, silently praying that the metal didn’t break under their combined weight.

When they reached the top, he gently laid her down and his fingers shot to the pulse point at her neck.

Nothing.

“No, no, no,” Jason mumbled. “Y/N. Come on, baby. You’re not doing this to me.”

He found his Red Hood comm in the pocket of his jacket, and put it to his hear.

“Contact Bruce,” he commanded the AI as he started performing CPR on Y/N.

“What is it?” Bruce answered with slight panic. 

Jason had never called him like this before. And therefore Bruce knew immediately something terrible happened.

“Get the fucking jet here right now,” Jason growled.

“What’s happened?” Bruce asked, but it was obvious he was moving around already to leave.

“There was an explosion. She doesn’t have a pulse and she’s not breathing,” it was all Jason was capable of giving him. “Just get the fucking jet here now!”

He didn’t have time to explain more and hung up. And he didn’t have to say Y/N’s name for Bruce know who he was talking about. There was only one woman in Jason’s life that would have him sounding so panicked and desperate.

Jason continued his CPR, fully focused now that he knew Bruce was on the way.

Still nothing.

He did another round of compressions.

Jason’s eyes started watery as his mind began to believe that Y/N wasn’t going to make it.

He wouldn’t survive.

Y/N had changed his life. She made him better, made him good, made him want to worker harder – do literally anything to become the man she deserved and to continue to be deserving of her love.

“Please,” Jason whimpered. “Please don’t leave me.”

But then Y/N’s eyes shot open and she immediately turned over and started coughing up water.

“Holy fuck,” Jason gasped in relief at the sight.

Y/N continued coughing until her throat was scratched and dry.

Jason rubbed her back, trying to comfort her without preventing her body from getting all the water out of her lungs.

After she finished, she was shaking from being freezing cold and from the shock.

Despite him also being wet, Jason put his coat over her shoulders.

“Don’t ever fucking do that to me again,” Jason begged Y/N as he pulled her into his arms. 

He kissed the crown of her head and hoped his body heat would be enough to warm her up.

“What happened?” Her voice had never been raspier and it was now quivering.

“A bomb went off. I thought I shielded you from it, but the impact must’ve thrown you into the harbor.”

“I’m OK,” she tried to tell him. But her shaking voice was unconvincing. 

Jason wasn’t letting go of her anytime soon.

It was only 5 minutes later that the batplane touched down on what remained of the pier.

Jason looked up to see Dick, Tim, and Damian jump out and immediately start helping the injured.

But Bruce, dressed in his Batman uniform, was walking straight to Jason and Y/N.

“She needs to go to a hospital,” Jason called out when Bruce was a few yards away. “Her heart stopped beating and her lungs took in too much water.”

Jason knew Bruce wouldn’t argue with taking Y/N there immediately.

Bruce was clearly relieved at seeing his daughter alive and conscious. But that didn’t mean she was in the clear. Nearly drowning still had its risks. If her heart stopped beating, she was in danger of brain damage or pneumonia.

“I’ll take her. You help the others,” Bruce ordered as he stepped forward to take Y/N from Jason’s arms.

“Like fucking hell I am,” Jason growled as he stood up with Y/N in his arms.

Bruce was about to fight him on it, but then he met Y/N’s eyes. Her skin was pale and almost had a blue tint to it. She looked so small and vulnerable in Jason’s arms. Not like the strong and grown woman that had first strutted into Wayne Manor.

“I’m not leaving her,” Jason added for good measure.

Bruce finally sighed and nodded. “Take the jet. You know where to go. I’ll meet you there.”

Before Jason could carry her away, Y/N whispered, “What about the others?” 

Her eyes tried to look around her boyfriend’s broad shoulders to see the other victims.

“B is going to help them,” Jason gently told her. He even angled his body to block her line of sight. She didn’t need to see any of it. 

“We already have ambulance and firemen on the way,” Bruce added, hoping it would convince her further not to worry herself. 

There was nothing she could do for them anyway. 

Then Bruce locked eyes with Jason. “Go. Get out of here. Take care of her.”

“Always,” Jason muttered quickly before hurrying Y/N to the jet.

————————

Y/N woke up to two low voices clearly having a serious discussion, but trying to keep their voices down.

When she opened her eyes, Y/N realized she was in a hospital room. But it wasn’t just any room. It seemed like a five-star hotel with how fancy it was. It didn’t have that sterile smell or those harsh fluorescent lights that caused headaches.

“It was a turf war,” Bruce told Jason quietly. “Carmine has jurisdiction over the harbor the two of you were at tonight. But Farrelli wanted it for himself. He forced his latest victim to bring the bomb.”

Jason crossed his arms. “So, the guy was dead either way, Farrelli just thought he’d put him to some use before he murdered him.”

Bruce nodded. “And kill five more people with him.”

“Five people died?” Y/N burst out without realizing it.

Both men’s heads whipped in her direction.

“You’re awake,” Jason sighed and immediately rushed to her side.

“What hospital am I at?” She mumbled, looking around again.

“Gotham General,” he told her as he sat on the edge of the bed to face her.

Jason gently grabbed her hand and kissed the back of it. But he had no intention of letting it go, keeping a tight hold and rubbing his thumb back and forth across her skin.

Bruce was slower to join them as he walked with his hands in his pant pockets.

“This isn’t Gotham General,” she commented with a suspicious gaze. 

Jason scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Yeah. Well, as soon as Bruce arrived, they realized that you’re Gotham royalty by blood, and brought you to a special suite.”

Then Y/N’s eyes slowly moved to her father. “Five people died from the explosion?”

She needed to know. But she also knew that both men would try to protect her from possible survivor’s guilt.

So Bruce just nodded.

“How are you feeling?” Jason asked, trying to distract her by changing the subject.

“Tired. And my throat is sore,” she admitted with a light shrug.

Then she looked up at Jason and really took him in.

There were dark shadows under his eyes – the eyes that were still a bit bloodshot. 

Had he been crying? She hadn’t registered that. 

His hair was a mess, probably from drying haphazardly after jumping into the water to save her.

“Are you OK?” She asked.

It would be right on brand for Jason to risk his life saving her, but ignore any and all injures that he’d received from the same life-threatening travesty.

“I’m fine. Always am,” Jason reassured her too quickly.

Bruce chimed in,“We were all just worried about you, Y/N.”

Both men knew her next question was going to be about the well-being of Damian, Dick, and Tim.

“Can we go home?” She asked softly.

Y/N had always hated hospitals. And once her mother got cancer, Y/N absolutely despised them. Now all she had attached to them was bad memories that constantly threatened to trigger her. 

“They just need to get a scan back, make sure everything’s good,” Jason tried to comfort her. “Once that’s good, I’ll take you home.”

He knew her distaste for hospitals and was prepared for her to want to escape at the earliest opportunity.

“Scan?” Y/N questioned.

“You didn’t have a pulse,” Bruce explained. “You have a concussion. We need to make sure there was no brain damage or any lasting side effects.”

“Right,” she mumbled, trying not to sound worried.

“You’re gonna be fine,” Jason reassured her as he cupped her cheek.

“Perhaps you should stay at the manor for a few days,” Bruce offered. “You can relax and not be bothered.”

“She can not be bothered in our apartment,” Jason interrupted, giving him side eye.

“Jason…” Y/N warned gently.

She knew the signs of Jason getting worked up. The fire in his eyes was always something Y/N could read – more than anyone else.

Bruce wasn’t offended by Jason’s little snipe. He was used to his temper. But his gaze did turn rather serious. 

“Could I talk to you outside for a moment?”

Jason was about to refuse, not wanting to leave Y/N’s side. But he knew that would just most likely lead to an argument. And Y/N didn’t need to hear or see that. She was already exhausted and recovering. The last thing she needed was to witness was her father and boyfriend going at it – especially over her.

So Jason just nodded and stormed out of the room.

The quicker they got this over with, the better.

As soon as the door closed, Jason was sizing Bruce up.

“What exactly is your next move?” Bruce questioned.

“I’m going after Farrelli,” Jason rumbled, as if it was obvious.

No one put Y/N in danger and got away with it. Jason had already come up with a plan on how to seek his revenge. 

It was going to be gruesome and dirty, but nothing less than what the bastards deserved.

Bruce clearly had expected this answer. “So do you plan on doing that while you take care of Y/N?” And he tilted his head as he challenged Jason.

“Are you really trying to stop me?”

Bruce took a step forward. “No, Jason. I’m trying to protect you from yourself. You get blinded by vengeance. And I let you get away with it. But now your actions don’t just effect you…they effect her, too.”

Jason blinked.

“Y/N needs you right now. Even though she will act like she doesn’t.” Bruce inhaled. “If you’re going to put revenge over her wellbeing, she should stay at the manor.”

This was a somewhat of a warning – an opportunity for Jason to do the right thing before he could make his mistake.

Jason’s head hung low now. “I can’t let him get away with it. She almost died, Bruce.”

“And he won’t. But we’ll take care of it,” Bruce promised.

Jason thought it about a moment, before he finally nodded slowly. “I think the manor would be good. But I won’t leave her.”

“I never said you had to,” Bruce corrected.

Jason nodded again and made his way to the door of Y/N’s room again.

“Jason?” Bruce called.

He turned around with an eyebrow quirked.

“Thank you for saving her life.”

Jason tried not to roll his eyes, but took a few steps back to Bruce. 

“You have your opinions about me and her, I’m sure. But I want to make this is clear: I’m always going to protect her. Always. What happened tonight is never going to happen again. I’d die protecting her.”

Jason didn’t wait for Bruce’s response before turning back around. 

But just as he opened Y/N’s door her heard, “I know, Jason. I’ve always known.”

—————

Jason was able to convince Y/N to stay at the manor.

And she surprisingly agreed – as long as he came with her.

Alfred spoiled her rotten with all of her favorite meals. He was constantly bring her tea or coffee. 

Damian ordered all of his pets to keep her company and cuddle with her. To the point where Jason was annoyed because there was literally no space for him.

Tim downloaded a hundred movies for her to watch. 

Dick sent flowers and chocolates. 

Even Clark stopped by when he heard what happened. 

Unbeknownst to Y/N, all the boys and Bruce were working on taking down Farrelli. 

If Jason was the man from just a few years ago, Farrelli’s corpse would already be rotting somewhere in Gotham. But he had changed. Now they had to do things the right way.

Jason stuck to Y/N’s side like glue. He hovered, watched her like a hawk, wouldn’t let her do anything on her own.

After of a few days of this, Y/N finally had enough.

“You gonna talk to me anytime soon?” She asked him in bed on their third night.

Jason broke their eye contact.

“Jason. Please?” She whispered.

Silence filled the room.

“I can’t do it.”

Her brow furrowed. “Can’t do what?”

For a split moment, she thought he was about to try and break up with her. 

“I can’t watch you get hurt again. I just…I can’t.”

She cupped his cheeks. “But I’m right here. And I’m fine, Jason.”

“When I…” He hesitated. “When I died. I knew it was coming. I saw the bomb counting down and I knew there was no escape. I accepted my fate. I knew I was going to die. And I was scared.” 

Jason shook his head and took in a deep breath, “But Y/N…that was nothing compared to what I felt when I was convinced I’d lost you. I’m never been so fucking terrified in my life.”

Y/N smothered him with her embrace. “I’m so sorry for scaring you. But I’m OK. Please just focus on that. Please.”

“I can’t lose you, Y/N.” Jason whispered into her hair. “This place was hell before I met you. And I have no fuckin’ interest in fighting it without you.”

Y/N wished she could promise Jason that she would never leave him. But she was the child of a mother who passed far too soon. She knew life and death could be so cruel, ripping the loved ones away with or without warning.

No, she didn’t die this time. But who was to say something like this wouldn’t happen again? And maybe next time, she wouldn’t be so lucky. They lived in Gotham after all.

“Fate may have other ideas…But I never plan on leaving your side, Jason. I love you too much to do anything else.”

Jason actually laughed. “I can fight fate.”

He’d done it once before.

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

I have a few more of these prompts for bonus material. But let me know what you think 🤗