#does nova need a tag or

[reborrowing]

magical cat distribution system 🧚🏽‍♂️🐈‍⬛

[cream-and-tea]

[IDs in alt text]

some judge and calliope stuff i was going to post on valentine’s day but forgot about! anyways me and the girl i pulled by being a wretched beast.

TAGLIST (ask to be +/-). @vellichor-virgo @transmasc-wizard​ @houndmouthed @muddshadow @just-wublrful @corkywantstowrite @shrunkupthejams @andromedaexists @caninemotiff @lungs-and-gills @lychniscitrus @phantomnations @onomatopiya @deer-in-headlights-stare @arctic-oceans @redbloodprose @definitelynotclayface @cannivalisms

[minimomoe]

Hi just wanted to let you know I LOVEDDD Not Just Neighbors but I have a question does reader know about Logan and variant reader in his past universe and if she doesn’t then who would tell her and how would she react?would she be understanding?or would she feel like Logan’s only with her to fill in variant readers place? (I don’t know if your requests are open so you can ignore this if not or if you don’t feel comfortable answering :D)

For the sake of keeping it a short (I tried my hardest but ik it's long lol) oneshot reader understands that she might have meant something to Logan in his universe but doesn't press on it since he seldom talks about his past. I kinda wrote that whole story on a whim so I didn't think too hard about it. Since you asked so nicely, here's an alternate excerpt of how that realization could've went: wrd ct: 1.9k tags: a little angsty but that's all

Not a Replacement

"Wade you gotta tell me. We're on better terms now, but why did Logan hate me so much? I hardly ever talked to him but when he sees me his face scrunches up like he smells shit. Do I smell like shit? Be honest."

Wade's nose went straight to the crook of your neck and you rolled your eyes before shoving him away. "What?! You said to be honest. You smell great though," he shrugged.

"Okay, so what was it?"

"What is what?"

You pinched the bridge of your nose. Your patience was running thin and you didn't have time for Wade's games. "What was the reason? He's your roommate, you gotta know something."

You were sitting at Wade's dining table and you saw the food in his mouth slow to snail speed. His eyes darted to you for only a second but it was all you needed.

"Wade," you said in a warning tone. "Do you know something?"

"I know a lot of things. For instance, I know that you are the best damn cook in this whole apartment building, you're insanely gorgeous, you hate when people keep secrets, and did I mention how really fucking pretty you are?"

"You better tell me or so help me god every plate I bring you will be under seasoned and burnt to a crisp."

"Okay fine!" He dropped his sandwich onto his plate and crossed his arms over his chest. You scooched your chair in closer, finally ready to hear an explanation. "You better not tell anyone you found out from me or steak knives is gonna cut my dick off again."

"Again?" You gave him a concerned look.

"Don't try to change the subject, missy. The truth of the matter is that our resident honey badger might like you a lot more than he lets on. I am risking so much by telling you this."

"From my understanding you can't die, so how much are you really risking?"

"You don't live with him, smartass," he grumbled. Wade scratched the back of his neck, suddenly a lot more serious than you usually see him and he looked almost... apologetic. You straightened up when he hesitantly opened his mouth again. "I explained the different timelines, right? Logan isn't from our time line, I plucked from a different one and tricked him into helping me. The thing is, these timelines can be very similar to each other."

You understood it well, or as much as you could, from the first time Wade explained it to you. Time traveling, anchor beings, Paradox and Cassandra Nova all seemed too ridiculous to be true, but you knew Wade wouldn't lie about such a thing. Plus you know about mutants and Wade's regenerative powers. Of course crazier things existed.

"I'm picking up what you're putting down. What does this have to do with Logan's apprehension towards me?"

Wade sighed, running his hand over his face. "It's not apprehension, okay? Look, I noticed it too. The way that he acted like he might explode if you come too close. He knew you, and I mean knew you, personally— intimately, before and now you don't even recognize his face. I know that feels fucking horrible."

Wade stared down at his sandwich somberly like he was speaking from experience. You fell silent, ruminating on his words.

Intimately. You have never met anyone like Logan before, but he already knew you. There was nothing you could even compare this to. You slowly got up from your seat and patted Wade on the shoulder. Your mood was dampening at the new information.

"Uh, thanks man."

"This is why I didn't want to tell you. I don't blame you but you're all weird now," he groaned. "You're not a replacement. She could've been entirely different. She could've be Catholic."

He was expecting a smirk from you at the very least but got nothing. "That doesn't really help."

Wade watched you slump out of his apartment to head back to yours without another word. He could literally see the cloud of gloom forming over your head and he groaned dramatically.

"Canadians are supposed to be nice people. I should know! Leave it to the Australian to ruin that for us."

---*---

Logan could smell the difference in your mood around him. You were on edge, giving him sneaking side eyes when you thought he wasn't looking and nervously biting on your thumbnail. Something was bothering you, something pertaining to him, and you didn't know how to bring it up.

It would be hypocritical of him to drag out the issue with you, but he never played fair before.

"If you stare at me any harder bub, you're gonna put a hole in my head."

He offered to take you out to get dinner instead of staying in. It was nothing fancy, just a small Indian restaurant that he found on a whim, but he remembered you saying that it was one of your favorite ethnic foods to eat. The short walk back to home was just to kill more time to spend with you, but you were hardly saying anything.

You pinched your bottom lip between your two fingers, rolling it over slowly. "It's nothing. I'm just tired, that's all."

The dismissive answer did nothing for Logan. He gave you a hard stare that you didn't return. Instead you walked a few paces ahead of him, leaving him behind.

"Hey!" Logan called out to you, grabbing your arm. You reeled back, shaking him off and pursed your lips together. The sudden coldness wafting off of you made him panic internally. Did he say something he shouldn't have? Did you suddenly get tired of keeping things friendly. Was he reading you all wrong? All those questions burned the back of his throat but he rather ask the obvious one.

"I've seen you tired and this ain't it. What's the problem?"

Finally you returned his gaze with an cautionary look. "What really happened between us Logan? In the past, or a different timeline, or whatever the fuck. How much history is between us?"

The question knocked Logan over like a mack truck. This was not the type of conversation he wanted to have with you in the middle of the street with cars honking and passersby brushing past, but you were standing your ground. Logan ran a weary hand through his hair then rested it on his hip. If he wanted to make this work with you, he'd have to be honest with himself.

“Did Wilson run his mouth—“

“Forget about him. I’m asking you.”

He stared at you dead on, looking into your eyes that were uncertain of him. "You left me.”

You stiffened up, the statement making you falter.

"And I'm not saying that to make you feel bad. You gave me chance after chance to get my shit together and I didn't. I was breaking your heart and you didn't want to stick around to watch me crash."

Logan sat down on the nearest street bench. The headlights of oncoming traffic blinded his visage with a pure bright white before turning. He could hear your pleas from time's past, your dissapointed tone. He could hear the screams of his x-men, his family that he left behind.

"You visited me after they... after the humans killed the x-men. You saw the damage that was done and you hated me for it."

Logan felt the thud of you sitting on the other side of the bench. He didn't look at you, now taken with his memories, but you were no longer on the run. You wanted to hear his side that he never got to tell anyone.

"They were like family to you too. Ororo, Charles, Jean, Scott. You loved them, so when you found out that they were gone and I was still alive..." Logan's voice trailed off and his head hung low. "I was never a hero. Or a good guy. I was a selfish asshole who left when things got tough. I couldn't save my relationship with you, or save the people I owe my life to because the only thing I'm good at is destroying things. Then I come to this world and you givin' me this bright eyed, hopeful look and I couldn't handle it."

New York City has never been known as a quiet city but there was an eerie silence that ensued. It was like everybody was holding their breath, silently listening to Logan’s darkest confessions.

"I wasn't trying to hide anything from you. What I did before keeps me up at night, eats me from inside. But being around you again... shit, it reminds me that I didn't lose everything.”

A long beat of silence stretched after Logan's words. You stared into on coming traffic too, unable to form words. You held your arms together, the cool breeze of the night chilling your bones.

“Fuck,” you sighed, a wave a guilt washing over you. “I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

He shook his head. “You have the right to know.”

“I just made you spill your guts out on this public bench because I was worried that I was some freaky look a like for somebody that you used to know.” You put your head in your hands and groaned. “I can’t speak for past me because she isn’t me… but I am glad to have you here in this timeline, Logan. If it’s any consolation, it seems like we were always supposed to find each other.”

Logan couldn’t be more grateful for that fact. He never sought out to use you to fix some broken piece in him. It just happened that if given the chance, he would choose to love you every single time. Given all his mistakes, loving you was never a wrong choice.

You scooted closer to Logan’s still body, closing the distance until your thigh was pressed against his. You leaned over until your head was resting on his shoulder, soaking up his body heat. Neither of you said anything for a while. You didn’t need to.

Logan’s voice travelled through your body when he spoke again. It was gruff, making him clear his throat before starting over. “They had a nickname for me according to the TVA. They called me 'the Worst Logan'.”

“Do you believe that?” You peered up at him. It was that same look that made him want to run for the hills. You were disarming without even trying. He felt naked, unable to hide his beating heart that you held in your hands. After a thick swallow he was able to answer.

“Not as much. I’m better than before.”

You nodded, content with his response. “And you’ll keep on getting better. The TVA doesn’t know what they’re talking about anyway.”

You slipped your hand under Logan’s that rested on his thigh and he quickly squeezed it like a lifeline.

“I’m not subbing you in for anyone, bub. Plus, past you was never this sappy,” he joked.

“Oh fuck off,” you chuckled. “But thank you. For telling me everything.”

“You’re easy to talk to,” he shrugged.

You and Logan remained on the bench for a little while longer. The sleepless city continued to hum along, cars honking and people talking, and you sat there absorbing it all, hands still entwined together.

thank you so much for the request! sorry it took so long, I was trying to balance angst and good ending. Check out Not Just Neighbors ("the worst" Logan x Reader) for more context! I'd love to hear y'all thoughts xx!!

M.list || Ao3 || Twitter

[thewinchestah]

"Chega de Saudade" - Alastor X Reader fic

Pairing: Alastor x Fem!Reader.

Summary: When Alastor breaks into the V's building seven years later he expects to find a lot of things, lot of obnoxious, enraging, tacky things. He did not expect to find you. The Radio Demon does not take betrayl lightly and you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to his worst enemy. Better yet, you have to live with the consequences of selling your soul to Vox and Alastor finding out. The soul you sold because Alastor left you for 7 years. Safe to say, it's a mess. A pretty, angsty, dark and delicious mess.

Warnings: Alastor is in Hell for a reason,general hellish violence,general hellish creepiness,eventual smut, i carioca coded valentino bc i can and bc he is very carioca sorry everyone,blackmail, Soul Selling, author is really invested in politics and decided to micromanage hazbin hotel canon, Corruption, Extortion, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, but nothing too explicit,mature themes in general, canon divergence, Not Canon Compliant, Eventual Smut, Alastor gets insane in this one you've been warned, fear play, Possessive Behavior, posessive sex, big bad radio demon is gonna fuck up the guy who stole his girl and will make it everyone's problem, Reader-Insert,no y/n,no beta we die like men here, i feel bad for tagging vox in this fic cause i think it's a disservice i really hate him and i make it clear so vox stans be warned, it's hell i hope y'all remeber ethics are fluid, posessive!Alastor, unhinged!Alastor, Isane!Alastor

Taglist: honestly only my queen @jyoongim i have no credibility to tag anyone anymore after being away for so long. If you wanna be tagged on future updates just let me know!

A/N:HI HEY BUNNY ANON IF YOU ARE STILL HERE THIS ONE FOR YOU!! Hiii everyone guess who's back. I had this fic cooking for a while now, actually i had a lot of writing cooking but in a very Ao3 author fashion a lot happened. You see i was on this writing streak and then my 15yo dog died while i was out of state. I had to go back on anti depressants and take a sabbatical. I got a new puppy and she's the light of my life. Got super sick, won a horse show. My first plan for this fic was having the first 3 chapters done and ready for debuting together because i always feel i'm lacking when i show up with only one chapter lol. After a while i realised i needed to get this first chapter out too see the light of day if i wanted to write again so here it is. This fic is a bit different from my other Alastor fics and i have a rough outline of 5 chapters so i think this beast will be more than 20k words long for sure. I decided to get a little deeper into Hell's politics and all the "no one ever thought of using heavenly weapons against hell even tough Hell's ancient and the best worst of humanity and demonkind is here". I call that bullshit sorry i'm brazilian i'm well versed in shady politicians and shady politics and unfortunatly, dear reader, you are in for this ride too. This fic kicks off right after "Stayed Gone". Also did i mention i'm brazilian and that my works are heavily inspired by brazilian media. This entire fic was inspired by one of my favourite songs of all time "Chega de saudade". And let's be real, Alastor and bossa nova are the perfect match. So yeah, english is not my first language and this isn't beta'd so sorry for any confusion or mistakes. Thank you so so much for reading my fics and always leaving the most kind beautiful and heartwarming feedback. I hope i can still deliver a nice story to my darling readers.

Click here for my other fics.

CHAPTER ONE: chega de saudade a realidade é que sem ela não pode ser.

In the first year you were calm and collected. There’s a perfectly reasonable explanation to why he is gone. Is he even gone, gone? He’s coming home soon, you can feel it. 

In the second year you convinced yourself there were signs everyone explaining why he was gone and when he was coming back, you were just too oblivious to them before. But everything can be a sign when you are delusional.

In the third year you cried so much you felt you were constantly drowning. You barely left home and some thought you were gone too. Gone to him.

In the fourth year you finally gave in and took the deal. Lack of self-preservation and machiavellian schemes working together to create a trap for him. He would come home out of anger, ire. But you can't outfox the fox.

In the fifth year you decided to scour hell and beyond after him. You went to places just to taunt him. Paranoia became your best friend, blood sweat and tears as you repeat “This time it will work, I'm sure of it”. Can a lie be said so many times it becomes the truth?

In the sixth year you accept defeat. You buried him deep and went about like he never existed in the first place. Isn’t it mystifying how this city screams his name?

It’s the seventh year now. The alarm on your phone rings and rings and you feel like scratching your face off. It’s time to meet your damned executioner.

Rolling out of bed you open the curtains to let some light in. The penthouse from the V’s building has a great view of Pentagram City, looking down you get the feeling of dystopian sci-fi that is so characteristic of the technology district. Limelights, digital outdoors, and big opulent, oppressing screens greet you like a constellation of dead stars, long distorted from their original purpose and form. 

You follow processional routine as you get ready. Choose a beautiful dress, put on make-up, and do your hair. It all feels like preparation for a sacrifice. One thing you learned from Alastor is that appearances are the best strategy and you intend to greet your handmade battlefield like a roman legion. 

Alastor. Even thinking of his name hurts, especially today when you need to face the consequences of your actions, the consequences of his actions. He is gone, he left you. And now Vox owns your soul. You blame your fall from grace entirely on him, he forced your hand, he made you do it. Out of desperation, out of defiance, you sold your soul to Vox so he would come back and save you, so he would come back out of hatred, anger and ire to tell how foolish you were, how betrayed he felt.

Betrayal. Selling your soul to his sworn arch enemy should be treason worthy of him dropping anything he was doing to come and punish you, to address you. You just wanted to get a reaction out of him, proof that he still cared. That he didn’t just get bored of the empire of terror he fought so hard to build in Hell. That he didn’t, deep down, just disregard you like a shiny novelty, to be left when it got old. 

You dry the persistent tears that insist on falling with clinical coldness. You are past feeling sad now, you don’t even feel angry anymore. You are past any emotion really, you just want to get this over with and get back home.

You went about your deal with Vox in many different ways, sometimes you felt like it was a good alliance, a slap on Alastor’s face. A side quest to gather as much information from the V’s inner circle, a social experiment. The truth is, during these past almost four years you were a mental gymnastics pro to justify your new arrangements. The cognitive dissonance required to live with the decision of being forever tied to Vox was an herculean task and boy he didn’t make it any easier on you. He would never be as refined as Alastor when it came to torture but there’s something about the coldness and calculated reality of the television business that was it’s own type of Dante’s inferno.

As soon as he got word of Alastor’s disappearance the TV overlord was on your scent, and he wasn’t shy about it either. You dodged him and led him on for almost four full years before finally giving in, everything was more or less under control during the early years of Alastor’s disappearance. 

Until you saw the angel army leaving.

  Death and gore were all around you. The sky rained blood. You couldn’t breathe. You tried to take a step forward only to realize you were knee-deep in demon blood. Adam was particularly ruthless this time, he seemed to have realized the unbalance in Hell’s power structure with one of the most prolific demon overlord’s absence and took full advantage of it. You choked on the sulfur filled air while the portal closed and Adam threw a last middle finger at the Pride Ring. A clawed hand offered you support as you were about to fall, your heart skipped a beat, for a split second you felt elation. In that split second a thousand thoughts, four years of misery and confusion passed through your mind like a movie. You were sure this was Alastor, showing up after the unprecedented carnage of today’s reaping. With the next heartbeat came the delivery of the most cruel reminder: the hand reaching for you was Vox’s. Alastor doesn’t care about anything anymore, not even losing territory. 

The TV overlord was covered in thick, red blood and looked vindicated, a wide chesire’s cat grin on his face. Baptized in carnage, Vox had finally triumphed for the V’s.The V’s were now a force to be reckoned with in Hell, there’s no argument to be made.  A good chunk of Alastor’s territory was now under their control, and everything that came with it too. Including you. 

“My darling doe, be careful, we can’t have you hurt after the battle is won can we?” 

Darling doe.

You threw up at the casual cruelty of the name Alastor called you with such affection being desecrated by Vox. He still supported you as you spilled your guts, you’d blame it on the nerves, the adrenaline, the reeking smell of death. Not on the fact that you knew he finally won, that the thing that broke you was to hear your name like that, on your lover archenemy’s lips. After that it happened. You sold your soul to vox. Of course he coerced you into it, and you were so mad with grief and betrayal that you felt like betraying Alastor back was the just thing to do. Pettiness and paradoxical hope dripping from your lips as the whole thing was done. 

Every year this same flashback assaulted your mind as you got ready to meet Vox on the anniversary of your deal. It never went past the look you gave those pixelated eyes as he held you on that barren land, stopping right there when you made the decision that finalized your ruin. You still wouldn’t, couldn't face what really went down when you formalized your deal with Vox. Those memories were suppressed and tucked in under layers and layers of regret and self-hatred. 

You gave yourself a final look in the mirror. No makeup smudging this time, you were getting good at numbing your feelings. Just a few tears, no more sobbing.

The yearly meeting with the V’s after the extermination was the perfect cover actually, everything was done in a way that it seemed like you were all cooperating. After all, you did hold a very good knowledge of the inner workings of Alastor’s deals, subordinates and territory. You knew who the V’s could “call in favours” and how to keep the peace. Or as close to peace as peace came when an abrupt power transition happened in Hell. You were a valuable asset to anyone really. Articulated in politics, masterful at the art of persuasion, kind, soft, charismatic, assertive, all in perfect balance, and frankly, breathtakingly beautiful. It wasn’t without reason that Alastor fell for you and that you became his most trusted advisor. You and Rosie were able to conceal his absence and manage his affairs for good two years and the better part of the third without raising any suspicion. Of course, the bigger they are the harder they fall and now you were walking down the corridor of the V’s building carrying a bulk of important intel that would dictate the fate of the Overlord power structure for the next year, at least. 

The hallways of the building changed a lot since you first walked them. As the V’s grew in power, the building grew in grandeur. It was now an imposing beast, looming over Pentagram City. Modern corporate architecture that incorporated the savage capitalism of Vox Tech. Savage, cold, sterile, overbearing that’s how being inside the lair of Hell’s most up and coming trio felt. The tall ceilings and big glass windows were exactly what you would expect of a broadcasting network and silicon valley Big Tech company combined. As an esteemed guest, you got the privilege of staying in the coveted penthouses, with someone to attend to your every wish and demand. You also got an idea that Vox went a little extra with your treatment as a form of flirtation, he has been trying to convince you into moving in for a while, every time you stayed in, your usual penthouse had some shiny new thing that was  made just for you, as he repeatedly emphasized. 

This year’s token of affection was a makeup mirror-gadget-thingy, that looked out of a Totally Spies episode. You had to admit to yourself that this was way more thoughtful and useful than the gifts from the previous years. The thing was cute, practical and would come in handy, which was a big improvement. Vox had tried to sway you with all types of guns and high tech devices in vain. Well, there was also that embarrassing stance with the wire flowers with a hidden recording device. Needless to say that after that entire debacle Vox learned that he may own your soul but you weren’t a damsel in distress and you would reinforce your side of the bargain if he went too far. 

You reached the elevator and went in, pushing the button for your destination. 

The earlier you start this the earlier it is over, you remind yourself.

The panoramic elevator descended to the well guarded conference room, the guards didn’t bat an eye to you entering. You realized you were becoming a familiar face around here, that made you dread what’s ahead of you even more.

“There she is! Hello princesa, I missed that pretty face!” Valentino greets you. He’s the only one inside, sitting on the edge of the table.  Well, that’s unusual… you think. Vox was always the first to get to the post-extermination meetings, plus he always gave you a slightly early timetable so he could have some alone time with you. Something must be going on.

“Hey Valentino, it’s nice to see you too! What gossip do you have for me today?” you give your best chirpy tone to the love moth. Look, you know how bad Valentino is, he is despicable really, even to your standards. But ethics are fluid, to say the  least, in Hell. The acclaimed porn king was surprisingly engaging to talk to. He was fun and actually treated you like a person, which was paradoxical in itself, considering how infamous he is for exploiting and commodifying souls. You drove yourself mad with theories of possible agendas behind Valentino’s kindness towards you, but it was the simplest of answers really, for some reason Valentino liked you and he never denied himself of what he liked.

“You have no idea! We have a lot to catch up on, did I tell you about that bitch who was trying to spy on us?” a set arms gestures to you to sit down next to him. The next 10 minutes are spent talking frivolities with the moth. You’re not complaining, it's nice to get your mind off this dreadful day and you don’t get many. 

Valentino, as always, has a lot to say, little goes on in Hell without him knowing who, what, where and why. Information, gossip, rumors, facts, if a single out of context word can be weaponized  you better be aware that he knows. Pentagram city can be divided into districts and ruled by lots of different overlords, still, Valentino’s intricate web of influence and coercion stretches across all territories. Another poor soul manifests here and goes somewhere they should not be, talk to someone they should not talk to, discover something they should never know. All cases of “wrong place at the wrong time” are happily solved by a large sum of money from the moth and suddenly another thread is weaved into his web of knowledge, another secret  made his. Valentino doesn’t operate like most Overlords and that’s where his power  lies. He bribed and fucked his way into every major circle, every  overlord’s inner circle, Hell’s best kept secret. If you were anyone in the hellish afterlife Valentino either fucked you or fucked someone very close to you. 

Knowledge is power, and Hell’s gossip girl was proof of it.

You swallowed a lump you didn’t know existed, hearing the moth talk about how things changed in a matter of hours during the early post-war made you even more aware of the severity of the intel you were carrying. It was earth shattering (no pun intended) information. 

Angels can be hurt. Angels can be killed. That meant a completely different way of existing in the afterlife, if this information goes public, the consequences are unpredictable and dire.

You don’t feel excitement knowing you technically can fight back, you feel pure dread.

To be completely honest, you feel like these “news” are not really news. You were pretty acquainted with politics back on Earth and this whole “omg no one knew about this! even though this was staring us right on your faces! is total bullshit. Hell is ancient, the exterminations are not a new thing, and there are some pretty smart people down here. To think that millenia after millenia masters of torture and skilled killers never thought of using heaven’s own firepower against them is wishful thinking at best. Sure, maybe after a few generations most sinners, even those who have power, may have been kept out of the loop about the chick in the holy army’s armor… but not knowing this at all just feels like a pretty convenient case of collective amnesia. 

Convenient, that’s exactly what this is. It’s brutal, but that’s Hell. A scheduled massacre is a blessing to those who rule to maintain, reinforce and extend their power. And if you get lucky enough, empires will fall and you will make your move. 

Vini Vidi Vici, that’s all you need to know about how Hell's politics work. 

It’s true that with every massacre the Angel Army gets more and more brutal and unhinged. What was once justified as righteous mercy killings to stabilize the ever growing hellish population now is just a display of cruelty, these angels kill for sport. There have been rumors floating around of how the disproportional annihilation tactics are preparation for something bigger for a while now , and with the demonic royal families either operating totally off Pride Ring or being completely MIA, it is no wonder those influential enough are starting to get restless. 

And that ties back to your first point, the thing that got you picking the skin around your nails while Valentino gossips. There’s a reason why this is being revealed now, you know how creating a narrative works, a few smart words and ideas become beasts of its own. A beast of its own that will tear anything on its way with the right fuel. The V’s have fuel to spare. Whose interest is that this information stayed hidden? Whose interest is that this information was allowed to be shared now? 

Hell is constructed by layers and layers of complicated militias and parallel governance, each one a locked room of secrecy that is impossible to enter without a huge amount of connections and power. 

“In a world of locked rooms, the man with the key is king. And, honey, you should see me in a crown” Valentino wisely said to you once. He’s a man of many many keys, and right now you are holding the fucking master key under your arm. 

Speaking of Valentino, he notices that you dozed off and snaps his fingers, grounding you back to reality. 

“My, my. You must have extremely sensitive information today to keep you from hearing the nastiest, hottest gossip of the moment babe” He takes a hit from his cigarette, an elegant and sensual move straight from an Old Hollywood film. The heart shaped smoke rings caress your face and for an instant you feel hypnotized, nodding your head profusely. 

“But I already knew that” behind the rose coloured shades, you see a playful wink from his infamous red hot eyes. 

The porn overlord quickly snaps his head towards the huge automatic doors, that open and reveal Vox and Velvette walking side by side exchanging looks between them that scream conspiracy.

“Sorry about the wait, my darling” Vox purrs on your way, stopping behind your chair and placing his hands on top of it, fingers dangerously close to your neck and shoulder. He pushes your hair to the side and lingers there, on your neck. “but as they say ain’t no rest for the wicked, am I right?” Velvette takes her seat beside Vox’s empty chair, meticulously placed in front of you, polite pleasantries leaving her mouth. She’s still a mystery, you never know her true stance on you, she keeps you on your toes. Does she like you? Does she hate you? Does she even care? 

“If you say so, boss!” you give him your best pageant smile. “So, who’s climbing up the ladder of the food chain today?” You bat your eyelashes at him. Your performance begins.

“Aw baby, you know I love when you call me boss! keep talking dirty to me” Vox lands a wet kiss on your cheek and makes his way to his chair.

 Right in front of you, so he’s always staring at you, drinking in your every move. You cannot fail, you cannot falter. 

As much as you’ve gotten used to pretending, pretending you like the V’s, pretending you don’t feel disgusting inside for being here, pretending you don’t hate Alastor for putting you in this situation with a burning passion but still missing him so much you feel someday your heart will stop beating in protest to him absence, it’s still hard. Especially when Vox touches you. Your eyes focus on cybersharks swimming behind Vox’s seat and concentrate on keeping your awarding winning poker face. 

“This year looks really promising I will tell you that! The orders for both your weapons and tragedy porn cameras doubled since the last extermination! I will give credit where credit is due, that fuckboy Adam knows how to put on a show!” he snaps his fingers graphs, stats and footage appears on the various screens. But it’s all irrelevant, it won’t matter when you spill your secret. 

“Lot’s of veeeery interesting happenings but I thought this year we might… start differently. Let’s forget the profit talk for now, change things a little. Did you guys see anything out of the ordinary? Did something stand out?!” he spins around his Big Boss ™ chair and stops with his hand under his chin, leaning in to you like a schoolgirl with the hottest new gossip. 

“Oh! I heard things -” Val also leans in getting closer to the TV overlord face. 

Vox’s grin shrinks, lifting a finger in protest 

“We know, we know, you always hear things Val” he replies in a monotone tone

Velvette, who spent this entire time typing away on her phone, interjects 

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way girlypop” finally looking at you she asks, or rather, states the million dollar question “ but what Vox means is that we know you have something  big cooking inside those files, so let’s drop the bullshit and go straight to it” 

The doll puts her phone down, she knows how important this is, how this secret will probably dictate how things will go from now on. You can call Velvette many things, but she is clever and under all that attitude and posh accent lies a brilliant strategist. 

“Plus, we all know you are contractually obligated to tell anyway, so spill, and can make this quick and painless to everyone involved” 

Right, your cartesian, empirical proof that angels can be killed.  Caught on the scene of the crime with the gun in your hands. 

You don’t waste anymore time, the words leave your lips like you’re choking with the threat they present. You tell them everything: where the exorcist was killed, how he was killed, the golden ichor blood that oozed from the wound, where the body was hidden. Everyone is silent while you speak, even the mechanical sharks seem to have stopped swimming to listen. 

After that you don’t remember much more of the meeting, it felt like you took the backseat of your own mind, the overwhelming feeling of dread making you so out of breath. Something is coming, something fucking coming and you can’t breathe. Anxiety sets under your skin like a second skeleton begging to crawl its way out and you find yourself sitting in one of the lavish anterooms of the V’s building. 

“So, the cat’s out of the bag then” you recall hearing Vox saying when, as if on cue, a few moments before the meeting was being declared over, the emergency broadcast about the reduction of the extermination date from a year to six months was issued. You four watch the transmission and you wonder if that’s what it feels like to get the news of the end of the Cold War, the doomsday clock finally hits midnight and we are nuking each other out. 

Mutual destruction assured. 

Your mind wanders back to your life on earth, if life up there is better or worse these days. You died so young, everybody told you, your Untimely Demise a big topic of conversation that you yourself didn’t know much about. But nothing, nothing in all of your living years and your years from Hell to eternity could prepare you for what comes next.

“So the Radio Demon is back in town! Why is he hanging around? What does it mean for your family?” 

The news hit your ears like a tsunami and you feel dizzy. It’s easy to find a big screen here and you are running to the closest one before your brain can even compute the words. 

Alastor is back, Alastor is back, and he didn’t come find you.

The next sound wave is even worse, dragging you ashore to your feelings without any reprieve. 

“Salutations!

Good to be back on the air! Yes, I know it's been a while, since someone with style treated hell to a broadcast

Sinners, rejoice!”

This isn’t a prank, there are no cameras and a sadistic tv host waiting for your humiliating reaction, instead all pairs of eyes in Hell are glued to the screen watching as the two Overlords fight it out. 

Thus, no one notices how your entire body shakes and your vision goes black. It’s too much, and you grip the rails from the stairs that lead to the foyer for dear life. Your heart is beating out of your chest. No one notices how you cry, how you whimper Alastor’s name like a prayer, how the tears run down your face and you feel paralyzed. You want to run, a million thoughts per heartbeat making your head swim. The best you can do is collapse on the floor. So you do, you collapse trying to catch your breath as you plan your sweet escape, how you are going to Houdini yourself out of this situation right to his arms.

“Tune on in

 when I'm done, your status quo will know its race is run”

You want to kiss him, you want to slap him, you want to tell him how much you missed him, you much your fucking hate him. You want him to drag you to his rooms and make you pay for cursing him out. You want him, you want your Alastor back. You cannot breathe.

“Oh, this will be fun.”

and then all the lights go out.

There’s a beginning of an uproar happening, the electric building dies a quick and unforgiving death, demons run around and Vox is flying down the stairs trying to do damage control. But even he is failing to keep his composure, because he knows. Oh how you know too. 

Alastor is like a natural disaster, a shattering force that bends everything on its way with the sheer force of will. The inevitable reckoning that comes to your town, that judges and executes everyone that you love. 

And now he is here. 

You see the burning red hot pair of eyes first, their predatory gaze hold the entire room hostage, looking for his prey and then they land on you. 

The piercing intensity of Alastor’s eyes, the flickering reds of damnation itself, regard you with surprise, elation and something more. So overbearing those eyes are, they make you shiver, bearing the weight of his gaze that penetrates deep into your soul. Your soul that is not yours anymore, it belongs to the man he hates, the man he despises. 

The Radio Demon’s towering frame closes the distance between you two in five long strides, you do your best to keep yourself upright and not cower at the sight of him. He looks like Rapture and righteous torture, coming to deliver your setance. Vox knows his sentence is being delivered here and now too, so he runs, runs to you.  You feel static and an electrifying pull, metal clinking. A chain. A glowing blue chain on your neck and Vox’s pulling it tight.

“What? what the fuck is going on? what’s this?” snapping your neck quickly towards Vox you whimper, you beg. The few seconds you stopped looking into Alastor’s eyes causing seething rage inside the deer demon, ire that makes the room tremble. 

‘“Talk over the radio, that way everyone can hear, baby” Vox says straight at Alastor, like it is a shooting gun. The look on the TV Overlord is maniac, a sideway cocky smile that drips pettiness. Just because Vox clearly lost this battle, with all tvs and electricity on petagram city going dark, it doesn’t mean he can’t still forever tarnish this victory. 

Alastor’s demonform covers the already dark building in opaque, thick shadows, radio static picks up around the room like a tornado chocking the majority of the unfortunate demons that are still inside, in a desperate attempt to seek shelter. 

No words leave the radio host’s lips as he grows even taller, breaking the posh entrance of the building, debris flying down causing even more damage, the tall glass windows shatter in a million pieces courtesy of his tentacles tearing down everything on their way. The sounds of destruction and despair are loud but you haven’t been listening to the world outside you and your returned lover’s radio dial eye’s for a while. A doe caught in the headlight of his eyes the best you can do in brace for the inevitable impact that is coming your way.

In a flash of his scarlet eyes a fire ignites, the flames born from it are unnatural, behaving like a hive mind to kill and destroy.

 You always knew that facing Alastor after these 7 years would not be easy, but you never imagine your reunion like this, in the midst  of pomppeian fire, a wild raw power, the oncoming storm that is Alastor when he attacks. 

Vox knows this fight is over, his ego hurt and today’s accounts always written as a victorious comeback from the Radio Demon, nevertheless, between the three of you Vox will always know who really won, who drew the last card, had the last laugh. He did, holding Alastor’s girl on a leash because he owns her. The soul of the woman the Radio Demon dared to love is his, the man Alastor despises with a burning passion, and that’s enough for now. 

The raging flames circle the three of you and without much more flair Vox drops his act, your chain disappearing from your neck. You drop to the floor, branching yourself on all fours. You consider crawling your way to Alastor, so you can explain, so you can cry, so you can beg. You don’t know for what exactly you will be begging for: your life? his forgiveness? his punishment? you just know a lot of begging and pleading will be involved. 

But the decision is made for you.

“Run, run my little darling doe” Vox commands “Run and do whatever you need to do” 

You get up on your feet in a completely ungracious move and Alastor’s out of the room instantly. The flames never touch you on the way out, the outside world greets you: a cacophony of screams, sirens, burning sounds, the infernal orchestra that becomes the soundtrack of your life.  

“Oh, and by the way” Vox screams from the threshold of the decaying building “we just got news that your place on Cannibal Town got trashed by some wayward sinners during extermination. But don’t worry you can always come home here, come home to me!”

You do your best to ignore his taunting, and you pray to whoever is listening that Alastor didn’t hear it. But it’s futile, the pavement where he is stepping cracks a dark cloud of static and shadows trail after him. He definitely heard and felt the implications of these words. 

“Al.. Al!” you scream running after your lover. 

Fuck, you’re still in heels, and those aren’t your running heels.

Kicking the damned shoes off you run faster, you cry harder and plead faster.

When you lived, your life always felt a bit surreal, weird stuff happened to you that you couldn’t really explain. People always joked that screenwriters of your life were the most creative people alive, the thing that happened to you never happened to anyone else. You died young, with a big, full life ahead of you, but you took this as gospel to your afterlife, after all everything related to your death was a mystery to you. But the things that happened to you living or dead were a raw reality impossible to make up.

 The uncertainty of your death only fuels your resolve to fight for the life you found in the afterworld. 

“Al, wait!” you are starting to get truly desperate, you need to get to him otherwise you are pretty certain you will drop dead here and now.

 “Alastor please, please listen to me” your voice failing, you finally choking from the smoke, from the suppressed tears. If Alastor doesn’t hear you now you are not sure you can carry on after him, you’re too tired too scared. You him to save you like the damsel in distress you are right now so bad.

Alastor dramatically comes to a halt. 

“I. am. Not. Having. This. Conversation. Here.”  his voice is staggered, still. Filled with static and a murderous edge to it. His long arms catch your wrist and pull you close, flush against his chest, you almost stumble but a powerful arm around your waist locks you tight to him. 

It’s the first touch in seven years, your legs shake at the realization that he’s real, he’s here. You lock your arms around his neck, the familiar fabric of his overcoat, the soft strands of his hair, they all feel like coming home.  

Something inside Alastor snaps when he remembers, when he feels how small you are in comparison to him, only one arm securing you safely to him. Some paradoxical fight starts inside him, wild wild want, wild wild rage against tameness, the docile calm you bring whenever you are at his side. 

The world disappears for a few seconds as darkness engulfs both of you,  inside the black moving vacuum only the two of you exist, greeting each other in bloody homecoming. 

Alastor takes you back to the Hotel, landing with a low thump inside his room. For a second his hand supports the small of your back, preventing you from falling forward. After all it’s been 7 years since you shadowtravelled with him, he knows you are terribly out of practice. 

His consideration towards you only lasts this precious second thought, because he makes his way across the room, creating as much distance as he can between the two of you. Your touch disarms him, he is aware of that since the first time your hand brushed against his, the first time his lips ghosted on top of your knuckles. If Alastor is touching you he is extremely likely to get soft, to remember how much you mean to him, what you do to him, so he will be merciful. And right now the last thing the deer demon wants is to be disarmed, to show you mercy. He can feel your betrayal burning inside his veins, clouding his judgment with ire and jealousy.

Alastor doesn’t fight those feelings, on the contrary, he lets them take him by storm adding fuel to his already bad temper. That’s the only way he can face you now, that’s the only way he can make you understand. 

You don’t get any time to gather your bearings, from the corner of your eye you notice a forest. His room is bigger on the inside and has a fucking conservation area but that’s hardly the most pressing matter at the moment. The pressing matter at the moment is that you are getting whiplash from touching your demon lover for the first time in seven years and his subsequent refusal to touch you, stationing himself across the room to you.

Why isn’t he with you? by your side as you ride the shockwaves of today together? You are scared, but above all you feel overwhelming sadness. 

“How did it happen?” he finally snaps, breaking the deafening silence. It’s the first time Alastor regards you, directly, in 7 years and the weight his words bare is so heavy you wish for more of the silence. “Tell me, how did it happen?” his eyes are wild, dangerously close to radio dials. 

“How did it happen? You tell me Alastor! You left me, you fucking left me!” you wish you could be your usually articulated self, you rehearsed this conversation so many times in your mind and in none of them you started with such venom on your lips. But it has been too long, and maybe the poison from all those years alone and afraid beside Vox drips through. 

The Radio Demon sees the tears that fall profusely from your big doe eyes, and they sting more than an acclaimed torturer like him could have anticipated. Alastor finds himself still disarmed, because with every single glistening tear that falls he can see how hurt, how scared you are. He is the only one allowed to make you scared, he owns your fear.

But that’s the problem isn’t it? He owns nothing. Vox does. And that realization turns him back to feeling seething rage. 

“So my mere absence is enough to change your devotion? Is me being here the only thing that stopped you from falling into his arms?” more poison. By the end of the night you both will choke on it. 

“Al.. Al” you are sobbing now, your throat tightens and it’s hard to breath it’s hard to speak. “ I had to do it. You don’t get it, you don’t get it.” your voice breaks “hemademedoit, hemademedoit!!”. You swallow half the words, whimpering, as if you say it fast enough the action will quickly become the past, as if the memories won’t haunt you. And yet the memories flood your mind

A dim-lit room, the smell of blood and something burning.

“He is gone baby, and he isn’t coming back”

Electricity makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

A stranger’s hand pushes the hair to the side of your face, dread creeps up inside of you.

“This is the only way my dear, the best decision you can make” 

The same stranger’s hand grab you by the waist 

“I’m the only one who can protect you now, you know that right?”

eyes that make you freeze, it’s hard to think. eyes that make it hard to say no.

“If this is hard for you, you can pretend that I’m him” 

a wrong type of static pricks your lips 

“This won’t hurt” 

a shockwave hits your body and it feels like you are being split open

You have to steady yourself on the closest piece of furniture. You cower as the repressed memories from the night you finally gave in to Vox assault your mind, trying to make yourself as small as possible, like he is coming back to do it all again. Cries and incoherent words leave your lips and you don’t know if you actually said what happened or if this entire time you have just been crying. You entire body hurts as you hyperventilate “Al, I’m so sorry” you whisper 

That’s what undoes Alastor, you curling yourself in a ball, defeated and scared at the ghost of the man he hates. You looking away from him like you are undeserving of him, of his punishment, of his love. Like you are tainted. Alastor can’t make the exact words of your confession about how it happened, but he heard enough. Vox would never make you come to him willingly, Alastor knows that. Whatever Vox did - and Alastor has a lot of ideas of what he did - he will pay double for it. 

 Alastor’s blackened heart shatters when he calls your name and you don’t look up to meet his eyes, like you always do. He was always your lantern for when you were drowning. He meant to break you, hurt you like that. He just wanted to make you come to him, beg for his forgiveness, beg him to soothe the pain. 

“Mon coeur, my sweet darling doe you are safe” Alastor voice goes so soft it hurts “Don’t fret, it’s in the past, it’s over, you are safe with me now as you are meant to be” he coos.

Still, you can’t read your lover’s mind. So you don’t know his heart is shattered, you don’t know how much he loathes himself for letting this get this far. You are so caught up on your own feelings, reeling the rage and the memories that you miss the softness of his voice and his outstretched hard and you inevitably choke on the poison. 

“No. No!” you snap “You don’t get to say that. You have no right to say that!” you scream as you get up “I’m not safe, I will never be safe because you weren’t there to protect me, you promised Alastor, you fucking promised” the poison is now inside you, heartstopping waves of hurt consume your body and sprit. Right now the same burning passion that makes you heart beat for Alastor makes you hate him too. You were never good with ugly feelings, you always pride yourself for being soft to be strong. Your kindness and act of rebellion during the hellish reality you lived. You were never good with bad feelings, so you do something you never thought you’d do.

You shove the Radio Demon, that man you love so much it drives you to insanity. You shove him because the shame is too much, all the ugly feelings ball up inside, convincing you that you don’t deserve him, that you already lost him. And you won’t survive his dismissal. 

You never talked back to him, you never raised your voice. Not because you were afraid to, but because you never had to, hence the reason why Alastor is so taken aback that your pitiful attempt of violence actually moves him from where he was standing. 

Alastor shoves you back, pushing you up against the wall with a searing kiss. He kisses you like you are his last chance at salvation, like he wants to be redeemed. He licks your lips as you struggle to catch your breath, pushing his hips hard against your core, making you straddle him. Alastor doesn’t grant you a moment of reprieve, his lips come crashing down on yours again, his tongue inside your mouth dancing to a madman’s tune. He does what he does best, he takes and takes and takes. He takes your breath away, he takes all the callous words that threaten to leave your lips, aimed at him. 

You succumb to your demon lover, your nails dig into his skin and he moans inside your mouth, he bites your lips enough to draw blood. In the end Alastor is still Alastor, and of course he gets all hot and bothered when fighting. You feel delirious with the taste of his lips, your blood and your salty tears mixing together, an unholy ambrosia. His hardness press just the right way to make you sing creating a current of desire after a seven year long drought. 

His hands are quick, ridding up your shirt making he grab your ass and then your hips, strong enough to bruise. His clawed finger is already tweaking your nipple that way he knows you love. Your bravado melts, in perfect synchrony to when he sinks his teeth deep into your neck, drinking everything: that wretched poison that tarnished your words, the sacred warmth of your blood. You moan his name like a prayer that he promptly answers, he’s kissing you like a drowning man again, your blood on his lips painting your lips red like you both just drank from the holy grail, his hand cups your other breast and you vow to never speak to him like that again, only if it’s gonna get you up against the wall like that with him. 

And then he stops. 

“I hope this kiss haunts you” he says, voice still drunk with desire, low and threatening. He swiftly moves you off him, walking away and creating the same distance from when this all started “haunts your every breath, finds its way inside your every waking moment until you are mad with regret” 

You are bewildered, eyes widening in disbelief. What is he doing? How can he go from 0 to a 100 so fast? 

“I hope this kiss haunts you, so you never forget that you were the only woman who ever had me at the palm of her hand and you decided to throw it all away with that calamitous cynicism of yours.” 

So that’s what’s happening. You can never expect to beat a master at his own game, Alastor is still cruel when he is merciful. When push comes to shove he will always win. There’s only so far you can get with taunting his repentance,  playing with his heart laid bare at your feet, filled with sorrow and begging for forgiveness. He was ready to apologize, to dry your tears and soothe your fears, worshiping your delicious body and the ground you walked on. He was ready to admit that this was half his fault until your venom stung him beyond the realm of spoken word. 

“I understand it now, it must be hard for you to cope with your own decisions, your own failings, so you take it all on me. I hope you remember this when you come back to beg, on your knees for my forgiveness. And trust me, you will.” Of course Alastor would torture you with the knowlodge of his guilt and despair, the loss of his benevolence, the promise of desire and carnality. He will always be a torturer at heart, and you forgot that’s the first rule you need to always remember when dealing with him. 

“You’ve got your demons darling” never was your precious pet name said with such disdain. Static starts to gather around you, and in a flash his hand is on your neck

“and they all, Look. Like. Me” his voice is distorted when he finishes cursing you, there’s a tempest behind his eyes that entraps you, the burning red of his irises condemn you. 

The Radio demon is a raging fire, an oncoming storm. But he is also meticulous, cruel and calculating, if you dared to question him, to step on the grace he gladly gave you, you clearly were aware of everything he did to lull his absence. All the plans and contingencies he made to hush your worrying thoughts about him and bathe your threshing heart on tranquiline waters.

And you decided to mock it. To mock him and his love for you. 

You are crying again, but this time Alastor is fucking glad he was the one to hurt you, to reduce you to a mess of regret and tears. 

Tonight in Hell, power shifts from one Overlord to another. Sinners plan and freak out accordingly.

 But their machinations are all meaningless. 

The 7 years you spent away from Alastor made you sad, the three years spent on Vox’s side made you bitter. The V’s operate on poison, it’s their fuel. And maybe the poison drips through.

Tonight you drank the poison and it broke you.

Tonight, for the first time, the poison broke Alastor too.

[chiriwritesstuff]

... in Every Universe - A Roswell-inspired Modern! Din Djarin x F! Reader Soulmates AU (Prologue)

Chapter Rating: M

Chapter Summary: At five years old, you're found wandering alone in a weird town called Roswell and have no recollection of how you got there. 20 years later, you're working at your adoptive family's diner and you can't help the connection you feel with the town's bounty hunter, who just can't stop staring at you... what happens when you're on the brink of death and the man in question saves you in a way you can't explain?

Chapter Tags and Warnings: Canon divergent, minor descriptions of violence towards the reader (she gets shot), flashes between different universes and POVs, eventual smut, explicit language, loosely based on 'Roswell' (the 1999 WB series), Grogu exists in all universes, no beta we die like men!

Word Count: 1.7k

Nova

"Here we go! One meteor shake and one Alien Blood for the lady!"

You place the drinks down on the table, a forced smile gracing your lips as you eye the eccentric couple across from you. Arching a curious eyebrow, you take in their vibrant Crash Festival shirts, suppressing the urge to snort. "So, are you two here for the Crash Festival this weekend?"

"We sure are!" the man excitedly says, placing an arm around his girlfriend. "It's our first time here in Roswell. Are you from here?"

"Proud to say my family's been in Roswell for at least the last four generations," you declare, a hint of pride coloring your words as you wipe your hands on your apron.  Sure, you think to yourself.  I was actually found wandering around town by myself not knowing who I was at five years old before being found by your adoptive father one night, but how would they know?

The couple's faces light up with excitement, drawing closer to you. "So your family must know about what happened all those years ago then?" the woman asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "...with the crash, that is?"

"Well, I guess since you both seem like nice folks, it wouldn't hurt to share this with you," you say conspiratorially, reaching into your apron and withdrawing a folded paper. "I assume you can keep a secret?"

The couple's eyes widen as they slowly take the photo out of your hands, their mouths agape in astonishment. Your coworker Omera rolls her eyes as she passes by, coffee pot in hand, chuckling quietly to herself. "You are so bad," she whispers in your ear. "You're lucky your dad isn't around, I'm sure Greef would sprout another head if he had to deal with your antics once again," she adds, offering refills to the two men at the table next to you.  

"Refill, gentlemen?" Omera asks the men, frowning as she notices their aggravated state.

"Does it look like we need any refills?" one of the men asks harshly, waving her off. "Just go away!" he shouts, glaring at her. She gives you a frown as she turns around.  

You wave her off quickly, turning your attention back to the couple.  

"My grandfather actually was working near the crash site when he was younger and managed to take a picture before the feds arrived to clean up the scene," you whisper, glancing to your side to make sure no one else can hear your conversation. The photo shows a grotesque alien amongst the wreckage of a crash site, obviously fake.  

"Does anyone else know about this photograph?" the woman presses, taking note of your hesitance.  

"Well, I know about it, and now you guys know, too." You say seriously, trying not to laugh at their obliviousness.  

"Woah, this is fucking insane!" the man exclaims quietly, looking at the photograph once more.  

"I'll be right back, alright?" you suddenly say, a serious look on your face. "Don't show that to anyone, okay?"

"Yeah!" they both sputter, the man folding the photograph and placing it in his pocket. "Your secret's safe with us!" the woman whispers, nodding.

You nod back at her, straightening yourself up. You catch up to Omera as she laughs at the mischievous expression on your face.  

"You are such a menace!" Omera playfully smacks you as the two of you make your way back to the kitchen, a satisfied smirk on your face. "Oh, and Din Djarin is staring at you again," she adds, discreetly nodding in his direction.

"No way!" you exclaim, pushing her into the kitchen. "Omera, that is so in your imagination!"

You turn to look in the direction of the man in question, your eyes meeting his as he clears his throat, quickly breaking eye contact and glancing at his young son seated next to him. Your breath suddenly catches in your throat as you nervously glance back at your friend, the collar of your scratchy uniform suddenly too tight and constricting. "Din Djarin? This?" you point to yourself, shaking your head at your best friend. "No, uh-uh."

"Oh, but with those cheeks and that smile of yours? How can that handsome brooding man resist the princess of Roswell, huh?"

"Omera, come on, cut it out!" you exclaim, waving your hands in protest. "...and even if he was staring at me, it doesn't matter. I'm with Cobb! He's steady, sexy, and totally into me!" you declare, nodding to yourself as if trying to convince yourself as well.

"It sounds like you're describing a golden retriever or something," Omera deadpans, walking back towards the dining hall. "Sounds awfully exciting, shacking up with the Sheriff and all that," she mutters to you, shaking her head. "Why have dependable vanilla sex when you can have exciting mysterious sex with Roswell's resident bounty hunter? I bet he could fuck you five ways to-"

"I gave you a week!" the man from the neighboring table shouts, jumping up and pulling out a gun from his pocket. "You're about to see what happens when you mess around!"

"Nova!" Omera's voice rings out suddenly. "Call your dad, things are getting crazy!"

Before you can react, the other man lunges at the one with the gun, struggling to disarm him. In the chaos, the gun goes off, and you feel a sharp pain as you're hit.

"Oh my god!" Omera exclaims, turning to the other patrons. "Is everyone okay?" She looks towards your direction, her eyes widening in shock as she sees you curled up on the floor. "Nova!" she screams as the dining room descends into chaos, the two men running out of the restaurant in a hurry before someone calls 911. "Someone, help!" she screams into the crowd frantically.

Din 

Din jumps as he sees the bullet go in your direction, glancing at his young son still seated in the chair next to him. "Grogu, are you okay?"

"Yes, dada," he shakily responds, his eyes glancing at your crumpled form. "Nova's hurt!" he exclaims, pointing in your direction. "Grogu help her!" he cries, attempting to get out of his seat.

"No!" Din shouts, "You stay right there, I'll help her, okay? Stay with Uncle Boba!"

"Din, no," Boba warns through gritted teeth. "We can't risk getting exposed-"

"I can't just fucking leave her to bleed out!" Din cries helplessly, looking in your direction. "I need to help her!"

As he rushes toward you, Omera follows closely behind. "Call 911!" he commands, using it as a diversion to keep her away, not wanting her near the two of you as he grapples internally with what he's about to do.

"Nova," he whispers, ripping your uniform away from your body, his eyes trained on the blood pooling on your torso. "I need you to look at me, can you do that for me?" he pleads, placing a hand behind your head. "Nova," he begs, "Please baby, I need you to look at me."

Your eyes flutter open slightly as he gazes intently back at you, his hand applying pressure to your wound with gentle urgency. Vivid images flood your mind as Din focuses on healing you.

In an instant, you're in a desert, brandishing a laser sword against a lizard-like adversary. A voice calls out, and you're struck from behind by a blaster shot. Then, as Din presses harder on your wound, you're transported to a spaceship, writhing in pain as you clutch your abdomen. A figure stands beside you, armored and mysterious, their helmet removed. But before you can identify the man in armor, you snap back to reality, meeting the deep brown eyes of Din once more.

Din breathes a sigh of relief as the wound on your torso closes, his eyes fluttering closed as he recalls the visions he shared with you moments before. She can't be, he thinks to himself, his hands cradling your face gently as he draws you closer to him, pulling you into the safety of his chest. "You're okay, Nova," he whispers against your ear. "You're with me, alright? Stay with me."

"Dada," Grogu's sudden cry breaks the moment, his face etched with concern. "Did you heal mama?"

"What did you say?" Din's voice is filled with disbelief as he looks at his son. "What did you call her?"

"Mama," Grogu repeats, attempting to reach you. "I felt her pain just now, I knew I saw her in my dreams-"

"Djarin!" Boba's sudden shout startles you, and Grogu protests as he's lifted up, reaching out toward both of you. "We've got to go, NOW!"

Din swiftly assesses the situation, gently setting you back down on the ground before grabbing a nearby bottle of ketchup. Squeezing it over your chest and uniform, he meets your gaze with urgency. "You took a fall and broke the bottle accidentally," he whispers to you, swiftly rising to his feet. "Please, if Cobb asks, just say it was a nasty fall, okay?" With that, he dashes towards the door, joining Boba and Grogu already waiting in the idling car outside.

You nod as Omera rushes to your side, helping you up as you watch Din jump into the car and speed away.

"Nova," Omera says, her voice filled with concern as she takes in your disheveled appearance. "What in the hell just happened?"

"I don't know," you stammer, trying to make sense of it all. You close your eyes once more, and it feels as though you're still in that spaceship, with Din's hands clasping yours as he gazes back at you, tears streaming down his face. Your heart races as you glance down at your wounded form, only to find yourself suddenly pregnant, your eyes widening in disbelief at your swollen abdomen.

"Stay with me, Nova," Din pleads in your memory, tearing away your tunic as blood gushes from your abdomen. "Please, stay with me," he cries, tears cascading down his face as he tenderly caresses your pregnant belly. "Please Cyar'ika, please don't leave me!"

"Nova!" Omera's desperate screams are the last thing you hear as you slip into unconsciousness, the world around you plunging into darkness.

[cybersteal]

ℂ𝕙𝕒𝕣𝕒𝕔𝕥𝕖𝕣 𝕀𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕣𝕧𝕚𝕖𝕨: 𝕍𝕚𝕔𝕖𝕣𝕠𝕪

Tagged by @dreamskug and subsequently ripped off inspired by his, @lokiina’s, @nightcityace’s & @arcandoria’s creative take on it.

V: Hey, sorry I’m- Interviewer: Late? V: Only by thirty minutes, can't be that big of a deal. Interviewer: Maybe it is-

V: Okay, well, I'm here now, on a Friday night, instead of drinking myself stupid like I wish I was. Go ahead and ask your questions.

ɴɪᴄᴋɴᴀᴍᴇ:

V: V. Interviewer: That’s it? V: Yup.

ɢᴇɴᴅᴇʀ:

V: Male.

ꜱᴛᴀʀ ꜱɪɢɴ:

ʜᴇɪɢʜᴛ:

V: Six feet. Interviewer: Actually? V: Does this look like a face that would lie to you?

ᴏʀɪᴇɴᴛᴀᴛɪᴏɴ:

V: You first. Interviewer: Excuse me? V: Hah! Relax, choom, just trying to lighten the mood! Jeez. I’m Pan. Equal opportunity for all. Mostly me.

ɴᴀᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ / ᴇᴛʜɴɪᴄɪᴛʏ:

V: I was born in SoCal, but my parents are both from Mexico. I have a…complicated relationship with my Latino heritage, since it wasn’t really somethin’ that my parents took the time to share with me in detail, or my siblings. Never had the chance to ask why, but after comin’ to Night City, I realized I kinda missed out on a lot growing up.

ᴅᴏɢ ᴏʀ ᴄᴀᴛ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴ:

V: Well, I have a cat at home. One of those hairless ones. But I did always want a dog. Interviewer: Oh? What kind? V: Xoloitzcuintli.

ꜰᴀᴠᴇ ꜰʀᴜɪᴛ, ꜱᴇᴀꜱᴏɴ, ꜰʟᴏᴡᴇʀ, ꜱᴄᴇɴᴛ:

V: Whoa, whoa, slow down, Jesus. Uhh…first one was-? Interviewer: Fruit. V: Right. I like grapes. The purple ones. Interviewer: Why purple? V: Shit, I dunno. They taste better? Interviewer: Heh. Yeah, fair enough. Season? V: I love summer. Life slows down a little, people take more time to relax. I don’t mind the heat, neither, ‘cause I can just go for a swim whenever, or go for a drive with the windows down. Cools me just fine. Interviewer: Preem. V: I like those orange poppy’s that grow all over the Badlands. California poppy’s I think they’re called.

Interviewer: And for your favorite scent? V: Right – probably amber. I've used the same brand of amber-heavy cologne for years. Oh, and I really like that one specific brand of tobacco my mom smoked. Interviewer: What brand was that? V: Can’t recall. Somethin’ imported.

ᴄᴏꜰꜰᴇᴇ, ᴛᴇᴀ ᴏʀ ʜᴏᴛ ᴄʜᴏᴄᴏʟᴀᴛᴇ:

V: Coffee. Double shot. Sometimes triple, if I’m doin’ a long gig. Interviewer: Christ. V: Hey, merc work ain’t easy. It’s that or synthcoke. Interviewer: I’m scared to ask the next question…

ᴀᴠᴇʀᴀɢᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀꜱ ᴏꜰ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ:

V: Yikes…like 5? If I’m lucky. Interviewer: I’m not at all surprised. V: The fuck is that supposed to mean?

ɴᴜᴍʙᴇʀ ᴏꜰ ʙʟᴀɴᴋᴇᴛꜱ ʏᴏᴜ ꜱʟᴇᴇᴘ ᴡɪᴛʜ:

V: No, no. Hold on. I wanna know why you’re not surprised. Do I got bags under my eyes or somethin’? Interviewer: Actually, no. V: Nova. Interviewer: You got suitcases.

V: You’re fine, choom. I appreciate the banter. I don’t need to sleep with any blankets though. Interviewer: Really? Why not?

V: Sub-dermal armor. Got a bunch of other stuff you can’t see as well – keeps me runnin' hot, all the time.

ᴅʀᴇᴀᴍ ᴛʀɪᴘ:

V: Aw, shit. There’s so many places. If I had to pick, I guess…Havana. Interviewer: Cuba. You into history? V: Nah, choom. Beaches.

ꜰᴀᴠᴇ ꜰɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴᴀʟ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ:

V: Mad Max. Interviewer: You don’t think that’s a little…stereotypical? V: Does it look like I care? Me and my sister used to pretend we were members of the MFP and annoy the hell out of our brother. I called him nothin' but Toecutter for two years. He hated it.

ʀᴀɴᴅᴏᴍ ꜰᴀᴄᴛ:

V: If you lick a person’s elbow when they’re not looking, they won’t feel it. Interviewer: …huh. Misty: Oh, V… V: It was the first thing that popped into my head, okay, I panicked-

This was a lot of fun to make tbqh. He's such a gonk - that ADHD brain keeps him moving around and fidgeting 24/7 even without the help of caffeine or stims and boosters, and he can talk about himself for hours, the narcissistic dickhead.

Shoutout to my bestest choombatta @klept0kid you deserve to have your name attached to your masterpiece lmao.

tags: @chooh2 @pinkyjulien @meltingangels @ouroboros-hideout @ne0n-rust @netripper @wilxfyre @klept0kid @glitchinginthegarden @nightcxty @shimmer-like-agirl @noirapocalypto @katsigian @wanderingaldecaldo @cyberpunkaddict @elvenbeard @wraithsoutlaws

[eclipian]

Star Child Alter

pt: star child alter

reminder beings will almost definitely not turn out exactly as described, and these can be edited and changed as needed.

divider credit

Name: Star Child , Star , Kid , Kidd , Starry , Nova , Comet , Milkyway , Spark , Nava , Shooting Star , ⭐️ , 🌟 , ✨ , 💫 , ☄️

Age: 11 Cosmochronal

Pronouns: She/Her , Shy/Hyr , Shu/Hur , Shx/Hxr , It/Its , Ix/Ixs , Iz/Izs , They/Them , Thy/Thym , Thuy/Thum , Thxy/Thxm , Xe/Xem , Ze/Zem , Cae/Caer , Dae/Daer , Thon/Thons , Star/Stars , Con/llation , Nova/Novas , Comet/Comets , Child/Childs , ⭐️/⭐️s , 🌟/🌟s , ✨/✨s , 💫/💫s , ☄️/☄️s

Gender: Demifem , Lumessia , Pluto , Stargender , Constellgender , Starlikic , Starriserene , Nightmidskyic , Starstruckcute , Starbodiment , Auguastrum , Starryknowic , Starfrilled , Whimsic , Starrygownic , Stargirl , Comukidnostic , Tornfemmic , Propheciastria , Innocencegender , Littlesisteren , Playgender , Starrygender , Spaceaesic , Spacelikic

Attraction: Aroace , Playful Attraction

Other IDs: Starvior , Starsensus , Starperspesque , Dissopermchild , Dissotimechild , Dissostarpupil , Dissopermbirthday , Dissonullbirthday , Dissochibibody , Dissonosleep , Dissonobreath , Dissoxenobody , Dissotiny , Dissovirgo , Space Locational Shift , Space Eiment , Natilien

Species: Stelocus

Origins/Modifiers: Spaceipsese , Stargenic , Natalgenic

Role: Spawner , Admirer , Artisan

Aesthetics: Spacecore , Space Academic , Virgo’s Tears , Auroracore , Synthwave

✦ Interests: Space , Zodiac Signs , Crafts , Pokémon

✦ Dislikes: Bright Lights , Loud Noises , Scratching Noises , Buzzing

✦ Kins: Cosmog , Jirachi , Espeon , Deoxys , Elgyem , Poipole

✦ Details: this star is Demi Verbal and has a semi Innate Typing Quirk (replacing o with a ⭐️)

pt: name , age , pronouns , gender , attraction , other ids , species , origins/modifiers , role , aesthetics , interests , dislikes , kins , details

Tag: @bahtive & @galaxy-starshine

Disclaimer: Middle image is made with the use of AI. This blog does not condone or promote putting AI over real artist. This post is using it as a way to middle finger those who try to claim AI creations as actual pieces of art. I mod music am not making prompts for the images.

[serial-serializednovelreader]

Nova’s Notes - North and South Weekly - Wk 1

So, today was the first entry of North and South and because of the Droughtula, I’m glad to have a beast of an entry to analyze! Also, as a note, I’m probably not going to quote as much of this, since there is so much of it — I’ll just refer to the part I’m talking about. One more thing: this is my first time reading this book. Feel free to share your responses, but no spoilers please! (I know this is a 100+ year-old book though, so I’ll probably filter tags)

Reading the first long paragraph, we can already get a glimpse of Margaret and Edith’s dynamic. They’re cousins and raised together from childhood and Edith is called pretty by all — except Margaret. But now, Margaret is starting to see her better qualities, since Edith is about to leave her and get married and Margaret is going home to live with her father.

What does that tell me? They may not be on the best of terms (at least on Margaret’s side), but even so, Margaret can’t help but feel sad at the upcoming “loss” of her cousin. There’s more evidence to support this: in later paragraphs, she’s referred to as “spoiled” and weak-willed, though it’s unclear whether that’s Margaret’s opinion or Gaskell’s omniscient opinion (which I think is something to watch out for). Then again, she also refers to her as “dear” and observes that Edith would stay with her fiancé even if someone came along with more money and comfort (since she’s so spoiled). Needless to say, I think Margaret has some complicated feelings.

I believe Margaret sees her for what she is — as spoiled and a bit of a child (which we’ll get to later) — but she’s still her cousin and can only see her as more dear. I love that Gaskell writes about this feeling of idealizing a person more when you know they’re about to leave (moving, marriage, etc.) because, as someone’s who been through this, I can very much relate and I appreciate her writing about this. Even if you’re not on the best of terms, you find yourself missing their annoying mannerisms too (unless they’re like, super bad or something lol)!

Moving on, Margaret overhears her aunt — Mrs. Shaw — talking to her friends about Edith’s marriage and her own marriage. What’s interesting here is that her main concern was making sure a) Edith married someone within her age range (unlike her own marriage) and b) love is of the utmost importance. Obviously, this is something pretty common in today’s society — in fact, it’s encouraged — but I do wonder how this was taken when it was first published. Was the aunt seen as frivolous and privileged, or revolutionary and modern? I did some research and it turns out by the time this was published (1854), this was already a well-established belief. So I guess she was simply echoing what most of society was already thinking!

What does stand out to me is that the aunt does talk about the age difference in her own marriage being a “drawback”. I don’t think I need to discuss how our society views age-gap relationships today (let’s just say it’s a hot topic), but I do find it interesting how very relevant this conversation from Mrs. Shaw still resonates with me so many years later.

However, Gaskell doesn’t seem to hold Mrs. Shaw in the highest regard, either. She describes her as “considering herself a victim to an uncongenial marriage” and now that her husband is dead, tries to find something else to be anxious about. Furthermore, she only does things because someone else wants to (and complains about it) while “all the time she was in reality doing just what she liked”. While these aren’t the worst things ever, I wouldn’t call this a glowing character review either. I would almost compare this to Mr. Woodhouse from Jane Austen’s Emma, who bemoans every little illness and thing that befalls him when he is actually pretty healthy.

Not that she’s seen to be a horrible aunt or mother to Margaret or Edith — it’s pretty evident that she cares for both of them by the way she dotes on Edith and how she took Margaret in as a child (I’m not entirely sure why — I think it was to teach her how to be a lady?). I like that Gaskell is already showing a lot of different sides to these characters!

Margaret is asked to model Edith’s wedding shawls, since she is currently down for a nap. She goes up to the nursery and reflects on when she first came to this house as a child. She was considered a wild thing — playing in the forest and all that. On the first night there, her new nurse already seemed intimidating and the nursery itself more akin to a prison. Poor little Margaret began to cry, but the nurse demands her to stop so as to not “disturb Miss Edith”. Then, she was all the quieter when her father and aunt went to check on her later, since she felt bad for being upset. I can well imagine a child of nine fostering a bit of resentment for her cousin after an introduction like that — not a big one, because I don’t think she’s that kind of character, but just a little one. How would you feel if you were thrust into an unwelcoming environment and told your emotions were a problem? It’s not Edith’s fault, but it’s not Margaret’s either. The upside is their relationship remarkably improved after that and she can look upon the nursery with fondness.

Honestly it gives me the same vibes as Charlotte Brontë’s Villete, which was published almost around the same time (though the roles are reversed in this case). At the beginning of the book, the protagonist, Lucy Snowe, is visiting her godmother but they have a new visitor: Polly. Tensions clash when they both have to stay in the nursery and Lucy sees Polly as a spoiled brat, while Polly sees Lucy as unfeeling and unkind to her. Obviously, not the same situation, but I think it’s a little peek into what this kind of dynamic is like!

Moving on, Margaret models the wedding shawls and they actually seem to fit her better than Edith (she has the height for it). The key point here is that “no one thought about it” though: they don’t seem to notice or appreciate Margaret’s beauty. While Gaskell remarks that Edith is known for her prettiness, the same attention does not seem to be applied to Margaret. I wonder if this will be a running theme? What I do appreciate is that when Margaret looks at herself in the mirror, she smiles and poses — she seems to know her own beauty and be somewhat self-confident, even if others don’t tell her. Or at least, she’s having fun dressing up like a princess, which is super cute and I love that for her!!! Why shouldn’t she have fun with this?

Enter Henry Lennox, Edith’s fiancé’s brother — a mouthful. He, understandably, causes a stir amongst everyone and even Edith wakes up from her nap as if she feels the vibes that her future in-law has arrived (to paraphrase the author, lol). While they ask him questions, a very interesting line pops up about Edith’s soon-to-be sister-in-law that I wanted to share and had to do some research on to figure out the meaning of:

“[Edith] had a multitude of questions to ask about dear Janet, the future, unseen sister-in-law, for whom she professed so much affection, that if Margaret had not been very proud she might have almost felt jealous of the mushroom rival…”

After googling what a mushroom rival was (because, what????), the consensus I found was that it means “an unimportant rival”. It was also a way to jab at the “nouveau riche” who found themselves in upper-class circles, but came from lower-class origins. I think ultimately what Gaskell is saying here is that Margaret sees her cousin’s sister-in-law as someone that may try to “steal” her cousin’s affections, but in the end there’s not much to worry about, since Margaret has established affection with Edith (almost like people with generational wealth) and Janet doesn’t have much to compete with because she is too new to Edith’s acquaintance (thus making her like the nouveau riche). Just my interpretation, though, please feel free to sound off in the comments!

Henry goes to sit next to Margaret after Edith’s questioning and Margaret seems very happy to seem him. Not shy at all! Their conversation is interesting. First he starts off with (kind of) mocking her and the ladies “playing with shawls” and how it’s “very different” compared to his “real true law business”. So yeah, not winning any points with me right off the bat, but let’s see where it goes, I guess? I mean, it could be just a joke, right?

He comments on how he’s noticed her doing all the hard work for the wedding and how he hopes she gets a break from that soon. She tries to deflect and mention Edith as also working hard, but he sticks by his assertion that she has been the one doing all the planning work for his brother and Edith’s wedding, which she can’t really deny. Even if she has not done all the work (I imagine Mrs. Shaw has taken up some of the heavy-lifting), it seems that the emotional toil of all the planning is what has made an impact on Margaret.

She wonders if a wedding must always be this way and even suggests that she would like her wedding to be more calm without all of the extra fluff Edith’s has (a bit of a controversial topic in those days I think — in my research I found that Victorian marriages were modeled after Queen Victoria’s ceremony, which included many traditions we still see today). That leads to this passage:

“‘The idea of stately simplicity accords well with your character.’

Margaret did not quite like this speech; she winced away from it more, from remembering former occasions on which he had tried to lead her into a discussion (in which [Henry] took the complimentary part) about her own character and ways of going on. She cut the speech short…”

I find this interesting — that Henry being complimentary is inherently distasteful to her and she immediately turns him away from it. I’m not sure if it’s because a) his compliments suck (who calls someone’s character simplistic — I don’t think that’s the compliment you think it is buddy) b) that’s her future relative-in-law and she thinks it’s weird for him to compliment her or c) she’s just not good at taking compliments in general. I’m actually not sure which it is — I need to see more of her character — but I do know the conversation does not improve from here on out.

She makes a rebuttal to his compliment by saying she is only thinking of her home in Helstone and it’s not a character trait. He tries to get her to talk more about it, but she will not be drawn in. At least not completely. She converses, but also gets quickly annoyed with him. You kind of have to read along to get what I mean, but their conversation is like two steps forward and one back.

Finally, he says, “You are rather severe to-night, Margaret.” And she seems kind of surprised by this because she didn’t realize she was being “severe”: she genuinely could not describe her home as he wants her to. Her justification is basically you can only understand it if you’ve been there, which she did kind of say before this point.

Don’t get me wrong: I love a good banter session, but this one just feels different in a negative way. I also feel like this back-and-forth banter is a set-up. This is how Margaret interacts with the people around her now, because they don’t seem to quite understand her. They think she’s being “uncooperative” or difficult — I don’t think she is. Or perhaps she is, but it’s also Henry’s fault for not changing the subject when she made it clear that she didn’t want to talk about her home and couldn’t describe it!!! I believe her change of scene will help her find people who do get her and maybe she will have a similar form of banter, but this time it will be different and she will be understood. That’s just my speculation, though!

He continues to talk to her, but they hit a roadblock yet again because he asks her “what she does to occupy herself in the country” and when she doesn’t have a good answer, goes to the point of saying:

“I see, you won’t tell me anything. You will only tell me that you are not going to do this and that. Before the vacation ends, I think I shall pay you a call, and see what you really do employ yourself in.”

Idk if someone told me this, even jokingly, I would not like it. This would be my response:

Like why does he need to know her every move?!?!?! I just feel like he’s not asking the right questions and he definitely seems to be making light of her “quaint” living (which I think she’s playing into just so he’ll leave her be). The problem is, he’s just filling in the blanks for her by describing what she does in her current home and then asks “oh so what will you do at Helstone? Archery, parties? Oh, you’re too poor for that? I see you won’t tell me anything.” He sounds exhausting to talk to!!!! Just be a good listener!!!!! Maybe that’s just me and I’m reading too much into it though. I don’t know how much we’ll see of him since he probably won’t be living where Margaret is going, but I honestly hope it’s not much. Or maybe I do — I want to know why he is this way, I’m nosey. 😂😂😂😂

Honestly, it kind of feels like when a neurotypical person and neurodivergent person have a conversation and it just…doesn’t go that well because both people have a different way of communicating and its frustrating for both sides. I know I’m being hard on Henry and whether he deserves that or not is up for debate (I’ll wait for final judgement), but it could just be a case of that. I’m also not saying people of different neurotypes can’t have a satisfying conversation — they definitely can — but it takes understanding from both sides and I do feel like both sides here are not trying to understand the other’s perspective. Just like I could be misunderstanding this whole conversation, I really don’t know!

Also, I’m pretty sure Henry is romantically interested in Margaret, but I don’t know if she returns the feeling. While she was initially was happy to seem him, she seems more annoyed by his conversation than happy (never a good sign). If he is flirting, I think it needs some workshopping because…uh…that ain’t it, pal.

I also notice that when Henry takes his leave, he remarks that “besides, Aunt Shaw won’t like us to talk.” Ok…what does THAT mean???? That nugget of lore is fascinating, but hard to glean much from. Is it because their conversations are always like this and Mrs. Shaw is just tired of hearing the back-and-forth? *Or* is part of the reason they have back-and-forth like this BECAUSE of Mrs. Shaw? Hopefully I’ll find out!

Enter Edith’s fiancé and that’s when the real stir begins! Edith is so excited she runs out of the room just to walk in with him (we love a dramatic entrance lol). We get the chance to observe both brothers while they observe Edith and Margaret in turn. Compared to the captain (and the whole family) it seems that Henry is the “plain one”, but on the whole seems “intelligent” and “keen”. But his interest in watching both women seems to be “slightly sarcastic” — which, what does mean?????? Henry, you’re so confusing!!!!!

Edith decides to show off how good she is at being a soldier’s wife by doing everything herself! Can you guess how well that goes? Yeah, she immediately can’t carry the tea-kettle because it’s too heavy for her and it gets all over her dress. She shows this to her fiancé “like a hurt child” and her fiancé either hugs her or does a relatable “kiss it better” thing — lol (shoutout to a special user in the comments section for helping me figure out what “the remedy was the same in both cases” meant :D). The chapter mostly ends with discussing how they made the tea and then “all was bustle until the wedding was over.”

I think it’s interesting that we don’t get a clear picture of the aforementioned fiancé — now husband. The only thing I can really mention is that he’s obviously affectionate with Edith and seems to humor her childish moods.

As for Margaret, I avoided talking too much about her character, specifically because I think we get it through the way she interacts with others. This is already long so I’ll make a quick list of what I think we can glean from her character so far, in no particular order:

Reflective

Understanding — for the most part (not with Henry)

Playful (to herself)

Doesn’t like too much attention

Determined

Not afraid of conflict

Speaks her mind

Loves her home

Loves her family, but knows their faults

Values tranquility

Helpful

Observant

Self-confident

I think that’s it! I’m excited to read more and hope you enjoyed my ramblings :)

[frost-queen]

Outmatched //Part 9 (Reader!Holmes x Anthony Bridgerton)

Forever tag: @missmelodramatic, @merlin-dahlia, @alex--awesome--22, @elllie-does-the-posts, @floatlosers, @merlieve, 

@queen-of-books, @glimmering-darling-dolly, @denkisclown, @harleyquinnswifeyfrfr,    @meyocoko, @bubblybrianna, @october-leaves, @m-rae23,@kazbekkarluvbot, @freyathehuntress,

@kneelforloki, @mamaj-right, @queensgirl718, @abaker74, @thescooby-gang, @readers-posts, @randomstory56, @aureolinb, @fictional-hooman, 

@nyenye,  @loliakeoghan23, @heyheyheyggg, @aizawash0e, @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @novas-dreamworld, @preciousbabypeter, @magical-spit, @heyheyheyggg, studioreader, @wonderlandfandomkingdom

Summary: When old habits resurface has it doomed everything? Perhaps one is never meant to touch love? Appearing as none can handle the task on their own, a set of schemes have come into place. Read part 1  & part 2 & part 3 & part 4 & part 5 & part 6 & part 7 & part 8 & part 10

Your hands pulled instantly away from him, stumbling a bit back. Slightly shaking your head you saw how Lord Hill’s face stood with confusion. – “Miss Y/n.” – Lord Hill started while you bumped with your back to someone else. You slightly turned, holding your hand up as an apology. Lord Hill kept coming closer, offering you his hand again. No more. Fully turning around you took a run for it. Pushing a way through the crowd. Sherlock grabbed Mycroft by the suit, pulling him along. – “Go that way round!” – he ordered pushing his brother in a direction.

“Wha… Sherlock?” – Mycroft said bumping against a man. Sherlock pointed firm in the direction he needed to go. – “Mycroft!” – Sherlock rose his voice, pointing even firmer. Mycroft nodded shakily, pushing his way through. – “Out of the way!” – he ordered separating a couple to get through. Sherlock went his way, squeezing through the crowd to get to you before you’d head out. You were making your escape to the outdoors.

A flash of lighting making you freeze for a second. Looking over your shoulder, you caught a glimpse of Lord Hill. Shaking your head, you didn’t want to be tangled up in this. You pushed through, making your way across. If it rained it didn’t matter. If lightning struck you, it might end your agony and you’d be blissful about it. This was the very reason you detested the social season.

If you could’ve gone back in time, you would’ve prevented your younger self from agreeing on behalf of your brother. No matter how much you loved him, you should’ve remained headstrong. If only Mycroft wasn’t so cold hearted. If only he dared himself to be vulnerable, he might find happiness or love. If only Sherlock wasn’t so sophisticated. If only he found pleasure in engaging more with others. If only he wasn’t so complicated talented. He’d might find someone too that could keep him company.

Someone equally matched with his wits and brains. Someone who would understand that he needs time of his own. Finding comfort in it. Security. If only your brothers were better, it wouldn’t have to fall all upon your shoulders. Squeezing yourself through a couple, you were haunted by it all. Tears captive in the corner of your eyes. Vision turning glossy, making you blink rapidly to see clearer. You reached the large, windowed doors leading to the gardens.

Grabbing the handle you opened them. Panting loud as the smell of rain whiffed through the open crack. A firm hand pressed itself onto the glass, shutting the windowed door shut before you could fully open it. Startling you. – “Sherlock let me open this door.” – you called out, fussing at the handle. The hand kept the door from moving.

“I cannot.” – a response came, only it didn’t sound as your brother. Blinking surprised you slowly turned your head to the side. Eyes widening at Lord Anthony Bridgerton. His breathing loud, staring rather serious at you. – “My lord…” – you said breathless, caught in his gaze. He took a step closer to you, lowering his hand onto the handle. His intense gaze taking a hold of you. – “Do not do this…” – he whispered, gaze lowering onto you, resting briefly on your lips.

You lifted your chin up, taking a stance of stubborn proudness. – “Why not? What concern am I to you?” – you asked him. His gaze flashing up to your eyes once more. He stared bewildered at you, flung back to his nightmares. The nightmares he had after he had found you in the rain all alone. Sprained ankle. Broken perhaps he thought at the point. The smell of rain so distinct in his mind. The terror swirling around him as he feared the worst. His hand trembled gripped on the handle.

He opened his mouth wanting to rant out words, not the kindest when his pride held him back. He sucked in a breath, turning his head, fighting every urge to scold you. Scold you for being so reckless and taunting his heart. For it can only take so much. – “Am I to expect an answer or do you lack the capacity to be honest with yourself?” – you responded with a little bit of disrespect. Anthony tensed his jaw, opening the door. The cold breeze and sound of rain welcoming.

“Do proceed then!” – he answered loudly, gesturing at the outdoors. – “Forget I was ever caring.” – he outed. – “If you might overlook your own pride, you might have noticed it.” – he ended with a sarcastic smile. – “Caring?” – you said in disbelieve. – “Forgive me my lord but am I to mistake insults for care?” – you replied full of wit back. – “If I am not mistaken you were the first to insult me!” – he reminded you off. – “Only because you were conceited.” – You spoke back, shutting the windowed door to keep the cold out.

Anthony puffed loud. – “Conceited!” – he replied at the brink of losing his mind. – “Take a look in the mirror Miss Y/n.” – he said coldly moving his head up and down on you. You were shocked. – “Thank you for explaining so fully!” – you said back. Anthony and you turned away from each other. Facing away from him, you looked to the side, peeking over your shoulder. A sadness falling over you.

How you didn’t mean all that, but your pride was one to stand in the way. Anthony looked up, slowly lowering his head, gaze casted down. Pride what a vicious thing. If only you could see how much he truly cared. If only he was brave enough to say it. He took in a deep breath, almost thinking about apologizing. Shaking his head, he ignored the matter of his own feelings. He took off, leaving you alone.

Moving your arms over each other, you sulked in pity. – “Y/n!” – lifting your head a bit up, you saw your brothers come near. Sherlock wrapped his arms tight around you. – “You are alright.” – he said out of breath. – “For a moment we thought you were going to do something foolish.” – Mycroft pitched in. – “Perhaps I already did.” – you answered looking pitiful at the ground. – “Sister?” – Sherlock said tilting your chin up for you to look at him. He wanted to look at you. To understand what you meant.

He could always read so much in your eyes; they were like an open book to him. You casted your head aside, not wanting to look at him. – “I messed up…” – you said, lip quivering. A loud sob emerged from inside you as your face fell into your hands. Quietly crying at your own demise. Sherlock wrapped an arm around you, soothing you. Mycroft looked uneasy around. Seeing how you caught some attention of unwanted see-ers. Mycroft snapped his finger at Sherlock for attention.

“We leave for home.” – he made clear, stroking his moustache. Sherlock agreed, escorting you out of the ballroom. The carriage ride home was silent. Not one daring to start the conversation. At your return home, father was rather perplex as to why you had returned so early. Mycroft shook his head, letting him know to drop the matter.

You took the stairs up without a word. Both your brothers giving each other a concerning look. In your nightwear you sat by the window, silk shawl around your arms for comfort. Your mothers silk shawl. There was a gentle knock on the door. – “Go away.” – you said softly not in the mood for any company, yet the door opened anyways. – “You know how stubborn I am.” – Mycroft said popping his head in. – “A simple go away doesn’t do the matter.” – he added with a chuckle, closing the door behind him. You were a bit surprised to find Mycroft entering your room.

It was out of character. If you expected anyone to enter it would be father…or Sherlock, but never Mycroft. He took in a deep breath, watching your room from afar. Moving a bit up, you made room for your brother to come and sit down. He walked over, sitting down by your side. He stared out of the window for a moment. Setting his words right as everything was always calculated with him. Each and every word with precision.

When he looked at you, the words lingering on his tongue vanished into thin air at the sight of mother’s shawl. He smiled saddened, reaching out to feel the fabric on his fingers. – “Mother’s shawl.” – he said brought back to so many sweet memories with her. Despite being a difficult child to show affection, he did very much love her. You smiled faintly back at him. Mycroft exhaled deep, looking up to the ceiling. Whatever pre-calculated words he had in his mind were gone.

“What happened?” – he asked thinking of how mother would approach this. You looked with tears in your eyes at him, trying to keep smiling. He noticed how close you were to breaking apart. – “Let us say I am my worst own enemy.” – you told him doing your very best not to cry. Mycroft took a deep breath, moving his arm around you. Pulling you closer so that you could lay your head on his shoulder.

“That indeed we are.” – he responded, rubbing his jaw against your hair. The door opened slightly revealing a saddened Sherlock. Mycroft sighed loud, waving him over. Sherlock shut the door behind him, coming over. He sat down on the other side of Mycroft. Sherlock moved his arms around Mycroft and so on around you as well.

“We are a broken family… aren’t we?” – you asked staring in front of you. Mycroft looked up, laying his other arm over Sherlock. All too afraid to answer the question, but knowing deep down it might be true. Outside the rain clattered against the window, washing away any stains.

The next morning you were playing chess with Sherlock. – “It is your turn.” – you said looking up to your brother standing with his back to you. Thinking. He hummed confused, turning his posture. He barely glanced at the board as he made his move, taking a pawn of you. He then returned to his brooding. You observed the board closely, thinking of every possible way. If you did this, he might do that. Biting your lip, you weren’t sure what next move you should use. – “Try your horse.” – Sherlock said without looking. – “I can think for myself.” – you answered bothered.

Yet you took the horse, setting it down. – “What are you even thinking off? Your turn.” – you said. Sherlock approached the board once more moving his tower side-ways. – “Your turn.” – he answered smirking. You sighed loud when he stepped away once more. You were observing the board once more, thinking off what to do next. – “You might want to keep an eye on your king.” – you heard him say, annoying you. You leaned back in your chair, crossing your arms. – “Then simply play chess with yourself!” – you announced.

It was after all kind of what he was doing already. Sherlock sighed once, pulling his chair back to sit down. – “You think too little.” – he told you, moving your pawn in your turn. – “You too much.” – you responded as he moved his queen across the board. – “Check.” – he called out pleasantly. You got up, scraping your chair back over the floor. – “Good the game is finished then!” – you responded. – “Far from sister, you can still…” – Sherlock answered but you wouldn’t have ears for it.

Anthony sighed deep sitting rather lowly in his armchair. Sulking in his own misery. Violet was watching him while drinking her tea. Anthony sighed again as she couldn’t take it anymore. She set her cup of tea down, getting up. She gave a kick against his legs for him to sit up straighter. Anthony obeyed, sitting up straighter with confusion. – “I think you’ve wallowed in self-pity enough now Anthony!” – she called out. – “I have not!” – he answered rather childish. – “That is enough!” – Violet shouted, losing her temper. – “I am going to be very clear with you Anthony and I want you to listen!” – Violet spoke loudly making Benedict press his lips together in delight.

Eloise tapped him on the shoulder, coming to sit near him. – “Mother is about to scold Anthony.” – Benedict whispered to her. – “Now that is a sight I would love to see.” – she responded in a hushed tone. – “If you do not start acting up right now, you will lose all your chances at happiness.” – her firm gaze staring back at him. Her expression softened upon seeing him turn inwards. – “You deserve to be happy… do not deny yourself from it. Please for your dear mama…” – Violet came sitting on the edge of the armchair, wrapping an arm around him.

“You are good enough… but you must fight for it Anthony… nothing comes when you stand and wait. You must find the courage to speak up and fight for what you love, for that is true bravery.” – Anthony looked up to her with tears in his eyes, nodding. They hugged as Benedict and Eloise were rather unsatisfied. – “Dissapointing.” – Eloise puffed out.

The wind rippled over the water in the pond. Leaves gently dancing with the flow of the breeze. You stood by the pond admiring the waterlilies. A frog hopped on a leaf making you smile. Hearing some rumor behind you, you turned to look. By the trees stood Anthony Bridgerton. He noticed you as well, making you both look ashamed away. – “Go on then.” – Sherlock whispered to himself from afar. – “Go to him sister.” – he muttered out, gesturing with a little push. – “Anthony… do so…” – Violet said standing not far from Sherlock.

He hadn’t noticed her yet, too focused on you. – “Yes… yes… good sister.” – he mumbled to himself seeing you take slight advantages into approaching him. – “Good Anthony… now go.” – Violet spoke urging her son from afar to do so. Sherlock and Violet watched how both of you attempted to come near yet given up. Shaking your heads, you both turned away, dismissing the matter. Sherlock groaned loud in frustration.

Violet sighing deep. It was then that they acknowledged each other. Slowly turning to each other. Violet came nearer as did Sherlock. – “It appears Lord Holmes… we’ll have to assist a bit in the matter.” – she told him. – “It appears so Lady Bridgerton.” – Sherlock responded. Violet sighed. – “It won’t be easy… my son…” – she sighed again. – “My sister too…” – he answered with a sigh of his own.

Both looked at each other and laughed. Sherlock offered her his arm as she took it. – “Say Lady Bridgerton, what schemes do you have in mind?” – he asked. Violet smiled delighted. – “I have plenty of idea’s to force the opportunity on those two.” – she told him. – “Good.” – Sherlock responded. – “For I am counting on this union formed by love.” – Sherlock continued.

“It is so obvious.” – Violet said as Sherlock accompanied her on a stroll. – “It appears the only two unable to see the love for one another are themselves.” – Sherlock nodded agreeing firmly. – “Shall we begin planning?” – Sherlock proposed as it appears the only way to bring you closer is by the hand of a gentle assistance.

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

Read more of my fic’s on my Masterlists!

[rebelwrites]

Fifteen: So What Happened Last Night?

Charles Leclerc x Nova Teller (OC)

Till the wheels fall off Masterlist

Small town meets the fast lane. What happens when two souls meet? Will it end in happiness or will they both crash and burn?

As always reblogs and feedback is highly appreciated ❤️ if you want tagging in future parts let me know ❤️

Resting my phone against my chest I found myself blankly staring up at the ceiling willing my body to go back to sleep. The sun was starting to creep into the room through the cracks in the blinds, the soft orange glow bounced off the walls, running my hand over my face. I finally admitted there was no way I was going to get back to a peaceful slumber, not when I had spent the best part of the last year waking up at the crack of dawn.

Feeling my phone vibrate against my body, I harshly rubbed my eyes as I tried to move but I quickly found I was being pinned down to the soft mattress by Charles’ arm draped across my torso. I couldn’t help but cock my brow at the screen of my phone once I had finally grabbed it. Jax’s name shone bright in the low light of the room.

Why was my brother texting me at five in the morning?

05:01 - whatever you do Squirt please don’t look at social media

Well, that was like telling me not to press a big red button, it was just going to make me want to do it even more. Swiping the conversation off my screen I automatically opened Instagram, the moment the feed loaded my heart sank into my stomach making me wish I had listened to my older brother for once.

My eyes went wide at the picture that was staring back at me but what caused tears to slide down my cheeks were the comments.

I knew people could be mean online but never I had the hate directed at me, I couldn’t stop the tears as I slowly locked my phone before gently prying Charles arm off my torso allowing me to escape the cloud like bed. The next five minutes were a blur as I grabbed Charles’ hoodie he was wearing last night, pulling it over my body letting the smell of his aftershave flood my senses providing me a small amount of comfort.

Sneaking out onto the balcony I placed a cigarette between my lips as I sunk down onto the outdoor sofa, I wanted to scream. I knew I should have put the phone away but I couldn’t help but continue scrolling through the comments. My head was spinning as the tears rolled freely down my cheeks, the more I read the words of random strangers on the internet the more my insecurities ate me alive.

She looks like a troll!!

What does Charles see in her? She’s the size of a whale.

Where are the supermodels he usually dates?

Look at those love handles, it’s making me feel sick.

Waking up to the bed being empty caused Charles' heart to sink, he let his arm move over to where Nova had been sleeping only to find the sheets were cold meaning she had left a while ago. Panic flooded his veins as he desperately went over everything that happened last night trying to pinpoint why he was waking up alone, however he was drawing blank.

He couldn’t find a single reason.

Everything about last night was perfect, listening to the sweet voice of the girl that had captured his heart and falling asleep with her wrapped in his arms. Running his hand over his face, he rolled out of bed, feeling the softness of the rug under his feet. As he was reaching for his phone he noticed the balcony door was open slightly.

For a moment he dropped his gaze to the screen of his phone just as a text came through from his brother.

07:31 - BRO YOU NEED TO CALL MAMAN ASAP

07:33 - APPELEZ-MOI MAINTENANT (CALL ME NOW)

07:34 - WAKE UP FUCKFACE!!!!

Confusion washed over Charles as he knitted his brows together at the messages, the sound of Nova’s soft cries caused him to lock his phone, he didn’t care he was wearing nothing but his boxers, he needed to see why she was crying.

The moment he saw Nova sat with her knees pulled to her chest, he felt his stomach twist into a knot. His movements were smooth as he quietly made his way over to the girl that had flipped his world upside down.

“Sunshine,” Charles whispered, placing his phone on the table before he crouched down resting his hand on Nova’s knee, “what's with all these tears?” he asked softly. Nova stayed silent, pulling her hands away from her face looking up at Charles. His heart broke as he took in how blood shot her piercing green eyes were. Reaching up he softly ran his thumb over her cheeks wiping away the tears that dampened her skin, “Parlez-moi Talk to me,” Nova sighed heavily as she passed Charles her phone, which was still open on the instagram post.

Charles couldn’t believe what he was reading, anger bubbled inside of him. There were only a few people that knew about their whereabouts and the only way they would have gotten to picture was if they were there, meaning it had to be someone from the yacht staff. However the thing that was upsetting him the most were the harsh words people were commenting about a girl they didn’t even know.

“Come here babygirl,” he hummed, placing the phone onto the small table before wrapping his arms around Nova, “they don’t know what they are talking about. You are beautiful, smart, brave and one of the best women I know.”

“But-”

“No buts,” he whispered, pressing a tender kiss to the top of Nova’s head, “all the people that are commenting about you are jealous, because I want to be with you and not them,” before he could say another word his ringtone started echoing around the two of them. He turned his gaze to the screen seeing his mother’s face staring back at him, “I need to answer that,” he said softly, “you ready to meet my Maman?”

“What if she doesn’t like me?” Nova whimpered, roughly wiping her eyes with the sleeves of Charles’ hoodie she was wearing.

“Sunshine, Maman is going to love you.”

Jax watched intently as the red Ferrari gracefully pulled into the bar's car park, with bated breath he watched Nova through the passenger window, he couldn’t quite see if she had tear stained cheeks from where he was standing.

Some of the comments made his blood boil, making him want to track down every single person, putting a 9mm hole in their heads. That thought alone scared him slightly, he wasn’t the same person he was when he was a teen, he didn’t carry all of the time now but when it came down to Nova he would go on a killing spree, without batting an eyelid just to protect her.

The moment he saw the post and the horrendous comments Charles’ fans were saying his stomach twisted into a tight knot knowing how much this would tear her up. He had spent many years consoling his baby sister when her insecurities and demons in her mind became too much to bear.

A small smile appeared on his face as he watched Charles climb out of the driver’s seat, jogging around the front of the vehicle before opening the passenger door helping Nova out of the car. It was a breath of fresh air to see her with someone that wasn’t a complete douchebag.

Surprisingly Nova stepped out of the car with a bright smile on her face, it had been a while since he had seen his sister with a smile that actually reached her piercing green eyes. He had never seen his little sister so happy, he just hoped that this wasn’t just a fling between her and Charles and they could make the long distance work.

Running his hand through his perfectly kept blonde hair smirking as Charles and Nova walked hand in hand up to the building. It was as if they were in their own protective bubble, like the recent social media post didn’t exist. He just prayed that she had actually done what he had told her for once and kept off the internet.

He knew his sister didn’t come home the previous night meaning he was ready to go into fully annoying big brother mode teasing her about her whereabouts, although there was no need to ask where she was, he already knew she spent the night with Charles. “Soooooooo,” Jax whistled, placing a cigarette between his lips before extending his arm out to Nova offering her one which she quickly took with a nod, “what happened last night?” his tone was playful as he nudged Nova’s arm with his elbow.

“Like I’m gonna tell you,” Nova hummed, pausing to take a long drag of the smoke, “but we do need to talk about Juice, that boy’s had too many fuckin’ chances.”

Before Jax could speak Elenor came running over linking her tiny hand with Charles’, giggling loudly as she pulled him into the bar. Jax wrapped his arm around Nova’s shoulders pulling her into his side. He took a deep breath before asking his next question, normally he could read Nova like an open book but not today, “I need to tell you something.”

“Yea, I know,” Nova said with no emotion in her voice, “I kinda looked this morning.”

Jax let out a heavy sigh, wrapping his arm around her shoulders, “are you okay?”

“Meh, Char helped calm me down this morning, he helps keep the demons away,” Nova said quietly looking down at her trainers, “I knew there was a chance this could get out but I didn’t expect it to be so quick, ya know,” she sighed, resting her head on her brother’s shoulder.

“Are you together now then?” Jax asked.

“I think so,” Nova nodded.

“You think so? Surely it is a yes or no answer.”

“We haven’t really spoken about it, guess we are just seeing where it goes. At the end of the day he will be leaving town in a couple of weeks so I don't wanna get my hopes up,” she said, Jax didn’t miss the hint of sadness in her tone as she mentioned about Charles leaving.

“Even I can see that boy loves you,” Jax whispered, pressing a kiss to the top of Nova’s head, “don’t focus on him leaving town, just focus on the time you have with him. Life is short squirt, don't let an opportunity to fall in love slip through your fingers.”

The sound of his daughter’s giggles coming from inside the bar made his heart swell, not only was Charles good with his sister but Elenor adored him, although he find himself starting to feel jealous that his babygirl wanted to spend her time with the Monegasque driver rather than her daddy.

Pushing the jealous thoughts from his mind, he pressed another kiss against Nova’s temple before speaking. “So you wanted to speak about Juice? What's he done now?”

Nova placed another cigarette between her lips, taking a step back from Jax, looking up at him through her lashes as she fumbled with the zippo. “It would be easier to tell you what he hasn’t done,” she growled through the filter of the smoke,“the jerk is a waste of air.”

Jax cocked his brow, knowing that if he wanted to keep his balls intact he knew not to interrupt his sister when she was going off on a rant.

“I warned him, I fucking warned him if he screwed up once more then he is gone,” she spat, leaning against the brickwork of the building, taking a long inhale of the cigarette, “I went back to Charles’ room at the Lodge and the place was a fucking sty.”

“Leclerc’s room?”

“No dummy, the lobby of the Lodge,” Nova hummed, narrowing her eyes across the parking lot. Jax watched as she snarled to the person backing their bike into a parking spot. “Oh and he was no where to be fucking seen, probaly too busy at that stupid fucking weed shop.”

Jax let out a heavy sigh, running his hand across his face, “okay, leave him to me,” he nodded, pushing himself off the wall moving so he was blocking Nova’s view of Juice. “Now, what you are going to do is take a deep breath, forget about Juice and go spend some time with that man of yours.”

Nova scoffed at Jax, “Ce n'est pas mon homme, face de cul. He's not my man, assface,” she said, rolling her eyes, as he took the half smoked cigarette from between her fingers.

“You know I hate it when you speak French to me,” he huffed, like a toddler as he watched his sister crouch down grabbing one of the crates of beer piled by the doorway before slipping into the building.

Jax couldn’t believe it was only a couple of months ago where he had a similar conversation with Juice. But this was it, there wasn’t going to be any more chances. The Lodge meant alot to the club and his family so to hear that it was being turned into a dumping ground, severely pissed him off.

The only sound that was echoing around the empty lot was the crunch of the gravel under Juice’s boots. Jax tossed the cigarette in the metal bucket by the door as he narrowed his eyes at the Puerto Rican.

“Kitchen, now!”

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[accioprocrastination]

One Day At A Time (Part 2/?)

Jake Seresin x Reader

A/N: Some more angst this time from Nova's POV, military inaccuracies

T/W: anxiety, grief, prisoner of war, hints to torture

Summary: Hangman's fiancée wakes up in enemy territory after being shot down

Then (Reader POV)

You wake up with a start dreaming of being shot down. Bolting upright sends your entire body into such a frenzy of pain that you realise you didn't dream it, that happened.

Your hands are tied tightly behind your back with a thick rope binding them together. They're knotted securely enough that you cannot wriggle free and can barely move your wrists independently.

The tile you're sat on is numbingly cold against your body, enough so that your teeth start chattering. You're not completely convinced that it's not from the shock of what is happening.

"Ghost are you here?" You whisper shout for your backseater, unable to see anything through the darkness. Your head pounds in the pitch black room as you try to sit upright. It feels like you've hit your head against a brick wall from the blinding agony that moving has caused you.

Tensing up at the sound of heavy footsteps getting closer, you hear a door being unlocked and latch after latch released. The door creaks open illuminating the space inside to reveal your WSO unconscious, bleeding at your feet. You rush to his aide as best you can.

"Great, you're awake." The man remarks, his voice laced with an accent you are unfamiliar with.

"Who are you?" You question.

"That doesn't concern you." He replies hoisting up Ghost into an upright position. Ghost groans into consciousness.

"All you two need to know is that I want to know everything that you know about your military action in the region." The brunette announces, shifting slightly as he talks so what's' underneath his jacket becomes visible.

A shudder runs down your spine and you feel like the oxygen has been chocked out of your lungs as the man reaches for some pliers. You don't know what his intention is with the objects strapped around his abdomen, and you do not want to.

*

He straps you to chairs next to each other; ghost passes out from blood loss or fear 30 seconds into being questioned by the surprisingly normal looking sociopath who is now smiling at you.

"Hello sweetheart." He drawls, making a mockery of Jake's pet name for you. You close your eyes like that'll wake you up to Jake murmuring 'you're okay Sweets, I'm here' into your ear like he normally does if you're having a nightmare.

You don't wake up and the eerily normal man steps closer.

Pointlessly you struggle against the restraints some more until the man is close enough to touch you. Your heart hammers against your chest from trepidation.

"What's your name?" He queries.

There's no way in hell you're telling him anything after he just hit your backseater.

"Fine, we'll do this the hard way." He declares milliseconds before backhanding you. Your head instinctively swings to the side from the force of the blow and the jolt causes the ache to radiate through your body again.

You watch him roughly reach under your shirt for your dog tags pulling them towards him with such vigour that your body lurches forward. He pulls them tighter and tighter around your neck until you think they might snap.

"Ah, Y/N" He says yanking them against your neck until they break from the pressure. He immediately stands upright to be above eye level again once they're in his grasp.

"What have we here?" He examines the small locket that Jake attached to your tags. He opens it up to sneer at the photo of you and Jake inside. The photo was one you took after you asked him to move in with you.

Jake was practically living there anyway but it made sense to get rid of his shitty apartment. His huge grin in that photo says it all. You squint to see it, telling yourself you have to get through today for him.

"Boyfriend?" The man questions.

You don't respond so he drops your tags onto the ground and steps on the locket to try and crush your morale alongside it.

"Tell me what I want to know and you can go back to him sweetheart, I promise." He pledges, rubbing a finger over your bruised cheek where he hit you.

You're as tense as a bow-string as he continues to stroke your cheek.

Anything this man vows to you is a lie - you know he'll kill you when you're no longer useful.

Even if it was true that he'd let you go, if you told this man anything about what you know, you'd be arrested for treason as soon as you step foot back home.

*

"I want to go home." Ghost whispers to himself when you're alone again.

You just start crying in pain, every emotion you feel is amplified by the fact that you're tired, cold and should be on leave FaceTiming Jake.

Ghost slides closer to you and puts his bound arms around your neck.

"I don't think we're ever going home." You admit, voice derived of any hope after only one day of this.

"It's us, we're a great team, we're going to find a way out of this." He tries to reassure you that you're a team who have faced near death challenges before.

He picks up your locket and leaves the dog tags handing it to you carefully, you see that the locket is crushed but the picture is still perfectly intact. "We'll get out of here and you can go home to the most irritating man in the universe." he winks at you, both of you knowing that his husband is far more polarising.

You try to smile in response to that but you wince as you split your lip worse. "Yeah, we'll get out. I'll see him again." You attempt to convince yourself as your thumb grazes over the locket.

Knowing you're on the verge of a panic attack, feeling overwhelmed by your seemingly inescapable reality your WSO speaks up, "let's just take this one day at a time until we find out how to get out of here." He says squeezing your hand again.

*

Now (Reader POV)

You're sleeping under the elements, on the freezing, hard ground of a makeshift prisoner of war camp. You feel your limbs shaking with anxiety as a prison warden starts walking in your direction. If he takes you away from here, you know it's your time.

Guilt and relief simultaneously flood your body when he continues to walk past you and goes after someone else. You try to block out their panicked cries as you look away and turn your attention to the stars above you.

Needing to be anywhere other than here, you let your mind drift to Jake and back home - wondering what he's doing at this very moment. It's likely that he's on deployment somewhere in a far away ocean. You don't know how far away he is right now but it feels like he may as well be on another planet.

Thinking of home always takes a horrible dark turn in your mind as you have to come to terms with the fact that it is increasingly unlikely that you'll ever see it again.

Sickness is so rampant and hygiene is so non-existent that you feel like it's only a matter of time before you succumb to something here.

You guess that for your loved ones that might even be for the best. It is doubtful that the Navy know you're alive; for all you know your family are moving on without you.

The frantic sobs of people being dragged away by prison guards pulls you out of your thoughts before you've allow yourself to think anymore about Jake.

Needing the escapism, you open the locket to stare at his face. It is killing you not knowing what he knows or thinks about this situation.

It is killing you not knowing if he's still waiting for you or if he's found someone else.

There's so much you want to tell him that you guess if you did see him again it wouldn't matter either way, if he was still willing to be your friend maybe you could live with that.

Having a small part of him would be better than this.

Ghost told you years ago that Jake bought you a ring after you two were deployed. He said Jake text him for his opinion and that means so much to you that he cared enough to include your self-proclaimed work husband.

Ghost refused to give you any more information saying you'll see it for yourself one day, but you're not convinced.

Your prevailing thought whenever you wake up from a night of broken sleep is: I don't know how much longer I can keep doing this.

You close the locket and hold it tightly in your fist, turning to Ghost who is lying as still as a statue next to you.

His face is almost bruised beyond recognition, if you hadn't have spent this much time with him maybe you wouldn't have recognised him.

You watch silent tears slip down his face and inch closer to hold his hand.

"We'll get out of here." Your voice crackles from disuse as you repeat the lie you've both been telling yourselves since day one.

He takes your hand in his and nods.

"If I don't will you tell Ben that I love him?" He coughs as he talk. You retract your hand from his and feel your lip quiver at the realisation that he's not well.

You two try not to talk unless you're at your breaking point because when you do talk a warden will pick up on it and start punching.

He didn't tell you this.

He didn't want you to know or he didn't want to scare you.

"Promise me." He adds.

"I promise." You respond, voice barely a whisper.

You're about to ask if he'll tell Jake the same but you hear the repetitive thud of footsteps coming towards you, so you don't reciprocate the request.

"Get up Mr and Mrs America." The warden says and you immediately regret not asking Ghost to pass on a goodbye to Jake.

You rub the locket reassuringly and mentally say what you need to tell him.

I'm sorry baby.

Whatever comes next, I'll still be thinking of you.

*************************************************************

A/n: Sorry this one took so long to write I was away without internet connection!!

Part 1 for those who missed it

Part 3

[kirby-n-co]

Welcome to Kirby ‘n Co!

This is a Kirby ask blog run by 5 mods. Feel free to ask any of our characters (or their buddies) questions! Please be aware that our blog may feature sensitive content (e.g. blood or violence); we will do our best to tag appropriately.

Curious about the world of this ask blog? Wanna know more about the mods? Look under the read more:

The world of Kirby ‘n Co

TL;DR – This blog is basically just a multiverse. Kirby first talked about his experience here!

This ask blog takes place in a shared universe. One day, certain key figures (like Kirby!) mysteriously disappeared, and a doomer concerned with continuity needed to find people to act as replacements until the originals could be found. Characters from all sorts of different universes were plucked and thrown into this shared universe… Kirby’s response to being thrown into a completely new environment was naturally to make a blog. For finding friends, of course.

This blog features 5 artists who all have separate sets of headcanons and lore, so having a multiverse allows our differing interpretations of characters to co-exist.

The mods

Mod Mod

hi I'm Mod Mod. my name is mod. any pronouns. socials: splitster (tumblr) or splitsterart (twitter) favorite game: idk. forgotten land? favorite character: kirby n gala favorite anime episode: i dont watch the anime uhhhh that one episode with max flexer Favorite Kirby: olimar i like kirby and gala. actually i like all the kirby guys. i also like kirby ocs

Mod Fishy

Hiiii I'm Mod Fishy! I go by He/She/They Fave Game: Star Allies Fave Character: Sailor Waddle Dee Fave Kirby: what the fuck does this mean Socials: @letolimarseehisfamily on Tumblr Fave Anime Episode: The Hour of the Wolfwrath Sailor is sassy and I call the reincarnated void Niru

Mod Paint

Hi there i’m Mod Paint! She/They Socials: @kallulily on Twitter, Instagram, and tumblr! Favorite game: Kirby Triple Deluxe! I’m so emotional over Taranza and the ost. That game also debuted Paintra, who I have a HUUUGE BIAS towards. Favorite Character: Falspar, Paintra, Meta Knight, Dedede, Kirby, Falspar, Tiff, Taranza, Falspar Favorite Anime episode; Ask me again when I make my 3 hour Kirby Right Back At Ya retrospective video bc that’s such a loaded question I cannot answer. Anyway its Falspar Favorite Kirby: Kirby and Falspar

I have a huge brain rotted bias towards the Kirby anime to where I have an entire webcomic and story planned. Literally me grabbing the 100 episodes of the anime and brushing it down with a fine comb and making a solid lore filled world. But it’s all 99% head-cannons. I can talk for hours about this anime.

Mod Cosmic

Howdy, I'm Mod Cosmic! I go by she/they, though I'm fine with any. Socials: cosmicoCoffee(Twitter & Tumblr) Favorite Game: Forgotten Land! My first Kirby game. Favorite Character: Meta Knight and King Dedede Favorite Anime Episode: Hoshi no Kaabi Episode 64! Fave Kirby: Every Kirby!!!

Nimbus is full of the passion I have for this franchise, and I hope to share that through him! I hope you like him as much as I did creating him!

Mod Nova

Hey there! I'm Mod Nova! I use (she/he/they) pronouns! socials: @soupvnova (tumblr, insta, twitter) @soupvnova-draws (art blog on tumblr)

favorite game: return to dreamland deluxe is based but i also love forgotten land and star allies..

favorite character: magolor if i had to choose. idk i love a lot of characters. (including OCs.)

favorite anime episode: I never watched the anime but every meta knight appearance is pretty based.

Favorite Kirby: all the Kirbys

OC: I got a couple of OCs but one of the one's i'll draw the most is Vivi the Vividria. She reminds me of everything I love about Kirby and I love her dearly. Feel free to ask questions bout em. She's also the only good thing about star allies, play star allies do it now.

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Halifax councillors will look at creating a designated Mi'kmaw council seat, and reviving the idea of allowing permanent residents to vote in municipal elections. A report on what changes would be needed to bring in various electoral reforms came before the city's executive standing committee on Monday. It noted the municipality does not have the power on its own to establish designated districts for specific groups, like African Nova Scotian, Acadian, or Indigenous representation, without permission from the provincial government.  Coun. Waye Mason of Halifax South Downtown said the timing is right, because a common theme emerged from Mi'kmaw groups during consultation on Halifax's new culture and heritage priorities plan. "What we heard, over and over again, was 'we think there should be a Mi'kmaw seat in Halifax,'" Mason said during the meeting.

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[novashelby]

This morning I woke up tagged in a post from @justrainandcoffee

Flor asked what would be our oc's main objectives, essentially, if they were running as a presidential candidate. On Evie's behalf, and for the greater good, I am going to have to deny her the right to run. If we want to survive, we cannot elect a girl who can hardly boil water without setting the stove on fire.

I've talked with the family, and the general idea is...everyone thinks it's best that she does not. Evie now is not happy with my interjection. To be fair, Tommy is a bit pissed, too. But let's face it, Tommy, we all know your motive for Evie running.

This was how the conversation went.

Nova writer: Alright, well, I've been proposed with a very interesting opportunity for the Evie verse-

Ada: Don't say it-

Nova writer: Evie as a presidential candidate-

Ada: She said it.

Nova writer: What do you all think?

Ada: I could say a lot about this, but she is my niece. The world is already burning, we don't need her tripping and falling, dropping the last match that finishes us off. Also, yesterday, she was convinced the moon was made of cheese...It was an argument.

Polly: She asked me if the world is spinning, why are we not dizzy...

Arthur: When I asked her to put milk in the tea, she poured it in the tin of loose leaf....

John: She asked me how to reverse the car...she has her license.

Esme: She was helping me in the garden....Now, I didn't go to no school, but I know you can't dig yourself to China....She asked me if we can dig ourselves to China, where do the Chinese dig to....

Finn: *gets up because this is his moment to shine* WHERE DO I EVEN BEGIN!?

Nova Writer: oooooofffff. *winces* That bad, huh?

Everyone: *nods in agreement*

Nova writer: Unfortunately, Evie, you're out.

[mydisenchantedeulogy]

Candy Coated [Chapter Seven] Xs and Os [Buddha]

A/n: thank you all for the support and patience. The art above was created by the talented Somanoko on AO3.

Warning(s): anxiety, animal death, humiliation, mentions of human extinction, female reader (though I do my best to leave out pronouns), comfort.

Tag list: @useless-potatho , @tojibreedingme , @quinloki , @yingxian, @2lottie2, @lunas-nova , @anduinandwrathionlover, @tiredfairy, @the-queen-of-sorrows , @alientee, @lawlietliet, @hanaibea, @69your-best-night-mare69

Your nerves are a complete mess as you get ready for the important meeting that Buddha had invited you to. For some strange reason, you aren't bought with the idea that he wants you there simply because the two of you are tethered, but it's not in your nature to nag him about his plans, so for now, you let it go. 

Opting for an outfit, the Buddha recently had made for you, with comfort in mind, you quickly dress and then leave the confines of your room, sauntering toward the main hall where the God in question is waiting, having what seems to be a serious conversation with Jataka. 

Upon approaching them, the former turns to you and grins. 

"Are you ready to go?"

"I suppose so," you answer. 

Your eyes turn to Jataka in question. 

"Are you going with us?"

"Unfortunately not," the man in question answers. He gives you a gentle smile. "This meeting is meant only for the Gods."

Knowing this puts an even heavier strain on your nerves. What reason does Buddha want you to go? A comforting hand on your shoulder turns your attention to Jataka, who smiles at you. 

"So long as you listen to Siddhartha everything will be fine."

You know this, but it does little to make you feel better. Thanking him, you force a smile and turn to Buddha, giving him a nod. He offers you his hand, warm against your own, and within seconds the scrolls appear, transporting you both. 

It takes but a few seconds to arrive and once you do, the anxiety you feel only worsens. The sound of chatter feels your ears; a noise that easily overwhelms you. Tightening your jaw, you glance around to see that you and the Buddha are in an ornate hall with a gorgeous marble floor, one that reminds you of the Valhalla Arena.

"Where are we?" You ask. 

"The Council Chamber," Buddha answers in a bored tone. "We're here as part of the Council of Valhalla."

You hum. It sounds similar to the Assembly Hall, used to house the United Nations. Perhaps it's similar in the aspect of protecting each of the God Realms. You aren't sure, but you know that you aren't meant to be here.

Releasing your hand, much to your annoyance, Buddha saunters down the hall in the direction of the noise. You rush to his side, allowing him to lead, but at the top of some stairs, overlooking an enormous circular room, you pause in fright. There are thousands of seats and each one is occupied by a God or Goddess.

Despite the composure you struggle to maintain, your mind is racing with thoughts.

There are so many Gods. I'm going to make a complete fool out of myself in front of them and I know it.

Buddha glances over his shoulder once he realizes that you aren't following him down the stairs and offers you a smile. An air of peacefulness surrounds you a moment later and though it eases your nerves, enough to help you move forward, you are still losing your shit.

Please don't let me trip down these stairs. Who needs this many steps anyway? This is ridiculous.

"Is that a…human?" A hushed voice asks. 

Your legs feel numb. Of course, someone would notice. You ignore them, reaching out to grasp your soulmate's shirt. He leads you down to a section where several familiar Gods sit, one of which is Ganesha, the Hindu God of success, who comes across as a short overweight man with an elephant head.

"Are each of these from the Hindu Pantheon?" You ask in a whisper to Buddha. 

He tosses his feet up on the table in front of him and nods. 

"Relax. It won't be long."

You attempt to, but you feel eyes all over you. Glancing ahead, due to the way the seats are arranged, you can see a raised circular platform at the base of the stairs. Resting on it, behind a gorgeous ornate throne and a small table is what appears to be a large horned lizard. You've never seen anything like it. 

You consider asking Buddha what it is, but a frail old man totters toward the throne, catching your attention. A small tuft of spiky gray hair sits on top of his head and when he sits on the throne, you notice that his eyes are sunken. It's hard to tell where he's staring but for a moment a sense of dread consumes you, turning your stomach. It almost feels like he's looking at you, but just as quickly as it happens, it passes. You take an uneasy breath, watching as the old man pets the lizard's head. 

"Who is h-he?" You ask in a whisper. 

"The old man? That's Zeus," Buddha answers. He grins and nudges you with his arm. "Scary, isn't he?"

No kidding. He's an A-lister God. The Father of the Cosmos. 

"Does he rule over the other Gods?" You ask.

Buddha bursts into a laugh, making you regret asking. The feeling of being watched intensifies and you plead with him to stop in fear of drawing too much attention. 

"He's just the chairman," he clarifies, raising his glasses to clear the tears from his eyes.

This explains why he's sitting before the others. You sigh. This entire ordeal is nerve-wracking.

Retrieving a gavel from the table beside him, Zeus quietens the room.

"Now then…my fellow Gods," he announces. "It's been a thousand years since we held one of these. Let us begin the conference."

You raise a brow. A thousand years. What sort of conference could this be? 

"Now…I ask you all, shall we give humanity another millennium of existence?" Zeus asks as he raises two paddles. One has a circle on it and the other has an X. "Yay…or nay? Do we put an end to them? Let each God show their will."

His tone seems to darken, sending shivers down your spine. You can hardly believe him. This is a serious matter. The fate of humanity depends on this. In horror, you listen as the Gods around you debate the situation. 

"I say end them," a nearby voice declares. 

You widen your eyes and turn your attention to the God; a muscular man with indigo skin and four arms. His short black hair falls to one side as he turns on the lavish pillow he rests on, lifting two paddles with the X on them. 

"I've been watching them closely and they've shown no signs of improvement. It's a total drag trying to guide them."

You clutch your hands into a fist. What does he know? Of course, humans are vile; they murder and destroy; spread sorrow and illness in their wake, but the Gods aren't perfect either. Perhaps it's because you are a human soul that it angers you so much. Not everyone deserves to perish, a notion that doesn't seem to be shared by the Gods. 

"Let's wipe the slate clean…and let some other species evolve," the four-armed God states in a sing-song voice. 

"Indeed…Shiva is right," another God agrees, a gorgeous woman. Her curly blonde hair is decorated with flowers and hangs over her shoulder. "The past thousand years have seen the world become increasingly ugly. Trash and oil in the seas. The forests, gone. Entire species extinct. Humankind itself is a cancer eating away at life on Earth. Or perhaps I should say…they're a plague that will bring about their own end." 

She isn't wrong, but it makes the Gods no better to wipe out all of humanity. Would it be wrong to allow them to destroy themselves? 

You sit and listen for someone to stand up and rise against them, but no one does. Not even Buddha. You glance at him in disbelief but he doesn't look at you. The paddle rests on his lap as if he's debating what to do.

Someone has to do the right thing. This can't be it. 

Taking the paddle from him, you raise it above your head with the opposite vote, ready to argue your decision, but Buddha grabs your hand and holds it down.

"Not yet," he utters. 

You don't follow.

"I'm a human despite being dead. I can't just–"

"That's exactly why they won't listen to you," Buddha interrupts. He turns to you and smiles. "Trust me. Wait a bit longer."

You want to argue with him, but he has a point. Sliding your hand from his, you turn your attention to Zeus, who raises the gavel.

"It appears we have a decision," he states. "And so…I hereby declare an end to–" 

"One moment sir!" A familiar voice shouts. 

You lean forward and glance over the back of the seat to see Brunhilde and Göll standing at the top of the stairs. 

What are they doing here?

All eyes turn to them and you watch in anticipation as they descend the stairs; Göll is shaking in fear, but you know that Brunhilde is just better suited at hiding hers.

"With reverence to the Gods, I humbly ask I be allowed to say a few words," the dark-haired Valkyrie urges.

"You and your manners Brunhilde!" A voice croaks. 

In the stands to the northwest of the throne, you notice a pair of ravens, one white and one black perched on a bearded man's shoulder. You recognize him, or rather you have heard of him before.

"That's Odin, right? And his ravens Huginn and Muninn."

"You identified him easily," Buddha utters with a pout.   

Of course, you did. He looks a bit like the images you have seen of him. Not to mention Welsh actor Anthony Hopkins set the image in your mind for him in 2011's 'Thor'. Buddha didn't look much like the man you had read about. Ignoring him for now, you focus on the matter at hand.

"Humanity's insolence and savagery is indeed unpardonable," Brunhilde remarks, agreeing with the Gods. "However simply annihilating them is so…cliche. Does humanity deserve to exist for another thousand years? May I suggest testing them? You can even display your divine might and mercy while doing so."

Is this what Sakata Kintoki had been referring to? All this time Buddha knew. 

"A test? Like another flood?" The white raven, Huggin, or Muninn asks. 

"Or perhaps an early ice age?" The black raven adds. 

Your thoughts return to the storm that had taken your life. Could the Gods have been responsible for it too? It seems possible. But what reason? 

It's too soon to point fingers. I'm basing this on an assumption. 

"No…there is a more effective way," Brunhilde retorts. "The Gods versus Humanity. The final conflict…Ragnarok."

Ragnarok! Your eyes widen in shock. Doom of the Gods. This can't be what Kintoki meant. 

"Defined in the extraordinary clause…in article 62, paragraph 15 of the Valhalla Constitution as a series of one on one showdowns between the Gods and Humankind," Brunhilde explains. 

A strange book materializes in her hand, opening to a page that you can not see, however, you assume it correlates to the rule she is reciting from. 

"Ha! That is your proposal?" The white raven asks. "You Valkyries should know very well–"

"That humans stand no chance against the Gods," the black raven concludes. 

Both croak in unison, "It'd be a waste of time!"

The Gods all agree with them. In a way, you can understand their decision. Humans are not on par with the Gods; to fight them would be pointless, but at least Brunhilde is trying.

"So the Gods' will is humanity's extinction and the avoidance of any direct confrontation with humans…is that right?" The Valkyrie asks. Her tone sounds almost condescending. She lifts a finger and rests it against her cheek. "Extinction without confrontation…refusal to meet face to face. By any chance…are you afraid?"

Buddha bursts into a laugh. The other Gods are not so humored.

"If so, I apologize," Brunhilde continues. "Please ignore my remarks. Let's just forget about the Ragnarok Clause."

Göll does her best to talk her sister down before she angers the Gods, but you understand now what she is trying to do; she's trying to play on their pride as Gods. And it's working. 

A choir of laughter echoes around the chamber, then all at once their humor shifts to anger, directed at Brunhilde. She simply grins, not caring.

"I see…Ragnarok, eh?" Zeus questions with a hearty laugh. He stands and pets the large lizard, who appears to be enjoying his attention. "That's an interesting proposal. Yup. It sure is. How…utterly…amazing."

Little by little you watch in horror as the muscles in one of his arms grow to a disproportionate mass. He buries his fingers into the lizard's snout and with the other arm, he twists its head until the poor thing's neck snaps with a horrifying crack. You feel Buddha slide his warm hand into yours, but you can't avert your eyes or focus on the calming sensation that is attempting to break down your guard.

"And I'm sure all of you," Zeus states as he tosses aside the creature and turns. His irises appear as a mass of swirling insanity and his face is covered in blood, painting him in a demonic light. "Are also longing to witness the wrath of the Gods!"

He's insane.

"What say you, my fellow deities? Shall we battle Humankind?" The father of the Gods asks, tossing out his arms. 

The chamber erupts in a mass of loud cheers, and once Zeus slams the gavel down, the conference comes to an end. 

I hope Brunhilde knows what she's doing.

You have faith in her, but you're having a hard time believing that humanity will stand a chance.

–

"You're leaving me," you utter in disbelief. 

Buddha gives you an understanding look.

"It won't be for long. The old man wants to talk to me about something."

You are aware. A handsome man dressed in a butler uniform approached you and Buddha as the two of you were about to leave, demanding that he see Zeus first. The man, Hermes, had escorted the two of you to a room, but Buddha had insisted that you wait in the hall.

"I'll be here I guess," you utter in agreement, feeling a bit anxious.  

Buddha grins and saunters into the room. In the meantime, you lean against the wall to wait. It's silent for the time being. You can't hear much, some mumbles here and there, but all seems to be well. At least you hope. You can't imagine what–

"What is this? Are you eavesdropping?" A teasing voice asks.

You jerk in fear and notice a man in a cloak floating beside you. No wonder you didn't hear him. He grins and floats down onto the ground, looking you over. 

"You're that human soul I've heard about. How scandalous," the man mentions. 

He leans down and observes the red cords around your ankles, then stands again. 

"I don't envy Buddha at all."

You assume he is referring to you being a human. Biting back a rude remark, you instead narrow your eyes. 

"It was not our decision."

The multi-colored-haired man hums. 

"No, I don't suppose it was. Yue-Lao is cruel, isn't he? To tether you to a God at a time like this, with humanity's extinction on the rise."

What does this matter? You raise a brow, an action that he notices. The grin on his face widens, and combined with the goat-like slits in his eyes, he looks almost sinister. 

"Did no one tell you, little soul?" He asks in a teasing voice. "The humans on Midgard are not the only ones who are going to face extinction. The souls as well."

Your eyes widen. No. Someone would have told you.

"You're lying! You have to–"

"Haven't you said enough, Loki?" A familiar voice interrupts.

Zeus stands in the doorway, clean of blood, holding a bag in his hand. Behind him is Buddha, glancing at you in concern.

"Perhaps I have," Loki remarks with a shrug. "It was good fun though."

The hell it is. You shoot him a glare, but a laugh from Zeus draws your attention to the frail-looking man. He steps over the red cord on the floor, examining it. 

"It's as you said. A human soul…who would have guessed." 

"Don't let it concern you," Buddha mentions. He saunters past Zeus and grabs your hand. "And enjoy your candy."

You almost forgot. Fortunately, he hasn't eaten them yet. As Buddha leads you away, you consider warning the Father of the Gods about them, but after this ordeal, you don't necessarily care. You hardly know what to think at this point. 

"You're a God, aren't you, Buddha?" Loki asks suddenly. "So why are you content with letting this human stick around? Are you…fucking it?"

Your face heats up. Why would he ask this? And once more, you aren't an object. Turning your eyes to Buddha, you witness him glance over his shoulder and yawn in disinterest. 

Loki snorts.  

"I suppose not. Shame."

Buddha clutches your hand tight and leads you away from them. You are thankful, however, your mind is a labyrinth. What are you to do?

"Yue-Lao wasn't here," Buddha mentions. He hums in thought. "I could ask Kintoki to–"

"Why did you bring me here? I don't understand why you wanted me to hear this," you ask, yanking your hand from his. 

Buddha stops and glances at you. 

"That was infuriating…and worse than that, I felt so helpless. Did you think I wanted to be humiliated like–"

Before you can finish the sentence, Buddha closes the gap and brings you into a hug. Your face heats up, but you lean against his chest, feeling at a loss. 

"I brought you here because I wanted you to be aware of what is to come," he mentions. His warm hand rubs your back. "You have every right to be mad…but you aren't the only one. I'm sure Bu-chan was just as upset as you and she isn't even a human. Leave this to her and focus on us."

On us. 

At this moment, those words sounded like heaven to you. But you couldn't get what Loki had said out of your mind. 

Why does Buddha keep you around? And what will become of you if the Gods win?

[enigmaticexplorer]

I Yearn, and so I Fear - Chapter X

Masterlist | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

General Summary. Nearly a year since the Galactic Empire’s rise to power, Kazi Ennari is trying to survive. But her routine is interrupted—and life upended—when she’s forced to cohabitate with former Imperial soldiers. Clone soldiers. 

Pairing. Commander Wolffe x female!OC

General Warnings. Canon-typical violence and assault, familial struggles, terminal disease, bigotry, explicit sexual content, death. This story deals with heavy content. If you’re easily triggered, please do not read. For a more comprehensive list of tags, click here.

Fic Rating. E (explicit)/18+/Minors DNI.

Chapter Word Count. 4.2K

21 Melona

The picture frame was heavier than Kazi originally planned. Arms trembling from her awkward grip, she managed to connect the hook to the nail and secure the frame to the wall. 

With a satisfied breath, she retreated a meter to assess the picture’s balance. Her triumphant smirk slid into a rictus. The right side of the black frame was tilted higher. Much higher.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. 

A beep from her comm drew her away from the unbalanced frame. The number was familiar. Her heart stuttered. 

“Lucien,” she answered tightly.

“Ms. Lucien,” the voice chirped. “This is Licae Thurmin with Eluca’s Adoption Center for Young Girls and Boys. I have a recent update on Neyti Lucien’s application.”

Kazi chewed the inside of her cheek, scanning her surroundings for any listening ears. 

She was alone. The men outside, Daria in her garden, and Neyti upstairs. 

“What’s the update?”

“The application you submitted has been processed and accepted,” Licae Thurmin said. “I want to remind you that a live application does not guarantee immediate adoption—”

The kind woman’s voice quieted as Kazi stared blankly at the room. 

White walls housed three new paintings, the colors smudged and blotchy, common for a six-year-old artist. The refrigerator displayed a handful of sketches. On the kitchen table, a small collection of bird feathers Nova had gifted Neyti a few weeks ago rested. Beside the collection was an unfinished drawing of the feathers. 

Formerly barren and devoid of personal touches—other than Daria’s succulents and Kazi’s dragon on the bookcase—the living area and kitchen now spoke of life. The existence of a family—

“I understand,” Kazi said once Licae Thurmin stopped speaking. 

For a fleeting moment she hesitated. Considered revoking the application. Or asking for a deferral. The adoption center was Elucan and had no connection, at the moment, to the Empire. One of the reasons she went through this center and not another. To protect Neyti from the Empire’s eyes. So, revoking Neyti’s application wouldn’t raise Imperial suspicion. 

However, it was silly—a frivolous desperation to cling to a new normal—and she knew better. 

Instead, she said, “I’ll await further updates.”

The comm went silent and Kazi pocketed it, eyeing the lopsided frame next to the holoscreen. A hammer and nails scattered the floor. The measuring tape lay limply on the table. 

What the hell was she doing?

Closing her eyes, she ran her hands through her unbraided hair, massaging her temples. She was stupid. So fucking stupid. 

After all these years she had perfected the mirage of closeness. Of companionship, so that others felt appreciated and needed. It was all an illusion. An illusion that allowed her to maintain distance to protect herself. 

And yet, sometime in the last three months, she had formed a semblance of a bond with Neyti. A bond so small and fragile it could easily be snipped. But it still existed. 

The tightness in her chest, the empty disappointment in her bones, were proof an attachment was forming. 

Three goals. She had outlined three goals upon her move to Eluca, and one of them was Neyti’s adoption. The application’s process and submission shouldn’t have surprised her. She had no right to be upset. 

“You are aware that picture is crooked.”

The voice startled her from her thoughts and she dropped her hands to her sides. How a man so large could move around so silently was beyond her. Cheeks flushing, she frowned at Wolffe.

“Thank you for that illuminating observation.” Wolffe threw her a bland look and she sniffed her exasperation, muttering, “I was just about to fix it.”

Sweat sheened on his face and matted the white shirt he wore. Sleeves rolled to his elbows revealed the black ink darkening his left forearm. Piqued interest encouraged Kazi to analyze the tattoo closer, but she fought the urge, instead, lifting her gaze to his. 

He was already staring at her. Rather, he was scanning her neck. It started, she assumed, the morning after their conversation beside the lake. His assessment was subtle, and she didn’t notice it until a week later. Now, it was obvious. And even though it had been a month since the incident, he didn’t appear content to stop.

A small piece of her appreciated his analysis—appreciated the thought of someone caring about her. A greater piece of her disliked the attention and the confusing emotions it brought forth. Life was easier and simpler when their lives remained separate and uninvolved.

Stepping toward the wall, subsequently creating distance, Kazi unhooked the picture frame. From the corner of her eye, Wolffe retrieved the tape measurer and the stylus. She held out her hand for both items. He blinked at her outstretched hand, levelled an unimpressed look in her direction, and then stepped toward the wall.

Kazi straightened. “I was going to do that.”

“I know.” 

Stylus between his teeth and the old nail removed, he measured the distance from the floor to a spot on the wall. Kazi folded her arms.

“I can do it—”

“I know.” Wolffe penciled a small dot and dropped the tape measurer. He extended his hand to her and she rolled her eyes, handing him the hammer. “Did you present the intel?” 

A frisson of unease twisted in her stomach. “I did.”

His silence, as he hammered the nail into the wall, demanded further explanation. 

Kazi glanced out the window that overlooked Daria’s garden. A neatly-twined hat kept the sun off her sister’s face, but it was the obvious trembling in Daria’s hand as she snipped dead leaves from her plants that caught her attention. 

“The magistrate was impressed,” she said to Wolffe. “But he didn’t elaborate on my findings. I still don’t know why he’s interested in this.”

Wolffe set aside the hammer and hefted the picture frame. Annoyingly, he didn’t struggle with its awkward size or its heaviness. 

“You’re sure the outpost is abandoned?” she asked.

“I’ve told you”—he grunted and hefted the frame higher—“it’s been cleared for months.”

Nearly five weeks ago, Kazi noticed a nearly imperceptible pattern in her data analysis for the magistrate. A pattern concerning deserted clones. 

Most of the clones Wolffe and his men rescued relied on secure comm channels. However, there were a handful of desperate ones. Those who needed a quick extraction and couldn’t wait for a secure channel. And even though they spoke in code, their transmission could be located. 

Hence the pattern: Before a clone deserted, Eluca or Coruscant received a long-range transmission. Days later, the deserted clone disappeared. 

Luckily, the pattern had occurred only three times—twice to Coruscant and once to Eluca. But, Kazi feared if she noticed the pattern, someone else might, too. It could lead to an Imperial investigation. So, she decided the best solution was to manipulate the data to a different location. 

The outpost was a secret, former Republic station located on a hyperlane route within Veridian Sector. It stored rations and additional weapons and was used primarily by commando units who needed a hideout in the midst of a mission. According to Cody, who offered the outpost’s location, it was abandoned a few months before the war’s conclusion. After a Separatist ship located it.

Seemingly forgotten by the Empire, Wolffe and his brothers had stripped the outpost of its goods. And now that it was emptied of provisions, the men claimed it no longer served a necessary purpose to their missions. 

The solution was simple. All transmissions between deserted troopers and the men would appear connected to the outpost rather than Eluca. Thanks to the outpost’s long-range communication tower.

Wolffe stepped away from the wall. “I want to know: What will happen to you when the magistrate realizes the outpost is abandoned?”

The question was a point of contention the last two weeks. Wolffe thought it too risky to provide an abandoned location, arguing the magistrate was too impulsive and it could threaten Kazi. She argued the need to deliver intel and keep the magistrate satisfied outweighed a possible reaction. 

“I think it’s still crooked,” she said, changing the conversation.

Jerking his gaze to the frame, Wolffe scowled. “It’s not.”

“Huh.” Placing the tools in the tool box, she shot him an awkward grimace. “Thank you. For helping. Even though I didn’t ask you to.”

With a roll of his eyes, Wolffe crossed his arms over his chest. He watched her, and when she was finished, he cleared his throat. “I keep expecting you to return with new bruises.”

A current of tension tightened her skin and she rubbed a spot on her arm. A month had passed since her interaction with Magistrate Aro, and yet she still woke some nights from a phantom pain in her neck. Her sheets dampened by sweat. Her heart racing erratically. A shout of terror built in her throat. It took a long time for her to return to a fitful sleep.

Most of the time, she avoided thoughts regarding that day, and she diverted conversation whenever it seemed Wolffe might reintroduce the issue. Especially in the past few weeks when discussing an intentional mislead through the outpost.  

“I don’t know why you would expect that—”

“What will happen to Neyti? To your sister? Have you thought about them?” Wolffe exhaled sharply. “Lying to the magistrate is needlessly dangerous.”

“It’s not.” Irritation heated her blood and she folded her arms across her chest. He knew she only ever thought about Neyti and Daria—that they were her first concerns in everything. “You know I wouldn’t do it if it weren’t necessary.”

“And what happens if you die?” He took a step toward her. “You’ll leave my brothers and I with a kid—”

“If that’s your concern”—she lifted her chin, glaring—“let me reassure you. There’s an adoption center in the capital—”

“Do you really think so little of us?” His tone was harsh. His eyes were narrowed in indignation. “Of me?”

Time spent with the men the past month had convinced her of their honorable character. They wouldn’t abandon Neyti, and they wouldn’t abandon Daria. Kazi knew this to be true. But she had also learned an important lesson over the years: relying on another was a direct path to abandonment and hurt. 

The optimistic side of her that believed in morals and ethics and justice yearned to trust Wolffe. The realistic side of her, the side that endured too much and yearned to protect, couldn’t relinquish control. 

At her continued hesitation, Wolffe huffed a wry chuckle.

“I told you,” he said curtly, “if a problem arises, we will protect you—”

She shook her head. “That’s not your job.” 

“You’re fucking aggravating, you know that?”

“Me?” Her eyes widened. “Have you met yourself?”

Wolffe scoffed. “You’re closed off and guarded. Too independent to ask for help. You’re stubborn and self-righteous, and it’s fucking aggravating.”

“You’re guarded, too.” A scornful smirk twisted her mouth. “You carry responsibility like you’re the only one who can. You’re reserved and apathetic, and borderline overbearing.” 

Rolling his eyes, Wolffe opened his mouth but he was cut off by the approach of padded footsteps. A pair of bunny slippers rounded the corner. 

Dressed in a green dress, Neyti wandered toward Kazi and Wolffe. She frowned at the recently hung picture frame.

“It was Mr. Wolffe’s idea,” Kazi said quickly. Wolffe levelled a disapproving scowl in her direction but she ignored him. “What do you think?”

Tilting her head to the side, Neyti scrutinized the frame.

Kazi followed her line of sight. “It’s crooked, isn’t it?”

Wolffe sighed. 

Tiny hands wringing together, Neyti didn’t react to the comment. Hesitation hunched her shoulders and distress worried the line between her eyebrows. 

Kazi shared a disconcerted look with Wolffe. The man eyed the little girl, his gaze intense and assessing. 

“Neyti?” Kazi searched the youngling’s face. “Is everything okay?”

Gray eyes, wide and timid, bounced between Wolffe and Kazi. Understanding the girl’s unspoken discomfort, Wolffe excused himself, making his way through the sunroom and out the backdoor. 

“Did something happen?” Kazi hedged.

Dark thoughts spun in her mind, like a spider spooling its web, and she considered the past week in its entirety. The only disruption was the men’s last mission. The three deserted clones they rescued had left yesterday. 

Uncertainty stalled her heart and she glanced toward the sunroom’s windows. If something had happened to Neyti—

Blinking rapidly, Neyti reached for her hand. Neyti’s throat bobbed and Kazi squeezed her fingers. Gently, softly.

Neyti tugged on her hand and led her to the stairs. Nonplussed, Kazi followed Neyti up the staircase. Her bewilderment increased when they wandered down the short hall and found themselves in Daria’s bedroom.

Pale pink curtains lined the windows that overlooked the backyard. Sunlight dappled the carpeted floor. The room was fresh and inviting, except for the clothing items littering the bed like unwanted paint splats. Kazi pursed her lips at her sister’s lack of basic cleanliness. 

Daria was always put together, and yet she couldn’t make her bed in the mornings. The contradictions in her personality never failed to irk her.

A white dresser housed a dozen succulents, the plants ranging from prickly cacti to flowery geometrics. Opened and recently written in, a notebook sat on the desk. Penned in superfluous script was the day’s date.

Kazi had half a mind to read her sister’s diary. If Daria refused to respect her personal space, willingly sharing her adventure book with Neyti, then the same rules applied to her. Maybe she would finally understand her sister’s thought process. Then again, she would probably read diatribes concerning her actions and complaints concerning her perpetual singleness.

Neyti dropped her hand and wandered into Daria’s ‘fresher. Kazi followed, watching as Neyti extracted one of Daria’s morning/evening potions. Liquid an iridescent blue, the potion shimmered beneath the fractured sunlight. An empty bottle from this morning sat behind the faucet. 

With an abashed grimace, Neyti mimed draining the potion in the sink. Kazi’s eyebrows drew together in confusion. Neyti repeated the gesture. 

Realization dawned on Kazi, slow and creeping, like the sun rising on the horizon, and with it, the world around her quieted. 

Slowly, she peered into the black basin, running a finger along the bottom. She withdrew her hand, praying Neyti was wrong. 

A blue tint coated her finger pad.

Her breathing sharpened. Her throat dried.

She thought she might be sick.

Months of unexplained symptoms, months of unusual episodes suddenly made sense. 

A dull roaring filled her head. She turned on her heel. 

The descent down the stairs passed in a haze.

In the kitchen, Daria was washing the gathered herbs and vegetables from her garden. Her dress fell to her knees, light and airy. The white spoke of innocence. A quiet tune sounded from the radio. Daria noticed her and she started to smile.

Hand shaking, Kazi raised the empty bottle.

“You haven’t been taking your medicine.”

The statement was muffled by the ringing in her ears and Kazi took a deep breath, focusing on the kitchen. Focusing on her open-mouthed, stunned sister.

“What the fuck is your problem?” She hissed the words in a spit of vitriol so pure Daria stumbled back a step. “What the fuck? What the actual fuck?”

Flustered, Daria turned off the sink and patted her hands on a towel. A slight twitch in her eye belied the casual blasé she was trying to exude. “It’s none of your business, Kazi.”

“Like hell it isn’t—” 

“It’s not!” 

Shocked by her sister’s sudden change in demeanor, Kazi stiffened.

Daria glared at her. “What I do and do not do with my healer’s recommendations is not up for your judgment and criticism—”

“It fucking is!” Kazi snarled. “It’s all up to my fucking judgment because I’m the one who’s wasted money and time trying to ease your pain and prolong your fucking life!” 

Kazi slammed the empty bottle into the kitchen sink. The clatter of breaking glass further incensed her.

“Months of paying Healer Natasha to help you with your symptoms”—she fisted her hands at her sides—“and you haven’t been taking your fucking medicine. What the fuck is your problem?”

Rage, roiling like the sea in the midst of a hurricane, churned within her body. It dominated her thoughts, dominated the tautness in her muscles and the tightness in her lungs. 

After her father died, Kazi taught herself to control her emotions. Primarily her anger. Formerly quick-tempered, young Kazi could work herself into a conniption of such rage she would cry. 

Anger was her least favorite emotion. When she experienced it, she felt unbalanced, and her façade of perfect composure and unaffected apathy splintered beneath the emotion.

Her mother exploited her defensive anger. She used it to ridicule and humiliate her. To force her to obey. 

So young Kazi learned to shut down. The moment she felt her emotions rising, circling outside her control, she gritted her teeth, clenched her fists, and told herself over and over that she didn’t care. 

She numbed herself to her mother’s scorn. Numbed herself to feeling.

Years of training herself to dominate her emotions rather than accept or acknowledge them created her cool, aloof personality. It was her shield against a world of change that constantly felt out of her control. 

And so this rage—receding and crashing inside her—unnerved her. 

The lack of control frightened her. But she didn’t care. 

She couldn’t care because her sister—the person she had pooled money, time, and effort into helping—decided to forego her daily medicine. Medicine designed to ease her suffering. Lessen the severity of her symptoms. Offer her more time to retain her mental sanity. 

“You have no right to be upset with me.” Daria glowered. “You don’t care what happens to me—you don’t care that this illness is killing me. You haven’t cared about me, or anything else, for that matter, in years.”

Kazi hardly processed the words. 

The roaring in her head was too loud and her thoughts too distorted by this revelation. 

She didn’t care about the hurt in Daria’s tone, and she didn’t care about Daria’s accusation. Especially since her sister’s accusation was partially true. She hadn’t cared about anyone or anything in a long time. 

There was a reason for that.

“It seems I’ve given you too much free reign,” Kazi said tightly.

Swallowing her anger, forcing it down and locking it away, she took a deep breath. 

Numbness returned and, with it, clarity. 

“It’s clear you’re a danger to yourself.” She stared at Daria, unfeeling. Flippant. “You don’t care about your health or trying to prolong your life. And since you’ve shown a lack of concern and maturity, I think the best option would be hospitalization.” 

Dismay widened Daria’s eyes and she retreated to the far counter. Her mouth opened and closed. The tremble in her lower lip worsened. 

When the silence lengthened between them, tight as a wound harpoon, Daria lifted her chin. “How could you do this to me?”

“You’re doing this to yourself.” Kazi chuckled, the noise acerbic and unrepentant. “Your lack of propriety to take care of your own health—”

“I’m your sister and you’re threatening me because I refused to take a dumb potion—” 

“The medicine is supposed to help—”

“The medicine takes them away!”

The brokenness in Daria’s voice forced Kazi to pause. 

Confused, she could only frown. “What?”

“It takes them away.” Daria pressed a hand to her mouth and choked. “Mama and Papa. I can’t see them when I take the medicine.”

Time stood still for a moment as Kazi considered her sister’s bewildering statement. 

And then it hit her.

The moments she noticed Daria staring off into space, smiling at nothing.

Hallucinations. Her sister was hallucinating their parents.

“When I see them,” Daria murmured, “I don’t feel so lonely.” 

Her sister’s gaze was deadened, lacking the vibrancy Kazi used to envy when they were younglings. A gaze so full of life and joy. Eager to explore, intrigued by stories. Loving.

“I miss them, Kazi,” Daria whispered hoarsely. 

Gritting her teeth, Kazi exhaled a slow breath. 

“It’s harder to remember them,” Daria said. “I can’t remember what they look like.” 

Daria stood before her pale and sick-looking, once-fresh features drawn and weary. The fullness of her cheeks had hollowed; even the plump pink of her lips were dull.

“I’m scared.” The words were defeated. Daria raised a shaky hand to her cheek and wiped away a tear. “I’m losing more of myself every day. I’m scared of forgetting everything, and the medicine only makes it worse. I don’t want to lose Mama and Papa. I don’t want to be alone.”

The fear in Daria’s voice, the unspoken plea, rendered Kazi speechless. Her sister—the woman she had loved more than anyone else in the galaxy—wasn’t preserving her life out of fear of being alone. As if companionship through hallucinations meant something.

It was selfish. Daria would die sometime in the near future and she would leave Kazi. Her sister didn’t understand the meaning of loneliness. 

Her sister didn’t understand the fear of being alone.

“Every morning I will watch you take your medicine,” Kazi said coldly. “And every night I will watch you drink that damned potion. Got it?”

Visible shock tightened Daria’s features and then darkened into hate. “I’m not a child for you to hover over.”

“It’s quite obvious that you are.”

“You’re being unreasonable.” Daria corrected a wrinkle in her dress. “If you want to mother someone maybe you should start with the actual child in this house. Neyti lacks any sort of emotional care because you’re so unfeeling it’s borderline monstrous.” 

Kazi flinched at the harshness of the words. 

“What do you want me to do?” she demanded. “I am trying. I am trying to do what is best for this family, but you don’t care. Nothing I do is ever good enough for you. And now you mention Neyti?” 

Resentment bittered her mind and she laughed ruefully.  

“What do you want me to do with her? Give her away?” She threw up her hands. “Maybe I should because I don’t fucking know what else to do! I didn’t ask for this, Daria. I didn’t ask for any of this. I didn’t ask to be responsible for either of you—”

A broken sob cut through her rant and Kazi froze. 

No.

No.

Kazi looked over her shoulder, to the little girl who was cowering on the stairs. The little girl who had been here this entire time, forgotten. 

Horrified, Kazi took a tentative step toward her. “Neyti—”

Neyti sprinted away. Up the stairs. 

Kazi stared at the abandoned space. 

Her lungs squeezed. Her stomach felt empty. Her blood ran cold.  

A numb sensation, cold and unfeeling, pooled in her toes and slowly rose. It entombed her body.

She’d fucked up. 

She’d fucked up even worse than forgetting the field trip. 

A brittle laugh drew her attention and she turned her gaze on her sister. To the sister who was staring at her like she truly was a monster. 

“Mother was always right about you.” Daria laughed again. The sound as broken as Neyti’s sob. “You’re too emotionless to care about anyone but yourself.”

The words repeated over and over as she climbed the stairs.

If only Daria knew how little she cared about herself. 

If only her little sister knew the depth of her self-hatred. 

If only her sister knew she brushed aside emotions because they were nothing but a liability. 

Kazi knocked on Neyti’s cracked-open door. 

The silence that followed was deliberate. 

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. 

Over the years she promised herself she would never be like her mother. Critical comments, judgmental stares, constant disapproval. She promised she would always be better.

She should have known she would fall short. She should have known she would fail, and she would hurt those around her.

“I’m so sorry, Neyti. What I said”—her voice cracked and she gulped—“was wrong. I spoke out of anger and I didn’t mean it. Any of it. I’m so sorry.”

Unwavering silence resounded from the room.

Sliding to the floor, Kazi pressed her forehead against the door. “I made a promise to your mother.” 

The memory was stark in her mind.

Chaotic streets darkened by night.

Screams of terror. Children’s sobs.

A woman and daughter fleeing.

The crack of a blaster.

A child, bleeding and crying, shoved into her arms.

“I promised your mother that I would protect you,” Kazi said hoarsely. “I promised her that I would do everything in my power to keep you safe. To give you a chance at a new life.” 

Vision blurring, she rubbed at her wettened cheeks.

“I’m going to give you that new life,” she whispered. The adoption application was finalized and the search for real parents could finally start—the search for a home where Neyti would never hurt again. “I promise.”

The door squeaked open a smidge. 

Sitting on the opposite side, her cheek pressed to her knees and tears in her eyes, Neyti played with the ear of a bunny. 

“I want to go home.” 

The words were soft and quiet, and Neyti speaking for the first time—those five specific words—flooded Kazi with shame.  

All she could do was nod. In understanding. In regret. 

Because Neyti knew they couldn’t return home. There was nothing left. 

For either of them.

Masterlist | Chapter 9 | Chapter 11

A/N: I know it’s probably frustrating to see Kazi constantly keep up her walls and not entirely trust Wolffe. My writing has always been a way to deal with real-life emotions in realistic ways. A woman who’s struggled a majority of her life with trust issues immediately trusting the love interest because he’s a nice guy is the most unrealistic and annoying thing for me to read in novels and fics. Kazi’s trust issues are a main part of this story, and they will not be going away any time soon.