#attended her funeral and everything and died a few months later

[chronal-anomaly]

Woke up thinking about Lena smoking,,,

[fatallyfalling]

Bitter Water 0.09 ~ ♆

“ maybe it was better that way. “

{{ Finnick Odair x Reader }}

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warnings: typical Hunger Games violence/trauma/themes, language, blood, injury, PTSD, forced prostitution, enemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual pining, time skip, unshared feelings, nightmares, unintentional self-injury, alcohol, sexual harassment, character death, gore/blood, etc

{{ word count }} 3.8 k

{{ outfits }}

{{ prompt }} Following the conclusion of the 70th Games, emotions are tense, and the weight of being crowned Victor weighs heavier than ever.

{{ a/n }} The ending of this chapter is a bit rushed I'm sorry :( also, we're not gonna talk about the time I post these at....

Annie Cresta was the lone survivor of The 70th Annual Hunger Games.

When she returned to District 4 a few months later, she wasn’t anything like the timid girl you’d met while mentoring Trout. The Capital medical teams had kept her longer than they usually held Victors due to the severity of her traumas. The wickedness that had sunk its talons deep inside her memories was less than favorable in their eyes. A tarnish to the reputation of The Games.

She’d taken victory by pure luck. The Gamemakers had chosen to cause an earthquake roughly two days after Trout died - having grown bored of the remaining Tributes hiding from one another in different corners of the Arena. The quake destroyed the large dam where the Cornucopia had been set, flooding the Arena. The remaining tributes couldn’t swim as well as someone from the Fishing District could. She’d outlasted without taking a single life - but that didn’t make the fracture in her thoughts any less tormenting. 

She was only a year younger than you at eighteen. Her age made her experience of being Reaped almost as depressing as Trout’s name being drawn. She’d nearly gotten by without ever having to face the Arena.

Almost.

You weren’t even allowed time to grieve the small red-headed boy after you returned to the nautical District.

The closest thing to closure you’d given yourself was tracking down Trout’s family. You’d discovered he had been the middle child of a seven - now six-person household. His mother was an angular woman who managed the busy home by herself. You recognized her from the shipyard where she washed sails and nets with other older women in the large washbasins filled with filtered seawater and bubbling soap. You’d never spoken to her till now. She stood straight-backed and stoic, her apron stained and the scent of sage and linen wafting off her as she pulled open the front door. She had struck you as hard as she could with her palm when you’d tried to offer your condolences. She screamed in your face that you should have tried harder. That you should have protected Trout. The words were strained and broken - just like her heart. Her voice was grief-stricken and harsh - but you’d expected nothing less. She was right in your failures. Even if she was using you as the outlet for her grief and anger for the death of her son when you’d done everything you could, nothing would make up for sending her son into that Arena to die. Nothing would compensate for her contempt for The Games - For The Capital.

You still left small bundles of wildflowers on her porch once a week. 

Trout’s mother never touched them.

You didn’t expect her to.

They stayed there to rot and be replaced with something new each week, the cycle of life continuing.

Sometimes you left seaweed bread instead. But the green-tinted, fish-shaped buns were left to rot just the same.

Trout’s funeral service was small - funerals always were. Despite District 4 being the fourth wealthiest district with the seventh largest population in Panem, their funerary traditions were kept private, with only close family and friends in attendance. There wasn’t much of a procession, nor a public wake, but the shipyards and boardwalk would be silent as dusk settled on the damp sands of the coast. The silence came as a sign of respect. Funerals were hosted at sunset to see the sky spread in a beautiful array of color, a beacon calling their loved one home. You’d only attended a handful of funerals in your lifetime - the last one having been your Mothers. 

The citizens of District 4 honored their dead by returning them to the sea.

The ritual was elaborate, but not at all luxurious or gaudy. The deceased loved one would be dressed in white, often the same soft, lightweight linen material they wrapped around newborns right after delivery. A symbol of safety and new beginnings. They would then be wrapped in a specially woven net, handmade by their loved ones and often intertwined with mementos like ribbons, locks of hair, shells, pearls, photographs, letters, and more between the ropes. The net was made to protect and aid the deceased on their journey to the afterlife. Their body would be carefully cradled in a wooden longboat atop a bed of dried tall grass and seaweed. Sometimes grieving families gave them blankets to lie upon for their voyage. The boat’s prow is carved with their name, lest they forget it in their journey onward. Their crown is surrounded by a fan of cattail stalks, a symbol of survival and protection, with the prospect that their loved ones will follow them to the sea when their time comes. The rest of the shallow hull of the longboat holds wildflowers, heirlooms, and personal belongings the family chooses to send with their loved one.

Goodbyes are said individually, between hushed voices and tears, with as much love and care as they can manage. This way nothing is left unsaid to the deceased before they begin their journey home. The speech before the send-off is brief, usually made by the head of the household if there is one or the next best substitution. There are slight variations in the rituals between the Northern and Southern ports.

The send-off is accompanied by a song older than even the Districts of Panem. The melody is languid, and peaceful, speaking of a sailor’s final voyage home to rest the remainder of his days. The tune is sung by whoever gathers for the send-off. It’s tradition to teach the songs of the District’s rituals from an early age. The lyrics are bittersweet. Finally, the longboat is gently pushed from the shore, guided forward by six members of the family, who wade into the salty water with the boat till a current catches. It's a way of giving one last embrace to the deceased. A final warmth of touch and farewell filled with heartache and love. Once the members of the family return to shore an arrow is lit, the flames a small orb of flickering light as the sky above darkens overhead, casting shadows on the attendees’ faces as if that small flame was the very soul of the person they’d lost. The head of the household knocks the arrow and draws back, the flame is a welcome warmth to their shaking hands. With a sealing, permanent farewell the arrow flies.

The boat sails on as the flames catch the dried grass beneath the body.

Those in attendance remain on the sand till the longboat burns through, another sign of respect for their dead.

Some stay long after the flame disappears and the darkness of night cloaks them in shadow.

You weren’t permitted to attend Trout’s funeral.

Maybe it was better that way.

You visited the cove where the funerary boats were launched a week after he’d burned. You hadn’t set foot there since your Mother's funeral. And you couldn’t say how long you stayed on that beach either - staring out at the waves with only the sound of their crashing on the coast and the distant call of seagulls to fill the silence. You’d whispered your goodbye alone and to the wind that day. 

There was no answer as the waves crashed.

Life continued - nothing stopped as the world kept turning and your heart begrudgingly kept beating.

The process of helping Annie adjust to Victor’s Village was difficult. 

She was placed next door to Mags, which made her two doors down from Finnick and across the street from yourself. The three of you tried to help her adjust, taking shifts to monitor her considering the extent of her traumas and unstable condition. If she had family, they hadn’t moved with her. Annie was alone. You’d asked Marjorie for help as well, but the elder couldn’t give the poor girl any tonic or natural aid to quell or repair what The Games had broken. Your heart broke for Annie, but sometimes even you were too overwhelmed to stay with her during her episodes due to the unpredictable nature triggering your own symptoms.

Her episodes were fierce and sporadic. One minute she’d be sitting quietly trying to read with you beside her, Finnick in an armchair nearby as the two of you monitored her. And the next she’d be sobbing while clawing at your arms, desperately trying to hold onto something as her gaze turned far off and she screamed. All because the wood in the fireplace cracked. Or because a door shut too abruptly or she had to close her eyes under the showerhead. Both of your aversions to water were similar in that way. But the angry red scratches that her nails left stretched over both your and Finnick’s arms only grew in number as her episodes worsened. Her grip had drawn blood once or twice now - both of those times leaving you to deal with poltergeists of your own after Finnick had pried Annie off of you, furiously blinking back memories of a ravine and a river and the way your fingertips had clawed into a girl’s arms as she’d attempted to drown you almost four years ago now. The same way she’d clawed into yours as you’d drowned her instead. Bile had threatened to rise in your throat as you had forced yourself out of the room, panic and adrenaline seizing your chest and constricting your throat to what felt like suffocation. Your heart hammers in your ears, drowning out your ability to focus as your breathing grows hyper and you crumple in a hallway of Annie’s house. You fight the panic attacks alone. Finnick asks if you’re okay when you return, concern constricting his features, and you say you’re fine - even though you’re not.

He doesn’t pry.

The Darling has his fair share of moments that he has to step out as well - the way he recoils from Annie as if she were burning him with just the pads of her fingertips elicits a pang of something in your chest that you can’t place. It’s a feeling you don’t recognize and that scares you. So you shove it so far down that you’re almost able to forget it. Sometimes you feel that strange tether again, almost like an urge to reach out to him, but you’re quick to smother it. You don’t allow yourself to even think of the implications of the internal tether. You ask if he’s okay when he returns - he says he’s fine. He isn’t.

You don’t pry.

The two of you were just two damaged people who were equally sinking. Opposites - pulled together by shared traumas and guilt. Nothing more - nothing less.

Your role as Desirable was once again hanging its guillotine over your neck as well.

One misstep and it was all over.

Because of the high demand you and Finnick had garnered as Mentors, the onslaught of clients and sometimes back-to-back events was strenuous - leaving you barely any time to grieve your Tribute, let alone think.

Finnick appeared to be doing the best between the two of you. 

If he was struggling - he didn’t show it. Nowadays it seemed he wore his mask as The Capital’s Darling more often than not, leaving you unsure of how many of his words were truths.

The responsibilities of being Desirable to the Capital had picked up right where they’d left off after the two of you were released from mentorship before The Games had even finished. Neither of you had any semblance of peace till the demand eventually slowed months later. You barely spoke - not that there was much to say. The two of you had been kept in the Capital for the same period they’d kept Annie in the medical bays of the Tribute Center. Finnick wasn’t even sure what he’d have said to you if he’d gotten the chance. How do you casually ask about the well-being of someone who is grieving a person they’d been forced to send to their inevitable death against their will? 

Certainly not over tasteless hors d’oeuvres and champagne.

Definitely not.

He was back to being held at arm’s length. Unallowed to get anywhere near close. 

Maybe it was for the best.

But Finnick had spent the last several years teetering over an edge he couldn’t see the other side of. Meticulously toeing the line between stranger, acquaintance, and sometimes friend. Though, he doubted he was ever really your friend. The verbal waltz the two of you had tediously crafted through both passive and direct interactions over the years had brought the Darling peace. He’d even found himself looking forward to whatever witty remark you’d say in response to his instigating. Maybe a part of him craved it. Your attention, the way you looked at him. But any shred of your attention he’d once held was gone, swallowed by the gluttoned maw of the Capital. He tried to ignore the itch that crept up under his skin when you glanced his way across the crowded halls and parties. Still acknowledging his existence but unable to slip away. Peacekeeper security had increased in the last few months due to rumors of a riot in one of the lower Capital neighborhoods. An artist’s collective protest as they’d burned their gallery and studio after displaying multiple works of treasonous anti-capital rhetoric. The artists all but ceased to exist from Capital records and their work was removed and destroyed from establishments across the city. The incident was quickly, and efficiently removed from the public eye. There had been no news coverage - the rumors only spreading by word of mouth. Secrets shared between sugarcubes and wineglasses to listening ears and prying eyes. The added security made the secret meetings that you and Finnick used to share nearly impossible. He tried to feign nonchalance, to keep his cooled exterior and charming wit in check. Hell, he really did try. But despite his best efforts to remain cordial - to quell the snapping thread in his chest that tethered some part of him to you, a part of him yearned for something he couldn’t name. Something he couldn’t have. He’d patiently waited till you’d opened up to him through your small trade of secrets. He’d gotten to know pieces of you that only made that thread in his chest snap harder. 

He’d tried to forget the thread, or at least move past it.

Multiple times - actually.

He’d tried being logical - chalking it up as a foolish infatuation of youth. Overthinking and over-rationalizing that whatever it was, had been the result of some shared Victor trauma bullshit. He’d even warred with himself that it didn’t matter, that it was unattainable and foolish. Finnick wouldn’t allow himself - no he couldn’t, allow himself to ponder the meaning of the thread. He’d drilled it in his head that it would fade, that the painful yearning would cease as time went on.

But it hadn’t faded.

Not even a little bit.

As much the two of you had gotten on one another’s nerves, as much as you’d hated him, It felt like a routine at this point. He’d let you do what you had to, to get through your Games, The Victory Tour, then that first year of being Desirable, and then the next, and then Mentoring, and now this. The push and pull of drawing near enough to almost step afoot the shores of your thoughts only to be dragged back out to sea by the tide of the ever churning life of a Victor.. He’d started smothering any flicker of that tether in his chest somewhere along the way after your initial announcement as a Desirable. It was pointless considering the life he led. The life both of you now led. Doomed to walk beside one another on similar paths with different destinations. He could handle the sharp edges as the thread frayed. He could handle it. Survive it.

His mind was swimming, unable to focus on whatever his client was squawking about in his ear as she dug her talons into his forearm. There’d be marks there tomorrow. A muscle in his jaw pulses as he grits his teeth, forcing a coy smirk and a nod as if he were listening to anything she said. He wasn’t. The Darling’s mind was elsewhere. He’d spotted you across the pleasure hall about a half hour ago. You’d already settled into your timid demeanor, the role of the Capital’s Doe, and hadn’t spared him a glance. You were linked arm and arm with a regular client, Mr. Sarginski. He was an older Capital Broker who wore too-tight suits and drank too much for his own good. It was an effort not to glare toward the older male as Finnick was all too observant of the man’s wandering hands, or “grubby paws” as you’d referred to them on multiple occasions. 

“Bastard.”

The curse echoes through Finnick’s thoughts as his eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

A firm pinch to the Darling’s bicep has his attention whipping back to his client. It’s an expensive effort not to recoil or pull away from her. She scolds him for looking at anyone besides her, her angular face flushed with irritation as she sticks her nose up at the other guests. That muscle in his jaw pulses again as he slides his arm around the vulture’s waist, tucking her into his side just to shut her up with a sly, feigned smirk, crossing his lips. He gives her an apology sugar-coated with his signature charm to make up for it. Her feathers smooth and she continues to yap his ear off, though her grip on him tightens painfully again.

The touch burns.

Tonight would hurt.

The revelry continues. The music swells, and the Capital aristocrats overindulge themselves in food and drink to make themselves sick and overindulge again. Finnick tries his best to keep up his act. Despite his client’s scolding, he caught himself still turning his gaze your way on occasion. Your dress was a gauzy, muted pink that whispered when you moved, the delicate movement of the fabric made it seem as if you were floating each time you were twirled on the dance floor. That thread in his chest snaps against his heart and he forces his gaze elsewhere. 

“Stop it.”

The thought clamps down on the thrumming in his chest like a vice. Like it did everytime his thoughts began to stray. Everytime they flowed to close to you. It was like drawing back an empty net, the hope of something fruitful only to be disappointed. He still tried to convince himself things were better this way.

Better for both of you.

Not that he’d ever allowed himself the pleasantry of even hoping if not down right praying for something different.

Finnick tried not to think about what that meant, what different meant.

It didn’t matter.

None of it did.

In the end, all of it did.

Its another excruciating hour before the honey tanned victor finally finds a moment to himself, leaning against one of the marble pillars in the hall pretending to sip the drink in his hand.

He didn’t even notice your approach till the familiar, sweet yet earthy scent of your perfume fills his senses.

“I think If I have to spend another moment smiling my face is going to get stuck.”

Your voice was soft, despite the resignation in your tone. His gaze snaps to your features in an instant only to force his sea-green eyes elsewhere not a moment later, trying to feign indifference but somehow failing miserably

“Tell me about it,” Finnick almost scoffs and he can almost feel the way you roll your eyes at him. Hes trying to play it cool, swallowing thickly as if that’ll quell the acceleration of his heartbeat against his ribcage. “I’m surprised Sarginski loosened your leash this far,” he attempts to jest, hoping you don’t pick up on the slight hitch in his breath. You dont, instead scoffing while crossing your arms over your chest while casting the honey-tanned Victor a sidelong look. “He’s too drunk to care.” you muse with a small shrug. Atleast your whit and sarcasm remained intact. A slight smirk tugs the corner of his mouth as he allows his gaze to meet yours again. You’re still looking at him, your gaze intent yet unconcerned. He can’t help the brief once over he gives your form, trying not to let his vision rake too long over the planes of your face.

“You’re staring again,”

You arch a brow as your look turns knowing. Finnick looks away again.

“Am not,”

“Are too,”

“Nope.”

“You’re insufferable,” You huff, fighting the urge to roll your eyes again.

“You love it,” Finnick rebuttals, his tone teasing and he almost doesn’t catch the words till they’re tumbling off his tongue faster than he can even try to reign them back in. He’s stuck in a stunned silence, not daring to move even a fraction of an inch as he stands mortified with what he’d just said. Not to mention the possible prying eyes and ears around every corner.What they wouldn’t give to feed the propaganda machine that  festered the most heinous rumors concerning the Victors and Districts.

You seem almost just as shocked by his claim at the moment.

But you don’t reply, and he doesn’t apologize. Neither of you say anything at all, actually, for a moment or two. 

“Shut up, Peacock.” You mutter, and its clear the slight hush to the words are both in jest and subtle warning. Despite your usual sarcasm you really were telling him to shut his trap. And he does, shaking his head and shoving his hands in his pockets.There isn’t a chance to say anything more as you’re approached by one of the party goers, both of you almost immediately going rigid.

“Greetings, Victors. Apologies for the interruption, but I believe it to be time I finally introduced myself,” The stranger begins. His voice is deep and he appears to be about middle age. He could almost appear to be district if it weren’t for the finely trimmed suit he wore. Most members of the capital favored cosmetic enhancement. He’s a tall but stocky fellow, not quite strong but not flabby. His posture is straight as well and his overall demeanor rings authority - which immediately has warning bells going off in your mind. The stranger outstretches a hand to Finnick before stating his name, The bronze haired male hesitantly accepting the handshake as the name forms on his lips.

“Plutarch Heavensbee, I’ve been looking for you.”

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[h0tch0c0lat]

Cold hearted (CoD x Y/N)

Preview

A story in which Y/N is Makarov's daughter.

Y/N's journal

December 16th, 2023

A new journal. That marks the start of a new beginning for me. Must be something good, right? Nah. These past few months have been the most chaotic ever since my mother's death 10 years ago.

First, I found out my dog died of old age. Sure, he may have been as old as me, but he had at least a couple more years left. He was a good dog and had the fluffiest gray fur. I don't know what breed he was. For all I know, he could've been just a mongrel. A good dog  nonetheless. A good comrade who I hope can rest peacefully now.

A few weeks later, I was told my father died as well. Can't say I didn't expect that considering what he did in his life, but no one is ever prepared to hear these kinds of things. He was the only relative I had left. Well... the only one I knew of, at least. Surely, if I had anyone else, they would've been there after my mother's funeral or at my dad's funeral.

Now, I have nothing. I'll have no money to my name or a house until I'll turn 18 and inherit everything my father owned.

I feel like I should be sad about this, but more than anything, I'm scared. I don't know what's gonna happen now. There's so much going on, and I've got no one to talk to.

I used the last of my money to fly back to Russia and attend my father's funeral. After all, what else could I have done? He's the only family I've had for the past 10 years. I heard he died while in a fight with the British army. What kind of actions lead to that? Ah, right. Being a terrorist trying to start a war.

I'm scared of what's gonna happen now. The only one I know is still alive is my step-dad, who should be released from prison around this time. Why was he in prison? Because he killed mom.

I'm surprised he didn't serve more time. That rotten jerk deserves to suffer as much as mom and I did.

Mom left me a letter, but I never got around to reading it. I was too scared after what I saw my step-dad do to her. Sometimes, I sit and wonder why my father never did anything about it. Maybe the letter could explain it...

Would you look at that... the first few pages in this journal are already a mess. What a good start, am I right?

The plane is about to land. I'm gonna write more after the funeral and see how I feel then.

By Official_QueenMagma on Wattpad or ThatGirlMag1000 on tumblr

[needcake]

@hetaberia-week

Day 1: historical .

.

1539,

Lisbon

A man in his crew had made a comment that had stayed with him hours after they had reached the capital. In fact, Portugal was still thinking about it when he finally left the Casa da Índia and crossed the short distance to the Ribeira Palace, walking up the stone steps in the winding staircases, nodding at the palace staff that passed him by and greeted him demurely, and, being himself clad in black, it had taken him a moment to realize everyone was too.

No bad news ever comes unaccompanied, his crewmate had said, and Portugal was still thinking of that when he opened the door to the King’s private drawing room, finding him with his eyes red-rimmed, clutching a letter to his chest in anguish. The Empress of the Holy Roman Empire, his younger sister, had died in May, he said, her last pregnancy had robbed her much of her strength, the child had not survived either. Portugal still smelled of gunpowder and ash, he could still feel grains of Indian sand inside his boots, but his eyes were lost on some unidentifiable corner of the King’s private drawing room as he sat down before his desk. They never lived long, did they. He had held her as a baby in his arms, had seen her learn her first words of his language, had attended her wedding, had visited her children. Their lives went by so fast, not like his.

There would be a funeral and the King wanted him to accompany him, Portugal did not think to say no. He was tired, battered, hurting, ears still ringing from cannon blasts shot across the Indian coast by Ottoman ships into his fortress in Diu, wearing months of a siege they had at great pains finally won. No bad news ever comes unaccompanied, and he found himself on a carriage a few days later bound to Granada, crossing the border with his shoulders heavy with padded fabric, his hair combed and clean, golden rings on his fingers.

The husband, the Holy Roman Emperor, was not there when they reached the church. Unable to bring himself to say the final good-bye to his beloved wife, he had instead sent his son in his place, his first-born and only surviving son and heir, and the boy stood, stone-faced and ashen, accompanying his mother’s coffin into the small, packed full church alone.

How small he seemed at that moment. And Portugal would never forget that image, of the boy entering the church behind his mother’s casket, his posture stiff with grief, dark clothes too heavy, golden fleece too garish. It would be the last time he ever saw him as a child. Once the ceremony was over and the body was buried, the son would leave the marble grounds of that church forever changed. No bad news ever came unaccompanied.

From across the entrance to the church while the crowd dispersed, surrounded by a group of nobles and high-ranking clergymen, Spain spotted him and excused himself to come to him, the pull on the bottom of his stomach becoming stronger the closer he came, recognizing him as an old soul like himself, despite him being so much younger.

“We did everything we could to save her,” Spain said, taking Portugal’s numb hand between both of his in a comforting gesture.

It should be the other way around, Portugal thought, looking at his young face and red-rimmed eyes. It was Spain who had just lost a Queen and an Empress, Portugal had lost her long ago, the moment they had sent her away to be married in a political alliance, but Spain had just lost a companion, an advisor, a friend. Portugal should be the one comforting him.

What an odd creature this boy was, he thought, observing the brown curls that framed his youthful face, feeling the calluses on his fingers from handling sword and quill, looking into his olive green eyes that so reminded him of someone else.

Portugal laid his other hand on top of theirs.

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” he said, earnestly, and Spain’s composure cracked, his chin trembling as he turned his eyes down to nod at the ground, sniffling.

And how odd, he thought, how so very odd, that his first instinct had been to pull him into his arms, even though he didn’t.

--

Notes: Portugal is coming home from the Battle of Diu (1538), only to discover the Holy Roman Empress, Isabella of Portugal, had died in May, 1539.

[starrrling]

REECE STARLING ( RACHEL SENNOTT ) is a TWENTY-SIX year-old GUITAR TEACHER in STATEN ISLAND. They were brought under Richard’s care when they were only ELEVEN years old. They are known as THE MISCHIEVOUS because they are MIRTHFUL but also IRREVERENT.

tw: substance abuse/addiction, parental neglect/custody loss, death, domestic abuse

BASIC INFORMATION

Full Name: Theresa Rebecca Starling

Nickname(s): Reece 

Date of Birth: December 7, 1979

Age: twenty-five

Occupation: guitar teacher & restaurant hostess 

Current Residence: Staten Island

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE

Hair: brown, curly

Eyes: gray

Height: 5��2

Notable Features: Reece is rocking up to Richard’s funeral with a strip band-aid over her nose and a bruised eye :/

PERSONALITY & BEHAVIOR:

Strengths: amiable, outgoing, witty

Weaknesses: flippant, addictive, impulsive

Quirks: talks with her hands like a true italian, constantly fidgets with her jewelry

Vices: aside from her smoking habit—weed and cigarettes—Reece needs Monster Energy in an IV to make it through the day

INTEREST & HOBBIES:

Interests: astrology, music production, tabloid gossip, the 2005 music industry as a whole, the brad x angelina x jennifer love triangle, survivor, grey’s anatomy, gwen stefani 

Hobbies: stand-up at the local open mics, songwriting, music mixing, bird-watching, parkour

Special Skills/Talents: music theory & a handful of instruments (mostly guitar)

BECOMING A WARD

Reece’s grandmother, Estie, was an old friend of Richard’s wife, Adelia, who she met in school; once they were all married—Adelia to Richard, of course, and Estie to her own husband, Charlie—I imagine they were “couple friends,” with double dates and so on.  Estie got pregnant with Reece’s mom, Tess, a little less than a year before Adelia got pregnant with Winifred; the women probably talked about how they’d raise their daughters together. When Adelia passed in childbirth, though, Estie was heartbroken; Estie and her husband remained in contact with Richard, trying to be there for him and Winnifred if they needed anything. Winnifred and Tess spent their early years as friends.  Shortly before Winnifred disappeared, Estie’s husband died of a heart attack; Estie and Richard came to lean on each other in this time—a widower trying to raise her daughter alone, and a man who had lost everything. They found comfort in each other. It wasn’t some torrid affair—they were just the only two people left living who could understand one another. They both felt guilty, as though they’d betrayed Adelia and Charlie, and the two grew apart.  Tess, who never fully recovered from the sudden loss of her father and close friend in childhood, dropped out of high school later on, and developed a drinking problem which progressed to a drug addiction as she got older. At 24, Tess got pregnant with Reece; when Reece’s father, a fling at best, didn’t want anything to do with it, Tess moved to Chicago for a fresh start. Tess tried to raise Reece and get her life under control, but without proper help, Tess was never able to stay sober for long. When Reece was five, CPS got involved after Tess overdosed, and Reece was taken into the foster care system for a few months.  Tess was able to get sober and get Reece back; the two moved back to Staten Island, where Estie was, and when Tess fell off the wagon again a year later, Reece moved in with Estie, who raised her for the next five years. This took place in the late eighties, when I imagine Estie and Richard would have caught up after all of that time had passed—perhaps Richard would have even met Reece once or twice at some gathering or another that he invited Estie to attend, although Reece and Richard didn’t know each other especially well until Estie, aged 63, died in a car accident in 1990, when Reece was only eleven. Aware that Reece had been in the sole care of his old friend, Richard stepped in to prevent Reece from having to enter the foster care system again.

LIFE AS A WARD

Reece arrived at the Woodrow House as a grieving eleven-year-old who had no idea how to deal with her pain aside from joking about it. The times she spent in her mom's care as a kid were often turbulent, and she'd kind of adapted to the unpredictability of her mom's moods by learning to be an entertainer—nobody can yell at you if they're too busy laughing, right? So, reece developed a real knack for levity and lifting spirits that she carried with her when her grandmother got custody while reece was 5, and again when her grandmother passed and she moved into Richard's care at age 11. Reece has never been good at dealing with the deep stuff, so it's always been hard to get her to be serious about anything. Growing up, I guess you could say she was kind of a troublemaker, but it all came from a kind of impulsive hedonism on Reece's part. it was less true rebellion for the sake of rebelling, and more a desire to do whatever would be the funnest/funniest, no matter the consequences. She has some trouble knowing when a joke has gone too far sometimes, because in her mind, the Joke—whatever that joke may be in the moment—is praxis. Reece more or less invented committing to the bit! She probably spent plenty of time trying to get the other wards to go along with her dumb bits or reckless schemes, too, and she's never been able to stand anyone who takes themselves too seriously. So, that's Reece: an eternal class clown, because laughter takes some of the sting out of the truth. Even the wards that are closest to Reece probably haven't had a lot of truly deep, serious conversations with Reece—at least ones that she participated in voluntarily. Reece spent a long time in and out of alcoholism treatment programs because she couldn't really take her own addiction seriously and see it for what it was; she started drinking young, probably around 13, and she immediately understood what her mother saw in it as an all-day activity. It didn't take long for Richard to recognize Reece's drinking as problematic—after all, thirteen is young to even be experimenting with alcohol, especially given Reece's family history—but it took years of short-lasting sober stints and casual backslides for Reece to understand that she wasn't just being young and dumb, and everyone was right to be worried: it's an illness, and it's not something that went away when she turned twenty-one, which is what she'd been hoping. an instance of alcohol poisoning on her 21st birthday, though, led to Reece getting placed in a more serious addiction rehabilitation program, and she had to drop out of school, but she did get sober at 21, at least for the time being.

AESTHETIC

vintage rings, snarled curls, smudged makeup, menthol marlboros, crushed energy drink cans in the bottom of a beat up purple vw bug, scrawled-on sheet music

Reece's wardrobe pretty much gives y2k laundry day. even though her outfits are usually pretty low-effort, she sort of always comes off as though she's wearing a costume. She oscilates drastically between slutty hi-femme clothes and absolute androgyny, and sometimes she blends the two at once. She wears rings, and her hair is almost always tied back.

EDUCATION

Reece absolutely wanted to be a private school girl, but not for any academic reason. She probably just thought it would be like the movies. Reece wasn’t especially focused when it came to her education, but she did well enough to get accepted to college, which she saw, on-and-off, as a place to party, mostly. She ended up dropping out in her junior year because her alcoholism had gotten out of control, and she needed to go to rehab; she never ended up getting her music degree. 

EXTRACURRICULARS 

Always inclined towards music, Reece cycled through a number of instruments growing up—piano was her first and longest instrument, encouraged by Richard, but Reece’s favorite was guitar (something she picked up at around 14), which she still plays today. She took singing lessons for a while when she first started taking piano, and she also learned some percussion. She probably learned a little saxophone and clarinet, too, so that she’d have experience with band instruments. When it was clear that music was a real passion of Reece’s, Richard set her up with someone who could teach her music theory, and her tutor helped her learn to write music of her own, which became Reece’s major focus during her high school years. For the first couple of years she was at the estate, I also think she probably took some acting lessons and did some local theater acting, since it was probably pretty obvious that Reece really liked being the center of attention and needed some outlet for that.

THEIR LIFE NOW

As stated before, Reece enrolled at NYU to get a degree in music—I'm thinking something related to digital music production, although Reece doesn't have the equipment to do much of that anymore—and she was sober on-and-off over the first few years, not really taking seriously the fact that she needed to stop drinking, but keeping it under wraps enough that things didn't come to a head until her 21st birthday. After being hospitalized with alcohol poisoning, Reece dropped out, got sober, got settled, and moved back to her hometown of Staten Island, where she job hopped for a while before becoming a guitar teacher. Nine months ago, Reece relapsed; she'd had a conversation with her mom, something she hadn't done since her mother lost custody, and it reopened a lot of old wounds Reece didn't know how to deal with; she felt really alone in Staten Island, and she didn't want to reach out to anybody, so she started drinking again, something she kept a secret for as long as she could. Of course, Richard eventually caught on, and he helped Reece to get sober again; the other wards will probably be vaugely aware that Reece is set to collect her 7-month chip in a couple of weeks. Another thing Reece kept a secret, albeit successfully, this time: she started dating a guy she met at an open mic night she preformed at (aspiring comic in new york lets goooo) five months ago, even though recently recovered addicts are generally supposed to hold off on dating anyone until they've been sober for at least a year, for the sake of stability in sobriety. The relationship was turbulent to start—he negged her comedy routine–but it was combative in a way that Reece found kind of... comfortable, maybe? It was passionate, kind of hot and heavy, and Reece moved in with him right away; however, the relationship very recently came to a head—what had always been a fiery relationship eventually progressed into Jack manipulating & mistreating Reece, including a few instances of physical abuse. So, Reece will be rocking up to the Woodrow House for the funeral with a black eye and a bandaged nose, less than a week off of a break-up, and in need of somewhere to live (she'd been planning on couch-surfing during the process of trying to get her old apartment back </3).

[starcloud-nova]

daiken dies AU?? 👀👀👀

Daiken dies!AU is the AU of all time. It’s an AU I love to use for the purpose of character study and also to completely shake up all my existing character dynamics. Obviously, I have an uncountable number of fantasies and scenarios thought up with this AU, so I will go over my main reason that I am drawn to it, the overarching details, and then any variants at the end.

Daiken dies!AU is such a fun one for me because it completely ruins canon lol. In canon, Daiken (eldest sibling by 5 and 10 years) essentially acts as the ‘heir’ to his father’s crime lord-y ness and is taken on ‘missions’ with him from the ripe ol’ age of 11 all the way up to 18 when his father finally gets arrested. He acts as the protector to Sachi+Kazuki (both 5 years younger), and Kaito (10 years younger). When their father gets arrested, he gets full custody of them.

But if he dies, none of this can happen.

The original purpose of this AU was for me to come up for a what-if scenario for Daiken (14) dying instead of Jamie (13). The whole point of Jamie’s character is that he dies so I didn’t have a ton planned out for him, but if Daiken died…ooh boy a lot would change.

I think if Daiken did die on a mission, it would be very sudden and the siblings would have no warning or time to grief. He would simply leave on a mission, as he usually did (“I’ll see you soon, Sachi. I love you.”), and then never return, with no explanation. This would leave Sachi, Kazuki, and Kaito in a perpetual state of grief for years as they never even attend a funeral or can bury a body. They never get any time to process his death. And they knew their father was awful but they never thought he would let one of them die. All of them, but Sachi especially, view him as essentially being the one to pull the trigger on Daiken; he as good as killed him, in their eyes, and that changes them. 

(An aside: I think their father did actually feel bad about Daiken’s death, bad enough that he hates the idea that he was the one that killed him, but that doesn’t make him any better of a person so!)

With the ‘heir’ gone, a new one would be in need. Kazuki, as the secondborn and next eldest son, would take over this role, but it’s very different from his older brother’s tenure. In canon, when Jamie dies, Daiken finds out weeks later when snooping around for something unrelated, and then goes apeshit about it a few weeks later in front of his father and all his friends. This same thing happens with Jamie, although he doesn’t lose his shit, but their father still decides that his kids are better off not interacting with the other guys’ kids. So Sachi, Kazuki, and Kaito are without a support system that was Daiken’s literal rock and they fall out of contact. On top of that, Kazuki is pushed harder than Daiken ever was, going on missions for days, weeks, and even months at a time, doing more dangerous things than anything Daiken did. Kazuki also has knowledge weighing on him that Daiken didn’t: their father let one of them die. He could let that happen again. 

This changes Kazuki. He goes from a curious, brilliant, quick-minded, loyal kid to a suspicious one who ribs his father a lot more and defies a lot more orders than Daiken did. He still loves knowledge and learning but it’s so insanely hard to keep on top of AP classes when you miss weeks at a time and don’t have reliable time to study. 

Daiken being dead and Kazuki being gone leaves Sachi to mostly fend for herself and take care of Kaito on her own. If she was close to him before, she’s way closer to him now. Flipping canon, Sachi has a job while Kazuki doesn’t because she needs money to keep the lights on and he can’t hold down a job being so absent. Kazuki and Sachi also become a lot more reliant on each other and fight less because they need to be in harmony for everything to work. There’s no older brother they can trust will guide them out of it. It’s just them. They’re insanely interdependent with each other, and coordinate everything, from work schedules to meal planning to taking care of Kaito. They always make sure someone’s there to pick up Kai and be with him whenever possible.

I also like to think that a lot of times, Kazuki gets pulled out of school randomly and without warning to go on missions. Like, he calls or texts Sachi mere hours before he has to leave like “hey, I just got informed I have to go. I don’t know when I’ll be back. I’m sorry”, and they just have to roll with it. It’s definitely an unstable environment to be in.

On the end of the other Sixes/the other criminals’ kids, Daiken’s death acts as a turning point and Jamie slowly bides his time to get out of the hellscape without kicking up a fuss like Daiken. When he finally gets to choose his own name, he goes with “Howling”. I have a very vivid image in my head of Sachi seeing him for the first time in years and just whispering “Howling.” as they lock eyes. 

That’s basically all of the sweeping details. There’s infinite scenarios imagined in my head of different versions of this story playing out but this is the starting point I tend to jump off of. Some of the variants include:

BNHA variant. I dont even gaf about bnha anymore but I like this variant because it puts Sachi and Kazuki in the same school. Sachi is in 1-A and Kazuki is in the support course, and shocker shocker, Azz Adams is also in the support course as a second year. It’s the first time they’ve seen him in years, and he plays a background/non-existent part in the story until something happens on their father’s side that forces them to team up with or confront him with something. When it comes time for UA to go into dorms, Aizawa thankfully shows up when their father isn’t home, so they have the meeting without him, and Sachi and Kazuki refuse because it means being apart from Kaito, who would def. die or something if they weren’t around all the time. Their dead older brother is somewhat of a secret because it’s trauma that they don’t like going around sharing so I like to navigate that. Also I like the idea of there being some LOV attack and Sachi’s like 🤨they’re attacking in That area? That’s Yazuka territory baby.

PJO variant. My PJO au with them is so many shades of a mess because I insist on having them all still be bio siblings but they also must be demigods so I concocted some crazy stuff to keep them all together (namely, all of their parents [Azz, LS, Jacob, Jamie, Perria, Kicks, etc.] purposefully attracted gods so that they could have powerful children. Daiken, Sachi+Kazuki, and Kaito all have different godly parents, buuuuuut they’re all still related so score!). In this AU i just enjoy the idea that they pop into camp, do weird stuff, and then leave because they can’t afford to be sticking around. There’s also a time where they’re unsure if Kaito is a demigod and therefore if he can be let into camp so that’s a big issue until they confirm that yes, he is. Hooray!

Kaito also dies variant. This one could honestly warrant its own post but whatever. I came up with this one while watching Ginny and Georgia (mid show) so I guess you could consider this to be an AU of that but it really doesn’t correlate at all. In the same dramatic fashion as (spoilers for GG) Gil getting shot and Georgia getting shoved around, Kaito accidentally gets shot, straight through the chest, and murdered. By his dad. I think that he accidentally got in the way or something, the details aren’t important. But he dies, extremeeeeeeeely publically, like in the middle of town square if those things were real, and Sachi and Kazuki are both there. And Sachi sees her little brother on the ground, definitely dead, and she. goes. apeshit. She screams at her father “how many of my brothers are you going to kill?” and then beats the shit out of him, kicking, punching, etc. Kazuki helps! And then eventually someone pulls her off of him and she gets one final spit in his face. He lives because of course he does 🙄 but that’s not the point! The point of this AU is that Sachi gets to go apeshit. That’s it.

So yeah. That’s the rundown of Daiken dies!AU. This took me over a month to answer and then I sat down and typed 1.5k in basically one sitting so that explains why it took me so long. I hope you, too, dear reader, can come to appreciate the parentified older brother figure dying tragically at 14 just as much as I do 🥰

[animalistic0]

The Spider Deity

You know the saying, everything will work out? What they don’t tell you is that it doesn’t always work out in your favor. Let me start from the beginning, so you’re caught up to speed. 

Now I know most stories start with, years ago, or when I was a child. Those are most definitely outdated, but this did start years ago, more specifically when I inherited my maternal grandmother’s farmhouse. I was eighteen at the time, and starting college that fall. It was my first time living on my own, and more importantly, the house was all paid off! It had a recently redone well, and solar panels. As you can tell, my grandmother was a self-sufficient woman especially after grandfather died and most of her children moved away. My mother was the only one to stay with grandma, of course, I also stayed. Lardie, my grandmother refused to rely upon electric and water companies as she believed that she shouldn’t have to pay for electricity, water, or even food. Oh, which leads me to inform you that she had not only a garden but a farm on the property. Which I also inherited, from a large garden holding fruits, vegetables, and grain, to the animal pens holding sheep, chickens, cows, and even pigs. There was also a field for horses, but the last horse she had died two years before she did.  

As for why I inherited it and not my mother or her siblings, well my mother died when I was ten. It wasn’t really traumatic, it was more sad and stupid than anything. My mom, Linda, (yes my grandmother was a big L-name fan which I’ll explain in a moment,) died by a flashlight. Now I know you’re wondering how a flashlight can kill someone, well this is where it gets more stupid and sad. She was a huge bike-riding fan and was riding to the store one evening, and instead of strapping the flashlight to her handlebars, she put the flashlight in her mouth. (Why? I don’t know, I never got the chance to ask her, as she’s dead.) You see where this is going. I should also mention she never wore a helmet either. Okay so, with the flashlight in her mouth and no helmet on, she was going downhill and everyone knows how fast you go downhill, well as she hit the bottom of the hill in some freaky coincidental accident, from what we can assume her front tire hit a pebble and flung her off. She landed face first, her flashlight crushing through her skull. Now doctors assume she would have lived if she didn’t have the flashlight in her mouth, though she would have definitely had some nasty scars, but that’s how my mom died. My grandmother banned me from riding a bike at night after that, like at all, to the point that when the sun started to set she’d lock the bikes up. She also took me in because my father had never been in my life. (A long story for a much later time.) 

Now, my aunt Lucy and my uncle Lee, (see the L-name obsession), weren’t really involved with my mom or grandmother after they moved away and had their own families. Uncle Lee didn’t like the whole self-sustaining lifestyle my grandmother lived, and well Aunt Lucy she um, well she took Grandpa’s death really hard, saying she couldn’t be around us because the memories were too hard. So it was just a few folks that knew my mother through work and school, and of course grandmother and myself who attended her funeral. Now because my grandmother was my legal guardian and my aunt and uncle weren’t involved, that’s how I inherited the farmhouse.  

Grandma died at eighty-six, peacefully in her sleep from a stroke. She was sick for the last few months but refused to get help, she passed just four months after my eighteenth birthday. She was thirty-six when she had my mother, and was seventy-eight when she became my legal guardian. Now you’re almost all the way caught up, just a little bit more context. 

Now this is when the chaos begins. Now I had never moved out of the house so there wasn’t really any moving I had to do when I inherited the house. However, I did have to clean out Grandma Lardie’s room. Which wasn’t too difficult, she didn’t have much, I should also mention she was a minimalist but did keep every gift that I had given and made for her. I couldn’t find it in myself to part with her stuff, but I also couldn’t bring myself to keep staring at it. So I moved it into the attic and kept her room closed. 

Now see, having spiders around or inside a farmhouse isn’t abnormal, so when I noticed a spider here or there I shrugged it off. Especially the select three I had found in different corners of the attic while I was putting grandma’s stuff up there. They weren’t harming me, in fact, I started to notice fewer other pests, especially the bugs I hate. Like mosquitoes, flies, or even cockroaches. So if I saw one, depending on my mood I’d either just leave it be or capture it only to release it outside. 

Now, I can hear the people who have arachnophobia judging me, but again it’s normal to have spiders around, especially in a farmhouse, but don’t get it mixed up. We don’t, well usually don’t get an infestation of spiders, but like I said earlier not everything works out in your favor. Now while I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, I’m also not the dumbest, however, the following events would disprove me having any smarts, though it could also be explained as me being oblivious. As they say, “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree,” and after hearing how my mother died, well you get the picture. 

The first sign that I missed that perhaps there was an issue came a week after I had moved all of Grandma’s belongings into the attic. It had been a rough day and I wanted to seek out the comfort of my grandmother. So I visited the attic. Okay, looking back there is no excuse for me not acting or thinking it was anything but abnormal, but at the time I shrugged it off. So, you know, how I mentioned there were three spiders when I moved Nana Lardie’s items into the attic? Well, a week later when I visited it had to be somewhere of around fifty spiders. I know, I know! But, the arachnids weren’t strawn about any of Nana’s or mine items, they covered the ceiling and the higher areas of the walls. They didn’t bother or hinder me from getting anything or from chilling in the room. So I ignored them. 

The other sign that I missed was the quickly growing number that kept appearing in the attic. Every time I entered the attic it seemed like the spiders had multiplied and covered even more parts of the attic. Still they never, or at least I never found them on our items or even traces that they had been around the items. There was also always room, untouched where I could maneuver to and fro from our items. 

By the third sign, I should have done something, but at the time I was still oblivious. Now the third sign wasn't anything big, like them growing in numbers in the first two signs. Sign three, well it sounds odd, but I would find small ‘gifts’ wrapped in web where I would sit when I came into the attic to feel Nana’s presence. By gifts I mean, coins, pebbles, pens, and I even once found a Hershey's Kiss (wrapped in foil and webs.) Now looking back I can understand how odd that is, but legitimately I don’t think I ever really processed that it could have been gifts or offerings from the spiders. 

In fact, it wasn’t till the fifth sign that I think the idea of “this is a problem” crossed my mind. I’m jumping ahead though, the fourth sign was minor, it was basically individual spiders that would get close, in my line of sight, and they’d start dancing. You know like their matting dances but different. Most of the time I didn’t see or I didn’t acknowledge them, I mean it's not like they were speaking to me. Ah…. Now that leads to sign five even perhaps a sixth sign. It’ll make since when I tell you. 

I didn't understand the spiders at first, I mean who would? I also was slow to realize that the spiders were getting smarter, in other words, evolving. Eventually, though, I noticed tiny items on some of the spider's heads, similar to hats, I should also mention I noticed them around the same time I thought I was hearing voices. Turns out, probably as you've guessed, it was the helmets allowing the spiders to speak to me and me to understand them. Crazy I know!

Now you’re almost caught up to speed, but there are still a few key points I need to mention. The hat thing came first, or it’s the first time I really paid attention to the evolving spiders. Now at first, I heard simple words like, “food, shelter, communication, preach, god”, and so on. Again, I thought I was going crazy until this eight-legged jumping spider landed on my shoulder and bowed! I mean like an actually bow, like this little fella held out its two front legs upwards and out as it lowered its body and spread out its other legs. I was shocked of course and was about to flick it off my shoulder when I noticed the hat and then a soft voice called out, “My lorrrrd!” 

I paused my finger before it could reach the arachnid and answered with a shocked, “Excuse me?” Though, I don’t think the spider understood what I meant because it gently tapped my shoulder with its left front leg before bowing again, its voice dragging the words almost like how an evil villain would. “My lorrrrd, please don’t be angry.” Let’s just say I fled the room like I needed to charge my phone that was on one percent and the charger was in the other room. I avoided the attic for the next month, as I tried to wrap my head around what had happened. 

People always say that aliens will come to Earth, but what if the aliens are from Earth, are beings that we have always underestimated? What if everything we grew up knowing and believing just evaporated before our very own eyes? I mean talking spiders, what are the odds or even the chances? 

Now, you’re all caught up to speed. You may be wondering, well what happened? We’re about to find out. It’s been a month since the talking spider incident and the handle on the door to the attic looked haunting and the anticipation of what waits behind the door is enough to make me want to turn around. But I allowed this situation to get here and now I must face what awaits.

The scene I open the door to is quite the sight, It’s nothing like actually seeing it, but I’ll try my best to do it justice. Around the four walls of the attic are legit, like professional-made, web murals of well, me!  These aren’t small murals either, imagine the Statue of Liberty, but for spiders, that’s how large these four portraits were. Below each mural was an altar that held private items of mine that I had put in totes and boxes because I didn’t have room around the house. At each altar there was a framed picture of myself, and surrounding the framed images, were trinkets and even old toys of mine. However, what really surprised me, was the newest items, like a TV remote, a hairbrush, even a toothbrush, and my favorite spoon, all of the things that had gone missing in the last month. 

Now the altars weren’t even the craziest part. You know those little-scale model cities that some adults have in their homes? Imagine that but everything is made of webs, and hundreds if not thousands of spiders milling around.  Surprisingly the area I used to sit at was left untouched, and so was Nana’s and my items, of course minus the trinkets that they had taken from my boxes. 

I heard them before I truly saw them. Thousands of voices all chanting the same things over and over again. “It’s her! Our lord, she’s back. Our lord is alive. All hail our deity.” The words rolled off all their tongues like a purring vibration of those spinning light-up wands. 

And that is how I not only came to realize a growing spider civilization but came to rule it.

And as all stories must come to an end I must end this here, but remember this, this is only the beginning...

You realize you should’ve done something about the spiders in your attic before they multiplied, gained intelligence and started a civilization. Recently they started worshipping you as their deity.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Anything at all

| “If I let him do this to me, what else will I allow? Anything, anything, anything." - Catherynne M. Valente |

Soarynn stares at her reflection in the mirror.

She doesn’t see much. Just a plain, simple girl.

“A well-behaved Capitol girl,” he’d say to correct her.

Her dress is long and clings to her figure in places she’s not too comfortable with, but it’s not really up to her. It’s up to him.

Whatever he wants her to wear, she puts on. Whatever he wants her to eat, she eats. Whatever he wants her to do, she does.

She does anything for him.

She wishes she could do it out of love, devotion, joy. She does it out of fear. It wasn’t always this way. He wasn’t always this way.

When Soarynn met Coriolanus Snow he was utterly charming and polite. Even though he was five years older than her. She had just graduated from the Academy at eighteen and her father had brought her to a small gathering with some of his associates.

That’s when he introduced them to each other.

Soarynn had been so shy, so reluctant to look Coriolanus in the eye. He was so tall and handsome, he was someone who shouldn’t spend a moment with a girl like her and yet he was infatuated with her.

Despite their age gap, he took her on dates, brought her roses from his grandmother's garden, and showered her with gifts and promises.

Her father was more than pleased. Not only had he secured his daughter a proper husband, but himself a good business partner.

Coriolanus proposed a month after she turned nineteen. They got married that December and her father died in February. Heart failure. No one saw it coming, and certainly not Soarynn who adored her father with all her heart.

She had been gutted by his death. Only comforted by the knowledge that her husband would be there for her. How stupid she had been.

Two weeks after Glen Nightingale’s funeral, Soarynn and Coriolanus sat in a big, fancy office where she signed several documents that allowed Coriolanus full access to her father’s business assets. Since Soarynn was a woman, there was no need for her to look after her father’s business.

Coriolanus took over everything including her life.

It was remarkable how well he hid it. The monster inside of him. It was as if a flip had switched. Suddenly he was cold, harsh, and bitter. The gentleman she once knew was gone, vanished, only appearing when they were in public.

He took everything from her.

Everything.

꧁ ꧂

Her hand rests on her stomach, a strange feeling still lingers there since she took that test. A pregnancy test.

Coriolanus has been more than vocal about wanting to have children, to grow their family, to expand the great Snow household. But Soarynn has been…hesitant. He’s already so strict with her, so harsh and cruel. She can’t imagine what he’d be like with children.

The naive part of her hopes he’d be kinder, more patient, and gentle. But it's wishful thinking and much to her dismay, she’s four weeks pregnant. Soarynn had hoped it was some mistake, a false positive, a defective test.

She took three more.

All positive.

And yet she hasn’t told Coriolanus. She’ll have to tell him sooner or later, one can’t hide their pregnancy forever. Soarynn has always been on the leaner side so any weight change will be significant to her husband who keeps close track of what she consumes.

Maybe she’ll tell him tonight after their dinner. He should be in a good mood as long as his friends don’t say anything too vulgar for his liking.

Soarynn doesn’t really care for her husband’s friends but it’s mostly because they’re all much older than her. All of them have been married much longer and remember the war more clearly than she does. And she knows how those women look at her, some with envy for her youthfulness, some with pity for the same reason.

“She’s so young,” one of them had whispered one night when Soarynn had attended a gala with Coriolanus. They had only been dating for a few months and it had been one of their first public appearances. It had caused some different reactions from different people.

Most men patted Coriolanus on the back whereas most women eyed Soarynn with contempt.

“That’s how he likes them,” another had whispered back, “easy to mold, easy to break. I’ll bet he gets her pregnant a month after their wedding if all goes to plan.”

A statement like that had horrified Soarynn who had only been trying to find the bathroom and it stayed in the back of her head ever since. They were right though, he had molded her, broken her. Without her father, all she had was Coriolanus and he loved it.

It didn’t help that she was rather shy and quiet compared to some of the other wives who were very opinionated. She had been the witness to one too many arguments between husband and wife after both had consumed far too much alcohol.

Coriolanus always spoke about it after, spoke about his disdain for outspoken women whose husbands let them walk all over them. “In a society like ours, there are rules, hierarchies, levels. And a woman’s place will always be below that of a man’s. Some of my friends would do well to remind their wives of that.”

If Coriolanus wanted a quiet wife he certainly got one. After revealing his true colors, Soarynn did her best to avoid him at all costs, only speaking to him when necessary.

But Soarynn would have to speak to him today, to get his approval on her current wardrobe for tonight. The dress was fine, and the shoes were more than uncomfortable but Coriolanus Snow was a man who expected his wife to always wear heels. Her jewelry was kept simple yet tasteful, classy enough to show off the Snow’s wealth without being seen as too flashy.

It takes a lot of effort to look effortless.

Soarynn ran her fingers through her blonde hair, making sure she hadn’t curled it too tightly like last time. Goodness knows she had gotten an earful about it from Coriolanus after they got home from the theatre.

The soft sound of purring is what pulls Soarynn from her thoughts and she looks down to see that Petunia has made her way into the closet. Petunia was a graduation gift from her father, Soarynn had always wanted a cat but her father said she wasn’t mature enough to take care of one.

Soarynn likes to think that Petunia is watching over her now since her father can’t. Soarynn can feel emotions bubbling up in her throat at the thought of her father, of her home that is now empty and closed up. They still own it since everything of her fathers was left to her, but it now truly and really belongs to Coriolanus. And he’s made no effort to put it to use.

She pushes those emotions down, she can't afford to get weepy tonight. Coriolanus had made it quite clear that he expected her to move on from her father's death in a timely manner and he's held her to that expectation ever since. Even though it's been six months, she still mourns the man who truly loved her.

Soarynn crouches down to scratch Petunia behind the ears, allowing herself a small smile. Coriolanus hadn't been thrilled about the cat moving in with them after they married and that should have been the first warning sign. But Soarynn had been so blissfully happy that she agreed to keep Petunia at her childhood home. She visited almost every day so it was fine.

But once father passed away, Petunia moved in with them. She avoided Coriolanus for the most part, stayed tucked away in corners of the penthouse, only coming out to be with Soarynn. It seemed that Coriolanus preferred it that way as well.

"Let's hope he likes this dress," Soarynn says softly to the cat. He picked out the dress but Coriolanus is often unpredictable and Soarynn never knows how he'll react to certain things. She's learned to live with it for the most part, to simply nod and smile and agree with all the things he says but it gets tiring after a while.

Soarynn collects her things and puts them into her purse before leaving the closet to go find her husband. The last she saw of him was in his study, finishing up some paperwork. Soarynn slows her steps as she approaches the door, not in any rush to speak to Coriolanus.

She remembers how she used to count down the minutes until she got to see him again. How giddy she would be in anticipation of their next date. She'd fuss over her appearance, wanting to be absolutely perfect for him. Little did she know that she'd be doing the same thing a year later, but not for the sake of her own vanity but for her husband's.

The door is closed and Soarynn raises her fist and softly knocks, waiting for a response. "Yes?"

She carefully pushes the door open and peeks her head in to see Coriolanus sitting behind his desk, a glass of whiskey next to several important-looking documents, "I'm ready," she tells him. He finally looks up from his work and Soarynn inwardly cringes at the critical gaze of her husband as he looks her up and down without shame.

"You should wear a coat," is all he says, "or a shawl. I don't want people to think my wife is trying to draw attention to her by dressing like that." Soarynn bites her tongue and doesn't point out that he is the one who picked out this dress, and simply nods and forces a small smile, "Okay, I'll go find something to cover up with."

꧁ ꧂

Heavensbee Hall is decorated quite luxuriously tonight.

Soarynn holds onto her husband's arm as they walk through the main room where many social events are held. The dinner they're attending tonight however is being held in a smaller, more intimate room.

"Remember, best behavior," Coriolanus says, giving her arm a squeeze. Soarynn nods and looks up at the ceiling where intricate depictions of vines and flowers have been carved, "I know."

Coriolanus steers them away from the hallway and into a small alcove where he takes a firm grip of her jaw, almost bruising it but not quite. Soarynn's eyes widen as she's forced to look up at her domineering husband, "I don't appreciate your tone," he hisses, "and I don't appreciate little brats who are ungrateful for all I've done for them."

Soarynn tries to steady her breathing because she knows that once her heart rate picks up, tears will soon follow. She can already feel them forming as she tries so desperately to blink them away but it's futile and one escapes her grasp.

Coriolanus scoffs at the tear, "Crying will not save you, it will not excuse you from dinner and it will not keep me from reminding you of your place once we get back home. Do you understand?" He stares down at her, daring her to defy him.

Soarynn swallows and manages to nod, "Yes, I understand."

He releases her jaw and dusts off his hands, "Good. Now be my good girl and stay by my side." He leans down and presses a kiss to her lips, a lustful one which Soarynn only returns due to necessity. She used to like kissing Coriolanus, right up until her father passed away. Every kiss since then has only been returned because of her obligation as his pretty society wife.

When he pulls away he lets out a displeased groan and looks her up and down, "You could at least act like you enjoy it Soarynn." She suppresses a sigh and takes his large hand in her small one, "I do enjoy it," she tells him sweetly even though they both know that's far from the truth. He simply gives her a sharp look before leading them back out into the hallway where several other couples are walking.

Soarynn spots Festus and Persephone Creed, the man who is undoubtedly her husband's best friend and his wife who said Soarynn seemed far too young to be dating Coriolanus Snow. Both were in attendance at their wedding of course. Festus was even the best man.

"Looks like we all arrived at the same time," Festus remarks, reaching his hand out to Coriolanus who shakes it with a smile, "So it seems," Coriolanus agrees. Soarynn stays pressed to his side, offering Festus a small smile when he turns his attention towards her, "Lovely to see you again Soarynn." She allows him to press the expected kiss to her cheek before she nods at Persephone, "It's wonderful to see you two again."

Coriolanus pulls his hand from hers and wraps his arm around her waist instead, keeping her flush to his side, "I've heard rumors that there might be a game of poker later tonight." Persephone lets out a groan that would get Soarynn in a world of trouble and she notices her husband's face slightly falter before recovering, "I don't understand why you men can't play poker on your own time. Us women would like to enjoy the night as well."

Festus simply rolls his eyes at his wife's complaints, "It was a rumor Persephone, no need to make a fuss."

Soarynn stays silent as she watches the older couple bicker back and forth before Coriolanus finally suggests that they all make their way to the dining room so they aren't late. In a way, she admires how outspoken Persephone is, how she's not afraid to voice her opinion. But she supposes that Festus isn't as strict with her as Coriolanus is.

It seems to be on her husband's mind as well because he places a kiss on the top of her head as they walk into the dining room, his silent way of praising her for a job well done at being so behaved.

Soarynn used to bask in gestures like that. A squeeze of her hand, a kiss to her temple, him tickling her waist. They all mean nothing now that she knows who Coriolanus Snow truly is.

If only she realized that sooner.

꧁ ꧂

"Felix hasn't stopped talking about the horse races since they announced when tickets will be going on sale," Domitia Ravenstill says with a groan, "as if we don't have a private box."

Soarynn nods along with all the other women, all of whose husbands also own private boxes to attend events such as horse races. It was one of the first dates Coriolanus ever took her on. He let her bet on whatever horses she wanted and anyone who saw the two together could confidently say that he adored her. What happened to that man, she wonders to herself, glancing over near the fireplace where all the men are sitting.

"Soarynn?" She looks back at the group of women who are looking at her expectantly, "Yes?" Rarely do they ever truly acknowledge her so this is a surprise. Clemensia narrows her eyes before speaking, "We asked if you and Coryo are going to be having children any time soon." Soarynn blushes at the prospect of children, especially since she technically is with child already.

However, she finds the question somewhat interesting since none of these women seem to be having children of their own. Perhaps it's an unspoken rule that she has to be the first to bear her husband's children since she's the youngest in the group of prominent Capitol wives.

Soarynn picks at her cuticles for a moment, a habit that Coriolanus despises. "I actually am pregnant," she says softly and immediately regrets it when she's met with several loud gasps. All of these women seem to be surprisingly excited for her and she does not know how to feel about that. "Oh my goodness, what a blessing, Coryo must be thrilled," Persephone gushes.

Except he doesn't know, Soarynn thinks but that's going to change quite quickly it seems as she watches Clemensia and Persephone rise from the sofa and make their way across the room toward their husbands, more specifically her husband.

Oh no.

Soarynn feels her heart sink as she watches Persephone place a hand on his shoulder before saying her congratulations. Coriolanus looks up at her with a confused look on his face before she points at Soarynn, a big idiotic smile on her face.

His eyes meet her eyes and all she can see is held back anger. Anger for not telling him sooner, the moment she found out to be exact. But Coriolanus Snow has a reputation to uphold and he naturally smiles up at the two women before nodding. Soarynn stays frozen in her chair as the news spreads throughout the room like wildfire, everyone now talking about how Soarynn Snow is pregnant.

Soarynn feels someone's hand on her shoulder and she looks up to see Lysistrata Vickers, a friend of her husband's from the Academy, "Are you alright Soarynn?" What a loaded question. Soarynn slowly nods, "Yes, I...I think I might need a bit of fresh air is all." But to leave and go outside she'll need his permission.

Lysistrata looks over at the group of Capitol elites who are all still talking about the news and gives her shoulder a squeeze, "Why don't we go outside for a bit then? I'll come with you."

Soarynn knows she shouldn't. That she should go to her husband's side and stay there but the room is spinning and she so desperately wants out.

She looks up at Lysistrata and nods, "Alright."

꧁ ꧂

"You don't seem too excited about the baby," Lysistrata notes as they lean against the balcony railing, overlooking the city. Soarynn sighs and rests and hand on her stomach, trying to imagine a small human being growing inside of her, "I'm thrilled," she deadpans.

It would be wonderful to have a baby, someone to love unconditionally. But only if it's a girl. Soarynn knows Coriolanus well enough to know that should she have a boy, he'll want full control of the baby's life from the start. A girl is the only option for her.

"Have you thought of any names?" Soarynn shakes her head at the question, a question reserved for when she finds out the gender, finds out her child's fate to put it more lightly. "Not yet but I'm sure Coriolanus will have a few ideas." She doesn't mean to sound like she's making a jab at her husband but it certainly comes off that way and Lysistrata chuckles, "He's a bit of a control freak isn't he?"

If she were with anyone else, Soarynn would deny such claims, be scared that it's some sick twisted test he's putting her up to, trying to see where her loyalties lie. But she's seen Lysistrata enough to know that she can be trusted, well, trusted more than the others who wouldn't hesitate and run back and report to Coriolanus about his wife's behavior.

"He can be," Soarynn agrees, "but I know he just wants the best for me," she adds, not wanting to sound as if she's contradicting her husband.

Lysistrata hums, "You know, there are many ways to stop an unwanted pregnancy, if that's what this is to you." Soarynn's eyes widen and she grips the railing even harder, "What makes you think that I don't want this pregnancy?"

Every part of her is screaming that she doesn't want it, but Soarynn knows she doesn't have a choice. Not if he knows about it now and he's bound to punish her when they get home from keeping this a secret from him.

Lysistrata shrugs and looks out into the night sky, "Because if you did then Coriolanus would've known about it already."

Soarynn is surprised that Lysistrata managed to pick up on his initial surprise. Coriolanus can hide his expressions fairly well, but Soarynn has been with him long enough to be able to read the tiniest expressions, whether he likes it or not.

"He knew," Soarynn says, more for herself than for Lysistrata.

The sound of the balcony doors opening halts their conversation and Soarynn doesn't even need to look back to know who it is. "There you are darling, I've been looking all over for you." Soarynn plasters on her practiced society smile before turning around and looking up at her husband who easily towers over her even when she wears heels. "Well you found me," she replies, letting him place a possessive hand on her back.

Coriolanus hums and shoots Lysistrata a smile, "Lyssie, have you been enjoying yourself tonight?" Soarynn has never heard of this nickname before. She knows that close friends call him 'Coryo' but she has yet to be granted that privilege.

Lysistrata nods but the smile she gives him doesn't quite reach her eyes, "Yes. Congratulations, by the way, I'm sure you two must be thrilled." Coriolanus presses his hand hard against her back, "Yes, we were absolutely delighted to share the news with all of you."

Soarynn does her best to look pleased as she listens to their conversation but all she can think about is the scolding she's going to get when they arrive home, the lecture, the yelling, the tears.

She might throw up.

"I can take it from here Lyssie," Coriolanus tells his friend who looks hesitant to leave the couple alone. "You're sure?" She asks, the question directed at Soarynn. No one has ever stood up for her like this, and Soarynn is grateful but she also wishes that Lysistrata would just drop it. The bed has already been made. Soarynn nods, "Absolutely."

It's a tense ten seconds that pass by while they watch Lysistrata walk back inside. Soarynn doesn't say a word when Coriolanus grabs her face with his hand, tilting her head up and forcing her to look him in the eye, "How long have you known?"

"Four weeks," she answers, seeing no point in lying to him.

His jaw clenches and his grip on her face tightens, "And when were you planning to tell me, darling? Were you going to wait until your water broke? Or were you going to run off and try to terminate the pregnancy?"

Soarynn's throat tightens up at the last question because she doesn't think she could ever have the guts to do something like that behind his back. Coriolanus finds out everything.

She slowly shakes her head, "I wasn't...wasn't going to terminate the pregnancy. I was just scared." Coriolanus tilts his head, his eyes narrowing, "Scared of what?"

You, she thinks, but that won't do.

"Of becoming a mother," she whispers. Her own mother died after giving birth to her and his mother died trying to give birth to his little sister. It's one of his only soft spots and her answer has the intended effect on him. Coriolanus slightly relaxes and looks her up and down, still displeased by the turn of events tonight. "You'll still be punished when we get home."

Soarynn can't hide her disappointment and he smirks, "You didn't think that being pregnant would keep me from fucking you did you, darling?" Soarynn feels stupid to admit that she has, that she hoped this pregnancy might deter him from having sex with her in the aggressive manner he usually has.

"No."

Coriolanus lets out a raw chuckle and uses his grip on her face to turn it side to side as if she's shaking her head, "That's another lie Soarynn. You're just begging to be punished aren't you?"

Tears begin to form once again and she can't stop them from falling down her cheeks, "Please, please Coriolanus I'll do anything. I'm sorry, I should've told you as soon as I found out, as soon as I saw the test."

Coriolanus leans down until his lips are ghosting hers, "Yes you very well should have but it appears that you still haven't been properly trained. But don't worry darling, once I'm done with you tonight, you won't fucking breathe without asking for my permission."

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn's sobs sound throughout their bedroom as Coriolanus continues to fuck into her at a punishing pace.

But her crying has never stopped him from taking what he wants.

Their dresser is located directly across from their bed and a mirror sits on top of the furniture, granting her the perfect view of him fucking her from behind. The sight is normally bad enough, but the humiliation tonight has brought adds a new layer of shame for Soarynn.

She hates what she sees in the mirror now, a young, stupid girl, pregnant and trapped. With hair now chopped up to her chin.

She had been terrified of what he would do to her. Would he spank her? Choke her? Force her to crawl around on all fours like an animal? She wishes he had gone with one of those. But instead, he sat her down in front of her vanity, her hands tied behind her back so she couldn't stop him.

Soarynn had sobbed as he cut her hair off, watching it form a gold ring on the floor. Soarynn had never cut her hair short before, never saw the reason to do it and while she never felt an attachment to it, she certainly did now.

"It'll grow back," he had told her before setting the scissors down.

It was as if he took away all her girlhood in that very instant, claimed her as his, cut away the last pieces of the old her.

She hates him. She stares into her own eyes through the mirror, watching her soul die slowly. She hates him.

꧁ ꧂

Soarynn does her best to contain her sniffles as she sits in front of her vanity once again. Coriolanus is fast asleep in their bedroom, tuckered out after fucking her for hours. Soarynn takes in her ruined appearance, smudged makeup, bloodshot eyes, and a choppy haircut.

He'll want her to get it professionally cut. There's nothing Coriolanus hates more than an unkempt woman. But for now, she has to make do. Soarynn grabs the scissors and brings them up to her hair, her bottom lip trembles as she cuts a few strands, trying to even it out.

He hadn't tried to be skillful in cutting it, just getting his point across was good enough for Coriolanus.

"You belong to me."

Soarynn follows the line of her jaw and does her best to even the choppy cut, watching the silver blades gleam under the bathroom lights.

Soarynn lowers her arm and stares at the scissor blades for a moment, contemplating something she shouldn't be considering.

But wouldn't it be better this way? She wonders, wouldn't it be the only way out, the only way to show him that she is still capable of being her own person?

Soarynn takes in a sharp breath before dropping the scissors onto her marble vanity. She can't. Can't bring herself to cut her skin, to take her own life, to risk her child's life in the process. It would be entirely too selfish. And if for some reason she survived, well, she'd be in loads of trouble.

Soarynn rests her head in her hands, trying to ignore the disgusting feeling of his cum still lodged inside of her. Coriolanus Snow is a man who prides himself in finishing inside of her each and every time. It's probably how she got pregnant so quickly.

Soarynn looks in the mirror at her wrecked reflection, not recognizing the girl staring back at her.

“If I let him do this to me, what else will I allow?" She whispers to herself, thinking of all the things he's already done to her.

But she has something else to live for now, something to defend, to protect. Her child. And for them, she'll do anything.

"Anything, anything, anything at all."

| Part 1. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

{ Part 2. }

[healing-with-bunnie]

Another horrible, yet wonderful year

It's December again, and I find myself reflecting on where I was at in January. it has been another incredibly complicated year with ups and downs just like the rest.

Exactly a year ago at the beginning of last December, I got out of the hospital again, It's seemingly routine for me for most holiday seasons to need a trip to the mental hospital. A few days after getting out of the hospital it was clear that moving in with my best friend and her partner was the best option for me. Living alone had been incredibly detrimental to my mental health.

Living with my best friend and being in a loving home environment for the first time in my life was quite literally life-changing to me. And I quit my job in fast food management as that was incredibly demanding in ways that were just simply too draining for me. in between that job and my next, I attended an IOP program (intensive outpatient program) essentially equating to 24 hours a week of therapy. which was very hard but in my time there I had made a new friend, and stabilized myself quite a bit. graduating IOP is one of my biggest accomplishments this year.

This year really challenged family dynamics, as due to quite a few different things I was forced to see both of my parents in a horrible new light, which has been incredibly depressing and freeing at the same time. As all i really ever wanted was to feel loved by a family.

While my own family was quite the sore subject, I got closer with my best friend, and her mother who have both been there for me for so long now, it's really been a transition from blood family to found family this year.

then by the beginning of spring, all hell broke loose, as if the ice and snow melting seemingly released some kind of pandora's box on me. Most of spring and summer was kind of a blur at this point.

As I had what I consider to be, the absolute worst month of my life, April 7th my great aunt died, a woman who had been a safe place for me for as long as I can remember. The only family member by whom I felt loved unconditionally, her home had been my safe place. somewhere nothing bad could ever happen. When life was too overwhelming I would escape to her house. Where she would let me eat whatever I wanted, and we would watch whatever I wanted and just talk. I was closer to her than I ever was to either of my parents. Losing her was equal parts devastating and also a relief.

She had been sick most of her life, and the last 3 years of her life were horrible. As awful as it sounds I wished she had died sooner, she was single-handedly the greatest woman I had ever met. She had been a nurse for most of her life, with a very strong attitude and sense of humor. Her birthday was November 11th, and after 2000 she would always use her birthday to remember those who had died in the tragedy. She was truly a selfless woman, being the safe haven for the children in my family who had less-than-stellar parents.

Her funeral was about a week or two later, the second funeral I had ever attended. It was so beautiful and perfect and she would have loved every single detail of it. We spent just as much time laughing as we did crying as she would have wanted. I got the honor of being the last person to speak at her funeral, with a letter I had written to her the day after she died. and I also got plenty of time alone with her urn as people were downstairs.

I got dumped by my boyfriend of 7 or 8 months a day or two later, and it's pretty safe to say I felt as though my life was a complete wreck. And I had just started my new job, and was constantly emotional, crying at the drop of a hat over everything. an overnight shift I had to cover at a hotel for about a month.

A little over a week into that job, my son almost died, and I felt as though I could never catch a break. but I continually used my overnight shift with all of that time alone to myself to journal, and just sit with myself and all the stuff I had just faced.

I'm no stranger to adversity or hardship though, and I just kept trucking through. It seems that the turning point of this year would be my 20th birthday, my son's father and I always made a point to see each other once a year. And I would text him pretty regularly, especially when my relationships would begin to fail and I would find myself single.

Admittedly, I am oblivious, and although my love for him never truly went away even though it had been 4 years since we had ended our relationship I never picked up on the fact that the feeling was entirely mutual.

So when a nasty storm had ruined my plans for my birthday, he drove two hours in torrential downpours to pick me up. two hours back to his mother's in which I would not stop talking the whole time. I wont go into detail of what happened when we got to his home, but I will say this when he kissed me every feeling I thought I had been able to get over finally came flooding back to me.

That kiss felt like it was the most right kiss in my entire life, like every other time anyone else had ever kissed me it always felt wrong and uncomfortable. and at one point he looked into my eyes and said that they were still so beautiful. I was still fighting my real feelings so I punched him in the chest and called him bro.

That afternoon changed the course of my life, as I was only supposed to be living with my best friend until October. though it was only I was struggling to find a place for myself one that I could bring my son to. (I would like to note that I am leaving out some other important details of what happened this year as that is a story for another day)

The next day my son's father started his apprenticeship, as he was finally home from all of his navy training. we would continue to see each other in secret, and talk non-stop. I finally broke down and explained some things to him about my life that I had been keeping secret from everyone. and He promised he would help me.

we officially started dating almost two weeks later at the beginning of August, and by the end of the month he had found an apartment for us then by October he and I began to set in motion something to fix those background details. Which again is a story for another day when I am actually able to tell it.

But as it stands now, here in December, looking back on the crazy rollercoaster that was my 2023, I am thankful, I started this year feeling completely defeated and alone but through the love and patience of my best friend and her partner, I was able to pull myself out of that dark spot enough to finally begin working on myself and growing. I was able to heal and grow enough to impress my son's father, show him how much I had truly changed since we broke up in 2019, and rekindle our relationship. Currently, our relationship is better than it has ever been.

And I am more hopeful than ever, that finally after 20 years I will be able to get free of the blood that has poisoned me for all of my life and build bonds that will free me.

While I know life won't be easy, finally for the first time in my life I know I will never face anything as hard as I have in the past. I will face more unexpected challenges, but now I have the strength to pull myself up and support that will catch me if I fall.

[briamichellewrites]

1

1998. Bria Michelle Lavigne was the only daughter of Jean and Marie Lavigne. Her mother died when she was six months old from AIDS. The year was 1981 when she was accidentally given infected blood during labor. The mistake wasn’t discovered six months later when she was diagnosed with AIDS. Unfortunately, it was too late for her. The disease took over her body. Jean could only make his wife comfortable because there was nothing the doctors could do.

He kept the details of his wife’s death secret because of the stigma associated with AIDS. She died from complications from cancer. That was what he told people. Bria was tested but she was found not to have the disease. It wasn’t until she was older did she learned the truth about her mother’s death. The medical community didn’t understand the disease at the time.

It was in the nineties when Jean started becoming active in AIDS awareness. He wanted to help erase the stigma of those who died or were infected. Marie’s infection had been an accident and he held no resentment towards the hospital. They were trying to save her life when she lost too much blood during delivery. He encouraged his daughter to keep her mother in her memory, even though she was so young when she died.

He gave her some pictures and her personal possessions to keep with her. She kept them safe in her bedroom and she put up the pictures where she could always see them. When she was seventeen, she lost her father in a plane accident. He and a few of his work colleagues went on a week-long ski vacation in Colorado. She was meant to go with him, but she couldn’t miss school.

She stayed behind with her nanny. While at school, her teacher came to her desk and quietly told her to go to the office because of a family emergency. She gathered her stuff and did as she was told. It was in the office where she learned about the accident. The runway had been too slippery when they were trying to take off. The plane crashed into the mountains at over a hundred miles an hour. Her father died on impact. She was now an orphan.

She took some time off of school to attend the funeral and grieve. Her nanny took her in because she was still a minor. She learned that she was set to inherit her father’s fortune and estate when she turned eighteen. All she wanted was her father back. No amount of money could do that.

She graduated with her class. At eighteen years old, she moved into a house owned by her mother. It had been purchased in 1980 and put in her will for her to inherit. 2219 Richland Lane. It was built in 1981 and had five bedrooms and four bathrooms. Her father set everything up so that she didn’t have to pay for anything. All of her expenses were covered. She had a credit card without a limit.

She liked to get her hair done, along with shopping trips and going out to eat at local restaurants at least once a day. Though, she always remembered what her father taught her about being humble. Not everyone was as fortunate as her. Every Christmas Eve, they served meals together to the homeless before going home and opening gifts. It made her appreciate what she had. Jean punished her if she ever had a tantrum by taking away her expensive toys for a few days.

He did not tolerate that kind of behavior. His family was not rich. He had been born to French middle-class parents. After immigrating to the United States, he became a self-made billionaire by working hard and taking classes to improve his English skills. He enrolled his daughter at Le Lycée Français de Los Angeles, a French immersion school.

She not only became fluent in French but also Spanish and Japanese. Though she learned Mandarin Chinese, she didn’t consider herself fluent enough to have conversations. She could only speak simple phrases like asking for the bathroom.

“Xièxiè.”

(Thank you.)

Her Japanese skills were how she met Mike Shinoda. He was a second-generation Japanese immigrant on his father’s side. She attended his art show at the Art Center College of Design. He was set to graduate in the spring and was showing off his skills as a graphic designer. Mike noticed her right away because she was beautiful! He approached her and they started a conversation about one of his works. Did she know about the Japanese culture?

“I know a little bit. I would love to go to Tokyo someday and see the cherry blossoms. I heard they’re beautiful.”

“They are. I’m sorry. I’m Mike Shinoda.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Bria Lavigne.”

“French?”

“Yes, my father was born in Alsace. It was the inspiration for Beauty and the Beast. What about you?”

“My father is from Japan and my mother is European.”

Since he had other people to talk to, they exchanged phone numbers. They formed a friendship and she helped him with his schoolwork. It wasn’t long before he introduced her to his roommate, Joe Hahn. They were talking about forming a band together with a couple of his friends from high school after college. They were inspired by different new wave bands like Depeche Mode and nineties hip hop.

She thought it sounded interesting. Since she didn’t have a family, he invited her to his parents’ home for Thanksgiving. They welcomed her in and made her part of their family. They welcomed her back for Christmas dinner. His father was excited to learn she could speak Japanese. Mike had no idea what they were talking about since his Japanese wasn’t that good.

“Hai. Watashi wa kare ga gakkō no benkyō o suru yō ni shimasu. Watashi wa kōkō kyōiku shika ukete inainode, kotae wa kare no kyōkasho ni tayoranakereba narimasen.”

(Yes. I make sure he does his schoolwork. I only have a high school education, so I have to rely on his textbooks for the answers.)

Muto laughed. Would he make her his girlfriend? He was considering it. Joe told him to do it! He would when it was the perfect opportunity. There was an attraction between them. He could feel it. His family loved her and they wanted him to make it official.

When she met Brad Delson and Rob Bourdon on a trip back home, they also pushed him to ask her. He reminded them he was planning on it. It just had to be the perfect time. What was he waiting for? She was beautiful, funny, compassionate, and could keep up with their sense of humor.

If he didn’t ask her, someone else would. Finally, he asked her to be his girlfriend while hanging out at his apartment. Yes! He laughed and kissed her happily. Finally. He couldn’t be happier! They heard the sound of the door opening, so they looked up. Guys, warn me first before I walk into something I don’t want to see. Mike laughed before getting up. They were going to get something to eat from one of the restaurants nearby. Joe set his stuff down and started on his homework.

@zoeykaytesmom @feelingsofaithless @alina-dixon @fiickle-nia

[youvebeenjegulused]

Endgame Jegulus Head Canons

They kept it a secret, at first.

They get together in James's fifth year, and Regulus's fourth.

James calls Regulus not only Reggie, but baby just to piss him off.

Regulus gets the mark the summer before his sixth year.

Whenever Sirius and Regulus would fight in the hallways, James would never look Regulus in the eyes, he was always too afraid that he would let something loose.

The first time they exchanged 'I love you's' was a few days after James found out Regulus had been forced to take the dark mark. He kissed his arm and whispered sweet nothings to him.

After summer and winter breaks, Regulus would close himself off for a little while after. It hurt James at first, until he knew why.

After James became head boy, he and Regulus would sleep in his room, instead of various meet-up spots.

The rest of the mauraders found out in James's seventh year. Sirius had screamed at him, how could James do that to him? Remus and Peter had been upset as well, Remus albeit more because of his boyfriend.

Sirius didn't talk to him, or Regulus for two weeks after he found out. Eventually, he and James sat down and he threatened to kill him if he ever hurt his little brother.

James stopped liking Lily in his fourth year, after he finally gave up on her. Although, they did become close friends, but nothing more.

For their seventh year prank finale, James and Sirius hung up pride flags around the school, and Sirius kissed Remus in the great hall during breakfast.

On the day of James's graduation, he proposes to Regulus. Of course, Reg says yes.

James comes out to his parents that same day.

They have to keep their relationship secret, because of the war.

Regulus becomes a spy for the order.

They find out Peter is a traitor, and sadly, they have to kill him.

Their wedding is absolutely beautiful. Wolfstar, Dorlene, Lily and Minerva Mcgonagall are the only guests. It takes place in a field full of wild flowers and blue skies. It's the first time James sees Regulus cry.

Soon later though, James sees him cry for the second time, when he feels the kicking coming from James's stomach.

James decides he's never felt real fear before when he watches his husband almost drown.

He saves him, of course. But not all of him. His left arm and peaceful sleep will forever be gone.

They decide to name him Harry James Potter. He has messy brown hair, big grey eyes and skin like a doll.

Uncle Padfoot really loves Harry, he does. Just not when he's six months old and breaks Uncle Moony's favorite mug.

Voldemort still (somehow) finds them. It's too bad that Lily is visiting when he is.

James and Regulus attend her funeral with heavy hearts. Harry's forehead adorns a lightning bolt scar.

Raising Harry with one arm is quite the task, Regulus often ponders.

Sirius, Remus, Regulus and James have a bet on Harry's Hogwarts house.

James and Sirius owe Regulus five galleons each when Harry's letter comes back with the words Slytherin written within it.

They owe him five again, when Harry sends another letter talking all about Draco Malfoy, and how annoying his blonde hair is when it glows in the sunlight.

That's why their not surprised in fourth year, during the second task when Harry drags Draco out of the water with him.

Regulus has never willing killed anyone. But when Sirius dies, so does the nearest death eater in sight. He doesn't bother looking at their face.

James and Regulus hold their son as he cries about his boyfriend, who was forced to get the mark. Just like Regulus.

Together, they worry about Harry, Neville and Luna, who are alive, somewhere out in the world, trying to destroy horcruxes.

On nights where Regulus wakes up screaming about wet hands and dead sons, James holds him close, like he used to when they were teenagers.

James cries twice that day. Once, when he sees Harry after he escaped Malfoy Manor. The second time when he sees Luna. Her eyes are dull, and she has blood dripping from her mouth.

Regulus helps Harry bury Dobby.

Harry meets Teddy Lupin, a surprise baby that came from a one night hook up between Remus and Tonks. Remus had thrown up afterwards, and decided Tonks was better as a friend, without knowing of his son.

Regulus holds his wand to Voldemorts face when he brings out Harry's dead body. James is right next to him.

With the help of Neville, Regulus kills Nagini.

James almost starts sobbing when he sees his Harry alive and breathing, throwing spells with his wand.

Regulus Potter realises how much he loves his family when he sees his son staring down at the dead, mortal body of the dark lord.

Draco and Harry take in Teddy as their own, which is a relief to Andromeda.

At Harry's wedding, James gets flashbacks of Regulus walking down the isle as Draco does. They'd chosen the same spot as he and Regulus. It's bittersweet, with the two empty chairs for Sirius and Remus.

Regulus and James go to their first pride parade. Regulus magiks rainbows onto their cheeks, and together they yell and kiss and cheer.

James Sirius Potter is a beautiful baby.

They are old now, so very old. They have a small house that overlooks a sunny clearing in the woods. They have rocking chairs that they sit in and drink tea. They tell stories of love and pranks to their four grandchildren.

James Sirius, Al, Scor and Lily remind James of the mauraders. Regulus shakes his head in exasperation, that's full of grey curls.

When James dies, Regulus forgets how to feel again.

Slowly, things brighten, but Regulus will always remember. His everything, his happiness, his partner for infinity.

So it's not unsurprising when Regulus slips away from the world on a warm summer day, a few years after James. His hand is held by a crying Harry, Teddy behind him.

They're buried together, under a willow tree. The whole family visits, at first. But slowly they all trickle away, until it's only Harry and Scorpius who still come by.

James and Regulus loved each other, beyond words and everything else in the entire world. Harry vows to remember that.

[cherienymphe]

Bloodied Crowns (Peter Parker x Reader)

WARNINGS: NON-CON, STEPCEST, murder, violence, abusive realtionships, Tony x reader, prince!Peter, king!Tony, queen!Reader

➥ divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ based off of this ask

summary:  When your husband, King Anthony, is killed in a coup staged by his son from his previous marriage, Peter, you are forced to marry the young man who no longer feels the need to hide his feelings.

~

Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, the stern monarch losing his wife only a few months prior. The engagement and the wedding happened so quickly, and before you knew it, you were married to King Anthony Stark. Truth be told, you’d feared that you’d never marry at all, and that you’d bring shame to your name, but a stroke of luck, or perhaps misfortune, had put you directly into the king’s path.

Your family had attended the queen’s funeral to pay your respects. It had been drilled into you to catch the eye of an available suitor, as it had been many times before, and while you were disgusted that you could not even properly pay your respects to the royal family, you understood your parents’ desperation. You were twenty-eight with no prospects on the horizon. They had no other children, no sons, your mother unable to conceive after yourself, and so the weight of carrying on the family name was solely on your shoulders.

Your family was not poor by any means, but you were far from wealthy. That being said, your mother spent an outrageous amount to get you the most captivating black dress money could buy. It was not something that would draw too much attention, but enough so that you did not look like a grieving widow yourself. When it was your turn to pay your respects, you recalled bowing to the young prince, the brunette barely acknowledging anyone’s presence. It was rumored that he and his mother were close, that he’d taken her death very hard, and the way he seemed to stare right through you confirmed as much.

When you bowed to the king, apologizing for his loss, you could feel his eyes on you. This was nothing you concerned yourself with. After all, you were speaking to him and he you, but when you rose, you were taken aback by the intensity you found in his dark eyes. Where his son seemed to look through you, the king could not seem to take his eyes off of you. No one else seemed to notice, and, brushing it off, by the time you returned home, you had forgotten all about it.

Until a few days later when a royal guard was at your door. You were being invited to dine with the king, the invitation extending to your family as well, and although you were confused, you knew you could not refuse. Even if you wanted to. The dinner was nice, and you were a bit surprised at how easy it was to get along with the king. You never thought him cruel, but you’d heard that he was a rather stern man. After supper, he extended the invitation to staying at the castle so that you would not have to travel back so late in the evening. Your mother answered before you had the chance to, and it was no surprise to you that the answer was yes.

The castle was so different during the night. It seemed less welcoming and more ominous, and you found it hard to sleep that night. Convinced that the corridors would be empty, you quietly slipped from your chambers and made your way down to the kitchens. There were still a few servants lingering about, cleaning or preparing for the next day. You felt guilty for bothering them for something to drink.

“Nonsense, my lady. I would be more than happy to get that for you,” a younger girl by the name of Guinevere told you.

“Oh...please,” you waved her off. “No one is around. Call me Y/N.”

Her eyes seemed to sparkle as you told her your name, but she said nothing more as she gave you your water. The dark corridors did not scare you, but the eerie silence was a bit off putting, especially in such a grand structure. You had turned the corner to make your way back to your room when you bumped into none other than the prince. You had almost dropped the drink, and you placed your hand on your chest in an attempt to still your heart.

“Your highness. My apologies, I did not see…”

Your words died in your throat as the prince fixed you with a look that made your stomach churn. You snapped your mouth shut, swallowing as he simply glared at you, brown eyes looking so much darker. You had not seen him since the queen’s burial, and he did not look much better than he did then. Before you had a chance to say anything else, he had shoved past you, almost making you drop the goblet in your hand, and a low gasp escaped you as your other shoulder harshly met the wall. You turned to watch him go, shock and confusion pouring through you, wondering what you had done to offend him so.

It was only a few weeks later did you get your answer.

“I...I beg your pardon?”

The king reached for your hand, a soft breeze ruffling his dark hair as he brought it to his lips. They were soft as they brushed over your skin, and the corner of them curved upwards into a smile.

“Everything is already being arranged, but...this is my formal proposal. I need a queen, Peter needs a mother, and you are everything I could have hoped for,” he told you.

You stared at him in shock, feeling as if the world had been ripped out from beneath your feet. Your mind whirled as you tried to make sense of this and where this had come from, and suddenly, the puzzle started to piece together. The countless dinner invitations, the gleam in your parents’ eyes, the hushed conversations...the prince’s animosity. You were being courted by the king this whole time...and you’d been none the wiser. His chuckle pulled you from your thoughts.

“When your mother told me that you could be quite oblivious, I thought that it was a simple exaggeration.”

He found humor in your distress, you realized, and you swallowed.

“I do not know what to say,” you slowly breathed, and you watched him tilt his head at you, a frown beginning to form.

“You say yes,” he said with a scoffing laugh as if it were the most obvious answer in the world.

You realized that to anyone else, it would be.

“Your majesty...I feel as if we’ve only just met. Surely, you would allow me time to think-.”

“Think about what?”

His hand tightened on yours, and you winced. He leaned in, genuine confusion in his dark eyes as he stared into your own.

“I am a king telling you that you are to be my queen...and you are hesitant?”

The severity of the situation suddenly dawned on you. Anthony was a king. You were a mere lady attempting to refuse his proposal for marriage, and your heart sank to your stomach. You blinked at him, and his face suddenly smoothed over as he sighed.

“Ah. I understand what this is about…”

“You do…?”

He softly smiled at you, reaching up to brush his thumb along your chin.

“You come from an acceptable background. You are beautiful and smart and kind. I assure you, this is genuine. This is not some poor attempt to cope with my grief. In all honesty, my marriage to the queen was over long before she died,” he told you.

You looked away, realizing that you were not getting out of this. Whether you liked it or not, you would be marrying the king, and with reluctance and a shaky voice, you accepted his proposal. He straightened when you did, a look of satisfaction on his features, and he looked as if he wanted to kiss you. You were thankful that he did not.

The wedding took place only a couple of months later, every nearby royal, and even some across the water, in attendance. It was a grand and beautiful affair, no expense spared, and it was days later that you found out it far outshined his first wedding. You remembered feeling sick as you walked down the aisle, the feeling only getting worse as your gaze met that of the prince.

In the time since the official engagement, you had interacted with the prince only a handful of times. Each time more disastrous than the last. You told yourself that he was grieving. His mother’s death was sudden and had hit him hard and here his father was, marrying again so soon. You did not fault him for his cold behavior. He was young, after all. You would expect nothing less, to be honest, but you could not lie and say that it did not hurt.

Unfortunately, even after the marriage, he did not soften towards you. Every attempt to get to know him was met with nothing short of loathing, and you finally accepted that he would come around in his own time. The last thing you wanted Peter to think was that you were trying to replace his mother. You did not know how long this would go on, but you did not expect it to be more than a year. 

You were wrong.

“I throw that kid the best birthday celebration a nineteen year old could ask for and this is how he shows his appreciation? By not even having the decency to show up?”

Tony was angry as he sipped from his goblet, glaring down at the attendees dancing below. A wonderful number was being played by a string quartet, several single princesses in attendance, and an hour into the celebration, Peter was still absent. You placed your hand on your husband’s arm with a sigh.

“I am sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for it, Tony. He will show,” you tried to assure him.

His shoulders sagged as he slammed his drink down, and his eyes softened as he turned to you. He reached for you, and you flinched, but he paid it no mind as he brushed his finger along your cheek.

“You are far too nice to him...and he hardly deserves it,” he whispered.

“He’s your son,” you reminded him with a frown. “Do not talk about him like that.”

“He’s ungrateful,” he spat.

“He’s grieving,” you argued.

“It’s been a year,” Tony sneered. “How much time does he need?”

You sharply turned away, swallowing a sigh as anger flared within you. Sometimes Tony could be so insensitive, amongst other things, and it baffled you. Peter lost the only mother he ever knew, and Tony was treating it as if it was something minor. After a few more moments, you excused yourself under the guise of needing some air. In truth, you were determined to track down the prince.

It was not a hard task. He tended to frequent the same places when he called himself hiding. You found him deep within the grounds, lounging on a branch high up in the tree. It was getting late, the sun currently setting, and you held up the skirts of your dress as you trudged towards him. You knew that he heard you, and you resisted the urge to sigh as you stood below him. Your heart ached for him as you could not even begin to imagine what he was going through. After all, you still had both of your parents.

“Peter,” you eventually called.

He yet again pretended as if he had not heard you, a hurtful habit of his, and this time you did sigh.

“Peter, please come down. Your father is concerned about your whereabouts, and...and I am concerned about you. I-.”

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking I care about how you feel?”

His tone was cold, venom coating every word, and your heart clenched. He rarely spoke to you, every time he did as cold as today, but this was different. You were unsure of what to say, and before you had the chance to remedy that, he was hopping down. It was a bit cool out, and his coat flared behind him as he strode towards you, face hard and nostrils flared.

“Why have you deluded yourself into thinking that I care about you at all?”

You reared back, staring at him with wide eyes. His words hurt, that you would not deny, and as much as you fought against it, you could feel a familiar burn behind your eyes. You swallowed, briefly glancing down as you took a step back.

“Peter-.”

“My mother was not even in the ground properly before you came sniffing around my father like a bitch in heat,” he sneered.

Your lips parted, wide eyes staring at him in shock at his words. You had never seen him look so hateful, borderline murderous, and you suddenly realized that this was about more than grief.

“P-Peter...that… That is not what happened-.”

“Isn’t it?” he wondered, taking another step towards you. “Do you think me stupid? Blind? You think I have never known of the way so many women prayed on my mother’s downfall?”

“I never-.”

“Do you think that I do not know that you all came to her funeral not as mourners, but as vultures? As desperate snakes trying to slip your way into my father’s bed so that you may take her place?”

“No! That is not what happened-!”

“You are no different from the rest!”

He was practically upon you now, glaring down his nose at you with so much disgust it finally made the tears spill over.

“I always knew that you were a desperate and conniving whore…”

You gasped, more tears falling at his insult. He raised one dark eyebrow at you.

“...but I never took you for a liar too.”

You were frozen as he looked you over one last time before breezing past you. You shook, unable to stop the tears, and you felt like you were going to be sick. You had no idea that Peter’s disdain was in fact not misplaced due to grief, but was instead as genuine as could be because he thought you to be something you were not. This knowledge made your heart hurt, and it turned out that you were not as adept at hiding your feelings as you thought.

“What troubles you so?” Tony wondered later that night, his hand on your shoulder as you sat at your vanity.

“Whatever do you mean?” you asked with a small smile.

His gaze met yours in the mirror, and the way his jaw clenched told you that he did not have much patience tonight. His fingers pressed into your skin, and you swallowed. You looked away, eyes blurring a bit as you recalled Peter’s cruel words.

“Peter hates me,” you confessed.

You heard Tony heave a sigh, and you turned to look up at him. He ran his hand through his hair as he rolled his eyes.

“That kid hates everyone and everything,” he replied.

“No, Tony. You do not understand. He believes me to be something I am not. He thinks that I schemed my way into marrying you, that I am trying to replace his mother-.”

“Peter will be just fine. He will grow to get over it in time,” was his enlightening reply, and you stood.

“But it is not true. Tony, does this not bother you? Because it bothers me! He should be like a son to me. He should be looking to me for guidance and care, and he curses the very ground I walk on. It hurts,” you spat, wrapping your arms around yourself. 

Tony’s entire demeanor softened, and he pulled you into his arms. He pressed his lips to your cheek, and you winced at the soreness before he took your chin in between his fingers. He tilted his head at you.

“I love that you’ve grown to really care about him. It warms my cold heart…”

You forced a chuckle at that.

“...but Peter has always been a bit difficult when it comes to me and anything in relation to me. His mother is really the only person he ever really connected with. This will pass, I assure you.”

You reluctantly accepted that Tony just did not care about this as much as you did, and likely never would. Against your better judgement, you opted to let it go, and softly exhaled when Tony pressed his lips to your jaw. He trailed kisses down your neck, tightening his arms around you.

“As much as I enjoy your big heart, I would rather not spend the rest of the night discussing my troubled son,” he murmured, lips finally finding yours.

You did not know if you would ever grow used to making love to Tony. The only time he had ever been anything close to gentle was on your wedding night, and you had still cried, waking up sore and bruised. It eventually dawned on you that this was simply how Tony was, but it did not mean that you had to like it. 

The years that passed did not improve things as you’d hoped they would. Tony was still the same as ever, and Peter was no different. Your conversations with the prince were rare, but every one was brief and left you with a paralyzing chill. When he was not speaking to you, his animosity was enough to force you to keep your distance. The hurt that his behavior caused never got any easier. 

“When you have a child of your own, this will mean nothing to you,” Tony would assure you.

However, it only did the opposite. Even though Peter was not your own, it did not mean that you viewed him any less, and you knew that would not change when you finally did have a child. Whenever that happened. You and Tony had been trying for years, and there was still nothing to show for it. It was a great source of stress for you both, but Tony was taking it much harder than you.

“They say that it took many tries before they were finally able to have Peter, and even afterwards...the queen was never able to conceive again,” Guinevere had whispered to you one night.

“Oh,” you sadly said. “How awful…”

The blonde girl had glanced around the busy kitchen before leaning in.

“The king will never admit it, but many believe that he was the problem, and considering he is experiencing the same thing with you…”

Your heart sank as she trailed off, and despite everything, you found yourself feeling sorry for your husband. Many would argue that you should feel sorry for yourself. After all, it was a popular opinion that the woman’s womb was always at fault, and kings have gotten rid of their wives for less, but you knew that Tony was far too possessive of you to ever do such a thing.

It was a subject you wished you could talk to Peter about. He knew his father far better than you did, and sometimes you wished you could get some insight on how to make this better for him, but Peter was disgusted by your very presence. There came a time when you reluctantly accepted that it might always be this way, but everything changed when Peter was only a few weeks shy of his twenty-third birthday.

Tony, ever the showoff, was having a ball every week for five weeks straight leading up to the night. It was the second gathering when he had dragged you out of the great hall. His hold had been tight, steps hurried, and you forced yourself to swallow down the pain. The corridor was dimly lit and equally as empty, and tears of frustration were kissing your eyes.

“Tony-.”

“I saw you,” he spat.

“Saw me what? Saw me greet one of your friends? Because that is exactly what King Steven is to me and nothing more!”

His dark eyes were hard as he pressed his fingers into your arms, lip curled over his teeth as he sneered at you.

“He desires you. It is plain as day, and he has never been subtle,” he bit out.

“Somehow I am at fault for that? Steven is a bachelor in every sense of the word. That is how he is, and you know it-.”

“Yes, but I thought to myself, surely my loving wife would have the sense not to entertain his antics!”

“I was being polite,” you told him, wincing at his tight grip. “Just because you are only ever nice to people when you want something-.”

You swallowed your words with a sharp shriek, pressing your hand to your hot cheek as the tears finally spilled over. Your eyes were on the floor as Tony shook you, a scathing remark on his tongue, no doubt, when he suddenly stilled, swallowing whatever he was about to say. His sudden change confused you, and you hesitantly looked up only to realize that his gaze was not on you. You turned to find Peter standing just at the entrance of the corridor, his wide eyes on the two of you. 

Tony was quick in straightening you up, and you hurriedly looked away as he acknowledged Peter.

“Why are you not enjoying your celebration with your friends?”

It was a while before Peter responded.

“I noticed that you had slipped out, so I came to find you. I had hoped to continue our...conversation from earlier,” the prince answered.

When you turned back around, you avoided Peter’s eye, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. Tony’s hand was rubbing into your back as he responded.

“Of course. Sweetheart, you will excuse us, won’t you? Peter and I have much to discuss, and I am sure the other wives are missing your presence,” he said, turning to you.

He threw you a tense and threatening smile, and you shakily returned it with a forced one.

“Of course. I shall see you in there when you return. Peter,” you acknowledged as you hurried past him, avoiding his gaze still.

You did not return to the hall though, but instead made your way down to the kitchen. It was filled with servants, and Mary Jane gasped when she saw you. She and Guinevere were always joined at the hip, but the other girl had been ill for the last few days. The redhead dropped what she was doing, shooing another servant off of a stool before grabbing your arm.

“My God,” she breathed.

The other occupants tended to the food and drinks, much too used to seeing you down here twice a week or so. Mary Jane pressed a cold piece of steak to your face, and you hissed.

“Is it that bad?”

“It is swelling already, your majesty,” she said.

You shifted on the seat, holding the cold meat to your face as you shooed her off.

“I hardly notice how hard he hits anymore. It still manages to shock me every time though, and I have no idea as to why,” you whispered.

She was just about to reply when another voice rang throughout the kitchen.

“Everyone out.”

You turned with wide eyes, confusion tearing through you at the sight of Peter just at the bottom of the stairs. Everyone seemed to hesitate for a moment, worrying about the food, no doubt, before eventually heeding his order. Mary Jane, no stranger to your relationship with the prince, threw you a worrying look before being the last one out. Peter seemed to hesitate as well before huffing, quickly approaching you.

You moved to stop him, but he was already pulling the red meat from your cheek before you had the chance. He stared at your skin for a while before putting it back in place. You held it there as he leaned against the counter, a familiar look of anger on his boyish features.

“This is not the first time this has happened,” he murmured.

There was no need to respond. It was a statement, not an answer. The silence was heavy, thick with tension and filled with words unspoken. Outside of that night, this was the longest you had ever been alone with Peter, and the first time you did not feel uncomfortable in his presence.

“You did not want to marry my father...did you?”

You looked at him with wide eyes, lips parting to refute such a blasphemous statement, but no words came out. Words failed you. Peter was a smart young man, always had been, and you were sure that he would see through whatever lie you pieced together.

“Of course, it was not like you could refuse if you wanted to. He is a king, and you were a mere lady,” he said more to himself than you.

You sighed, putting the steak down as you stood.

“My father has never been kind to anyone in his life. I do not know why I thought you were an exception…”

“Peter… I do not want this to affect how you view your father, do you understand?”

He simply frowned at you, and you continued.

“He is not without his flaws, this is true,” you slowly said. “...but he is still your father. In his own way, he loves you and only wants what is best.”

Peter stared at you for a while before scoffing, a humorless laugh not far behind. He pressed his hand to the counter as he stared at you with a look of shock.

“My father does not deserve you,” he said, almost as if he could not believe it.

He chuckled again, pressing his hand to his forehead.

“All this time, I thought that the two of you deserved each other. I hated you...and now...now I just feel sorry for you. For both my father...and me…,” he quietly finished.

“Peter-.”

“I have been nothing but cruel to you, and for that I am sorry. I am sorry for the things that I have done...and the things that I have said.”

You blinked, convinced that you would never hear those words. They warmed your heart, and you looked away.

“It’s alright. You believed what you believed, and if I were in your shoes, I might have believed the same. Your feelings were valid, Peter,” you told him.

He blinked at you.

“I never wanted to replace your mother. That is still not what I desire...but I am here. I know that there is only a decade between us, but I have come to love you like a son despite everything.”

Peter’s eyes softened, and you could see the guilt there.

“I never wanted to rush you, even now, but I hope that you will view me the same one day. Tony is no longer your only parent, and I am always here.”

Peter looked as if he wanted to say something else, but he held off.

“I should get back before your father comes looking for me,” you said, heading for the stairs. “Oh...and please refrain from provoking him.”

You looked to Peter.

“I may dislike him at times, but I do not want to send him to an early grave.”

Peter simply hummed, sending you a strained smile before you left him to find your husband.

You remained in the corridor as the angry voices bled through the door. Both Tony and Peter assured you countless times that their strained relationship was none of your concern, but it could not be helped. They had never had the best relationship, but if possible, it had soured even more over the years, and you were unsure of who to blame.

The minute Tony started to get more serious about grooming Peter for the throne, things had gone from tense and strained to borderline violent at times. Not only did the two have such opposing views when it came to how to run the kingdom, but your husband had been pushing the idea of marriage more and more lately. It had only gotten worse when Peter neared his twenty-fifth birthday, the party on that fateful day ending abruptly when Peter had stormed out.

You were pulled from your reverie when the door swung open. Peter was the first one out, and he held up a hand as you moved to approach him.

“Not now, Y/N,” he huffed, quickly striding down the corridor with a frustrated sigh.

Tony emerged not long after, and you moved to kiss him, knowing that it would soothe him for the time being.

“That boy will be the death of me,” he complained.

“You both provoke each other, and I do not know why,” you told him. 

“He has duties! He is twenty-five and nowhere near taking them seriously. It seems that he is determined to ruin me,” he spat.

You sighed.

“Would you like for me to talk to him?”

“You seem to be the only one he actually listens to, so by all means,” he gestured down the hall, face cloudy.

You patted his chest before leaving him, wondering if a day would come where you would be a functional family. You and Peter were nowhere near what you used to be, and for that you were eternally grateful, but his relationship with Tony was far worse than it had ever been, and you did not know how to even begin to fix it.

You found Peter sparring with his dueling instructor. The sound of clashing swords was loud, and you rounded the corner, wincing when Peter just narrowly missed a rather dangerous blow. He motioned for the other gentleman to stop once he spotted you.

“Come on his behalf, have you?”

“Peter,” you sighed.

He snapped at the other man.

“Give your queen a sword, will you? Come,” he was talking to you now. “Spar with me.”

You reluctantly accepted the other man’s sword, a grimace on your face as you stepped forward.

“I am a horrible dueling partner,” you complained.

“Nonsense, Y/N. You are far better than what you were a year ago,” Peter said with a chuckle.

Your heart sank a bit at the sound of your name, but it did not distract you from blocking the swing of his sword with your own. Peter smirked at you.

“See?”

“Peter, this is not why I am here,” you told him.

“Of course not,” he calmly said. “My father knows that between the two of you, you are the only one I actually respect. He believes that you have some sway over me...and I am not reluctant to admit that he is right.”

He blocked your blow, quick to do so again when you swung your sword down towards his legs. He eyed you, a bit of pride in his gaze.

“Very good,” he praised.

“I was hoping to talk you into agreeing to some sort of compromise with him. Any compromise, really.”

Peter let out a humorless laugh, spinning before bringing his sword down over his head. Your eyes were wide as you lifted your sword, the sound of them clashing meeting your ears.

“There is no compromising with that man. He is determined to bring this kingdom and all of its subjects to ruin, and he wishes for me to just stand back and watch. He does not hear a word I say,” he spat.

He swiped his sword at you, several times and in several different successions. Unable to keep up, you were not surprised when your sword was knocked from your hands. You did not flinch when the tip of his blade found your throat, confident that Peter would never hurt you. He pressed the tip further, eyes locked on yours, and you swallowed.

“Do you agree with him?”

“Of course not,” you honestly answered.

Peter lightly dragged his blade down your neck and towards the top of your dress, his eyes following its movement before he quickly snatched it away. He tilted his head at you, raising an eyebrow as he waited for you to continue.

“You know I do not agree with how your father runs this kingdom, but I have no say. I never did. Believe it or not, Peter, you have much more influence than I do.”

He turned away with a disbelieving laugh.

“Somehow, I doubt that…”

“Look, I am going to say something that I know you are not going to like,” you suddenly said.

Peter did not respond, so you continued.

“I think that you should consider marriage.”

You saw him straighten at that, back tense, and you rushed to say something else.

“If Tony feels that you are taking your future seriously, then he will be more inclined to take you seriously.”

He turned to you with a withering look, and you rolled your eyes.

“Do not look at me that way. I am not saying that you have to marry some poor girl right away, but at least make an effort to look around, and show Tony that you are attempting to meet him halfway,” you advised.

Peter gave you a hard stare for the longest time before eventually rolling his eyes and looking away.

“Very well. You always do get your way, don’t you, Y/N?”

Your mouth parted for a moment before you snapped it shut, looking down. This did not go unnoticed by Peter, and he neared you.

“What is it, now?”

Your eyes met his, and you tried to hide your hurt, but it must have been clear as day. Peter’s entire demeanor softened, and he stuck his sword in the dirt, reaching for you.

“What is it?”

You exhaled.

“That...is another thing I had hoped to discuss with you.”

He frowned in confusion.

“You still refer to me by my name…” you watched as his face fell. “And I do not wish to rush you, I never have, but when you say my name...it makes me feel as if I am doing something wrong here.”

“You are not,” he rushed to assure you. “Believe me…”

“I do not want to replace your mother, but if I am doing something-.”

“It is merely a force of habit. That is all,” he interrupted. 

“You are sure…?”

“Positive,” he said with a small smile.

“...okay,” you said with a nod. “...and what will you be doing after this...?”

“I will be speaking with my father,” he reluctantly told you.

“Good,” you said, Peter bending to allow you to quickly peck his forehead. “...and please be polite. I hate the way you two provoke each other.”

He roughly exhaled.

“Yes...mother…,” he seemed to bite out, eyes on you.

You looked to him with wide eyes, heart swelling as your smile grew. You chuckled, kissing his forehead one last time before leaving him to finish his instruction.

Contrary to what you had hoped, your advice did not improve things. Now that Peter had agreed to at least looking for a wife, it just gave him and Tony one more thing to disagree on, and disagreements about the smallest of things only gave room for disagreements about more serious matters. Peter hated the way Tony ran the kingdom, and you could not fault him for that.

Meals were more tense than ever, and it soon became suffocating to be in the same room as father and son. You did your best to keep the peace between them but there was only so much you could do. Especially when the arguments would get so intense that you feared for them. Tony could get so angry, and while you had never known him to put his hands on Peter as he did you, it still worried you that he might one day. And Peter…

Sometimes Peter would get a look in his eye that chilled you to the bone. He would get so fed up with his father, lips pressed together as Tony tore into him, and you would see the younger man’s eyes flash with something you could not name. It was a look that terrified you and made him look like someone that was not Peter, at all. 

Tensions only mounted as your birthday neared. You did not want either of them involved in the party planning process, convinced this would be the final nail in the coffin. Truth be told, it was also for yourself as well. It allowed you to breathe better.

“The party is tomorrow night, and Peter has yet to have the last fitting for his attire,” you told Mary Jane as you stood.

“I can finish this up, your majesty, while you go find Peter,” she replied.

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely! I am almost finished, anyway.”

“Wonderful! I shall return shortly. There are only so many places he could be at this hour…”

The corridors were scarcely occupied as you decided to check Peter’s chambers first, making your way to his wing of the castle. You were unsurprised to find them empty, and you quickly made your way outside. He had a habit of frequenting the grounds, the maze especially, and you were confident that you would find him there then. 

You had not been inside the maze for a while, but you remembered how to navigate it vividly. You were deep within it, somewhere in the middle perfectly between the beginning and the end when you stumbled upon a sight you were not prepared for.

At the other end of a long stretch, were a couple, far too wrapped up in each other to notice your presence. You felt your face heat up as you stumbled upon the lovers, and you were prepared to turn back when the young man lifted his head, familiar eyes meeting yours. A gasp escaped you, and you were frozen on the spot as Peter simply stared at you.

He did not break his gaze as he continued to thrust into the woman beneath him, who you absentmindedly recognized as Guinevere. Her eyes were closed, clinging to Peter as moans tumbled from her lips, and even though Peter was silent as he stared at you, the heat in his eyes was undeniable. Finally coming to your senses, you willed your feet to move, but you did not escape in time to miss the way Peter’s deep moan rang throughout the air.

Upon your return, you told Mary Jane that you were unable to find Peter. You did not want to think of the awkward encounter, and told yourself that the tailor had never been wrong before. You were positive that Peter’s attire would fit. You did not see the young man again until the following day, your birthday, and it was only an hour or so until your party. Tony was meeting with a few of his Lords when there was a knock on your chamber door.

You were quick to answer it, surprised to find Peter on the other side. You only felt uncomfortable for a moment before you took in his attire. You beamed, widening the door to allow him in.

“Oh, Peter, you look positively dashing!”

“Did you doubt that I would?” he smugly wondered.

You threw him a look.

“I swear, you are getting more and more like your father every day,” you told him with a chuckle.

“I got you something,” he suddenly said, and it was only then did you notice the box in his hand.

You blinked in surprise, eyes widening when he opened it to reveal the most beautiful necklace you had ever seen. The ruby heart in the middle was positively blinding, standing out against the rest of the diamonds that made up the band. You pressed your hand to your chest, mouth parting.

“Happy Birthday.”

“Oh my… Peter, this is so sweet of you,” you told him.

“Well,” he started, setting the box aside as he took the piece of jewelry into his hands. “It is not every day that one turns thirty-six.”

He motioned for you to spin around, and you obliged.

“This might also double as an apology for yesterday. I regret that you had to see that,” he chuckled.

You joined him, waving him off.

“Nonsense, Peter. It was a bit of a shock, but nothing more. You are a young man, after all, and I could never fault you for doing what young men do. You are treating Guinevere well, I hope? She is a sweet girl.”

Peter groaned.

“Yes, Y/N.”

Your heart sank at the sound of your name, and you frowned a bit.

“I am treating her just fine,” he assured you.

You chose not to comment on his use of your name, wondering if you had done something wrong.

“Would you ever consider marrying her?” you pushed.

Peter was quiet as he brought his hands over to lower the necklace at your neck. It was not one that rested at your décolletage, but at your throat instead, and your eyes widened a bit when he pulled it back. You reached up to your neck, forced to stumble back into his chest to keep from choking, relaxing a bit when he finally clasped it together.

“No,” was his simple answer. “It is not like that.”

He rested his hands on your shoulder, turning you around to admire you. His dark eyes took you in before finally focusing on the necklace, the corner of his lips lifting a bit. He pressed his finger to the ruby heart, drawing patterns over it before eventually stepping away.

“It looks great,” he told you.

“Thank you. We should track down your father before they start my own celebration without me,” you replied.

It was not long after that the three of you were entering the great hall, a smile on your face as everyone greeted you. Tony and Peter were at your sides, and both of their hands rested at the small of your back as they guided you to the royal table at the head of the room. Everyone only quieted down when you took your seats, and you looked down at the familiar faces with a smile.

Your attention was drawn to Peter as he stood, raising his glass as a servant came by to fill them. He only filled yours and Peters, but another quickly came to fill Tony’s. Once everyone’s glasses were filled, that was when Peter spoke.

“I would like to propose a toast…”

He turned to look down at you, dark eyes unreadable as he swallowed.

“...to the woman who loved me even when I did not deserve it.”

Your heart swelled as you smiled at Peter, so happy that you two had come this far.

“No one could ever replace my mother...and I would not want them to, but you, Y/N, you are the next best thing.”

Your eyes softened, realizing that while maybe Peter did not see you as something akin to a mother just yet, he still loved you, and that gave you hope. You could live with that for now. Peter’s eyes fell onto his father, and he suddenly smiled.

“...and to my father, the king. If it were not for you, Y/N would never have come into our lives.”

His voice was even, but his eyes glinted before he turned to the rest of the royal court, his glass held high.

“To the king and queen. Long may they reign,” his voice traveled over the room.

Everyone else repeated his words before taking a drink, you and Tony following suit. As you set your glass down, you watched, a bit concerned, as Peter swallowed all of his wine, a look of satisfaction on his face as he lowered his glass. You turned to Tony, prepared to ask him if he wished to say anything, just as he let out that first cough.

It sounded nasty, and you frowned, prepared to ask him if he drank too fast when he coughed again, blood staining his bottom lip. Your heart fell to your stomach, eyes widening as you reached for him, hands trembling. You were prepared to call for help when you noted the sound of several coughs reaching your ears, followed by screams.

When you turned towards the rest of the room, you saw every single one of the royal court coughing up blood, and you stood on unsteady legs as understanding dawned on you. You reached for Peter, your hand gripping his arm as fear and horror clung to you.

“P-Peter…”

You looked to him, but his face was stony as he looked down at everyone. The only people who were okay were you, Peter, the servants, and the few guards. You watched as Peter waved his hand, confusion filling you as two guards opened the door to let more in. You were frozen as they all drew their swords, stomach churning as you realized what was about to happen. You turned back to Peter, but he was already moving past you.

“Peter, what- what is happening? What are you doing?”

You lunged for him as he drew a dagger, hand fisted into his fathers hair to pull the struggling man’s head back.

“Peter, no!”

He shoved you away, right into the arms of a waiting guard, and you did not turn your head in time to miss the way he dragged the blade across his father’s neck. A scream left you, belonging to a voice that you did not recognize, and you continued to scream and cry as the guard backed up. Peter pointed at you, his father’s blood coating his hand, his face unrecognizable to you.

“Get her out of here…”

His eyes met yours, dark with a harmful intent that terrified you. Who was this man? He ran his eyes over you.

“...and do not let her get away.”

You fought against the guard as he dragged you away, kicking and screaming all the way. Your efforts did not even cease as you made it into the corridor, having been forced past the dead bodies of your friends and acquaintances. The guard towered over you and was easily double your size, so all of your efforts were useless. 

He only let you go when you reached Peter’s chambers, dragging you through the receiving chamber to toss you onto the floor of his bedchamber. The impact made your head spin, and by the time you pushed yourself to your feet, he was already pulling the door shut. You slammed your hands against it just as you heard it lock, and another sob threatened to escape you.

You had only ever been in Peter’s room a handful of times, and you wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked around. Your chest hurt, heart breaking as you recalled the way Peter had so callously taken his father’s life. Your husband was dead, and it was no secret that the man was far from perfect, but his absence scared you. What would become of you now? Why did Peter not poison you like the rest? God, had his feelings never changed, at all? Had he still secretly hated you this whole time and wanted to get some sick satisfaction out of killing you here?

You lost count of how many times you tried the door before moving to the balcony doors. They too did not budge, and you kicked them in frustration. You could barely form a coherent thought, and more tears spilled over as you realized just how alone you were. You did not understand anything. Why would Peter do this?

As you heard someone enter his receiving chamber, it occurred to you that you might get your answer.

Your eyes met Peter’s as he entered his chambers, and you stumbled back, afraid to take your eyes off of him. You watched as he locked the door behind him, and the sight of that made your face crumble.

“What have you done?” you shakily asked.

The room was quiet save for your soft sobs, and you flinched when Peter took a step forward. He did not look like the young man you knew. He stood there in the dark attire he had picked out for your birthday, looking every bit like the murderous man you now knew him to be. A dark strand of hair kissed his forehead, jaw clenched as he eyed you. It started to lightly rain outside, and your eyes fell to the blood on his hands.

His father’s blood.

“Have you come to kill me too?”

Finally, his face shifted, and he frowned at you.

“Kill you?”

Peter scoffed, laughing to himself as he tilted his head at you.

“You could not be farther from the truth…”

“Then what do you plan to do? What are you doing, Peter? I do not understand…”

“My father was going to run this kingdom into the ground. We both know it…”

You started shaking your head before he was even done.

“Something had to be done.”

“Not like this! You killed him- you killed everyone,” you cried.

“...and here I thought you would be thanking me,” he sneered.

“Thanking you?”

“Unless I was wrong, and you enjoy being slapped around,” he threw at you.

You felt as if you were just slapped then, and you pressed your back into the wall, tightening your arms around yourself.

“Not like this, Peter. Not like this,” you tearfully murmured.

The rain got louder, filling the otherwise silent room with some noise, and you flinched when lightning flashed, shedding light on the room and on Peter’s dark gaze.

“What will become of me? Did you ever think about that? I am the widow of a murdered king. A king murdered by his own son in a coup!”

“...and the future wife of the next one,” Peter calmly stated.

You froze, his words failing to make sense despite the fact that you heard him just fine. Something about them did not sound right, and your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping you.

“What...what did you just say?” you hesitantly questioned. 

Peter took another step towards you, and you slid along the wall...away from him.

“Do you have any idea how much it pained me to watch you with him?”

“Peter…”

You shook your head, still moving away as he moved closer.

“Do know what it was like to watch him mistreat you again and again only to turn around and reap the spoils of his marriage as if he had not just caused you harm only moments before?”

His voice was low, thick with something you were too disgusted to name. Your eyes were wide, filled with tears as the reality of the situation dawned on you. Peter’s feelings, his father’s murder...the two of you alone in a castle full of people that have proven their loyalty to him. Peter was only eighteen when you married the king, standing face to face with you, but now, eight years later, the young man towered over you.

He suddenly chuckled, and the sound terrified you more than anything now.

“I find it funny… My father was always telling me that royals take. We take what is ours. We take what we believe we should have. That is what we do, son,” he mocked. “We take.”

His cold eyes bore into yours as you stumbled away from him. In a circle the two of you went, and you pulled on the handle of the door as you pressed your back to it. Fresh tears spilled as it refused to budge.

“Now look. I have taken his life, I have taken his kingdom, and I have taken the woman he thought belonged to him-.”

He swallowed the rest of his words as you suddenly dived to the other side of the room. Peter followed, and you reached up to pull the portrait from the wall, tossing it at him only for Peter to evade it. You frantically crawled across the bed, kicking Peter in the chest as he reached for your ankle. You fell to your knees on the other side, running to the balcony doors with tears in your eyes.

Again, the doors would not budge, and you were prepared to throw yourself through the glass when Peter was suddenly there at your back. He enclosed you in his arms, and you reached back to fight against him and push him away, but he only pinned you between him and the glass. The sound of the thunder drowned out your screams, and you yelped in shock when he fisted a hand in your hair, yanking your head to the side.

Peter was determined to taste you, tongue and teeth brushing your skin as he ground himself against you. Nothing you did seemed to deter him, and it suddenly felt hard to breathe. The storm raged outside, wind pushing rain against the window. One of Peter’s hands dragged up your leg, pushing the skirts of your dress with it, and you slammed your hands against the window, attempting to push back.

This only egged him on, and he moaned in your ear.

“Peter, please,” you begged

You could feel the air against you, and your efforts to get away only increased when you felt him moving to release himself. The hand in your hair moved to your neck, cutting off your airway as he pulled your head back to rest against him. You struggled to breathe, nails scraping against the glass. He leaned down to cover your lips with his own, kissing you for the first time, and you sharply inhaled.

He moaned at the taste of you, his tongue meeting yours, tasting the wine that you wish had killed you too. You both struggled against the window, your hands turning into fists when he pushed his leg between yours, quickly followed by the other. You turned your head away, your small victory overshadowed by your ultimate defeat as he thrust into you. You yelped just as Peter shuddered against your back, a long sigh escaping him as he pressed a hand into the glass beside your head.

He pressed his face into your hair, grinding against you, the sound of him breathing you in reaching your ears. Your own forehead was pressed to the glass now, tearful eyes taking in the storm as Peter dragged his cock in and out of your unwilling core. Your body shook from both your sobs and his ministrations, and again, you pushed against the glass in hopes to push him away.

He merely shoved his chest into your back, forcing you back against the glass before wrapping his arms around you again. One hand pulled at the neckline of your dress, ripping it straight down, and your lashes fluttered when he slipped his hand beneath the fabric to roll his fingers over you. His other arm came across your middle, pinning your own at your sides.

“You are finally mine,” he breathed after a while.

You shook your head in denial, another lightning strike bathing the room in a glow. It was gone as quickly as it came, and you were forced to focus on Peter’s reflection in the window. He was lost in the euphoria of you, the feel of you wrapped around him, sucking him back in again and again.

“Finally,” he groaned. “At my side and in my bed as my queen…”

His hand slipped from beneath the torn fabric of your dress, dancing along your skin before his fingers brushed over the diamond choker at your neck.

“I have all night to claim you as mine, and no one is around to stop me.”

“Peter, this is not you-.”

“Oh, but it is,” he sighed. “This is the man you loved when he did not deserve it. This is the man you will marry, bear children with…’

You let out a choked sob, fresh tears falling at his words.

“Oh, please. Everyone knew that my father was the problem. He was the only one in denial about it, and I have a feeling that by the time I am done with you, you shall be with child by tomorrow.”

“Peter, please,” you screamed.

His hand tightened on your throat, pulling your head back so you were forced to stare at the ceiling, back arched to take his slow and purposeful thrusts. He kissed the corner of your eye before doing the same to your cheek. His breathing was choppy, heart pounding in his chest, and the way his hips stuttered told you that he was close.

“Oh God,” he moaned, stilling against your back as he spilled himself into you.

You froze against him at the feel, realizing that there was no turning back. You shook in his hold, feeling the urge to be sick when he suddenly pulled out of you, replacing his cock with his fingers. You gasped, reaching down to grab his wrist as he shoved a second finger inside of you, the wet sound of it reaching your ears even with the rain outside. He pressed you to his chest as he curled his fingers into you.

You bucked your hips, ashamed with your actions as he pulled pleasure from you like it was nothing. LIke he somehow knew your body better than you did. His lips were at your ear, brushing against your skin before he trailed them to your neck again, pressing kisses there. Your nails dug into his wrist, but he paid your efforts no mind as he thrust his fingers into you, setting a pace that had your legs shaking. You knew that if it were not for his hold, you would have collapsed already.

Peter hummed when your breath hitched.

“You are close...aren’t you?”

“Peter...stop,” you shakily begged.

“I shall stop when I feel your arousal dripping down my hand,” he purred.

His words had you clenching around him, and he moaned against your neck.

“I suppose I cannot blame my father for being so possessive of you. Your walls feel like heaven…”

“Peter…”

“I do not know how I will ever allow you to leave our bed-.”

“Peter-.”

“I guess I shall just have to keep you tired…”

“Please-!”

“Come for me, Y/N. Fall apart for your king,” he whispered.

And you did. You seized in his arms, walls clenching around him, your arousal coating his fingers and dripping down his hand. Your nails drew blood, but he only moaned with you, cursing as you rode yourself on his fingers, your other hand reaching back to twist into his shirt. That was the hardest you ever came, and shame filled you.  As you came down from your high, Peter lowered the both of you to the floor.

It was only then did you notice the bloody handprints on the glass. The same blood on you, no doubt. More tears sprung forth as it all seemed to hit you, and Peter forced your head onto his shoulder as he shushed you. You obliged, and he leaned down to press his lips to your forehead, rocking you as you sobbed in his tightening arms.

~

tags:   @xoxabs88xox @harryspet @readermia @opheliadawnwalker3 @nickyl316h @captainchrisstan @sebabestianstan101 @villanellevi @lokislastlove @notyourtypicalrose @coconutqueen21 @hurricanerin @hyoyeoniie  @cocoamoonmalfoy @mandiiblanche @gotnofucks @oneoftheprettynerds @doozywoozy @mcudarklibrary @melli0112 @buckybarnesplumwhore @dramaholic18​

[wisteria-blooms]

time after time (f.w. & reader) (6/7)

chapter directory: [one] [two] [three] [four] [five] [six] [epilogue] taglist: @impossibelle @ellenerys @sapnap-girlfriend (let me know if you’d like to be added or removed)

pairing: fred weasley x reader/you

summary: Every summer like clockwork, Fred Weasley is paid a visit by a woman from the future. Every encounter is a chance to learn a little more about himself as he heads into adulthood. She divulges all he wants to know, but leaves one question unanswered: why is she here? Written in Fred’s point-of-view (third person) and Reader’s (second person, italicized). tags/warnings: time-traveling, romance, war, mourning, grief, death

(6): july 04 1997; 4:40 pm

It seemed that summers would be changed forevermore for Fred. Two years ago, Cedric Diggory had died, causing rumblings that the Dark Lord was back. A year later, his father had been attacked while on duty for the Order. It was one of the biggest scares Fred had ever experienced – the thought of losing his family. Then months later, there had been a battle at the Ministry of Magic that confirmed Voldemort’s return. Though he was able to enjoy the shop’s opening that year, he felt uneasy about the future.

It wasn’t until he attended the funeral of his old Headmaster last week that he was certain things were going to complete shit.

With a grunt, Fred moved boxes of merchandise that had piled up in his shop. Knowing the fragile state of the world and the thinning crowds at Diagon Alley, he and George decided it would be wise to focus on deliveries again. Sure, he had magic to help with the deed, but he was angry, and he preferred to physically handle boxes to ease his temper.

“Can I help?” the woman asked, trying to grab at a delivery on the other side of the room.

“Don’t need it.” He brushed her off and continued to ignore her presence.

She sighed. “I’m not coming back after this,” she promised as she dangled the time turner in front of him. “This is what I’ve been using, and it’s my last turn. See?”

“Why should I believe you?” Fred scoffed. “You lied the first three times.”

“You could at least extend me the courtesy of explaining everything. And besides, you so graciously let me in.”

He almost snorted at her words. The way he let her in was not at all gracious – he appraised her wordlessly and left the door open.

“Tell me why I should,” he grunted as he sealed a box shut.

“I’ve been at least truthful,” she said in defence of herself. “Your brother Bill is getting married, isn’t he? Your mum is busy like I said.”

He wiped the dust from his hands. Then, he looked upstairs at the office area where George had begun packaging next week’s orders the other day. He really was contemplating whether he should give her his trust. Like he’d previously thought, she seemed inherently truthful, and he was a good reader of people.

“You’ll let me ask anything?” he asked after a few moments.

“Yes.”

“Okay, firstly,” Fred continued without missing a beat. He glanced at her hand again, at the silver band that’d been there every year she’d returned. It was suspicious because she’d never talked about a lover or being married. “What’s the ring on your hand? The one you keep touching. Who’s the unlucky man?”

“Oh, this old thing?” she asked, slipping it off her ring finger. She tossed it to Fred, who caught it with both hands. “It’s nothing special in itself.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” he said, appraising the nicks and scratches in the lifeless silver. It looked like something that his grandparents would’ve worn back in the day. “Couldn’t even get a knut for this if you tried to trade it in at the second-hand shop.”

He tossed the ring back to her. “So why keep it?”

“I was told I’d get a good return on it.” She slipped the ring back on her finger where it looked like it perfectly belonged.

“Oh?” Fred asked, looking interested now. He wouldn’t pass up the chance to hear about a good investment.

The bone-chilling winds of January kept you contained in the cottage. Being inside most of the time meant a lot of household duties to be taken care of. You spent most days tidying around the house with the radio on, alternating between smooth jazz and Lee’s voice on Potterwatch. George had gone off with Lee for a change in scenery and to quote, ‘to get away from you and Fred.’

George had also, to your embarrassment, remarked he’d never seen Fred like this. And if he had to guess, this was how Fred would fall in love: hard and fast. When he was sure, he was sure and there was no going back. You shook your head and sent George off, unwilling to accept the fact that Fred was in love with you. You reckoned it couldn’t be any sort of love deeper than an adolescent infatuation.

Today, after your chores, you were sat in the living room and admiring how beautiful and pristine the snow looked on the evergreens.

“Hey,” called Fred as he entered the living room. “Want to see something more interesting?”

“Such as?”

“Come on.”

He grabbed your hand and dragged you upstairs until you were standing under the attic door.

“Are you sure this is okay?” you inquired nervously as you climbed up the ladder with him. Fred pushed the door open and crawled through.

“Consider it a treasure hunt,” he responded, helping you up the last steps. The attic housed possessions that belong to his late grandparents and to his late uncles, Fabian and Gideon. “And trust me, love, it is a million times more interesting than what you were doing.”

“I'd been cleaning,” you huffed. “It’s quite important, you know. Especially living with someone like you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he said and placed a long kiss to your forehead.

After a few moments, Fred turned to large drawer on the far side of the room. Eagerly, he began to rummage through the contents. Unknowingly, his elbow knocked over a red velvet box. It fell over and split open as it hit the floor. A gleaming ring fell out and rolled until it hit the wall. Fred was quick to sweep it up. He turned it side to side under the light, trying to appraise its value.

It was a simple silver band, nothing fancy or expensive, likely bought at the market one weekend and forgotten in a pile in the attic.

“You’re going to hold onto that?” you questioned. “I thought we were just looking.”

“Hm, how about we make a trade?” suggested Fred, twirling the ring between his thumb and index finger.

“What kind of trade?” you asked, cautious of what antics Fred had in mind. He was a businessman first and foremost, wasn’t he?

“Keep this,” he cupped your hand and placed the ring flush on your palm, “let it accrue, bring it back to me after the war, and I’ll give you something more valuable in return.”

“Something more valuable? And I just have to hold onto it?” you repeated, staring at the silver band. You placed it in your pocket and matched Fred’s grin.

“You’ve really got nothing to lose,” he affirmed.

“You’re on, then.”

“Don’t lose it now, love,” he tutted as he took the ring out from your pocket and slid it on your ring finger instead. He chuckled as your face went red with realization. “Best to wear it. And blimey, it fits you perfectly.”

“You aren’t serious?”

“Do I ever kid?”

You peered at him in silence before everything you were feeling spilled out. “Always, Fred! Sometimes, I think you’re serious, but it turns out you’re just kidding.”

“Is that a bad thing?” he asked, his hands coming out to stroke your reddening cheeks. “What am I without my jokes? I’d be boring like our dear Georgie.”

"No, I want to believe you with all my heart,” you explained, shying away from him. “But sometimes, I can’t decide if that’s a completely safe thing to do.”

“Okay, then let me be serious for a moment,” he said. He took your hand into his and looked at the silver band on your ring finger. “I, Fred Weasley, promise if you hold onto this, the first thing we do after this is all over is shop around Diagon Alley for one that you actually fancy.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“You promise?”

“On my life.”

He leaned down and inched closer to you, his nose brushing against yours. You could feel the flutter of his eyelashes as his eyes closed. No sooner did you feel the brush of his soft lips against yours. His hands moved up your shirt and grasped the bare skin of your waist. Fred pulled back and looked earnestly at you.

“Let me show you.”

“Well, who gave it to you?” he asked, the boxes on the side of the store long forgotten.

She chuckled.

“You did.”

He paused. “I did?”

“Yes, you,” she responded with a laugh. “Fred Weasley, you have a heart. Is that so hard to believe?”

She turned her head to look outside at the vacant streets. She stared intently at one of the boarded-up shops on the intersection. Its doors were still encrusted with diamonds though a former glory of itself. Little did Fred know, like all girls dreamed of, it had been her dream too: a ring from the man she loved most, from the most beautiful jewelry store in Diagon Alley.

Almost wistfully, she continued, “you promised me a good return. I’m still waiting.”

Fred furrowed his eyebrows. It wasn’t like him at all to not uphold a promise.

“You swindled me!” She was relentless in her teasing.

“I’d never!” he protested, getting up from his seat and throwing his washcloth down. All his previous anger had washed away at their silly banter. “Come on, let’s settle the score now. What do I owe you?”

“Nothing,” she responded, getting up as well. “I’ve just decided to forgive your debts.”

She held up the time turner and dropped it in his hands.

“Oh, you also gave me this. So, you can’t be angry at me for being here.”

Fred held your hand to stop you from shaking: from nerves and from the sheer height off the ground as you stood on the balcony. Both of you knew that you were walking into a permanently changed world, and whether you’d walk out together was entirely up to fate. And you could only hope it was the right side of it.

“Merlin,” he remarked as the walls began to crumble down on the other side of the castle. You watched the cement cascading down, aware that the wreckage was drawing closer and close to you. There was no escaping now. The sound of warfare was overwhelming, trickling in deafening decibels. Flying debris streaked your face, cutting away at the delicate skin of your cheeks.

You closed your eyes and concentrated on Fred’s voice, which was getting harder and harder to hear over the collapsing castle and the screams of people below. “Why did it take so long for us to find each other? Seven years and yet we were just metres from each other?”

“Even if it’s just been a couple of months,” you said, keeping your hand firmly in his. “I feel like I’ve known you for lifetimes.”

“Me too,” he affirmed. It was the first time you heard his breath shake which was uncharacteristic for a man you knew to be so fearless. His finger skimmed over the ring he gave you in the attic. Then, he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed it. “If we met earlier, I’d do it again.”

“Tell me we’ll be okay,” you pleaded. You stared at Fred, looking for comfort. “Tell me I’ll see you after tonight.”

Fred was silent. He felt the desperation in your eyes grow with each second he didn’t speak. He felt awful that he couldn’t give a straight answer, but he wasn’t a man of false promises. He really did want to give you the world after but couldn’t if he wouldn’t be alive to do so. Instead, he took something from his own pocket. You looked down at the glowing locket curiously then back at him.

“Yeah,” he said, enveloping you in a hug and shielding you from the flying debris. You coughed into his chest from the thick smoke. His hands trailed down your coat. “You’ll see me.”

You felt the weight of the object as it settled in your pocket and he felt the weight of a beautiful white lie as it left his lips.

“Right before we ran into war, you dropped this in my p-pocket and I had no time to ask,” she choked back a sob as she spoke. “You gave me a time turner for a reason I’ve been searching for all these years.”

“For what reason? So you could come back and bother me?” he laughed. “Merlin, I’m mean to myself, hm?”

He sat back down on some boxes behind him. His resolve to joke was faltering. He watched her lips tremble and her hands shake, and it made his heart lurch. Her mood had taken a complete nosedive after talking about the time turner.

“I understand it now,” she said. She inched towards him slowly and brushed his red hair back. Carefully and on her tiptoes, she placed a light kiss to his forehead. He was receptive, leaning down to make it easier for her. He could see tears forming in her eyes as she looked longingly at him, not a desperate kind of love but a deep aching love that had lost all chance of being returned. “Thank you—” she gasped for breath, “for letting me into your life.”

Her fingers grazed his forehead at the spot he’d been kissed. Suddenly, Fred began to feel hazy, and the vision of the woman in front of him was blurring. Each passing second, he was beginning to lose memory of her. No matter how hard he tried to hold onto each beautiful feature of hers, she trickled away like she’d never been here. Her voice faded with each tick of the clock behind him.

“I’ll love you forever.” She sounded so far away, so distant. “Even if time was never on our side.”

[falcqns]

he's gone for good.

pairing: sub!Bucky x Reader

summary: Bucky informs you about Steve leaving.

warnings: angst, sub!Bucky, crying Bucky, mentions of violence.

a/n: hope you enjoy!

when you opened the door, and was greeted with a crying Bucky, you had no idea what to do.

you may had known Bucky for many years, but he was never open emotionally with you. in front of you, at least.

you two had met when you were studying abroad in Bucharest, and ended up moving in right beside him. you knew who he was right away, and you also knew that he was most likely on the run from HYDRA and S.H.I.E.L.D., so you never revealed that you knew who he was.

a week into living there, you found out he had nightmares, but it wasn't until a month later that you found the perfect cure for them, home cooked food.

you were up late doing some research for a paper, when you heard the beginnings of a nightmare. you usually heard the terror and scream filled ends, not the beginnings, but you listened anyways.

he was calling out for someone. it took you a few seconds to decode what and who he was calling out for, but when you realized, your heart broke for him. he was calling out for his mom. his calls became louder and more desperate, before coming to a head with a shout, then sobs of heartbreak. it made you think of your mom, hundreds of miles away. it wasn't until you remembered that he was born in 1917, so his mom was definitely dead, that you moved from your bed.

you ran into the kitchen and pulled out all the ingredients for some chocolate chip cookies. eating homemade cookies always soothed all your pain when you were little, and you didn't want to think about the kind of food HYDRA fed him on a daily basis, if they fed him at all. you also knew he most likely wasn't eating properly here, as you’d see him come back everyday with plums, along with some type of street food that he found.

didn't matter what the street food was, he always had plums accompanying it. a quick google search told you that plums helped improve memory, so that was that question answered. an hour later, and the cookies were done, and loaded into a spare Tupperware that you had lying around, with a note on top letting hi know that if he ever needed to talk, you were there.

you placed it outside his door, knocked, and retreated to your unit just in time. thanks to an abandoned body mirror that sat opposite the wall that separated the two units, you got to see the smile that spread on his face when he saw the cookies and read the letter.

after that day, it became tradition.

every time he would have a nightmare, you would give him some type of food. whether it was chicken parm, French onion soup, cookies, cake, donuts, or even chicken nuggets and fries that you Uber Eat’d from McDonalds, you always made sure he was comforted.

it wasn't until a month before you were due to move back to your home country that you saw him face to face for the first time. you were bringing him some white chocolate macadamia nut cookies when he opened the door. he had a coat, hat, and leather gloves on, indicating he was going out.

he smiled and blushed, before speaking. “so you're the lovely lady that cooks for me,” he said, and you laughed before handing him the container with cookies.

“yes I am. I just made some more, actually.” you said with a smile as he took the box from you, and looked inside.

“well, thank you doll. these look absolutely delicious, I can't wait to try them.” he said with a smile and you felt your cheeks heat up.

he placed the box down on the table next to the door, and turned back to you.

“well, I'll let you get on with your day,” you said, as you turned to head back to your unit.

“actually,” he said, and you turned to face him. “I was just going to go on a walk since it was my day off today. do you maybe want to come with me?” he asked, and you felt butterflies form in your stomach as you nodded.

“sure! just let me grab my coat.” you said.

then, just like the cooking, the afternoon walk became tradition. you two would walk and talk about anything. whether it be work, school, or building drama, you always had something to talk about.

on a certain walk through a quiet little park, he confessed who he was, and was surprised when all you said was “I know.” he’d asked if you were afraid, and you said no. he’d asked if you were planning on turning him in, and you also said no.

you’d explained that it was obvious that HYDRA had control of him, and that everyone deserved a second chance. after your little speech, he’d kissed you, and asked you out on a date. you'd accepted, and started dating after your first date.

then, he was captured by S.H.I.E.L.D.. the two of you had been at the market together when he saw a newspaper saying that he had killed King T’Chaka with a bomb at the UN. he swore, and dragged you home. the two of you blew past your unit, and headed into his where you were faced with Steve Rogers. this didn't surprise you, he'd told you what he could remember about Steve, and you were expecting him to show up eventually, you just weren't expecting it to be so soon.

you could hear someone else, Sam, over Steve’s comm, and realized that there were police here, to capture Bucky. upon hearing this, Bucky shoved you out of the apartment, and down the hallway, with Steve following. he’d led you to a back entrance that you didn't even know was there, and told you tp leave the building until everything was over.

he gave you one last hug and kiss, and your first ‘I love you’, and he was gone.

you hadn't heard from him for 2 years, when you got a letter from him. according to the letter he had been seeking refuge in Wakanda, and had been freed of the Winter Soldier. he invited you to come and visit, and you did. you got to watch him tend to his goats (which he named after every avenger, even Tony) and interact with the Wakandan people, and the children. who knew a former brainwashed HYDRA assassin could be so sweet with young children? definitely not you.

then, just as you were preparing to leave and look for a farm where Bucky could continue to raise his goats and be with you, King T’Challa came to Bucky and gifted him a new arm, and informed him of a new fight. Bucky had begged you to leave, but you wouldn't have it. you had been working out and training since the day that you watched him and Steve fight against the police in Bucharest, wanting nothing more than to run in there and protect him.

so, you fought. it felt surreal to you to be fighting with the Avengers beside you, although there was no place you’d rather be. in that moment, as you were racing towards those “space dogs”, as Rocket had called them at one point, you didn't care if you lived or died, won or lost. you only cared about fighting beside the love of your life.

watching that same love of your life fade away to dust in a beautiful Wakandan forest broke you in two. you had just gotten him back, and you’d lost him again. you were trapped in your own head for days, wishing to dust away like him, just to be with him.

before you knew it, 5 years had passed, and you had joined the remaining Avengers. how you went from studying abroad in Bucharest, to being an Avenger, you had no idea, but you were grateful nonetheless. when Steve, Natasha, and Scott approached you with the possibility that you would be able to get Bucky back, you instantly accepted.

you joined Tony, Steve and Scott, and helped Steve in the fight against himself. when Tony failed to get the Tesseract the first time, you joined them on their journey into 1970, and was blown away. it wasn't exactly the time that Bucky and Steve were from, but it kind of felt like it in a way, and you instantly felt closer to Bucky, although Steve had to stop you from going to find Bucky, who was coincidentally only a few kilometres away at that point in time.

you fought with Steve and the rest of the Avengers against Thanos, and almost fainted from happiness when you saw your Bucky walk through the portal and run into your arms. you, once again, fought with the Avengers and Bucky to defeat Thanos once and for all.

then, Tony snapped his fingers, and your whole world changed. you didn't know it at that particular moment, but it did.

you attended Tony's funeral, and you and Bucky went home. a few days later, Bucky and Sam went to see Steve off to return the stones. you had no idea why, according to Bruce it would take about 5 seconds, but Bucky insisted that he needed to go, and said that he was sorry he couldn't join you on an afternoon walk, your first one with him in over seven years.

but, then he showed up at the door, tears streaming from his steel blue eyes, his cheeks puffy, and the smallest of sobs escaping from his rosy lips, and you knew something went wrong.

you pulled him into your apartment, and wrapped your arms around him. he nuzzled his face into your neck, and sobbed freely.

“what happened?” you asked. “did something happen to Steve?” at the mention of his best friend, Bucky sobbed harder, and your question was answered, albeit silently.

you pulled him into the bedroom, and stripped him from his clothes. you’d never dealt with a sobbing and heartbroken Bucky in person before, so you just went with what felt right.

you instructed him softly to go lay on the bed, and he nodded. you laid down on your side, and pulled him to lay on your chest. as your hands ran through his hair that was starting to curl slightly, you tried again.

“can you tell me what happened, honey?”

Bucky sniffled a few times and sat up. you did the same, and he fiddled with his metal fingers while he talked.

“y’know yesterday when Steve and I went out for lunch?” he asked, and you nodded. “well, he told me about your journey back to the 1970′s with him.”

you furrowed your brow in confusion, but nodded. “I-i guess he was dodging some workers or something because he hid in an office, an office that happened to belong to Peggy Carter. he said that he saw her through the glass, and that he realized that he could have the life with her that he’d always wanted, the Pym Particles safe in his pocket. he knew that he had to come back and bring everyone back, but then he was going to go back.” you didn't know what to think. that wasn't the Steve that you knew, the Steve that you had become family with over those horrible and painful five years.

“when he told me, I didn't really think he was going to do it.” Bucky said, his voice shaking. you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, and he rested his head against your chest.

“even when I watched him disappear on the tunnel platform I didn't believe it. then, he showed up again.” he said, almost whispering.

“he was old. like grey hair, wrinkles, all of it.” he managed to get out in between sobs that were growing louder. “t-thats when it hit me. that he left me, for he-” he tried to say, before his sobs started full force again, and you pulled him to lay on you. he had his head on your chest, and his body in between your legs.

his cries continued, and you knew there was no stopping them. he was heartbroken, and he had to work through his feelings, not ignore them.

he swallowed, and continued to explain. “he left me for the girl he kissed once. which is great, he deserves to be happy, but I need him. I'm finally completely free, and I don't have my childhood best friend anymore.” he sobbed out, and you started to rock your body slowly to soothe him.

you wanted to cry too. cry about the friend that you’d never get to see again, but you couldn't, not yet. Bucky was hurting way more than you were, and you could push your pain down until Bucky was okay. you cuddled him closer to you, and spoke into his hair.

“its okay, baby boy.” you said, and he nuzzled deeper into you, the stress and sadness melting away from his body. it would return later, but it was gone for the time being. he sighed in contentedness, and his tears slowly stopped. you kissed his forehead, and felt him smile.

you ran your hands through his locks for the millionth time, and hummed a slow tune to him to soothe him further. you felt his breathing even out, ad light snores escape his mouth, and you smiled.

at least for a while, he was at peace, a peace he hadn't had in a while.

[thera-daydreams]

INDAY

± A Trese Fic ±

[Crispin/Basilio/Maliksi/Dominic x Skymaiden!Reader]

01: Noon at Ngayon (✓)

02: Ang Kambal na Anak ni Datu Talagbusao, Diyos ng Digmaan (Link)

03: Ang Prinsipe ng Mga Tikbalang (Link)

04: Ang Pinuno ng Mga Aswang (Link)

05: (Link) 06: (Link) 07: (Link)

01: Noon at Ngayon

Back then, long before you were born, your mother used to work as a katulong of the Trese Family and was very close to its matriarch, Miranda Trese. Coming from the province, she was no stranger to superstitions—even more so after knowing the work of Miranda's husband Anton Trese, who was actually the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila.

Years later, after giving birth to you around the same time Miranda gave birth to her twins (one a stillborn, unfortunately), it was you and Alexandra who became best buddies instead, as different your personalities were. You two had practically grown up together and you yourself heard countless stories of the supernatural from your Tito Anton. It wasn't that hard to believe when he and his sigbin companions would sometimes come home tracking blood prints on the floors (which you'd helped your mother clean up). Heck, you'd even met Señor Armanaz, the Great Stallion himself and the ruling tikbalang of the Armanaz herd. That pretty, white-haired diwata seemed extremely fond of you, too, which was evident when you'd sneak in with Alexandra to Tito Anton's meetings and she would smile (even wave) at you happily.

You had absolutely no idea why the fae-like lady was so nice to you, but you weren't complaining at all!

However, in spite of your experiences with the supernatural, you and your mother always believed that you were normal humans. In actuality, that was who you were for the majority of your childhood. It was only until Miranda herself saw a vision of you—a much older you—fighting the monsters of the Underworld alongside her own daughter. During dinnertime, Miranda told your mother that she saw you blessed by the heavens with powers that would aid in the battle against evil.

It sounded absolutely ridiculous, right? Yeah, your mom thought so, too.

Your mother only laughed it off as she placed a steaming bowl of tinola in front of Alexandra's brothers, who instantly dug in like they haven't been fed in years.

"Boys! Dahan-dahan lang," Anton reprimanded his sons. "Or else you'll choke and the soup will come out of your noses!"

"Okay, Papa."

"Grabe ka naman, Miranda. I doubt that anything like that's going to happen to my daughter," your mom chuckled, watching your little hands try to feed Alexandra with a piece of chicken. "Unlike you guys, our lineage isn't anything special. Ordinaryo lang ang lahi namin."

Miranda sighed, looking at you and her only living daughter enjoying your time being kids, "I guess you're right. Baka panaginip lang talaga 'yun."

Anton glanced at her knowingly. Although he was aware that you and your mom didn't dabble in magic or anything like they did, he knew that whenever Miranda—one of the Seven Seers—had such vivid dreams, it was something of great importance. But he decided to say nothing, understanding how much your mother wanted to let you live as normal of a life possible in this household.

That was when you were seven years old. One year later, Miranda died fighting against a group of aswang who decided to betray Anton. Said man found the eight-year-old Alexandra hiding in a corner behind the waterfalls, scared and holding Sinag close to her heaving chest as she tried to hold her tearful sobs in.

Of course, a few days later, you and your mother attended the funeral with the mourning Trese family. All the brothers had done their best to stay strong, especially for their little sister who didn't fully understand yet what just happened. Little you ran towards Alexandra, holding her hand tightly as her mother's casket was lowered. Around you were various comrades, both human and non-human, paying their respects to their bereaved allies.

That day, as you turned your back to return to your mother's arms, you knew you would never forget the feeling of numerous unearthly eyes following your every movement.

Even they could sense that there was something about you, a so-called regular human child. You smelled human and had the aura of one, but there was something they couldn't place. It was like a tiny rock getting into your shoe, not coming out at all.

Much changed after that, but you and Alexandra remained close together. To your dismay, just after you graduated elementary, you and your mother had to move back to the province to stay with your sick grandparents. The last thing you could remember was kneeling in the back of the car, looking sadly through the rear windscreen as Alexandra and her brothers waved goodbye to you.

More than a decade had passed since then. You used to write letters to Alexandra, but after Hank told you she had to undergo the trials of the Puno ng Balete, you haven't heard from her (although Hank did disclose that she'd managed to come home safely, which was a great relief to you). You didn't blame her; you knew Tito Anton had passed away in the five years she was gone and that she had to take over the title of Lakan, as well as the Babaylan-Mandirigma of Manila. It was a demanding job! You remembered Tito Anton sometimes staying up all night—breakfast would be served and he would still be in his study, going over paperwork. On other days, he would be gone for consecutive nights handling cases all around Manila. You could only pray Alexandra was fine.

Your life had continued on, as well—you took care of your ill grandparents until they died, helped your mother in the province, went to a good highschool, then earned your degree in another prominent city that wasn't Manila.

Your mom actually recommended that you go to school somewhere else, given the constantly rising number of attacks in the capital of the country. And so you did. Life was hard, but normal until then.

The funny thing was that, when you reached the age of twenty-one, you finally understood why those supernatural creatures kept looking at you weirdly as a kid (and why Lady Diwata liked you so much).

What was even funnier was that the dramatic revelation came to you when you weren't in the Philippines. It was after you freshly graduated college, when you were traveling all over Asia to volunteer in charity projects. It was always your dream to one day expand your horizons not only beyond your province, but the Philippines itself, while also doing good in the world.

And here you were, walking that path you dreamt of.

The organization you luckily managed to become a member of provided everything you needed, and every few months, you would move from country to country. Because of that, you'd already been able to travel to so many places. First it was Thailand, then Indonesia, China, South Korea, India, Japan, Sri Lanka, Singapore, Malaysia, and currently, you were in Vietnam. Visiting those places was fun and gave you a whole new perspective of the world you lived in; it was a... learning experience, too.

Still, that incident happened when you were in Thailand, when you were the last one in the rented apartment balcony taping up the boxes for the donation drive tomorrow. Yawning, you cut more duct tape and stuck them to the open boxes tightly.

"Inday," someone said from behind you. You didn't bother turning around, thinking it was one of your fellow volunteers looking for you this late at night. Probably your roommate. She was the only one who usually called you by your nickname instead of your real name.

"Hmm?" you hummed, taping up more boxes. "Papasok na ako sa kwarto, Lyn. I just have a few more boxes to close. Alam mong mapapagalitan ako kung may hindi madidistribute bukas."

"Hindi ako si Lyn."

You paused, then slowly turned around, flinching at the sudden bright light that shone right against your eyes. For a moment, akala mo namatay ka na at hinaharap mo si San Pedro.

It was a glowing figure in white whose face you couldn't clearly see, which frightened you even more.

"Ay, mama!" you exclaimed, shielding your eyes and falling to your knees. Then, you gasped loudly, patting your body and panicking with closed lids. "Oh my God, am I dead? Nasa heaven na po ba ako?" Your lips wobbled. "Ngayon pa nga lang ako nakaalis ng Pilipinas... I haven't even done all the things I've wanted to do! Hindi pa ako nakapagpaalam sa nanay ko—aray!"

You'd felt something hit the back of your head. Hard. It was the glowing figure in white, but now you could see their unimpressed face scowling at you.

"Kalma lang, Inday. Hindi ka pa patay, pero makinig ka nang mabuti," they shushed you urgently (you weren't sure if they were male or female). "Do not be afraid. I am a messenger from the heavens, and I bear great news!"

"Great news...?" you trailed off, then your eyes widened excitedly. "Like, nanalo ba ako ng lotto? Isang milyon? Bilyon? Hala! Wait, is this a Mama Mary moment? I'm not ready to be the next immaculate conception!"

They glared at you, making you shut up instantly. "Sorry, I'll shut up now," you apologized with a mumble. This person (thing?) was kind of... strict. Whatever did you do wrong? You were just sleep-deprived and running on energy drinks (as well as kape).

"I have come to tell you that you are the vessel of the last skymaiden," they revealed, arms wide open. The light around them seemed to grow even brighter, making you squint. You felt like you were about the go blind! "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N L/N."

At ayun, zero brain cells remaining. Tunay na nagloading screen ang brain mo. Nag-error at nagcrash pa nga siguro, eh.

"... Ha? Ano?"

You blinked, completely speechless—as seen by how wide your jaw had dropped open. It wasn't that you were unfamiliar with the biraddali, it was just that you'd only heard of them once when you were just a young child. Your Tita Miranda had mentioned they were long gone from the world of the supernatural.

"Oh no, me? A biraddali? You're joking," you stuttered out, pointing at yourself. "Aren't they extinct or something? And, uh... not human?"

They nodded, "Yes. It is correct that everyone in the mystical world thought that the biraddali were long gone, even before the colonizers came to conquer the native lands. However, before the skymaidens all disappeared, the youngest and most powerful one among the seven sisters sealed her soul away to the rivers of time until the strength of a heavenly being was needed to help purify the evils of the world." The figure floated closer to you. "That last biraddali's soul, along with its corresponding power, traits, and knowledge, had chosen to reside deep within you the moment you were conceived."

Honestly, how were you even supposed to react? Your life was nowhere near ready for something like this. Was this a prank by your friends? Your colleagues? The light around this person seemed too authentic to be fake, though.

You stayed in shock for an entire minute, silent. The being in front of you only waited for a response.

"Ano 'to, Sailor Moon? Winx Club?" you whispered to yourself, before slapping your own cheek and scolding yourself. A stinging red mark was left on your face. "Inday, kakamanhwa mo 'yan! Nasosobraan ka na ata, matulog ka na!"

Sighing heavily, you rubbed your face tiredly, still in disbelief that you—according to this stranger—were apparently some old soul from a species of ethereal beings that were long gone. It sounded like something out of those reincarnation webnovels you got addicted to. What now, you were the MC? Wattpad ka, girl?

"Look, this is a mistake. I still have to wake up early tomorrow to give out the donations," you spoke to the glowing being (or whatever it was), laughing nervously. "I'm sorry, but I think you have the wrong person. Either that or I must be hallucinating from sleep deprivation, because I'm definitely not a divine creature. You're probably just a product of my imagination. Sorry, I'm going to bed."

Bang!

At that moment, the power in the building went out. The only thing you could see was the thing who assumed you were a biraddali (they were so bright they were like a flashlight in the dark for you).

"Brownout?" you blinked. It felt wrong, though. It was eerily silent. "Did a fuse blow up?"

"Nagsimula na ang iyong unang pagsubok, Y/N," they announced seriously. "Creatures of the dark have already begun to take over this building. You may not have noticed, but all throughout your life, you have always been helping and giving. It is your nature as a being descended from the heavens themselves, and now, it is time for you to accept your destiny."

"Hoy, sandali lang! Sandali, sandali!" You were absolutely wide awake now as you heard the sounds of strange whispers around you. It was terrifyingly creepy, much creepier than whatever you'd seen back in the Trese Residence (and you'd seen a lot in that house). You did not want to be a part of a horror movie-like lifestyle. "Don't I have a choice in this?! I—I don't have any training or fighting skills! Hindi ako Alexandra Trese o Babaylan-Mandirigma! I'm not ready for this, holy sh—"

The candescent creature raised a brow at you, "Inday, I just told you that you have the power of a lost mystical being. And tell me, if you had the power to save your companions in this building from the forces of evil, would you save them?"

You were silent, knowing the answer.

"Well?" they prodded.

You bit your lip, "Oo naman. I'm not heartless!" But you were a little impulsive. And apparently, insane.

"That's what I thought. I just need you to believe in yourself," the being encouraged, gentler this time. It transformed into something smaller and rounder—like a ball of light. "Ikaw ang huling biraddali, Y/N, at marami kang kapangyarihan. Isa dito ay ang pagtulong sa mga nangangailangan, lalo na laban sa masasamang nilalang."

Bestie, what had you just gotten into?

You swallowed apprehensively, then nodded in determination, "Sige. So, how do I save the people in the building? Biraddali were said to be able to shapeshift, right? If I remember the tale correctly. Oh my God, I can't believe this is happening to me right now."

"That's just one of your abilities, but I'll teach you. I'm actually your guide," they replied confidently. "With me, you'll be able to master your powers and exceed your capabilities in no time!"

"Wait! Anong pangalan mo?" you asked breathlessly, following them as they speedily flew out of the room. "Grabe, slow down! I'm not athletic! I haven't even exercised this week, goodness."

"... Gabay. Ako si Gabay."

Despite the adrenaline and fear running in your veins, you still grinned up at the ball of light, "Okay. Nice to meet you, Gabay."

This was just the beginning of your supernatural combat training abroad. When you returned to the Philippines three years later, you were stronger, faster, and more powerful than you'd ever felt before. It was crazy.

Oh, that guy who tried to rob you when you came back to Manila was crazy, too. The two identical-looking men in dark suits and white ties—you wondered how they were surviving the heat in that attire—could only watch in awe as you chased down that man who stole your bag while doing acrobatics and parkour.

"Uy, Kuya Crispin, sino kaya 'yun?"

"Ewan ko, Basilio."

"... She's kind of pretty. Type ko. Type mo rin ata."

"The more important question is, paano niya na nahuli ang magnanakaw?"

"Oo nga, no? One in a million chance 'yan dito sa Maynila, haha! Ang astig ni ate!"

(Next Chapter.)

± Author's Notes ±

Ayieee, type daw tayo ng kambal! 😌

How the hell did I write this entirely random thing in one day? 2k+ words? Ano daw? 😃⁉️

You know, this was supposed to just be a Trese one-shot or a bunch of drabbles for the characters I'm currently simping for... but it turned into a full-blown, shameless self-insert slash crackfic. Kakacellphone ko 'yan. 🤦‍♀️

Nagresearch pa ako ng articles about Filipino skymaidens because I wanted something similiar to the Japanese celestial maidens (tennyo). Very random idea but why not? Gusto ko ng badass Y/N na hindi takot lumaban sa mga mumu! 👻

Also, pagbigyan niyo nalang ang matandang 'to kasi ilang taon na akong hindi nagpopost ng mga writings ko. May track record pa naman ako bilang author na hindi nagtatapos ng mga fanfic, hehe. I also haven't read the comics so please forgive me for any inaccuracies and of course, misspellings/errors. Gusto ko lang matapos 'to para makakabalik na ako sa Jujutsu Kaisen. 🥲😗

Anyways, comments and constructive criticism are welcome! Hit those heart, reblog, and follow buttons for updates! Just comment if you want to be tagged in the next chapters. ❤

[juminsmysticmc]

Hii☺️So, we have RFA+Minor trio being single fathers after Mc's death, what about reversing it?So that Mc is a single mother after they died(

I waited really long to finally make a request and I am very excited right now, especially since it's you.I really love your writings and I read all of them for like a dozen of times and I can't get enough of them😍Thank you so much for your work and stay healthy 🙏🏻

Mc being a single mom after the RFA + Minor Trio died    ( Trigger Warnings! ) 

Trigger Warnings, mention of death, parental death

RFA + Minor Trio as single fathers after Mc’s death (Parental death/ Trigger Warnings)

Did I mention that I like drama? Enjoy! 

Jumin

You pressed your lips together as tears went down your cheek. The baby you just gave birth to was sleeping in Jaehee‘s arms as you sobbed into Zen‘s embrace.

,,It‘s as if he planned everything,“ you sobbed, making your red haired friend shake with his head.

,,When he found out you were pregnant, he made me do all this. He didn’t plan to die a month after the birth of your baby, really, he just feared that if something happened to him, his father would have acted the way he did,“ Seven explained.

The reason why you were currently staying over at Jaehee‘s place was that Jumin died a week ago. One day you let him go out of the front door, still smiling as he kissed your newborn, and not even half an hour later, you found yourself in the hospital.

Someone shot him.

And as if it wasn’t enough, your father in law tried to take away your baby, saying that he had to give his grandchild a better life.

But Jumin, even in heaven, saved you once again, saving a lot of money and having an external saving method thanks to Seven.

He even left behind a letter to his father filled with lies, explaining that the baby wasn’t his child.

Of course everything was a lie, but this lie made it possible for you to see your baby grow up.

,,I can’t even go to my husband’s-” your words died in tears.

,,He will always look over you, Mc, and we’ll help you. It will all be better soon…“ Zen patted your back. He too was mourning for his friend.

Zen

,,Mommy, do I really look like daddy?“ your youngest girl asked you as she brushed her long white hair.

You gulped as you looked over to your oldest daughter.

Her eyes were again filled with tears.

Zen died two years ago, leaving you behind with three wonderful children.

You had to give up your job as manager and instead began to work part time in a restaurant at night and other little jobs while the girls were at school.

,,Daddy… I don‘t even remember him,“ your middle child hissed as she entered the room.

,,I don’t even know him, that’s worse!“ your youngest began to sob.

She indeed looked like Zen. He would have been proud to see her beauty.

Well, he was proud of every daughter he had. He loved them with all his heart.

,,Trust me, I would rather not remember him than live with memories,“ your oldest daughter Mina hissed as she put down her lipstick and rushed out.

You sighed as you looked at your little family.

You were all sleeping in one single room. No one had their own space and instead they all argued with each other whenever they had the chance.

,,You’re always so negative, MINA!“ your middle child Hana hissed, followed by the youngest, Sera.

,,I HATE YOU GUYS! HE DIED BECAUSE OF YOU!“ she screamed, making your heart stop.

Mina glared at her and fell on her feet as she began to scream a loud, high pitched scream.

,,SERA RYU!“ you screamed.

The house died down as only sniffles were heard.

,,Your father died when the three of you caught a virus. He was trying to go to the shop for some medicine, but that doesn’t mean that one of you is at fault, understand?“ you hissed.

You sat down and began to cry yourself as you called them over into your arms, ready to embrace your crying children.

,,No one is at fault. Please, please don’t fight, girls, your father would be devastated to see that,“ you begged.

,,Sera, you do look like dad,“ Mina sobbed and smiled, making your youngest smile brightly.

Yoosung

Your son finally fell asleep after a long crying session.

Nothing hurt you more than consoling your son who was in deep pain because he got bullied at school for not having a father.

Yoosung died six months ago, making you move into a tinier apartment which led to your son attending another school.

However, you regretted every single decision.

You pulled your phone out as you tried to dry your salty tears.

You entered a new chatroom as you asked for help.

,,What happened? Shall I come over?“ Jumin responded, being the first one online.

,,I can come quicker, I‘m omw,“ Zen shortly afterwards responded.

,,No no, I just…

Can you please bring Jinyoung to school tomorrow? He got bullied… I think if other children see him with you guys, they will respect him more,“ you wrote.

Of course Seven jumped in and wrote six lines about how happy he would be to play ⅓ of a father, making you actually choke on your tears.

,,Thank you,“ you typed and decided to bring your son to bed.

Indeed the three boys kept their promise, making him laugh like never before.

Jaehee

,,And that‘s how we met,“ you laughed as you told your son about the meeting between you and Jaehee.

He nodded as he looked at the picture over the table.

It portrayed you, him, and Jaehee on his first day of school.

Jaehee died a year ago from an illness.

It all went so quickly. One day she got diagnosed and a few months later the two of you prepared the funeral for her.

As if it was yesterday, you remembered picking up your son and driving him to the hospital to give Jaehee the chance to see him one last time.

And indeed, it was their last goodbyes.

Jaehee would never see him finishing school, university, or begin a job, fall in love, or try to cheer him up while being lovesick.

She would never see him get married or have his first child.

It hurt your heart to know that you were the only one left for him.

On the other side, Jaehee was happy that at least he had you. ,,How did your favorite TikTok go?“ she groaned.

,,Take him to the moon for me,“ she whispered.

,,Mom was a strong woman,“ you told your son as a tear left your eye.

,,You too, Mommy, you too.“

Saeyoung 

You sighed as you turned off your alarm to get off the bed.

It was still dark outside, but you had to wake up with the last strength you had. You pulled yourself together and walked back to the kitchen where you prepared some breakfast for your child.

Like every morning, reality hit you as you silently sobbed while putting some rice into the bento box.

Your hands trembled as you looked up, just to gasp for air and keep going.

It was hard ever since Saeyoung died. Things weren’t going well for you.

You thanked God daily for the remaining person you had, that you had friends and family who supported you.

But you also begged God to make this bad life end. Even though it was selfish, you just wanted to see your family again.

Even if Jaehee often tried to make you understand how lucky you were, even at the times where Jumin promised to help you with the medical expenses, even at those times when Yoosung came over to cook dinner, and even at those times when Zen promised to go with your and your child to the park, you just wanted this to end.

You inhaled again and dried your tears as you made yourself a cup of coffee.

,,Good morning, baby,’’ you whispered as you turned on the lights of your son’s room.

,,Mo….m,’’ the boy groaned, probably in pain as you helped him get up to sit on his wheelchair.

,,Wet…’’ he gasped as you noticed that he wet his bed again.

,,It’s okay, baby, don’t worry,’’ you smiled, pushing the chair through the door, passing at the picture of Saeyoung, Saeran, and your two perfectly healthy children.

That day, Saeyoung didn’t just die in a car accident from speeding, he also took his brother and one of your children with him, leaving you with your second son disabled by the accident.

,,It’s okay,’’ you whispered.

Saeran

You looked up to the ceiling as you felt a warm, little hand on your chest.

Turning your head, you could see how relaxed the face of your daughter was as she slept safely and soundly, not worrying about anything or anyone.

You smiled as you saw how much she resembled Saeran, her father.

Your hand moved to stroke her head as you remembered the day you told him that you were pregnant, how he cared for you and his daughter in the pregnancy, how hard labor was, and how emotional it was when he once again decided to save his brother after seeing his own daughter.

,,He would be happy to see her,’’ he said after she was newly born and he was finally allowed to hold her in his embrace.

As if it was yesterday, you remembered how he taught her to walk, how he stood behind her while going to the park and how much he loved to feed her.

This all disappeared one day.

In the morning, he told you that he might have found Saeyoung and in the evening he came home, beaten up with a shotgun wound, collapsing in front of your porch.

It was your worst nightmare and you were honestly happy that this all happened at night, knowing that back then, your three year old daughter wouldn’t have seen anything.

Ever since then, life became harder.

You moved, fearing the Prime Minister or the agency Saeyoung was in would track you down and kill your daughter. The RFA kept helping you guys, but questions like, ,,Where is Dada’’ weren’t always easy to respond to.

,,Mommy,’’ she mumbled and opened her eyes, smiling brightly at you and rubbing her eyes to wake up.

,,Mhhh?’’ you asked her.

,,Daddy visited my dreams…’’ she giggled and fell asleep again, making you wander back to old memories too.

Jihyun

,,Mom, I don’t understand my homework,’’ Lucy said, whispering as she entered the room as quietly as possible.

You looked back to her and nodded as you looked back to the little bed your son was in before you walked away, your hand on Lucy’s hair as you smiled at her.

,,What topic?’’ you asked her.

You noticed that she was hesitating so it was probably art since it was related to her father.

,,Art?’’ you asked her to make it easier for her. She had a pretty hard time ever since Jihyun died, well, you too. You all had a pretty hard time.

Jumin wasn’t the same person anymore, or so Jaehee said. Yoosung seemed to regret a few things, and Saeran and Saeyoung were grieving, just like Zen.

Everyone was in pain after the painful death of that one special person.

,,Our teacher told us to draw a painful happy moment but… how am I supposed to make something happy if it’s supposed to be painful?’’ she asked you.

You nodded. ,,Well, describe something painful. What is painful?’’ you asked her.

,,Getting hurt is painful, falling is painful, getting hit is painful…’’

,,How about losing someone?’’ you asked her, making her think about it for a few seconds before she asked you if it wasn’t something sad instead of painful. 

You nodded. ,,When I told you that daddy wouldn’t come home anymore back then when you were younger, do you remember how you felt?’’ you asked her.

,,Did your heart hurt? Did you feel scared and suffocated? Wasn’t it painful?’’ you asked her and even though you could see that she was tearing up, you knew that this was something the two of you had to talk about.

Indeed, Lucy closed up about her feelings ever since then, but this was also a good opportunity.

,,Now, think of a happy moment with your father. Isn’t it something painful but a happy moment as well?’’ you asked her and got up, knowing that she knew what to do.

A week later, you were invited to see your daughter receive a prize for the most beautiful portrait of Jihyun as an angel looking down at the world, a painful and happy moment for everyone who knew him.

Vanderwood

,,Mommy,’’ your son asked you, pulling at your shirt as you stood in front of the stove.

,,Mhhh?’’ you asked him without looking as you were cooking.

,,Why did Daddy leave us?’’ he asked you out of the blue, making you stop everything and look at him.

,,The fish is burning,’’ he suddenly said as he saw the flames, making you shriek and quickly take care of everything.

After everything was taken care of, you took him in your arms and showed him a few pictures of his father.

For now, you never showed him his father. You never dared to speak about Vanderwood, fearing that your son wouldn’t understand your words, but by now you learned that he was much stronger than you ever thought.

,,This is your father, Vanderwood. He didn’t leave because he wanted to, he was kind of forced to,’’ you told him, gulping down the bad feeling you had as your heart began to beat quickly.

,,And why is he gone?’’ he asked you, softly touching the picture of a cool looking brown haired man.

This was on the day you two went to eat after you craved a salad and ice cream.

,,He had an important job to do,’’ you explained. Of course you didn’t tell him that the agency tracked him down and killed him brutally while he tried to keep you, his heavily pregnant, hidden.

,,And what is he doing now?’’ he kept asking you as you remembered the day, as if it was yesterday, when he pushed you into the closet, begging you to close your ears and never come out until called you.

However, that call never came. Instead, Saeyoung pulled you out moments later. You didn’t remember how much time passed.

You just knew that he asked you to keep your eyes closed as he led the way out of the room.

,,He is now protecting you, me, uncle Saeyoung, uncle Saeran, uncle Jumin, uncle Zen, uncle Yoosung and aunt Jaehee,’’ you answered with a smile.

How much he would have loved to meet his son, you were sure.

He was your happiness after all, the last memento of Vanderwood.

MASTERLIST 1

MASTERLIST 2

MASTERLIST 3

26.07.2021// 00:13 MEST