#finally a character worth finishing a book for

[arc-misadventures]

YES!

It’s nearly been a whole year, but I finally got to watch, Godzilla -1 again!

After it first came out, I waited days for it to finally come out so I could watch it! I watched it on a pirated site. I didn’t have a clue when it would come out in theatres near me, and even when it did, I never was in town to see it. And, even then I didn’t want to wait, but good gods was that worth the wait!

I prefer the, OG Japanese handling of, Gojira more so than the, American take of, Godzilla. I prefer the character drive stories, and overall social commentaries they have, rather than the general monster bash.

But, now I own it! And, want to get, Godzilla -1 art books so, I can print, and paint models of the big lug.

Yeah, that was the first thing I thought of when I finished it the second time…

That, and I need to watch some lore/breakdown videos. I saw something that I didn’t see the first time due to the image quality being poor.

10/10

Would recommend. And, will cry again I watch it.

Seriously, this movie is surprisingly a good tear jerker…

[imjulia-andilikecats]

Maven's betrayal was not the defining moment that got me to read the WHOLE Red Queen series.

It was Mare Molly Barrow at the Bowl of Bones, telling to an impaled Rane Arven that SHE has the advantage.

Note: Full disclosure, I was not fond with Mare's character because Aveyard was trying so hard to make her so naive (like she is a thief, she most likely brushed against a few sketchy people).But eh, gotta make Maven's betrayal hit HARD.

However, when Mare was thrown at the Bowl of Bones and managed to hold her own against two Silvers using their abilities at her (make that three, cause Rane is supressing her powers from the shadows). Odds stacked against her, but with her clever thinking managed to get her powers back AND took down most of their executioners.

Right then and there, I knew I found the character that was worth finishing the whole series for.

[foodfightnovelization]

ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight

Holy chips! It's an exciting time to be a Foodfight! fan, because ROTTEN: Behind The Foodfight is finally out! This really is THE definitive documentary on the insanity behind the movie, and it finally answers the question of just what was going on behind the scenes during production. Since I helped out with research (and I even get a short line of dialogue at 45:19) I've already seen everything that was shown off, but had to keep quiet until all the interviews were conducted and the documentary was finished. But now it's out and everything has been made public, the cat's out of the bag (the Fat Cat Burglar?) and I can talk about all the production material that's been shared.

Before I get into any of that though, I'd highly recommend you watch the documentary for yourself. It's insanely well researched and put together, and having worked together with Ziggy Cashmere (the documentary's creator) I know how hard he dedicated himself towards making this all possible. If it weren't for him, the most interesting Foodfight! discovery would've been finding the novelization, and we would have never gotten any real insight into how this movie came to be. It's also a documentary that really speaks for itself- I don't want to say too much about what it reveals since it's all expressed far better through its narrative and the interviews with people who actually worked on the project. My favorite is the interview with texture artist Mona Weiss- she tells such horrifying stories about how she was treated by Larry and other crewmembers, yet does it all with a sense of humor that makes it clear she's enjoying getting to talk about her crazy experiences. It's clear Foodfight! was an unmitigated disaster from start to finish, and there's nobody to blame for that but Larry Kasanoff himself. The movie was rotten from the top down and despite the countless talented animators and artists working on it, nothing could fix the fact that it was fundamentally mismanaged in the worst way possible. I think the quote from producer George Johnsen summarizes it best: "Foodfight! was a good idea that unfortunately lost its way during production. The technology, the art, and the direction were not in sync. Many very talented people gave their all to make the picture, but more understanding of process from the top was needed for it to succeed."

But if you saw the documentary, you already know all that, right? So instead, let's talk about the behind-the-scenes material that's finally been shared! You can find everything I'll talking about HERE on archive.org-

It's worth following the link and checking it out for yourself- there's so much it'd impossible to discuss everything. Artwork, storyboards, bloopers, models, a nude render of Lady X, an interview with Larry Kasanoff, the list goes on and it's still being updated! Despite the documentary already being out, people who worked on the movie are continuing to share new material! It's pretty incredible- for the past year I've ran this blog all I've really had to discuss are two tie-in books, and now there's so much Foodfight! material I can't even keep up with it.

I mean LOOK at all this, isn't it fantastic? The character art by Jim George showing off just how much better these designs originally were, the countless environments showing off just how stunning Marketropolis could've looked as well as the strength of the core idea "what if a supermarket came to life at night", and insanely detailed storyboards for a 7-minute pitch reel that was used to sell the movie to investors. Normally, I'd be ALL OVER this because it's all just incredible, but there's something far, FAR more fascinating than any of it.

There are even multiple drafts of the script (one from 2005 and one from 2007 respectively) and normally I'd be insanely fascinated by those too, making extremely detailed posts explaining the differences between the drafts and how they compare to the novelization, but there's something else that was found that blows ALL of this out of the water and is easily one of the most monumental lost media discoveries of ALL TIME.

That's right, a rough cut of the ENTIRE movie from 2005 has been found, containing nearly ALL the completed animation from earlier on in production. I mean, that's mindblowing right? We first got sent this around a month ago, a little while before the documentary came out, and I literally stopped everything I was doing at work to just sit and watch this. This is the closest we're ever going to get to the "original" version of Foodfight! after all- only 7 minutes of footage was ever actually made before they switched to mocap, made solely for the aforementioned pitch reel, and this workprint contains practically all of it! On top of that there are some great storyboards in here, as well as some truly hilarious ones cobbled together from 3D renders, and the plot is far better than what we ended up with, a lot of the more inappropriate jokes being absent. This rough cut is actually pretty similar to the novelization in that regard, and it also contains scenes that we'd previously only read about in there.

For example, in the novelization there's a snowmobile chase through the mountains, with Brand X soldiers on snowmobiles and a heavy avalanche close behind. This scene was completely left out of the movie itself, but in this workprint it's here! ALL the previously novelization-exclusive scenes are included, and this rough cut is seemingly based on an even earlier draft of the script than that- here Brand X are still defeated by a flood, whereas by the time of the novelization it'd been changed to a lightning storm. There are SO many exciting differences in this workprint, the snippets of original animation we get to see are SO good, and it's SO much better than the movie itself that I think it by far deserves the crown as the DEFINITIVE version of Foodfight! There's so much in it I want to discuss, that there's no way I can fit it all into this one post...so stay tuned, because in the next few days I'll be doing a FULL analysis of the 2005 workprint, pointing out all the extra brand mascots not in the finished film, and generally just gushing about how amazing it is.

I mean, this is it. Just take it all in for a second- the original footage was considered lost media for over a decade, and now it's practically been found in its entirety, embedded in an early cut of the whole movie...isn't that just phenomenal? All the mysteries have been unraveled, all the questions have been answered, and now we can relax, take a deep breath, and watch Foodfight!...the REAL Foodfight! Make sure to enjoy it, and join me next time for my analysis!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request Jason Todd with an s/o who enjoys making art of him? Sketches, paintings, etc.

Jason never saw himself as ever being a muse for someone else’s art, their reason to immeditly rush to their sketch pads or canvas and let the ideas flow out and take form however that maybe.

It was a reality he had came to accept until you came along and happily challenged this view he had on himself, and without fail you’ve proven him wrong again and again on multiple occasions.

Finally he had became a muse to somebody and he couldn’t help but be touched and feel extremely loved and appreciated whenever you shown him a simple sketch of him doing something mundane, whether that be making dinner for you both or reading a book, you just had a way of showing him how you see him through your art.

‘It’s a simple sketch I made this morning, nothing fancy.’ You’d shrug as Jason looked over your drawings of him and smiled.

‘If this is what you call a simple sketch then I’m all out of luck in ever attempting to take up drawing, this is amazing sweetheart!’ He’d say as he peppered your face with sweet, thankful kisses before moving away to look at the drawing once more, taking note on how much attention to detail there was in what you claimed was a simple sketch.

You drew him with such love for everything that made him in his entirety. You took extra care in drawing his every scar that littered his body, big and small. From the largest scar running from his collarbones and down his entire upper body, to the various scars scattered on his neck, forearms, hands and back.

You didn’t try to hide his impurities and instead actively chose to emphasise them in a way that he never thought existed. You didn’t try to make him look palatable nor tried to draw/paint him in anyway that wasn’t true to his character and he loved it. He loved the fact that you saw him for who he was and found him worth spending hours upon hours of drawing for.

‘I’m sure you’ll pick it up jay bird, besides I like drawling you.’ You admit.

‘Why?’ He asks softly.

‘What?’

‘Why do you like drawing me? What is it about me that worth immortalising on a canvas or in the pages of a sketchbook?’ Jason says as he looks at other sketches/paintings you’ve done of him in your spare time and felt his heart grow bigger with each and every one he came across.

You even sketched him in that stupid bunny onesie that Dick got him after loosing a bet, much to his dismay and the rest of his family’s amusement. Once upon a time he would’ve been ashamed at that his most embarrassing moment had been sketched out onto paper, but now he just shrugs and laughs it off, finally finding it funny as everyone else did at the time.

‘Because everything about you is worth immortalising, whether it be as a sketch or as a painting, you -Jason Todd- are worth remembering well into the future.’ You tell him as you took the sketchbook out of his grasp and settled it aside to hold his face in your hands, smiling upon seeing him melt deeper into your touch. ‘I didn’t feel like portraying you in any way that wasn’t true to who you are, at least in my eyes.’ You add.

‘And what do I look like in your eyes?’ Jason speaks barely above a whisper as he looks at you with storm grey eyes, a stark difference to the bright cobalt blue of his youth.

‘Perfectly imperfect.’ You kiss his forehead. ‘A Human with a heart of pure gold despite everything you’ve been through.’ You press another kiss to his nose. ‘A true protector of Gotham who bares the scars to prove it every night.’ You finished praising him by place a soft kiss to his plush, slightly chapped lips and pressing your forehead against his. ‘You’re Jason Todd. My muse.’

[hatchetfield-yearbook-project]

It is with the UTMOST pride and joy that I announce to you, the project is finally finished!!! The past four months have been VERY worth the wait. I would like to thank everyone who helped make this a reality, as you are all some of the most talented people on Earth, and I would also like to thank Team Starkid for having the amazing characters who brought it together.

For the characters who did not have full names, we had their artists name them! Those characters are:

Smoke Club Girl (tgwdlm) - Suzy English Danny (tgwdlm) - Danny Reynolds Deb (tgwdlm) - Deb Hirsch Hatchetfield Bee (tgwdlm) - Eliza Florez Ziggy (nightmare time) - Ziggy Miller Gabe (abstinence camp) - Gabe Anderson Mary (abstinence camp) - Mary Shaw Noah (abstinence camp) - Noah Henry PJ (npmd) - Patricia Johnson Reese (npmd) - Reese Woods Brenda (npmd) - Brenda Briggs Stacy (npmd) - Stacy S. Murphy-Owen-Martin Brooke (npmd) - Brooke Chandler Caitlyn (npmd) - Caitlyn Hayes Angela's Drama Student (npmd) - Lily Myers Joey's Drama Student (npmd) - Ezra Richter Rudolph (npmd) - Rudolph Svensson Miss Mulberry (npmd) - Missy Mulberry

I'm linking the flip book AND the slideshow versions of this project because I feel like there's an image quality difference, and I want everyone's pieces showcased in the best possible quality. In the flip book, hover your mouse off of the pages, because when you have it on the page blurs a bit.

Flipbook

Slideshow

One more enormous thank you to those who brought this project to life: Writers: @dawningfairytale @theiloveyousong @that-was-anticlimactic @amethystunarmed @bellqmione @tnoy-keraxisraxis @icarus-o7 Artists: @mansion-of-haunts @witchstormm @booigi-boi @zstarcatsz @bird-likes-to-fandom @muppetmagic @l8dawnsovrmonroeville @nibblelinephym @notanerdyprude @peterstankoffski @ren-from-mars @astrolotte @blankensnappeas @angelwiththeblue-box @margo-mania @tipsy-agnostalgic @ratsarecute4 @rat-on-string @spigosaur @wispexists @ampers-and @ruthflemwad @feathertru @oniomn @daiwild @bajablastflavoredsaxreed @cardinaldust @thalassous @idk-tbh-idk @anispelix @lillazyboithings @cloddot @ophii @stephanie-lauter @janet-the-interplanet @alliumroze @kentucky-fried-goth-attire @nonbinarymichaelafton @spiny-dogfishes @gay-little-axolotl @vicariousscrolling @spyruce @thecrabbybarista

[erenjaegerwifee]

Your Excuse To See Me

Request by: @twilightlover2007

Pairing: David 'Deacon' Kay x Fem!Reader

Summary: Deacon's case takes him to your bookshop.

Warnings: none, fluff,

Word Count: 2.4k

Disclaimer: all my characters are aged-up! If this makes you uncomfortable please do not interact with my account or any of my notes.

Main M.List | Deacon M.List

“Hey deac” Luca spoke up as Deacon entered the locker rooms. “Morning guys” he replied greeting the rest of the team. “Tan was just telling us about how Bonnie is jealous” Chris spoke up while they all got ready for their shift. “Bonnie is not jealous; I’m telling you guys she isn’t like that” Tan tries to defend. “What happened that everyone things she jealous?” Deacon asked.  

“Last night we went on a date and when we were walking to our apartment in the hallway this girl was getting harassed by this idiot and I helped her out. After he left, she told us she just moved in and it happen to come up she also spoke Cantonese. I happen to mention it was so rare to find another person who speaks it by coincidence and after that Bonnie’s mood has been off. She won’t talk, she’s basically doing everything she can to avoid making eye contact with me.”  

Deacon hisses feigning pain when he hears the story, “hate to break it to you man but that’s jealousy. I can’t believe you can’t wrap your head around this, she is jealous because that woman who speaks your language probably shares your religion and values growing up in a Chinese American home is now living next door to you. She feels less than now that she has someone to compare herself to.”  

Tan took a second to process his words before he finally understands how it all went wrong, he never even thought Bonnie would think like that. “How are you still single? You should have girls falling at your feet” Tan jokes.  

“Jokes on you bro, he does” Street says making everyone laugh as they walk out of the locker room to meet Hondo. Before much words can be exchanged, Hicks walks in with a case assigned to the team. “20-David, we’ve been handed over a case, apparently the financial crimes and the narcotics division can’t solve it and they want us to wrap up this up. Also, we have intel the man doing the money laundering are armed and dangerous.” 

Hicks goes on to explain the details of the case to the team, saying a man who supposedly goes by the name Authur Lopez has been moving money around through other people’s business. He also may be using them as a stash house. The problem is no one can seem to figure out which business he is using to clean his money. “They know he’s dealing but they can’t prove it, we need to find the proof to bring this guy in” 

“We may have a lead though, detective Chase that was previous the lead on this case said he found Auther has an old high school girlfriend who recently moved to town, we aren’t sure if they have had any contact but it’s worth checking out, she might know somewhere he might hide” Hicks finishes up letting the team take the case. Street and Tan both start researching your home and workplace addresses and they found something. 

“She owned a bookshop, just opened a couple months ago, around the same time we caught wind of Authur and around the time she moved into town, her business could be the one she’s using, she sells books, it can be a good cover if her business gets traffic, and judging by the location I think she’d be doing well.” Street says as he pulls up the location of your shop on the screen for the team to see.  

“I found her home address, it’s an apartment complex about 3 blocked from the shop.” Chris says and pulls the location for them to see. “Okay Street, Tan with me we’ll check out her apartment. Luca, Chris and Deacon you can check out her shop she might be there, she what she knows if she’s willing to talk.” Honda hands out their assignments and everyone jumps in a car their destination.   

When Deacon, Chris and Luca arrive at the bookshop they walk in and don’t immediately see anyone around. They walk a little deeper into the shop and you step out from one of the isles the shop isn’t so big that someone can hide, unless they are in the back room. “Hi there, is there something I can help you with?” you say in a sweet voice.  

At the sound of your voice Deacon whips his head, he stutters a bit when he sees you for the first time. Your hair fell curly down your back, you wore jeans that fit your hips but flared down over your ankles with cute brown sandals, you wore a gorgeous floral top that complimented your skin tone so perfectly. “Hi, Ms. Y/n? I’m Sergeant Kay, this is officers Alonso and Luca, we are here to ask you a few questions.”  

You look up at the handsome sergeant standing in front of you and your brain almost lags. “Sure, happy to help” you smile at him clasping your hands together. You gesture to the chairs and small sofas scattered around the room for them to sit and you do the same. “Ms. Y/n, we believe a man you know has been involved in some illegal activity and we wanted to know if you had any information you could share” the girl who’s name you learned was Chris spoke up. 

“Who?’ you asked her, “The name Auther Lopez ring a bell?” Luca asked you. Authur Lopez, you were never able to look at men the same after him, he was your high school sweetheart. You were going to marry him. That was until you found out he was dealing in high school and left him. “A couple months ago he found my shop, said he was keeping tabs on me and asked if I would consider giving him a job. Auther and I dated in high school, I broke up with him when I found out he was dealing, not only that but he was on them. I’m not sure what I never asked. When I hired him, he promised he was clean and so I agreed. Actually, his shift is meant to start in about 10 minutes, he has to come here.” 

“What is he involved in?” You asked them directly your question to no one in particular. “We believe he dealing again, or maybe he never stopped who knows. We need to bring him in a find the location of his stash house before he can distribute his product.” Luca spoke to you.  

“You’re welcome to wait here until he shows then, I had no idea he was still dealing” Luca made a call to someone while Chris asked to look around the shop and you agreed. Deacon didn’t move though, he sat right there in front of you the whole time. “Are you back together?” his voice was quite as he spoke but you heard him, “No, I’m not interested in starting things back up with him, he has done nothing but disappoint me, I only gave him the job because he said he needed it and he was getting clean.” you matched him tone while you looked at him. 

He was so pretty you could barely take your eyes off him, if you weren’t looking at his chest printing out in the tight SWAT t-shirt you were looking at his chocolate brown eyes, if not that, the you have never seen a man look so good with a beard and that usually wasn’t something you’d go for, the hints of grey just did something to your brain.  

Deacon wasn’t any different, he was too busy staring at you to realize you were staring back, he admired the way your curls look so full but not frizzy at the same time, the way he so easily got lost in your beautiful eyes, and let’s not talk about your figure, he has never seen anyone look so beautiful before.  

“So, Sergeant Kay-” 

“Deacon, call me Deacon” 

“Deacon, you’re a SWAT sergeant what is that like?” you smile when you ask him. He was confused for a quick second how did you know he was in SWAT? Until he remembered he was working, he was dressed in uniform. “It’s good, I like it, it’s dangerous and it’s a lot of work but it pays off in the end. So, books?” he returned the question.  

“Yea, I've always been a reader” you giggle as you continue, “It’s very calming to read, takes my mind off things when I’m stressed, a way to pretend you’re someone else.” 

“How could you want to be someone else?” his tone was breathy, it had a hint of a chuckle in it, it made you blush. It was so easy to get caught up in him you forgot all about what he was here for. Luca walked back into the shop; the noise of the chimes pulled you back to reality. He was met with the sight of you and deacon staring at each other with flirtatious smiles and cleared his throat to get your attention. 

“The others arrested Authur on his way here, they have him in custody. Hondo said meet back at HQ” Chris moves out with Luca and Deacon was about to follow them, “Wait!” you stopped him resting you hand on his arm to stop him from walking. You ran into one of the isles and grabbed a book off the shelf, “Here, an excuse for you to come back that isn’t work related. Now you can go” you smiled at him sweetly and he chuckled at your sweet gesture. “I’ll take you up on that.”  

Deacon walked out the bookshop with a wide grin in his face and he sees Chris and Luca waiting for him with matching grins, seems Luca had filled Chris in and they both clocked the book he didn’t walk in there with. “Ouu someone’s got a crush” Chris said in a sing song tone.  

A few days later the case was wrapped up and Deacon was sitting on a comfortable chair in the SWAT main room with his legs propped up as he read the book you gave him. He isn’t you paid attention to the book you handed in when you grabbed it but it was an interesting book.  

He has been teased non-stop by the team since they all heard about what happened, no one can see him sitting with that book in his hand without saying something about you. They even went as far as to make a bookmark with your face on it and stick it in his book so every time he opened it, he would see you. It was entertaining the say the least but now that the book was in his hand and finished, he felt nervous to see you again, this time he had no motive to hide behind other than he just wanted to see your pretty face again. 

“Hey Deac, we’re gonna hit up Luca’s food truck, do you wanna come with?” Chris asked Deacon as she packed up her things at the end of the shift. “I’d love to but, I have to swing by the bookshop and return this book y/n gave me” He waited patiently for the teasing and right on cue, “You going ask her out?” Chris was grinning like a school girl.  

“I want to, I will, I’m gonna...maybe”  

“Sergeant Kay is nervous? There is a first for everything. But seriously all jokes aside, I saw the way you looked at each other. She will say yes, no need to doubt yourself” Chris smiled at him and punched his shoulder as they walk out of the locker room.  

Deacon rushed to his car saying a quick goodbye to the team and driving to the bookshop before you closed. He opened the door and say you writing something sitting on a high chair behind the desk. “Hey” he said with a small smile.  

You look up from your book and smiled when you saw him, “You came back” you said matching his smile as it grew larger, “I guess my excuse to come see you worked, great book by the way, never thought I’d be into enemies to lovers but apparently I am” he chuckled and put the book down on the desk. 

“I’m glad you liked it; I wasn’t sure you were the type” you giggled. There was a moment of silence between you. A moment where you just stared at each other, admiring. “I have to close up the shop now, it was really nice of you to come back Deacon, it was nice to see you” Deacon smiled at your words knowing exactly how you feel.  

“It was nice to see you too.... hey do you want to join me for some dinner? I know a great food truck not far from here, we could swing by and get something” you wanted to burst with happiness, you didn’t think he had it in him to ask you out but he did.  

“Of course I’ll go with you, let me just grab my purse and lock up” you smiled you sweet smile at him and you giddily ran to the back room to get your stuff, hearing him laugh at your antics.  

When he opened the car door for you at the food truck you smiled and took a big inhale. He watched you fall in love with the smell of the food and you walked right up to the menu, “I don’t know what to get” you said to him, “Order for me”  

Deacon was about to speak when he heard his name being called out, his team was still here. He turned his head in sync with yours and watched a bunch of people walk up to you both. You instinctively stepped closer to Deacon but you quickly recognized Chris and Luca from earlier in the week.  

“I see you asked her out” Chris said. 

“I can’t believe it took him so long” another boy said who introduced himself as Jim Street 

“Oh, give him a break, it’s been a week” their team leader spoke up, Hondo. Their comments made you blush and you hid your face with your hands giggling. Deacon put his arm around your shoulder to shield you from the teasing while they laughed at the situation wholeheartedly. You're so happy Sergeant Kay came to your bookshop.  

🔹I hope you all enjoyed reading! I’d love for anyone to Reblog my work, Like and Comment so it can be shared! I’ve been wanting to write for Deacon for a while and I’m finally starting!

🔹On another note. Deacon is hot as fuck. And I want to write him in a nsfw kind of way. Eventually not atm I’d like some feedback on how you would feel after reading my work.

Taglist:

@twilightlover2007 @fluentmoviequoter @just-a-girl-who-wrytes @spnshortcake

[thatgenericwriter]

Concert Headcanons || House MD Characters

Paring: House MD characters x gn! reader

Summary: how House MD characters would act if you asked them to go to a concert with you

Warnings: swearing

Word Count: 1k

p.s. based on a request by anonymous

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

~Cameron~

Cameron is a little reluctant at first. She is worried that House will do something stupid and she will have to tend to him. This leads you to begging Wilson to babysit House that night. He is reluctant at first but understands your love for Mitski and agrees.

"Are you sure that Wilson will make sure House is okay?" She asks you for the fifth time that night.

You stop curling her hair before looking at her through the mirror. The worried look on her face makes you sigh. Spinning the chair around you stare into her eyes only seeing pure worry in them.

"For the last time Allison. House. Is. Fine. Wilson is there to ensure nothing will happen, but if you are still worried, you can go to his rescue and I'll take Chase instead."

This makes Cameron spin around in her chair to face the mirror again. "No, you're right. House will be okay, but I'll be damned if you take that Australian prick to Mitski and not me."

You smile at her in the mirror before happily continuing to curl her hair.

~Foreman~

He hates going to concerts. He used to go all the time as a teenager, probably by jumping fences or sneaking into the venues. That is until he got caught breaking into houses and decided to change his life.

He wants to forget about that time in his life, which leads him to immediately say no when you tell him about an Artic Monkeys concert that you really want to go to with him. You are discouraged at first until you remember that you are his soft spot.

"Will you pretty, pretty please go to this concert with me?" You pout your lips and bat your eyelashes at him, trying to pull off the desperate partner look.

You see his eyes soften for a moment before he goes back to reading his medical journal.

"Not going to happen."

On your next attempt a few days later you are determined to get him to say yes. Wearing your most form flattering outfit, doing your hair the way he likes it, even going as far as strutting and swaying your hips as you walk up to him.

"Hey babe?"

He looks up from his book and starts to say something before he stops and looks at you, mouth agape and eyes practically popping out of their sockets. You walk closer to him, sitting on the armrest of his chair and leaning into him.

"So...about that concert."

~Chase~

Chase is down immediately. This man is totally whipped for you. You could ask him to help you kill someone and he would ask no questions. He's like a little Australian puppy, constantly following you around and begging for your attention.

He would try to act nonchalant around everyone else and pretend like you didn't have him wrapped around your finger, but then you would ask him to get you a coffee and it would be in your hands within the next minute.

"Hey, Chase.... Would you maybe want to go to this conc..."

"Yes."

"You didn't even let me finish."

When you get to the concert he's buying you everything your eyes linger on. That cool T-shirt you saw? Purchased. Those funky light up glasses? Bought and on your head before you can blink.

And when The Weekend finally comes on stage but you can't quite see over the crowd in front of you? You are on his shoulders before you can even process it.

The next day when your retelling your amazing night to your coworkers, Chase has a burning blush on his cheeks that won't fade. He will be teased for the next few weeks, but it is all worth it for the huge smile that won't leave your face.

~Remy (13)~

There are only a few artists that thirteen will see live, it's a good thing that you both have a love for Chappel Roan. You corner her at work and jokingly drop down on one knee before presenting the tickets to her.

"Remy, would you make me the happiest person in the world and come with me to see Chappel Roan?"

"Oh my god! Yes! Yes! A thousand times yes!"

You both laugh before she helps you up off the ground and grabs the tickets from you. You both agree to get ready at her apartment when the time comes.

Let's just say it's a good thing you got there extra early, otherwise, your activities would have made you miss the concert altogether.

~House~

Getting House to go to a concert with you requires a week's worth of planning. You really have to butter him up before asking him, otherwise you would be shot down immediately.

It starts out simple with you agreeing with everything he says and praising every word that comes out of his mouth.

"Wow Chase! You really are fucking stupid!"

"House is right Chase, you are really dumb."

Then you go into gift giving. Just simple little things like a snack on his desk, or a new bottle of Vicoden.

"Here you go House! One KitKat for you and one for me!"

Then you bring it home with some physical touch. A touch of his hand, lightly bumping your hip with his, running your hand through his hair. simple things.

"House there's something on your face. Here let me get it"

"You do know you are just caressing my face at this point, right?"

Finally, you pop the question.

"House will you pretty pretty pretty please go to this Taylor Swift connect with me?"

There is a look of disgust that crosses his face before a look of realization replaces it.

"Is this why you've been sucking up to me?"

He takes a little more convincing and some threatening before he finally agrees. He will say that he had a horrible time, but you saw him lip singing and tapping his foot to the rhythm the entire time. He even "accidentally" bought two of the same shirt and "reluctantly" took one from you.

Safe to say you will be teasing him about this for a while.

༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶༶•┈┈୨♡୧┈┈•༶

Author's Note: this is my first time writing headcanons so if its shit don't tell me also I'm slowly getting through requests so be patient plz

[crazyk-imagine]

There’s a Heat Between Us, You Must Admit

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Plus size!rader

Characters: Plus size!reader, Anthony Bridgerton, Benedict Bridgerton, Colin Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Mildred “Millie” Nightington (reader’s cousin), Bernard (the servant), Eloise Bridgerton, Francesca Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton, Simon Bassett, Augie Bassett

Warnings: Anthony is an idiot, the bee scene (mainly from the book scene), drama, Daphne doesn’t want to see her friend end up alone, reader gives Anthony the biggest side eye ever, reader and Anthony are idiots, Millie is a sweetheart, reader and Anthony are competitive, the sideburns line was something I learned about, reader is stubborn, Anthony is oddly very emotional in this, reader knows a lot of things, reader doesn’t know how to deal with her emotions, pregnancy scare, the pregnancy scare reminds me of a sitcom

Word Count: 13,647

A/N: Reader’s last name is Starlington and also, super excited to have finally finished this one. 

*1,700 follower celebration post*

Also, Happy Valentine’s day!!

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Sometimes you loved your dear friend Daphne and other times you didn't, right now for example, you don't. 

Honestly you don’t know how this got brought up (again) but you’d wish she would stop; it’s not going to happen even if she wants you to officially join her family. 

You knew her being the first to marry out of the two of you was going to lead to more of her shenanigans, but this was too much for you. 

You sigh, setting your cup down to look her in the eyes, “I have no plans on being in this season.” 

Her shoulder sagged, “I understand that but-” 

“But, nothing. Daphne, I am more than content with my being staying very much untied to a man. If I happen to meet someone worth it, you’ll know.” 

-

Anthony glances over in your direction and his mind goes elsewhere. 

You’re his sister’s best friend who also became Benedict’s best friend soon after you met the rest of his family. 

He isn’t particularly upset at the fact that you’ve managed to befriend his siblings (slightly better than he could) but, there’s something that keeps bringing a certain idea to the front of his mind. 

“Are you going to take your turn or continue staring?” Benedict asks. 

The eldest shrugs off his brother’s comment. 

Anthony uses the dreaded “death mallet” and once again, manages to pass the others. 

-

Daphne heads towards her siblings before they can scream and shout at her for sitting down instead of taking her turn. 

You sigh, shoulders sagging because you know she means no harm; you know that but, you can’t force yourself to love and care for someone you don’t have feelings for. 

You’d never admit it (out loud or to her) but there are nights where you do wonder how it would be if you did get married to someone you loved. 

The concerning part is how her brother sneaks into your mind; not your closest friend, Benedict, or the third oldest, Colin, and of course not, Gregory. 

No, Anthony is the one to invade your mind and corrupt your dreams with his charming smile and smooth movements. 

And you would never dare tell Daphne or your cousin of your thoughts; no matter how hard she tries to convince you he feels something for you. 

You take a deep breath, returning your focus onto the game only to meet a pair of oak brown eyes gazing upon you. 

You tear your gaze away at the sounds of Violet walking down the stairs, carrying a smiling Augie in her arms earning a smile from you as you observe the happy baby. 

You glance towards her and offer a polite smile, giving her a moment to settle down in the free chair before turning to focus on the young babe. “Hello, Augie,” you greet him with a baby tone and shake his chubby fingers. 

“He’s always taken with you,” Violet comments. 

“I am the one who always manages to search for his mother when he cries for her. Sometimes I believe myself to be a dog.” 

She chuckles, “that’s not it.” 

“Why else would he like me?” 

“You have a natural instinct that he senses. Children know these things.” 

“If that’s what you say.” 

Daphne steps away from the others, wanting to see her child. “She is right, you know.” 

“Not you too,” you groan. 

“You will make a fantastic mother.” 

“Someday.” 

“It could happen sooner than one would think.”

“What are you planning?” 

“Nothing.” 

Anthony stares back at you once more, observing the way you interact with his dear nephew. As he searches for someone to call wife, his most secretive thoughts keep coming to mind. The more he searches and the longer you stay, the more he finds himself wondering. 

His mother continues to help him in his search for a wife albeit reluctantly since she finds herself so fond of you. She’d never explicitly tell him to pursue you but, she could always kindly ease him into the right direction, which is when his disbelief comes to the surface, truly believing you to feel nothing for him. 

He knows if he tried to pursue you and it fell through, he will have ruined a lifelong friendship for his family- as he watches Daphne hold her purple mallet for you to take- he realizes he can’t pursue you. 

Not that he’d ever given it any real thought, but he’d never be able to forgive himself if he was the reason, you stopped coming by. 

You shake your head. 

She puts it in your hand, persuading you into taking her place so she can attend to Augie. 

You step down from the seating area with little energy. 

His sister offers encouraging nods. 

“I see you finally came to join us,” comments Anthony. 

You avoid his gaze- you can barely stand beside him. “Not like I wanted to,” you reply. 

“You’re scared to lose?” 

You scoff, turning to look up at him, “that is not what I said.” 

He smirks, leaning closer to you, “you didn’t have to.” 

You narrow your eyes at him, “we’ll see who’s laughing when I win.” You walk away, taking your turn. You’re satisfied until you sense him behind you. 

He follows you, “for someone who didn’t want to play earlier, you’ve certainly found your spirit.” 

“Or was it a trick?” You smirk, glancing at him when the ball rolls through the metal hoop with ease. “You look nice,” you comment, turning around to walk away. 

Anthony’s brows furrow together, his body takes over as he steps closer to you, standing beside you. “What do you mean?” 

You turn, struggling to find the right words without sending the wrong message. “I only meant you look nice. You know, people- people can actually see your face now.” 

He continues to stare at you. 

“Your sideburns were nice but it- they- people may have assumed you grew them to hide what lies in your heart.”

“And what do you think lies there?” The words escape him before he could process his thoughts. 

“I believe the love for your family and future wife is there, along with the care and compassion you hold for them. I do have to admit, I am a bit glad you shaved.” 

He tilts his head, “and why is that?” 

“I was afraid you would have continued growing them and at some point, they would connect,” you use both hands the gesture from your sideburns to your upper lip, “and you would look as though you were wearing a mask of sorts,” you say with one hundred percent seriousness until you think about it and snicker, covering your face with your hand. 

Anthony is also unable to keep himself collected and joins in. He straightens his posture, “what of you?” 

You take a deep breath, fanning yourself. "What of me, for what?” 

“What do you think lies in your heart?” 

“The same as you, I suppose. Love and compassion for my family and the few friends I have.” 

“What about me?” He asks before he can stop himself. 

“What?” You don’t know what to think. 

“I-” He walks past you, placing his mallet back into place before exiting, wandering to the garden. He needs to get as far away from you as he can in order to clear his mind. 

You don’t understand what’s happened and place your mallet beside his before chasing after him. 

-

He stares at you, half listening to you and his attention moves elsewhere. 

“Are you even listening to me?” You stare at him, wanting to understand him. You’re too into your thoughts to hear the faint buzz. 

The noise sends a shiver down his spine, he knows the noise too well; his nightmares (if he can remember any) always start with the faint buzz. 

He doesn’t move as he searches for it. Sadly, for the eldest child, he doesn’t have to search for long as the small, striped animal floats around you. He prays to whoever is listening to hear his silent prayers for it doesn’t sting you; he can’t lose someone else to the blasted creature. 

“Anthony?” You ask, glancing down when you feel something land on you. You realize why he can’t look away. “Hey, it’s alright.” 

He can’t focus on your words, his mind rattled with the memory of his late father. “Don’t move,” his voice is low and shaky.

“I know, it’s a bee but, it won’t hurt me as long as I-” you close your eyes due to the discomfort you get from the sting, and it sends him into a whirlwind. “I’ll be alright,” you say, still trying to reassure him. You open your eyes to see how pale he’s gotten. 

He invades your personal space, grasping onto your arms. “Are- are you-” He glances back and forth between your face and your wound. His voice is low, far too low for you to understand what it is he is trying to say but you swear you hear him mutter something along the lines of, “don’t move'' repeatedly. 

You know you must calm him down before he can do anything. You reach for him, placing a hand on his cheek, forcing him to look at you. “Breathe, Anthony. I need you to breathe.” 

He can’t say anything, almost as if he’s choking on air. Images of his father invade his mind, filling him with worry and dread. 

You can see he is close to tears. Your voice draws him out of his thoughts. “I promise you. I hope you know I wouldn’t lie to you. I’m fine but I will still have a doctor come and look at it so that it may heal properly. I’m right here. I’m here with you.” 

Anthony’s hands grip your biceps, he notices how swollen the sting site has become. 

“It stung me, but I am not hurting. This has happened before. I will be fine.” 

None of your reassurances are having any effect on him. 

The image of his father taking his last breath in his mother’s arm is enough to make lean in to suck the venom out. 

“Anthony?! What are you-” You cut yourself off at the feeling of his shaky hands trying to remove the stinger. “Anthony, you must stop.” 

“Shut up,” he hisses, trying to stay focused on keeping you healthy (and alive) while fighting to keep his father’s death out of his mind. 

You take deep breaths, you try to push him away, but he is insistent and stronger than you. “I am fine, I just need to see a doctor and I-” 

“Would you be quiet,” he finally lifts his head to look up at you. 

You gulp, “I know- I know what tragedy has happened in your family but, today will not be the same for me.” 

He doesn’t listen and continues to squeeze the area. 

You gasp, eyes widening at the feeling of his hands being so close to your breast. This has gone too far; you must stop this before someone sees. “Anthony,” you place your hands on his chest to push him away once more. 

“Stop it,” he shoves your arms off him. “Let me get rid of the venom.” 

“There is a doctor who can do this and-” 

“The doctor is not here. I am.” He stops squeezing when some liquid begins to spill out of the wound. 

You look down, finding the trail of liquid, “see, you did it. Now, I am going inside to-” 

Anthony pulls out a handkerchief, wiping away the trail. “It’s not all of it.” 

You wrap your hand around his wrist, stopping him from patting you dry. “You must stop this, Anthony. If anything were to have happened, it would have happened already.”

“There is still more,” he mutters, staring at the irritated area. 

“You need to stop.” 

“I haven’t gotten all of it,” he turns, staring at you. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking of doing. Don’t.” 

“I have to get the venom out before it kills you.” 

“It won’t kill me-” you gasp, seeing the determination in him as he leans forward. You place your hand on his shoulder, keeping his head away but fail to remove his hand. 

The click clack of women’s shoes against the rock pathway alerts you, but you feel as though you can’t move. 

A gasp makes you turn to find his mother alongside your cousin, Mildred (Millie for short), staring at the two of you with shocked expressions. 

Your heart rate increases and gain enough strength to fully shove him away from you, knowing how this looks. 

He glances up at you with a confused expression. 

“Anthony?” Violet calls out. 

His brows furrow further, he looks over your shoulder, “mother?” 

“What is going here?” 

“She was stung by a- a bee.” 

“A bee?” 

“Yes, a bee. I’d told him repeatedly I was fine. I’ve dealt with being stung before,” you say, struggling to keep yourself together. 

“You were stung by a bee and the boy found himself attached to you?” Mildred raises a brow. 

“Don’t look at me like that, Millie.” 

“I’m not, I’m wondering how you think this can be kept quiet.” 

“Kept quiet?” You repeat quietly to yourself. 

“Neither of us would repeat a word of what occurred today,” he argues. 

“That doesn’t mean anything for a woman’s reputation,” Mildred says with an attitude. 

“You do realize anyone could walk out here and spot the two of you, don’t you?” 

He doesn’t say anything. 

“Don’t you?” 

He grits his teeth, “I do.” 

“You should consider yourself lucky that it was us who found you and no one else, rake.” 

“That’s enough now, Mildred,” Violet intervenes. “Let’s,” she takes a deep breath, “let’s go inside and talk about this further. Lady Starlington needs to be seen by a doctor.” 

You can’t stand to be there any longer and turn away from him, walking past the two ladies and Anthony; your pace speeds up before you know it, you’re sprinting back to Audrey Hall. 

Mildred sighs, “now what are we to do?”

“We will all walk back and discuss this,” Violet says. 

“Of course, we are but, what am I to tell my parents? They’ll be curious to know why their niece’s name is in a Lady Whistledown column.” 

Anthony grunts, taking a step towards the two. He passes by them and quickly announces, “we will marry before the end of the season.” 

“Did he say what I think he did?” asks Mildred, watching his figure walk away with wide eyes. 

Violet sighs, shaking her head, “I believe he did.” 

“Did I do the right thing?” 

The mother of the family stops, turning to face your cousin, “what do you mean?” 

“I- I basically pushed themselves together into this potentially unhappy marriage. I know I sometimes I can’t keep my comments to myself but, I swear I had good intentions. It's just- when we came around the corner to see that I- I worry about her. I fear I may have ruined my relationship with the two.” 

“I can’t give you an exact answer but, I can say that as long as you have your cousin’s interest and happiness in mind, the most you can do is hope for the best. They are both emotionally driven people, even if neither wishes to admit it. This will be hard for them, and it may be a test.” 

“A test?”

“To see if they will make good of their marriage. You and I, as well as my other children, have come to realize how they connect with one another. They can’t see it for themselves but there is something there and now is the time for them to see it.” 

“I suppose so. What if they can’t make it work?” 

“Then I fear they will be in a miserable marriage.” 

-

No one else disturbed you after the doctor left. 

You sit at the edge of the bed, your vision blurs; you cover your mouth with shaky hands. You don’t want others to hear if they happen to be walking by. You cry, struggling to catch your breath. 

Everything you’ve been feeling with the last few days is slowly escaping you. Your mother is requesting to visit and marriage situation with Anthony; it’s too much. 

You take deep breaths, aiming to calm yourself down. 

Maybe it would be better if you left and went home or maybe somewhere far from here.

A knock disturbs you from your thoughts. 

You wipe your cheeks, hoping whoever it is will go away but fail as another knock comes through. You take a deep breath and open the door, “Viscount Bridgerton?” 

He lifts his gaze off the floor, “what happened to Anthony?” 

Any curiosity falls from your expression, “your making light of the situation?” 

He shakes his head, “I would never.” 

“I think you’ve done enough today. It’s almost time for bed.” 

He takes a step closer to the door, his hand inches away from being crushed, “I,” he sighs, taking a step back, removing his hand from the door. “I have come to ask if you would have dinner with me.” 

“With you?” 

“I think it would be wise if we talked before anything becomes… official.” 

“Now?” 

“Are you going to use full sentences any time soon?” 

“Why should I? Is it bothering you?” 

“Nevermind that. Are you going to join me or not?” 

“Will there be someone else there?” 

He gives you a reluctant nod, “yes, your dearest cousin, Mildred.” 

“I’ll be down in a moment. I will meet you there.”

“I’ll wait here.” 

“Do you have to?”

“No but, I think it might be good practice for us.” 

“Practice,” you mumble and shut the door. You walk over to the vanity, staring at yourself, wondering how you got into this situation. You snatch the extra handkerchief and pat your face, removing any evidence of your despair. 

You take careful steps toward the door and exit, Anthony leaning against the wall across from your room. He holds his arm out for you to hold. 

You shake your head. 

“Don’t you think you’ve touched her enough today?” 

He sighs, “Mildred.” 

“Who else would it be?” She interlocks your arms together, pulling you ahead of the eldest Bridgerton. “Come on.” 

-

“Do either of you know how to use it?” Anthony asks, staring at the stove. 

Mildred shakes her head, “the maids are always around to do it.” 

“Both of you sit down,” you say. 

“Do you know how to work this?” he asks, sounding surprised. 

“I do. It’s too late for us to have a full meal, instead we can have a glass of warm milk.” 

They sit at the table in the corner of the room. 

Anthony watches as you move gracefully around the kitchen.

“If you keep staring, she’ll catch you.” 

He turns to her, “what?” 

“You’re staring.” 

“No, I wasn’t,” he denies. 

“You can lie all you want but I know you care for her. Perhaps, you always have and never wanted to admit it before and the whole bee situation was a ruse so that you could stop being a ninny and marry her instead.” 

His jaw drops, he doesn’t know how to respond. “I did not-” 

She waves him off, “do not lie Anthony, I know you love her and have for some time now, only you must realize it now than later in your marriage. I do not want her… or you to be unhappy. Oddly enough, I seem to care for you but, obviously not the same way she does you.” 

He scoffs through his nose, muttering to himself, “obviously.” 

You place the glass of milk in front of the two, interrupting their conversation. “Don’t tell me you’ve decided to marry my cousin instead.” 

Anthony nearly chokes on the liquid, setting the glass down and snatches the handkerchief you hold out for him.

He wipes his chin, “what makes you think I would want to marry, Mildred.” 

She scoffs, “you’d be lucky to have me, Bridgerton.” 

He narrows his eyes to her. 

“I’ll be just outside this door, leaving the two of you talk and nothing else.”

You furrow your brows, “wait. Mil-” 

She waves to you. 

You take a deep breath, not wanting to face him. 

It was different when he wasn't paying attention to you and rather his own life, but now... you hope he doesn't want to talk. 

"We should- we should talk." 

Everything in your screams to not run away and hide, even though it sounds like it would be the better option right now. 

"How are you?" 

"I would be happier if I was marrying for love and not because of your concern over my virtue," you mumble. 

He overhears and sighs. “Don’t-” 

“No, I understand. Truly I do, just- I need- it’s late. Apologies for keeping you up.” You grab the skirts of your dress and walk out. 

Mildred watches as you run away. She spins around and stands in the doorway. “What did you do?” 

“Me- I-” 

She sighs. “Just shut up.” 

He sighs and slumps in the chair. Mildred storms into the room after you. 

-

“What happened?” 

“Nothing.” You take a deep breath, hunched over your vanity. 

“You know, you two act as a married couple who have known each other for too long and no longer know how to act lovingly around one another.” 

“You are wrong, cousin. He is- he is the scum- the scum that rests at the bottom of my shoe. Why would I ever marry someone like that? Much less that Bridgerton, I mean, Colin would be a better option and I don’t like him as much as I do Benedict.” You keep your head down, “people marry for less.” 

“I wish to marry for love, if it ever decides to come my way but until then I will deal with him marrying the only person, I care about that is close to my age.” 

“So, you care enough about me to marry me off?” 

“Don’t phrase it in such a way that makes me the bad guy,” she throws herself onto your bed. 

“Go to bed. I will be fine, Millie.” 

She props herself up on her elbows. “Are you sure?”

“I am. Please,” you look up and turn around, putting on a brave face. “I promise you. I will be fine.” 

“If you’re sure-” 

“Which I am. Goodnight, Millie.” 

She sighs and steps outside of the room, “night.” 

-

“Good morning.” 

You don’t respond to Mildred. 

“Are you ignoring me?” 

“I am simply showing you the way my soon-to-be husband will treat me.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“It has already begun. I awoke early and decided I wanted to speak to him after thinking about it all. I say hi but he does not.” You shrug, "it doesn't matter now." 

"It does though. Let me," she sighs. "Let me speak with him. I can- I can fix this." 

"No," you say. “I don’t want you to be in the middle any more than you have.” 

“Alright... now onto more pressing matters.” 

“Such as?” 

“Your plans for the wedding?” 

“Oh, right.” You continue to stare out the window. 

“Are you sure you're alright?” 

“I just-” 

Anthony stops himself from knocking on the door and decides to listen. 

“I thought when I was to marry, I would marry for love not because I need my virtue protected or saved." 

"If he didn't agree to this-" 

"I would be a spinster." 

"That is how I will live my life," Mildred grabs your hand and gains your attention. 

Anthony takes his leave, unable to stay there any longer. 

“That is not how I want you to live your life. I want you to be the one to have another you can call upon if there is something the matter because I won’t always be there and I need to know that you are protected before I leave.” 

“You’re leaving?” 

She sighs. “This isn’t how I wanted you to find out but yes. A week after you’ve been married, I plan on traveling the world.” 

“Your childhood dream.” 

“Precisely.” 

"I- what if I'm not good enough to," you wave your hand around. "This."

"This what? I'm not sure I understand." 

"What if- what if I am not fit to be a wife. I mean," you push yourself out of the chair and pace around the room. "I don't want him to be disappointed in the person he is to call wife. I don't want to be in a marriage of..." 

"Regret?" 

"Precisely." 

She stops you by placing a hand on your wrists, “now is the time for us to plan your wedding. Violet and Anthony have been sitting in the tearoom since I came in here.” 

“She’s- they’re- why didn’t you tell me?” You rush out the door. 

-

You clean yourself up outside the door and nod to your servant, Bernard, to open the doors. You nervously smile at both. 

Violet pops up from the chair closest to the window. “How are you?” 

“Oh- uh- I’m,” you glance to the side and stare at her eldest, who locks eyes with you. 

“I mean from the- well, you know,” she struggles to say. 

You let out a breath of relief, “ah, yes. I do. I am- I am fine. I’m just happy that everyone else is fine.” 

She smiles, “that is kind of you to say, but unnecessary.” 

“I hear you came to talk about our upcoming… event.” 

“Is that what Mildred told you?” 

You furrow your brows, “is that not what you’re here to discuss?” 

Anthony pushes himself off the couch. “Not yet. Mother, if you’d excuse us.” 

“Anthony, I don’t-” 

He gives her a look. 

"We will be right outside this door." 

"What did you want to discuss?" 

"If we are to marry, we should have stipulations." 

"You think I'll be so horrible that we need rules?" 

"Not you. I believe if we have these, we'll have a better understanding of what should come from this marriage." 

"Why don't I just stay by your side and show my face when you need me to so you can look like the perfect husband? Would that make things easier?" 

He sighs. "That is one of the things we need to discuss, which events you'd prefer to come to." 

"Oh, I get to choose those?" 

"Please stop. I am trying to make this as easy as I can." 

You clench your fists. "How am I supposed to be okay with this?" 

“It’s my fault and I am trying to make up for that.” 

You pause, “your fault?” 

He nods, “yes, it was- it was me who... couldn’t.” 

You step forward and place your hand on his, drawing his attention onto you. “It is not your fault when something so devastating comes to mind and you do all you can to prevent another. I do not blame you, but you must understand that I do not want to be one of those ladies.” 

“Who?” The only word he can get out as he studies you. 

Your compassion shifts into something of annoyance, one he knows too well. “You know who, someone who wants to be like Penelope’s mother or maybe even... all of the other ladies,” you chuckle, proud of the joke you made.

"I'm glad you can make jokes at a time like this." 

You roll your eyes, "oh hush, I am still upset about pretending to be a perfect housewife for the one man every woman dreams of being with." 

"Are you included?" 

Your mouth agape as you stare at him. 

"You two haven't maimed each other, perfect." 

"Millie," you pinch the bridge of your nose. 

"Oh, don't act so coy now." 

You roll your eyes and sit down, waiting to hear what Anthony and his mother have to say. You pace along the floor, finding it to be quieter here than in the tearoom with the others, even if they weren’t talking it was still too loud. You know there’s no alternative for what’s transpired between you and your soon to be husband, but it still hurts knowing he will never love you the way- 

“Are you alright?” Daphne’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. 

You give her a small smile and hope she doesn’t poke further. 

“I know this isn’t how it was supposed to happen but there is one good thing about your marriage.” 

You scoff, “and what, pray tell, is that?” 

“I finally can call you sister.” 

You try not to show how happy that makes you, not wanting her to know she was right. “Thank you.” 

She drags you over to the piano. 

“I still don’t understand why you have many so pianos.” 

She shrugs, “for moments like this, maybe?” 

“Are you waiting for me to play?” 

She nods, “of course, I am. You were always much better than I was.” 

“I was not.” 

“Show me then. Show me how awful you play, and I will not ask you again.”

You don’t know how long you had been playing for, but it was something you missed- not having a piano in your own home, you didn’t realize how long it had been. 

You usually prefer to play when no one is watching but having Daphne by your side was nice, she always knew how to help calm you before things could get worse; everyone knew of your father’s temper, and no one wants to face that through his only daughter. 

Anthony raises his hand to knock on the door but pauses as he listens, he doesn’t realize Daphne had learned a new piece. He slowly opens the door and finds you playing instead. 

‘When did you learn how to play?’ He wonders. 

Or maybe it was, you had always known, and he was too into his fantasies that he forgot to pay attention to the true version of you. 

Just when he was hoping to learn something horrible about you; you’re becoming more and more like his... 

“I didn’t know you played.” 

You open your eyes and glance up at him, standing up as quickly as you can. “I don’t.” 

He furrows his brows, “that’s not what I heard.” 

“That- that was nothing.” 

“Why are you lying?” 

“I prefer to keep this information to myself so if you could kindly pretend you didn’t hear anything, that’d be best.” You exit the room, knowing you’ve left 

Anthony in a wave of confusion. “What was that about?” 

“She doesn’t like others to know of her talents because she knows they’ll ask her to perform one of them.”

“Her mother.” He finally understands. 

“And her aunt.” 

Now he truly gets it. "Is this what you two would do while I was out with mother?" 

She shrugs and pushes the seat back. "Perhaps, or maybe you were never around long enough to learn about her even though you're entranced by her." 

He stutters, unsure of where she could have gotten that idea. "What?" 

She quickly hides her amusement before he can see. "Nothing. Goodnight Anthony." 

He tries to stop her, but she ignores him, offering an excuse for needing to put Augie to bed. He wonders what else he doesn’t know. 

You pace back and forth in front of his office door; this isn’t something you can do in person, is it? You sigh and wonder if it’s a wise choice to be doing this at all. 

You slip the letter under his door and take a step back. “That wasn’t so hard.” You turn around and briskly walk down the hallway, hoping he doesn’t see that it was you who was there.

Something moving in the corner of his eye piqued his interest and moved closer to figure out what it was. He picks up the letter and opens the door, seeing someone’s figure turning the corner before losing sight of them. 

He closes the door and opens the letter, wondering what you could have said when you’ve already said plenty. 

Dear Bridgerton, 

I I want to start off by apologizing for my outbursts, you don’t deserve them, and they are not aimed at you, but you happen to be the person I am talking to and... This is not how I expected the season to begin or end and I’m sure you didn’t either but if there is someone I were to marry, I’m happy it’d be you... because I trust you. I will do all that I can to be the perfect wife for you and if not, I apologize in advance. 

Sincerely, Your annoying soon to be wife 

The next day came, and you didn't know how to act. 

You sit between Daphne and Mildred when he enters. 

He sits in front of you and nods, acknowledging you, which you return. 

The girls beside you don't know how to react, each staring at the other with a raised brow. 

You two talked with his mother about the decisions for your wedding. 

"Have you two discussed what you want?" 

Anthony opens his mouth to answer but finds himself without an answer. 

"Everyone will talk, and it will no doubt be in Lady Whistledown's column, but it would be preferred if we had a small ceremony, family only." 

You don’t look up from your plate. Violet nods, listening intently. "I will use the dress my mother made when I was born, it'll save us time on getting a dress. The flowers can be your choice." 

"And after?" 

You turn to her, "it'd be smart to hold a small reception after all though it will increase because everyone will want to see who married the handsome and fortunate viscount."

You push yourself out of the chair. "I apologize but I realized I promised to spend time with the girls before we go out for our shopping trip." 

"What just happened?" 

"Have you two talked about anything regarding your wedding?" Violet asks her son. 

"Every time we discuss something-" 

"No, have you sat down and discussed what you two are to do? Who will be there? Anything that a soon to be husband and wife should discuss?" 

His shoulders sag. "No." 

"I want you to go in my place." 

"What? Why?" 

"It will give you two a moment to talk and prepare for the future hardships you two will face as a couple. Raise her spirits. She got a letter from her mother, saying she will not be able to attend. Perhaps that is why she is so uninterested today." 

"She- how do you know?" 

"I'm your mother, I know more than you would think." 

-

Anthony waiting by the door frightened you. “Are you joining us?” 

“I’m here in place of my mother.” 

It takes you a few seconds to process what he said. “You are?” 

He nods. “Shall we?” 

You close your eyes and take a deep breath. 

The failed whispering voices of the women around you, annoys you to the point where Anthony feels that he needs to do something. “Is there anything that has caught your interest?” 

You shake your head. 

“Let’s go. I know somewhere we can have a better time, away from the whispers of these women.” He leans in, whispering into your ear, “they’re jealous of you.” 

You cover your mouth to hide your amusement, not wanting him to know he’s helping lift your spirits. You two exit the shop and return to the Bridgerton home. “Why are we back here?” 

“We are going to have a drink.” 

“With your family? Couldn’t we do that any day we wanted to?” 

He holds his hand out for you to take, which you do. “Although that may be true, that’s not what I had in mind.” He places his arms behind his back, clenching his fist not wanting you to see the control you have over him. “We’re going to spend time in my office.” 

“Oh? I’m invited in, I feel so special.” 

“You should, very few are allowed in here, especially when I’m working.” 

“Of course. The head of the house needs quiet or else.”

-

“I see going out has helped you.” 

You watch as he fills the glass for you before grabbing it and swallowing it in one gulp. “You could say that.” You scrunch your nose at the sensation, maybe doing that was a bad idea. 

He takes a seat in his chair. 

“Could I ask you something?” 

He nods, staring at you over the glass as he takes a sip. 

“Did your mother inform of the one guest we won’t be seeing at our wedding?” 

He slowly sets the glass down before returning his gaze to you. “She may have mentioned it.” 

“Is that why you came with me today because she told you to and not because you wanted to?” 

“She may have said she thought it was best if I take her place, but it was initially my choice to go.” 

“You’re not lying?” 

“What would I gain from lying to you?” 

You sit up and reach for the bottle, filling your glass. “A relationship built on a lie.” 

He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Are you trying to make this harder than it needs to be?” 

“I can’t just- you can’t honestly expect me to ignore that we are marrying one another when you never wanted to marry and I hoped that when it happened, it’d be with someone who loved me.” 

He’s out of his chair before you realize he’s now sitting in the chair beside you. “What will it take for you to stop saying that?” 

“What?” 

He leans in closer. “Why do you think I could never love you?” 

“I-” You gulp. “You have spoken before that you never want to marry, what else am I to think?” 

“How do you know I couldn’t change? What if something comes of this relationship?”

Your breath hitches and you continue staring him in his eyes. “I suppose we’ll have to cross that bridge if we get to it.” You set the glass down and rush for the door, “I’ll take my leave now. I’m feeling quite tired after our outing.” 

He grabs your wrist, pulling you back in before you could open the door. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pressured you into answering my questions.” 

“What if I enjoyed them?” 

You turn to face him with a small smile. “Then I am concerned for your being.” 

“Don’t worry about me.” 

“Be honest, did you mother tell you about my mother is not coming?” 

“No,” he shakes his head, but you know the truth. 

“You don’t need to lie on order to preserve myself, it’s okay.” You sigh, “is it sad that a small part of me wishes for her to be there?” 

“Not in the least. It’s natural for you to want your mother there-” 

“It’s not because she’s my family, I just- I need her to stop pushing marriage onto me.” You pace back and forth, “this is my way to prove her wrong but that makes me feel worse because it makes me seem as though I’m being a bad daughter.” 

“You’re not,” he disagrees with you. “That is anything but you being a bad daughter. If anything, she’s- she’s scared to lose her daughter to a new family because they know you will be starting a new life, away from her and that’s why she doesn’t want you to help.” 

“But what if-” 

His hand slides down your arm as if his hand lingering wasn’t enough to drive you mad, he tightens his grip on your hand. 

You force yourself to focus on his words and not the warmth emanating from him. 

“Stop. All the negative thoughts you have are not going to help you. But listen to this, you are a good daughter, and she should be happy to know her daughter will be taken care of. As long as you are a part of this family you will be taken care of and not have to worry about expectations.” 

“I won’t,” you whisper, not meaning to. He shakes his head and gives a small smile. “I promise.” 

He realizes he’s been holding onto you this whole time and his arm falls. “Can I walk you back to your room?” 

You nod, ignoring the warmth flooding your cheeks. “I would like that.”

-

“Will I see you at breakfast tomorrow?” 

“You will, and if I ask you the same question?” 

He smiles, “I will be there.” 

“Good, I think this is a good start to our future marriage.” You step inside the room. 

“I am sorry.” 

“What?” 

“The marriage… and the reason we are to wed.” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I lost myself and-” 

You shake your head, placing a hand on his chest over his heart. “I do not blame you for something as traumatizing as your father’s death. Please know that.” 

“But-” 

“Anthony Bridgerton,” you tell him using a stern tone. “Stop it. It may not have happened under the best of circumstances, but I am happy that I will be wed to you than some other man. I can at least trust you.” You step back into the doorway, slowly closing the door as you bid him goodnight. 

He stands there, touching the spot where your hand was until he drops it, straining his hand as he fights to clench it.

-

Benedict and Colin happen to be there when he turns the corner. 

“Quite a show you put on there,” the second eldest says. 

“Yes, you’re whole “I’ll be the perfect husband” speech was wonderful,” the third eldest chimes in. 

Anthony scoffs, “would you two quiet down?” He grabs them by their collars, dragging them into one of their miscellaneous rooms. “Why aren’t you two out?” 

“How could we be out when you’re here?” Colin asks. 

“Trying to woo the love of your life,” Benedict adds on. 

“I’m not- you two are acting like children.” 

“Us? Acting like children?” Colin starts, glancing at his brother. 

“No,” the artist shakes his head, “I don’t think so.” 

The soon to be married man glares at his brothers, unsure if he wants to listen further or not but if he doesn’t let them continue it’ll be worse in the morning. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “If I let you two continue, will you keep quiet in the morning?” 

“Morning?” Colin turns to partner in crime. “What’s happening in the morning?” 

The artist glances over his older brother and grins, “is the soon to be wed joining his family and future wife for breakfast?” 

“With him being silent, I’m going to say yes.” 

“Finally, you agree with me.” 

“I agree with you,” the third eldest argues. 

“I don’t recall.” 

“Okay, now that you two are done, I’m going to bed.” 

“To dream of your wife.” 

“She looked quite nice today, wouldn’t you say brother?” Benedict asks. 

“I dare say, she looks even more radiant since her recent engagement.” 

“You two are done,” Anthony shoves them out of the room. “You two will not speak of her like that again. She is your friend,” he jabs Benedict’s chest. “And your future sister-in-law,” and does the same to Colin. “You will respect her and not talk like this again, understood?” 

“Yes, sir.” 

-

The next morning as soon as you step out of the door, your future husband paces. “You’re awake.” 

“I am, it’s time for breakfast.” You close the door behind you. “Shall we go downstairs and join the others?” 

“We’ll be the first ones down there.” 

“Either way, I’m going down.” 

He holds his arm out for you to take. “Shall we?” 

You give him a small smile and nod. “After breakfast, what are your plans?” 

“I have a few things I need to look over but after that I’m free. What did you have in mind?” 

“I planned on going for a walk along the back of your family’s estate and perhaps we could talk about things.” 

“Just the two of us.” 

“Mildred could join us?” 

“I’d rather she not.” 

“I don’t blame you; she’s been on a rampage since earlier this week.” 

The doors open and his brothers, Daphne and Mildred, are already sitting at the table. 

“Of course,” he mumbles. 

“Did you say something?” You ask him. 

He turns his head towards you, offering a small smile. “No, it’s nothing.” 

The glances between him and his brothers were interesting, intriguing to you and the girls, who also had no clue what was going on. 

He stands behind your chair, hand resting on your shoulder. “I shall find you after I am done.” 

You nod and watch him go. 

“Well, that was interesting.” 

Daphne shushes your cousin. 

-

You lay across the couch, reading another book and were so into it, not even realizing that he had entered the room. 

He smiles as he steps closer, wondering what’s going on inside your head, finding you to be more interesting as he observes you reading, compared to his sister. He leans against the back of the couch, bending down to catch your attention. 

A shadow moving catches your eye and you turn, screaming soon after. 

You place your hand over your heart, taking deep breaths. “For heaven’s sake! What was that for?” 

“What do you mean?” He smirks, arms on around the sides of your body as he stays behind the couch. “What are you reading?” 

You turn around and cross your arms, “why does that concern you?” 

“Can’t a future husband be curious as to what his future wife is into?” 

You glance at him from the corner of your eye. “Is that all?” 

“It is. But that’s not why I’m here.” He doesn’t say anything else. 

You get impatient and wave your arms around. “Spit it out. Come on.” 

“We are to marry by the end of the week.” 

Your brows raise is surprise, “oh.” 

“Is that alright?” 

You take a deep breath, “I just- I wasn’t expecting it to be so soon but that’s- okay.” You place the book beside you and stand up, brushing the wrinkles out of the skirts of your dress. “I need to go over some things with your mother.” 

The humor falls from his face. “Wait- where are you going?” 

"I just told you." 

He follows after you, "I heard you but-" He reaches for you, pulling you back. "Can we talk?" 

You take a deep breath to calm your beating heart. Why is this happening now? You thought you were over this. Your lips part as you stare at his hand. You shake your head, staring up at him. "I- what do we need to talk about?" 

"Lady... things." He’s quiet for a moment. "I won't push you but know I'm here to talk if you need someone." 

"Thank you." You take off, not noticing the way his hand slowly falls or the way he clenches his hand. 

It's been a long time since he's felt the skin of a woman he was enchanted by, especially one he's to call wife. 

"Did we catch a moment between you and your beloved?" 

Anthony sighs, "don't you have charcoal to break for your fruit drawings?" 

His younger brother puts a hand to his chest, offended by his brother's comment. "I'm hurt, Anthony. Truly, I am but it's not why I'm here." 

He turns to face the artistic Bridgerton, taking notice of the serious look on his face. "What's wrong?" 

"Sister." 

"Which one?" 

"Not one of ours." 

He furrows his brows, mouth agape to ask why but realizes who his brother is referring to. "I thought we had taken care of this situation?" 

"We did but then she decided to cut their trip short and has been calling on you since she arrived today."

"I need you to take care of her. I cannot allow her to ruin my marriage." 

Benedict nods, "you finally figured out you truly care for her, didn't you?" 

Anthony chuckles, "I'm not discussing this with you. Call Colin if you need help." 

"We got it. Go take care of my future sister." 

-

He nods for the doors to be opened. "Good morning, ladies." 

Your cousin shakes her head, your mother fawns over him while Violet takes a sip of her tea. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him. 

He places a hand on the back of your chair. "I expect you all enjoyed your breakfast before discussing more of the wedding." 

"Oh, certainly. Your family has been nothing but kind to us, Viscount." 

You adjust the napkin on your lap to keep you from rolling your eyes at your mother's fake enthusiast tone. 

Mildred pats your arm, knowing the strained relationship between you and your mother. 

He notices the tension in your shoulders and wishes he could pull you away from all this madness. "Anything I can help with?" 

"Oh, heavens no. You have other more important things to take care of. Leave this to us ladies, isn't that, right?" 

You purse your lips and let out a quiet, "mmhmm." 

Maybe it was better when she said she couldn’t come to the wedding. Yes, you were sad, but it was better than the real thing. 

Violet glances between you and your mother. "Why don't we let the girls go on a walk with Anthony watching over them?" 

"But-" 

"I think this will be good for them. It will give them more time to talk." 

The woman hesitates to say yes, debating if this is truly a wise decision before making a decision. 

-

You didn't realize how tight you were squeezing Mildred's arm until she let out a whine. 

Your eyes widen, "oh, Millie. I'm so sorry." 

"It's fine. I should have known better. I know how crazy she makes you." "This always happens?" You don't look in his direction. Your cousin nods her head, "unfortunately." 

"Why has she made this unexpected visit?" 

"She," Mildred pauses, giving herself time to think of a better answer than truth. 

"She wants to know if I am with child and if the reason, you're marrying me is to save my family's name." 

Anthony nods, he understands why you preferred planning this with his mother and your cousin. "Should we?" 

You two glance over in his direction. "What are you implying?" 

He shrugs, "I merely suggest we pretend as if there is something going on, give your mother something to worry about." 

"You want her to pretend as if she is with child?" 

He nods, confirming Mildred's nightmare. 

"Please tell me you're not thinking of going through with this. It’s absurd and- oh, no. Now I like it." 

You glance between the two. "Is this something you two finally agree on?" 

They stumble for a minute, waiting for the other to argue and tell you no but come to realize you are, in fact, correct. 

Daphne stumbles upon the three of you and smiles, neither Mildred nor her brother are arguing, and you don't look uncomfortable. 

"Daphne!" Your cousin waves. "Come, come. We need your knowledge on a subject." 

She nods, smiling. "May I ask what you need my help with exactly?" 

"How does one pretend to be with child?" 

She owlishly blinks, tilting her head staring at the woman as if she's lost her mind. "I'm sorry?" 

"We are feeding into my aunt's absurd idea of her precious daughter being with child." 

Anthony purses his lips, finding himself to be offended more than he had been by Mildred's comments. "I'm not the worst option for a father." 

"Moving on," she waves him off before returning her attention to his sister. "We need information." 

"And you want to do this?" She turns to face you. 

Your eyes widen slightly, not realizing she was going to ask. "I think it would be... nice to show mother how well her child is without her watchful eye." 

"And you're sure this is the way to do it?" 

You shrug, "it's not so much if I think this is okay, it's more like she needs to realize I am my own person and can live a life without her dictating everything for me." 

Daphen nods, "okay. I will help." 

Mildred smiles and interlocks her arm with the Bridgerton girl's. "Come, we have much to discuss." 

You turn to your future husband and raise a brow. 

He stares at the two, wondering what advice his sister could have to offer before holding his arm out for you to hold onto as you all return to the hall for dinner. 

"Are you sure about this?" 

You hum, not having listened to a word he said. 

"I asked if you're sure about this. Mildred and I were joking, we don't expect you to play along with this idea." 

"Your kind, but this is something I need to do. She won't listen to reason if I tell her I don't need her help, she'll involve herself, no matter what." 

"And this is how you'll get her to stop?" 

You sigh, "we'll see." 

The dinner was entertaining for most, you felt bad for embarrassing Violet and the Bridgerton name all to get your mother off your back, but you felt there was no other way to stop her from inserting her wants and needs before yours. 

That was the first night you had a stern talking to from your future mother-in-law and- even though you could have thought of a better way to handle the situation, it felt nice to be taken care of the way a child should, compared to the way your mother raised you. 

You didn’t talk to your cousin or future husband after and went to bed with too much on your mind. 

-

Then came the wedding, it was as lovely as could be even if it was short notice and only family was invited. 

It came as a surprise to everyone, mainly yourself, when your mother decided it was time to stop and act like a caring parent. 

She smiled and fixed a piece of hair that was out of place. “I know this isn’t the wedding you dreamed about-” 

“I didn’t dream of a wedding often.” 

She sighs, realizing she’s been putting words in your mouth rather than stopping to listen to you. “I never dreamed of marrying someone I didn’t love. If I were to ever get married, I’d rather it be with someone I could have a future with than someone who would rather be with another.” 

"I know." 

"And you know what else- you know?" 

She nods, "I've been trying to relive my life through you, and it isn't fair. I'm here to watch you marry the man who will provide, take care of you," she cups your cheeks. "And love you the way you deserve." 

You shake your head, fighting to keep your composure, not wanting anyone to know of your breakdown. "He doesn't love me." 

She nods, "he does, you just can't see it." 

"How-" 

Your mother shushes you, "it's time." 

The reality of the situation didn't hit you until it was time to walk down the aisle but with the help of Mildred and Daphne, you were able to overcome it. 

That was also the only time you've felt the lips of your husband. 

-

Since the wedding it feels as though all the progress you two made was wasted, even Mildred was tired of your constant complaints before and after she left. 

You sit in the library, biting your nail until it hurts and turn the page; a new habit of yours, one Eloise would be proud of. 

You started hiding away to read when everyone went off to live their lives now that the beginning of yours has ended started. You’ve been reading more since your cousins’ departure; it was a tearful morning but you're happy to know she’s out living her life the way she wants. 

Then Daphne and Simon left the hall so they could return to their lives in their own home with little Augie. 

You've tried to go out with Violet and Lady Danbury, but they preferred to ask when you two would expand your family; safe to say you also hide in here for another reason. 

The youngest Bridgerton’s are swept away for their studies as they continue to grow. Francesca and Eloise are nowhere to be found half the time (hence where you got the idea). 

You don't know if you'd be able to handle talking to the other two brothers since marrying the eldest. The comments they make at breakfast are enough, going on a walk with them would be too much. 

Not that you mind the quiet even if it does get lonely at times. 

You push yourself off the ground, placing the book back in its place only now realizing how dark it had gotten and your candle has died, providing little light to guide you; its barely the size of your thumb and the wick is dying the longer you stay here. 

You open the door, carefully closing it and wince as the hinges creaking echoes down the hallway. You pause at the sound of footsteps only to hear a familiar girls whisper. "Hyacinth?" 

She smiles, "what are you doing here?" 

"I was reading." 

"In the dark?" 

You two glance down at your source of light that died as soon as she mentioned it. "The candles died." 

“Can you take me back to my room?” 

You smile and nod, “of course I can.” You grab her hand and try to find your way back to the hallway where her room is. 

-

“Finally, we found it.” You glance down at her, “I told you, we would.” 

She smiles up at you with a sleepy expression. “I knew you would.” 

You open the door and get her settled into bed before exiting. 

You wonder what it would be like to have your own child and stop. Are you really thinking about what it would be like to have a child when you haven’t seen your husband since your wedding day? 

You shake your head and continue down the hallway before turning around, realizing you made a wrong turn; you sigh, leaning against the railing, staring at the ballroom floor. 

You remember the first time you arrived at the hall and saw him. You didn’t know why your heartbeat was so fast until your cousin explained it to you. 

You wonder if he knows how you feel and if that’s the reason, he’s been avoiding you. 

“What are you doing awake at this hour?” 

You spin around and find- “Ben!” You cross your arms to cover you. 

He smiles, “what are you doing out of bed and away from your husband?” 

You take the jacket he offers you, “I’d rather be reading but my candle died- oh no.” 

“What?” 

“I left it in your sister’s room.” 

“Ah, so you’ve seen the whole family other than the one man you should be seeing.” 

“Quiet now, Benedict. Unless you want others to know you’ve seen your brother’s wife in her night dress.” 

“It wouldn’t be the biggest scandal our family has dealt with.” 

You lower your head, rubbing your forehead at his words. “You’re an idiot. I’m going to bed.” 

Anthony had a rough night and going to bed was something he desperately needed, maybe seeing your figure laying in our shared bed would make him feel better; he always seems to calm down when his eyes land on you. 

That was something he always enjoyed about you whenever you were around. 

He stops removing his coat when the door opens, and his brother is behind you while you stay in the doorway with his coat around your shoulders. 

His brother takes the item from you and takes his leave before Anthony starts asking questions (not before Benedict gives him a suggestive look). 

He doesn’t want to ask- he shouldn’t ask, it’s not his place. “Something I should know about?” He hopes this doesn’t lead to a fight. 

“What do you mean?” 

“We’re going to pretend as if my brother walking you, my wife, wouldn’t be a scandal if we were elsewhere.” 

“Why? Don’t you trust me?” You ask, tired of all the games; him avoiding you and now having an interest in you. 

“Do you know how much it affects me?” 

An annoyed sigh escapes him, revealing to you how he feels (about the situation and not yourself). “What affects you, sweetheart?” 

You ball your fists, “stop calling me that.” 

He can’t call you such an endearing name when he hasn’t been acting like your husband. “That is what a husband is supposed to call his wife, is it not? A charming word of endearment for a handsome lady, such as yourself.” 

“Stop talking…” 

“What else am I to call you? I cannot call you by your name, it would prove-” 

“How little we care for each other.” 

“What are you talking about?” 

“You. I’m talking about you.” 

“Me?” 

“You are a pest.” 

“A pest,” he whispers, finding himself offended. 

“You have never once thought of myself in the manner of being one’s wife but yet you act like this.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like you’re my husband.” 

“Am I not?” 

You study him. “You want to make a big deal out of this when you’ve been avoiding me since the wedding? Therefore, you are a pest.” 

“I- I haven’t- when was I avoiding you?” 

“You’re a terrible liar.” 

He struggles to remove his coat and you make your way towards him, helping him. 

“Your brother found after I helped Hyacinth get back to bed after she found me exiting the library. He didn’t want anyone else to see me in such a… intimidate manner.” 

You stare at him through your lashes. “Anything else you want to add? Maybe,” you place his jacket on the back of the chair before taking a seat at the vanity. You start removing the pins and ribbons keeping your hair up, your tiredness hitting you as you prepare for bed. 

He sighs, untying his collar. “I wasn’t avoiding, I’ve been… busy.” 

“Busy? You’ve been busy?” You undo the sheets, settling onto your side. “I’m going to sleep until you can come up with another excuse on why you’ve been avoiding me.” 

“I- believe me when I say I wasn’t avoiding you because I- this isn’t easy.” 

You spring up, glaring at him. “And you think this is easy for me?” 

“I’m not saying anything about our marriage. I have been,” he pauses, thinking of the right word. “Dealing with personal matters, things you shouldn’t have to worry about because of a mistake I made in the past. I am trying to protect this because I care about you.” 

You gulp, “I’m sorry.” 

“What was that?” 

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms as you stare at the ceiling. “I’m sorry for thinking you were avoiding me but to be fair,” you spring forward, pointing to him. “I- I-“ You struggle to speak as you catch the sight of his bare chest. 

He knows what he’s doing to you and his chest warms at the thought of only you being the one to see him in such an intimate way. 

You turn away, fiddling with the sheets. “Like I said, I’m sorry for assuming the worst but considering-“ You close your eyes, following the way his lips moved against yours. You push him away, the warmth of his chest lighting a fire within you. “Just because we are married, does not mean you can use your body to change the subject or get me to stop talking about something you don’t want to.” 

The corner of his smile twitches before he allows himself to smirk. 

You’ve only ever seen him use this expression with his family, never once was it directed at you. 

You’re happy tonight ended the way it has, you’re feeling closer to him, learning more of what makes Anthony Bridgerton tick. 

-

He closes his eyes, chest heaving with every breath he takes. “I’m here.” He pulls away from you. 

Your hand falls at your side. 

His figure fades away, leaving you confused. 

You burst up, confused as to what your dream means and glance beside you, finding him still asleep. You push yourself out of bed, needing the get away for a moment, sitting in the bench underneath the window. 

You stare at the stars, wondering if there was some way, they’d be able to respond to your questions. It’s only been several days since your marriage became official; you still feel as though you’re not and none of is real. 

You think back to your first kiss you two shared at the altar and the one you shared before going to bed. Your fingertips brush against your lips, relishing the sensation you felt then as it fills you with something you never thought you’d be able to enjoy. 

‘Is this what love is?’ You think, staring at the bright moon, knowing it won’t answer you. 

You glance back at him and wonder if he’ll ever love you the way-. You wipe away the stray tear, knowing how much it’d break you if he decided to cheat or leave you entirely. 

Your greatest fear was thinking you’d end up alone. 

Now you fear he’d be the one to leave you without looking back. 

He squints, the moonlight disturbing his slumber. “What are you doing up?” 

Your head snaps in his direction. “Hmm?” 

He repeats his question, sitting up in bed, his night shirt wrinkled and slipping off his chest. 

“I couldn’t sleep,” you tell him, not believing your own words. You crawl back into bed when you notice he won’t fully fall asleep until you’re near. 

As soon as you settle onto your side, his breathing evens out. 

You lay your head on the pillow, fighting the thoughts you know will keep you awake, feeling you’ll need more sleep than anything. 

-

"We need to try for a child." 

He glances up from his work. "I didn't realize your mother was in town." 

You narrow your eyes to him, something he is truly fond of even if you are upset with him. "I'm going to pretend as if you didn't say that." 

You close the door and pace around the floor in front of his desk. 

“If you find yourself calm enough to talk, could you repeat what you said when you busted into my office.” 

He knows what you said, there's no denying what he's heard but what's got you riled up to bring up such a topic. 

The wedding was only three weeks prior, he knows of the idle gossip some of the other women enjoy talking amongst each and he's curious as to who said something. 

He's also been trying to keep himself busier than usual to keep him from staying up too late and thinking of performing such acts upon you. He sets his pen down, giving you his full attention. “Why are you asking now?” 

“I’m not asking,” you argue. 

Is it such a wise idea to try and push for this? Most likely not but you're too upset over the gossip to think logically. 

He studies you for a moment, wanting to understand what happened to make you think such a thing. 

“What happened? I mean, you and Daphne went out for a walk, right?” 

You pause, trying to understand where he’s getting at before nodding. 

“Who said something to you?” He raises his brow. 

“No one… exactly,” you huff, crossing your arms. 

“I know they’re expecting me to be with child by now or at least, in the works of trying for a baby and I don’t want there to be another Whistledown column with either of our names in it. It’s not just my reputation that could be ruined, it could be yours or your family’s this time.” 

He can’t help but smile at your kind thoughts. “I appreciate the concern and I’m sure my family would as well, but everything is going to be fine. We don’t need to worry about this.” 

You continue having your pity party. “I’m glad you seem to think so.” You furrow your brows, thinking about how he’s avoiding the topic. “Why are you putting this off?” 

“Putting what off?” 

“You know what I’m talking about, don’t act as coy as your brothers do when asked about their courtships.” 

He doesn’t have a way out, does he? A knock on the door alerts him. “I have other business to attend to, I’ll see you at dinner?” 

You scoff, “you pretend as if you want me and need me when we are in our shared room but now that we are out in the open you want nothing to do with me? Tell me, are you just using me for your own gain?” 

He sighs, “please, can we,” he glances at the door to find his brother. “Talk about this another time?” 

You nod, offering a fake smile, “of course, husband.” 

His attention turns to you once more, “I thought we weren’t going to have the normal marriage?” 

“It seems we were both wrong.” You shrug. “Goodnight, husband.” You yank the door open, rushing past Benedict and the guest without looking back. 

Kate smiles watching as you put yourself further away from the one person she wants. “It seems you and your bride are having minor troubles, may I?” 

Anthony grits his teeth. “What’s brought you here, to my family’s hall, today?” 

Her mischievous smile turns into an evil smirk, “I’ve come to visit an old friend, after all, didn’t you say I was always welcome?” 

“That was before you tried to take my family’s fortune and run off.” 

She plays with the cuff of his coat sleeve. “If it makes you feel better, I have a husband.” 

“Then you should be with him.” He removes her hand from him. 

If this had happened a year ago, he would be crawling back into her embrace but now that he has you, the only person that can keep him sane; he’s not going to make that mistake. 

He sits down at his desk, rereading the page he was working on when you came in. He knows he’d be stupid if he fell for her tricks once more and ruined your marriage (and family name). 

She pouts, not liking the fact that he doesn’t want her anymore. 

“Perhaps you should go back to your home. We must clean up for dinner,” Benedict chimes in. 

She spins to face the second eldest, “dinner? I’d love to.”

Anthony pushes himself out of the chair. “That’s not an invitation.” 

“Why? Are you scared I’m going to ruin your precious marriage? You truly think I’d be harsh to do such a thing?” 

“We don’t need to think it if we know.” 

She smirks in trump, feeling as though she’s won. 

-

You glance at the two with a sinking feeling in your stomach. 

Is this the way your marriage is going to end? It took a while before you could remember where you knew her from and as soon as it clicked, you were fidgeting in your seat. Why did he allow her to sit so close to him? 

She knows he's a married man and doesn't care. Maybe she thinks the marriage is fake and- you aren't worthy enough to be his wife. 

You push the food around on your plate, your appetite forgotten. You remember the rumors about their relationship but could never be proven since she went back to India with her mother but now that she's back, you don't know what to think. 

He notices and wishes that she didn't invite herself to join his family tonight. 

You ask him about expanding the family line and him avoiding the topic entirely because he doesn't want you to feel as though this is a duty the two of you have to do. 

He remembers when you two were first engaged and how you wanted to marry someone who truly loved you rather than someone marrying you out of a convenience. 

His heartbeat when you told you should try for a child, he nearly passed out on the spot at the thought of you baring one of his children. 

He knows you'd make fantastic mother; he doesn't doubt that in the least but since the wedding day he's realized something he should have a long time ago- something Kate is seeing for herself; he truly loves you. 

Nowhere is it near what she thought they had but she's happy that he has someone who cares for him in more ways than she could. 

-

She bids her farewells before pulling you to the side. "I apologize for intruding on your family dinner, but I think you should know you have nothing to worry about." 

You furrow your brows. "I'm sorry, what-" 

She shakes her head. "He loves you in more ways than he ever could care about me. I saw it tonight." She smiles, "all I ask is that you take care of him better than I could. I know you're good for him." 

You stare at the door as it closes, unsure if anything that’s just happened is real or if this is a fever dream. 

“Are you alright?” 

You turn to face your husband and gulp. “Perfectly fine, why do you ask?” 

“Did- She didn’t say anything, did she?” 

The blank expression from your face falls and is replaced by one of annoyance. “What if she told me something she shouldn’t have? Is there something you wanted her to hide from me?” 

He shakes his head, “is it too late to say no?” 

You scoff, “you’re an idiot.” You close the door, not caring if it slams shut or not. 

He stops it before it closes in his face, “I’m sorry I- it’s not true.” 

“Then what is? Why do you care whether she’s told me about yours and her relationship or not? I know about you two. I’ve read the columns and-” 

“That’s what I was worried about. I don’t want you to think something that isn’t true happened.” He stands behind the chair in front of your vanity. “I don’t want you think I’m a rake when I’m not, us marrying has changed things-” 

“Us getting married is the only reason you’ve changed?” 

“No,” he stumbles over his words, something he does more when he’s around you than anyone else he’s ever spoken to. “I-” 

You push yourself out of the chair and walk towards the bed. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore. I keep pushing and I’m sorry but right now, I just want to go to sleep.” 

“After you listen to what I have to say.” 

“I have not felt the way I do for anyone else. I- no words can come close to what I feel for you.” 

His grip tightens on the back of the chair. “I cannot- cannot breathe when you are near.” He catches your gaze, “you drive me insane when you try and argue with me. I don’t understand how you have vexed me and stolen my every thought. When you are here all I can think of is you, when you go out with my sister, you are the one thing on my mind. I- you, you are the bane of my existence, but I can’t seem to keep myself from you.” 

You turn around, catching his gaze in the mirror. “Why are you telling me this?” 

He spins around, “so you understand why I have changed. It’s not because I don’t care for you. I care too much about you. I have for a long time which is why I was scared when that bee was near you.” He squeezes his eyes shut. “I was terrified I was going to lose you and I didn’t understand why until our marriage.” 

“But- that was days ago.” 

“Exactly,” he takes a step closer. “I’ve been losing my mind trying not to push you into something you’re not ready for. And then, earlier when you came to me, telling me we should try for a child. I didn’t know what to think.” 

“What about Kate?”

He owlishly blinks, trying to understand where you’re coming from. “What about her?” 

“You’ve been with women before me and I’ve accepted that, but Kate was here, having dinner with your family. She’s- she’s been around town from what I’ve heard being whispered behind my back. She was here and you didn’t tell me. You- you say that you love me, but I don’t know what to believe when the woman you were in love with, who later broke your heart, returned into your life and you didn’t so much as think to tell me. Benedict was more involved than I was!” 

You don’t know why you’re getting so upset over this, it shouldn’t bother you this much since you don’t- 

“I didn’t want her to spout lies about me to you and make you think I am not going to be a good husband.” He grabs your hands, “believe me when I say she is not relevant. You are my future.” 

Your chest heaves with every breath you take. “How-” Your nose twitches as you purse your lips, collecting your thoughts before you completely explode. 

“How what?” He switches between looking into one eye and then the other. 

“How could I be blind?” 

“To what?” 

“I have loved you since I could understand what the word meant and now you- you-” You gesture to your back, “help me with my corset. I cannot breathe.” 

He nearly rips your dress off you as he pulls the strings keeping the oxygen from getting into your lungs. 

You hang your head, trying to keep your emotions at bay. 

“Sweetheart…” 

You turn around, pointing at him with wet cheeks. “You have ruined me. You have ruined me for any other man since before my first debutant and have had my heart for just as long and I didn’t know it yet.” 

He holds his hand out for you, allowing you to take a step closer to him. 

You accept and stand with a few inches between you two. “You have bewitched me from the beginning, if you can accept my foolishness and accept me now, I would happily give myself to you only if you can return the feelings.” 

“I wouldn’t be able to survive if I declined your love.” 

For the first time since the wedding, the two of you share a genuine kiss and not one where he tries to use his body to distract you. It’s one that makes it feel like the world’s stopped spinning and you two are the only ones in the world. 

-

A knock on the door alerts the two of you. 

You wince, covering your eyes with your hand before reaching over for him. “Anthony, wake up.” 

“I’m coming in and I hope you two are decent.” She groans, “God, you two are naked. Gross.” Mildred complains loudly to whoever stands outside the door with her. “I thought they’d at least have the decency to be awake by now.” 

You can hear Benedict’s voice, but it comes out all muffled because you’re not fully awake. 

He opens his eyes and turns his head to find your beautiful face lying beside him, hair in disarray on the pillow. His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Good morning, Viscountess Bridgerton.” 

You find it hard to resist the urge to smile and open your eyes, staring at him with nothing but love and happiness. You hum, brushing back his hair so it doesn’t look as messy, wanting to see more of his handsome face. 

“Good morning, Viscount Bridgerton.” You remove your hand from his hair, pulling his hand away from your cheek to peck his palm. “What do you have planned for today?” 

“Spending time with my wife, although I do have to say, I don’t think she’d appreciate me lying in bed with someone as breathtaking as yourself.” 

You can’t help but smile. “I think if you paid her the same comments you do to me, she’d understand.” 

He sucks in air through his teeth, “I don’t know. I think you’d have to meet her to find out the kind of woman she is.” 

“I think I know.” You lean against your elbow, meeting him halfway for a morning kiss. 

“Would you two hurry up? We have plans. I did not come here on a boat to see you two to stay in bed when I have plans with my cousin. Do you hear me, Bridgerton?” 

He sighs, flopping back onto his back. “How could I not?” 

You smack his chest before pushing yourself out of bed. “I’ll be ready soon. Go downstairs and wait for me, Millie.” 

“If you’re not down here before sunset. I’m leaving.” 

You chuckle to yourself. “Okay.” 

He pulls you closer to him, hands resting against your waist, slowly wrapping around you. He kisses the exposed parts of your back before pulling you down, kissing along your shoulders. 

-

“This cannot be safe.” 

“Just because it’s a new corset, doesn’t mean it’s not safe.” 

“For the baby.” He ties the strings through the loops. “When can we tell them?” 

“When they won’t freak out.” 

“Never, okay.” 

You chuckle and spin around, placing your hands on his shoulders. “They will know soon. It’ll be fine.” 

He stares into your eyes. “You’re lucky I love you.” 

“I think that’s my line.” 

“Not today.” 

You peck his lips before ordering him to tie the corset. “I’ll see you after our walk.” 

“Don’t overexert yourself.” 

“I won’t. Goodbye, ‘Thony.” 

His eyes never left yours as you’re dragged away by your cousin. 

Benedict steps inside. “Someone’s happy.” 

He shakes his head, ignoring his brother; so happy go feed into the comments.

[justatypicalwizard]

A scrap from your book

Bakugo x reader, aged up, college! au, quirks don't matter, no warnings, just heartwarming

Roommate Bakugo who is forced to share a room with you for about three months due to unexpected construction works in the college apartment he occupied. The whole Bakusquad was moved to random rooms. To make it worse they were all shared ones. You agreed to take in a male occupant.

Roommate Bakugo who tries to spend as much time outside of the cramped college room as possible. He feels like he's kinda invading your privacy as well as just finding the whole situation uneasy.

Roommate Bakugo who has to complete a bunch of assignments but the library is packed in the late afternoon hours, the air thick with gossip, stress, sweat and annoyance. Bakugo finally wandered off to the dorm room to find some peace for his work.

Roommate Bakugo who spotts you always turn off your lamp and tune down the brightness on your laptop when he tells you he's going to sleep.

"You don't have to do that." He grunts, already wrapped up in heavy covers.

"I don't mind, you do the same." Because he does.

Roommate Bakugo who walks on you watching a film he loves. At first he just circles the small room mindlessly, more interested in the unwrapping dialogue between his two favourite characters than the laundry he's picking up.

"You wanna watch?" You ask, pausing the movie.

"No. I was going to do my laundry."

"I can wait, I can buy some snacks in the meantime, I was looking for an excuse to do it anyway."

So the two of you ended up finishing the film together, sitting on your bed.

Roommate Bakugo who talks to you more, geting used to the situation faster than he thought he would. You both sit by your desks working on the boring college stuff. He spotted you were trying hard, not slacking around and keeping most of your deadlines. Even if he didn't want to admitt it, he was impressed. Not that he didn't do the same, it's just rare to find a person who actually cares.

Roommate Bakugo who didn't know how to phrase a sentence. He was working on a piece of paper for the last two hours after an intense day of workout and his brain refused to cooperate anymore.

"Can I ask you for a favour?" Your face appeared from behind your laptop screen.

"Depends on what is it."

"I finished a short essay and I wanted to ask if you could read it and tell me if it makes sense."

Might as well take a break to refresh his mind. Bakugo read through the text and came to the conclusion that you were a good writer. A very good writer in fact.

"How would you say that in other words?" He asked after you were happy with your work, your laptop tossed aside as you lay on your bed scrolling through your phone.

You skipped to him, read through the sentence and gave him a paraphrase, one that he wouldn't think of himself.

"Thanks."

Roommate Bakugo who was eying you book collection for some time. You had a bunch. When he asked the two of you started talking and in went on and on and on. Finally, you stood up on your bed, the sheets dipping in where you stretched out to reach the highest shelve. Picking out a book you handed it to him.

"My favourite."

So he started to read it.

Roommate Bakugo who got a text from you that you wouldn't be back in the dorms for the night. After a shower he laid down in his bed, shirtless, with your book in hand. It was definitely worth it and he was way past the half already. Suddednly the doors opened only to reveal you, eying him up and down.

"The fuck you doing here?" Suddenly Bakugo felt a tad bit embarassed about his bare chest and lose sweatpants.

"My friend cancelled, sorry, you have someone over?" A small sly grin appeared on yoru lips.

"Jeez no, I'm just half naked."

"I don't mind." You shrugged, throwing your bag on the bed.

And what was that supposed to mean?

Nevermind. Bakugo wanted to get back to the story when he spotted something horrific. His hand gripped a nice chunk of the page, torn out of the book. He must have done it when you startled him with the grand entrance. It was readable as he only torn the cream white but it still looked nasty.

"Shit, I'm sorry." He didn't even look at you, opting on eying the damage, embarassement creaping up his cheeks for destroying someone's else belonging. One of yoru favourite belongings.

You came over, looked at the book and started to laugh.

"What's so fucking funny?" From embarassed Bakugo quickly merged into defensive.

"You look as if you killed my grandma. It's just a book." You saw that it didn't make him feel better, in fact the frown in his brows deepened. "I like my books being used. Lets treat it as a memory of you reading it. Give me the torn piece, please." Your hand reached out and he put the scrap into your open palm.

You skribbled something down on it using a pen fished out of your drawer. When you gave it back to him, the paper read 'Don't stress so much, dummy.'

"You can keep it." A smile brightened your face as you turned around to do other things.

Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that he kept that scrap in the back of his phonecase at all times.

Roommate Bakugo who would never admitt to anyone that it took you roughly two months to steal his rock-like heart away.

[seraphinitegames]

The Wayhaven Chronicles - Update 05/April/2024

A really successful week this week!

After some suggestions about multiple choices on the same screen from a few amazing patrons, I looked into how to do that and if it would work for the character creation.

And it really has! I could cry it feels like there’s finally a solution, lol! :D

It does mean I had to completely start over, but with how it looks now, I think I have found how I want it to be for all the future books. It means I should just be able to copy everything I’m doing to the next book’s character creation screen and then just add the last book’s stats. That’s going to save SO much time in the future!

Starting over also meant I could put in the new body part selection choice for those who want to specify, though there is also the option to pass it. It was a selection suggested by one of my sensitivity readers to help hopefully make intimate scenes much easier to write, as well as much clearer to read for everyone!

That selection will pop up in the actual narrative for those that import characters, so you’ll still have that choice if you want to specify it for your character, but it means for people creating characters they can go into the story already that choice in place for the intimate scenes (if you want the detailed scenes).

Here’s a glimpse at what the character creator screens are looking like now:

So much cleaner and neater, as well as a WHOLE lot quicker! I’m just not sure how it will pop up on phones yet—hoping not too much scrolling!

The character creation is the last thing I need to finish before the demo section can finally go to the editor and first readers. It’s been worth the time to get it finally sorted though, especially as it means it’s also already set for future books, and I don’t have to spend this much time on it again, or melt my brain with figuring out coding, lol! :D

I’m not keen on the ‘Select a’ bit, but that’s how it shows up automatically, so I’m doing my best to work around that.

So yeah, it was so nice to finally get somewhere on this character creator after so many different tries. I really hope it’ll be so, so much quicker and easier for not just you guys to go through but also me and my readers for testing, hehe!

Hope you all have the most amazing weekend! I’m going to be working this weekend to get this completely finished so the demo section can go to the editor next week, but will be offline as usual, so I'll update you all again next week! <3

[entitled-fangirl]

He may always be a demon from hell, but she still loves him.

Crowley x human!reader

Summary: The reader and Crowley discuss what she's reading. She says it reminds her of him, to which he panics.

Words: 1,784

Warnings: demon, heavy makeout session, angst, alcohol

Author's note: I don't own the character or the book mentioned in this! Eeeeek enjoy!

Masterlist <3

.............................................................

Crowley looked up from the glass of bourbon in his hands as he sat in one of Aziraphale’s many chairs. There she sat across from him. The pretty little human.

Her legs were pulled up onto the couch, her body curled into itself as she held her book out in front of her to read.

She was quite pretty. He had always thought so. Of all his years on this earth, this one was by far the best he had seen. And her soul simply solidified it. Her mind, body, and soul were precious. 

She was entirely focused on her book, not noticing Crowley’s gaze. He took that to his advantage, his eyes scanning her entire frame before finally resting on her face. He opened his mouth to speak. He didn’t know what he was going to say, but he knew he would do anything to talk to her as much as he could in her lifetime.

“What are you reading, Flower?”

That was his name for her. Aziraphale was his angel, sure. And she seemed like an angel herself, the metaphorical kind, anyway. She was not like a real angel, which is annoying and dull. No, she wasn’t like that at all. He hadn’t read many books but knew how humans romanticized the term 'angel.' The innocence it carried in its title. 

No, no, no. She was his flower. He spend many days searching for the right name, but once he came up with that one, it stuck like glue. He loved plants. He loved plants so much. And he loved her. She was his flower.

Now, her head perked up to let her eyes meet his. She held his gaze, admiring the snake-like pupils the demon had. She seemed to snap out of it quickly, regaining her composure. “Oh, uh…,” her voice soft, “it’s the Phantom of the Opera. Have… Have you read it, Angel?”

His eyes closed. He loved it when she called him that. He was no angel by any means, but she used the term every chance she could the day she learned that he had once been so. She had two angels as far as she was concerned. And while one had a significantly more gothic wardrobe, she still considered him just the same.

He nods, “I was around when it was written and published. Hated it then.”

Her lips slowly pull into an amused smile. “And now?”

He shrugs, looking back into her eyes, “…Do YOU like it, Flower?”

A soft breath comes from her lungs, “…Not sure, but I believe so. Won’t say until I finish it. You know how it ends, Angel?”

He shakes his head, “Can’t say I do. Didn’t care enough to finish it.”

She finds that quite amusing. She pulls her legs closer to her to get comfortable, trying to keep herself warm. “Well, I’ll let you know when I’m done, yeah? If it’s good enough, will you try to read it again?”

“Tell me why you like it so much, Flower.”

She considers his words carefully, “I… perhaps see similarities in it… sometimes. You know?”

His eyes move back down to the liquor glass in his hand. He remained quiet, a silent sigh for her elaborate on her findings. 

“That was… stupid. I shouldn’t have said it. I’m… I’m sorry…”

He was much more intrigued than before. Sorry? For what? He wished sometimes he could just see what was going on in that funny little brain of hers. “No. Tell me.”

She knew that wasn’t a reassurance that he wasn’t annoyed. It was more of a demand. 

“I don’t know, Crowley…”

He grins, pulling the glass to his lips to take another sip.

“Tell me what you DO know, Flower.”

Her eyes wander around the room in thought. “I suppose I feel remorse for the Phantom…”

He hums.

“…and… everyone makes him out to be a horrid creature. A vile beast worth ending. And he believes it too about himself. That he’s awful and cruel. But they don’t know anything about him. Nothing. They even assume it’s a ghost sometimes…”

By now, he’s hooked on her words. Not that he cared for the plot much, but just her. She was beautiful like this, the sunlight from the windows behind her casting a light against her back, giving her body a glowing effect. 

“…anyways, this girl falls in love with him. And she finds out he’s just a man. He’s a man like anyone else. He’s not the vile thing everyone makes him out to be.”

He’s taking in every word.

Her voice drops to a low volume, “They call him a demon from hell.”

Crowley felt his jaw clench at her words. 

“…But, he’s not. Not at all. He’s just a man. A man who deserves much more than life handed him. He was no demon. He could’ve been an angel. He’s kind and fair. Honest and witty. He protects her with his life. And he’s loyal. He is quite admirable, honestly.”

She held this look. It was a loving look as she stared at Crowley. This time, he could read her like an open book. She was referencing him. That everyone believed Crowley was vile and cruel. But he was just like a man. 

“…You’re awfully quiet, Angel.”

That sold it for him. Angel. Her angel. His eyes closed, taking in a deep breath. 

He stood up quickly, setting his glass on the side table before approaching the sofa she occupied. She noticed, scooting over slightly to make room for him, but he didn’t sit. He kneeled in front of the couch, in front of her. 

If his eyes could produce tears, they’d be running. “Flower? You truly think that of me? That I’m just a man?”

She nods, her breath quickening at his proximity. 

He wanted to believe her. He truly did, but he couldn’t. He leaned in, making their faces inches apart. 

“You think all this and you haven’t finished the book?”

She nods again, her gaze staring to settle on his lips.

His hand reached forward, grabbing her face gently. His voice became a low growl, “And what if this angel truly is a demon from hell? Would the girl stop loving him, Flower?”

She isn’t sure what to say. She’s not sure who they’re even talking about at this point. Her gut told her to say one thing, but her head said another. And his grip on her face was not helping her focus.

“I.. I don’t think… love takes what they are into con… consideration when it chooses them…”

Satan, she was perfect. She always knew exactly what to say, the sneaky thing. It stilled his vessel’s heart, his eyes still drilling into hers. 

“And… will she truly listen to her heart?”

She nods. “She would be a fool not to, Angel.”

He couldn’t take it anymore. Here she was, sitting so pretty for him, her words causing a fire to erupt in his stomach. He leaned forward, pulling her face towards his. 

Their lips meet in a gentle kiss. It doesn’t last long because Crowley pulls away.

“Maybe you should finish the book before you make your conclusions, Flower. Perhaps he’ll always be that demon from hell.”

He stands, sliding his hands into his pockets with a sigh before exiting the bookshop.

…

Days pass and Crowley acts as if their interaction never happened. It broke her heart. Aziraphale couldn’t take the two ignoring each other and decided to fix it. 

He told Crowley to be at the bookshop at a certain time. But Aziraphale wouldn’t be there. No, this was to get the demon alone with her to talk again, as they had before. And that plan worked perfectly.

This time, however, she was placing books on the bookshelf when he entered. He walked in confidently, but the confidence soon fell as he saw her pretty face. 

“Oh. I… where’s Angel?”

She shrugs, “Haven’t seen him all day.”

Curse that blasted angel from his stupid plans that always work. 

Crowley sighs, “I’m sorry I ran out on you.”

Her eyes finally move to find his. “I finished the book.”

His shoulders dropped somewhat at her sudden change of subject, but he went along with it nonetheless. “…Well, Flower?”

Her fingers lightly played with the spine of the book she had in her hand. “He may always be the demon from hell, but she still loves him.”

He was so stupid to leave her. To abandon his sweet Christine like this. His little flower that was always in bloom. 

“Oh, Flower…”

He moved forward, immediately wrapping his arms around her. He pulled her in for a kiss.

This kiss was very much different from their first. Where the first was soft and hesitant, this one was heated and passionate, as if this was their only method of communication. And to Crowley, it was. He needed her to see just how much her words meant to him. How much he craved to feel her lips on his again. How he imagined her the nights before. 

Her hands move to him, the book in her hand long forgotten. One rested on his forearm, the other cradling his face. She kissed him back with as much reverence as he did. She needed him to know she didn’t care. She didn’t care about what he was. What he did. She needed him to know that she loved him.

She loved him.

His tongue darted out to swipe across her bottom lip. She left out a soft moan, paring her lips. His tongue gently began to explore her mouth, their bodies holding each other in fear that they could be ripped from each other at any moment. 

She gently pushed him away, needing to catch her breath. “Sorry… sorry, Angel.. just… just gotta breathe…”

He smiled, leaning down to kiss her jaw lightly, trailing the kisses up towards her ear before whispering softly, “‘If I am to be saved, it is because your love redeems me.’”

She let out a soft gasp, and her hand moved to the back of his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. “You… you know it?”

She could practically feel his smile against her neck, his voice vibrating the bones there, “Read it again after we talked…. All the way through this time…”

She was speechless at his words. He had went back and not only read the story for her, but then was able to quote it. She had never felt love radiate in a room until this very moment in time.

She pulled him back in for another sweet kiss.

He was no demon. To her, he was an angel. Her angel.

.............................................................................

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + eight

authors note: so....i like cliched shit, so there's some of that here. hope it's not too much. this one is also very heavy at points, so please read the warnings, but it def has its moments that help progress the plot. also, the book referenced is a real work that we often use in therapy with survivors of sexual trauma. an excellent, powerfully healing read. i own neither the book nor the excerpt used.

if any cw/tw’s are missed, please let me know, and i will add them!

cw/tw: references to csa, aftermath of csa, character being triggered, scene of violence/torture, fluff, angst, language, and suggestive themes

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 12k (i clearly don't know how to stop. it is what it is)

It's out of our hands We can't stop what we have begun

---Leann Rimes

“Clarke.”

There’s a heavy sigh followed by continued writing, icy blue eyes focused on the report before her instead of the irksome man before her, no doubt giving her those ‘fuck me’ eyes that would be an HR nightmare if HR actually did any fucking thing at this precinct.

She finishes her quote before asking with all the intentional disinterest, “what do you want, Reed?”

His question, as well as his intrusion by her desk, is expected. “why aren’t you joining the rest of us for the luncheon today?”

It’s none of his business, and Danica has no issues telling him that in intentionally vague terms. “Got somewhere to be.” 

Finally looking up, she sees Reed’s gaze go cold. “Where?”

Danica drops her pin and answers in the sweetest yet nastiest voice she can muster before 10am. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business, but the Miller girl is being released from the hospital today.”

Reed is just as confused as he is stupid. “Who?”

His obtuseness shouldn’t surprise nor irritate her, but it does. She remembers every single case she’s ever worked, and she’s certain this one will always remain at the top of the list. No matter how far she gets into her career. “Solana Miller. Xavier Miller’s daughter. The home invasion—”

“I know.” Reed’s almost relaxed, nosy disposition has entirely shifted. “Captain said the case was closed. Kid doesn’t want to press charges.”

“That kid is fucking traumatized. Don’t put that on her. Xavier is the one refusing to let us proceed.”

Reed leans forward, harshly whispering, “keep your fucking voice down, alright? Miller is…..he’s not someone you want to piss off. If he says we don’t run it, then we don’t run it, got it?”

“And who the hell is he to decide how the law works?” Clarke is also leaned over her desk, almost a month worth of pent up frustration with the lack of justice bubbling to the surface. “You read that medical report. You were on the scene. You don’t beat a grown man the way they beat that little girl. She could barely fucking walked. Dragged herself to a neighbors to ask for help. It’s a miracle she’s still alive.”

“But she is, okay?” He’s also matching her energy, just as passionate about blatant injustice as she is for said justice. “The best thing to do for that kid is to let her go home, heal, and move on with her life.”

And that’s the part that almost breaks her, that almost makes her shift from her role as an advocate to the survivor within that so deeply identifies with Solana.“You really think it’s that simple? Like she can just go back into the house where she was raped and almost killed and pretend like nothing happened?”

“No, I don’t know, Clarke, and quite frankly, I don’t care. I’m moving on and picking my battles wisely.” His voice switches to something ominous. “And if you knew what was good for you, you’d move on too.”

Aware of the underlying implications of his warning, she calls his bluff, “you threatening me?”

“Believe it or not, I actually do like you, Danica, but you’re playing a dangerous game.” Reed’s voice lowers again, and Danica almost feels like he’s trying to be genuine. “I know you’re still new around here, so let me give some free advice. Xavier Miller is a dangerous man. He’s got friends in places you don’t want to find out about. Leave this alone before you’re the next mutilated body we find floating in the river, alright?”

________

Danica Clarke has always been stubborn, a trait she’s certain will lead to her demise, but if this is the route that brings her to said demise, she’s okay with it. 

Danica waits in the doorway, aware of how knocking can be alarming. She waits and assesses for the moment Solana’s gaze is close enough to where she won’t be as startled. “Hey there, pretty girl���.”

Sure enough, Solana jumps a bit, and Danica is pleased to see the swelling on her face has gone down tremendously and the bruising has started to fade to an almost flesh toned color. She looks less at death’s door than the first time Danica was introduced to the 12-year-old.

“Can I come in?”

As expected, Solana doesn’t say anything, just nods quietly. 

Danica moves to sit in the chair on the side of the bed. “Heard you were getting released today….” Danica studies Solana carefully, adding kindly, “may be kinda nice to have a change of scenery.”

Solana remains quiet, but Danica has been around enough survivors, remembers her own survivor story, to know that nothing feels nice or good in the immediate aftermath. There’s just numbness and pain. No in-between.

“I’m so sorry there’s nothing more I can do to help you, Solana. I really am.” And she means that with every fiber of her being. “You didn’t deserve this. You deserve justice, and I wish there was more I could do, but….my hands are tied.” Danica’s only been at this precinct for less than six months, and while asking to be transferred won’t be a good look when evaluations roll around, she doesn’t give a fuck. She can’t serve with bastards who would let sick fucks like Solana’s attackers walk around freely. 

It’s too repulsive.

“But, I do…..I want to give you something.” Danica reaches into her backpack and pulls out something she hasn’t had to look at in years. A book, thick, with yellow, paperback binding. The edges are a bit worn, and certain parts are highlighted, but it’s still just as powerful nonetheless. “When I was….a little younger than you, I was raped too.” Danica sees Solana’s gaze lift up, surprise and shock written on her face. “And it wasn’t until I was a freshman in college that I started to heal and finally process what’d happened to me.” Danica’s lips press together. “The counselor I saw in college, she gave me this book, and it changed my life.”

Solana looks down, reading the title, typed in big, black letters: The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse.

“I wanna read something out of it for you, if that’s alright?” Consent, especially now, is everything, so Danica waits patiently for Solana again to nod, permitting her permission to read. 

With a deep breath to also prepare herself for revisiting the past, she begins reading a passage that Solana can see she has highlighted. 

“I know you're in a world of pain, but that pain will lessen. At the beginning you can't see that. You can only see your pain and you think it will never go away. But the nature of pain is that it changes— it changes like a sunset. At first, it's this intense red-orange in the sky, and then it starts getting softer and soften. The texture of pain changes as you work through it. And then one day, you wake up and realize that life isn't just about working through your abuse; it's about living, too.”

Danica looks up to see Solana sniffling, wiping at her eyes. She’s tempted to reach and take her hand, but she also knows better, knows that the last thing this child wants is to be touched.

“I want you to have this, Solana. I want you to take it, and when you’re older, when you’re ready to reclaim your voice, and you will, I want you to read every word in here. From cover to back cover. You’re gonna be okay, sweetie. You don’t feel it now, but you have to believe it.” Her eyes gloss over. “Don’t ever stop living, Solana.”

“Solana.”

Flashbacks and memories from that time of her life don’t happen often, and it’s an intentional thing on Solana’s part.

She doesn’t like thinking about that part, but this certain memory has now revisited her a total of three times now. Twice in a dream and now in the middle of a conversation with Bayley and Naomi.

That…..that can’t be a coincidence.

“I’m sorry.” Apologizing seems like the most appropriate thing until Naomi shakes her head.

“Roman said we’re not supposed to accept or condone you apologizing for anything, so imma pretend like I didn’t hear that, sis.” 

Roman….

He confuses her. 

He’s certainly unlike any man she’s ever met. And though that number is far from generous, he’s still the anomaly. 

After essentially rejecting what was an….interesting, unfamiliar, different experience between the two of them, she expected him to be upset. To be frustrated. To be absolutely all over her baggage. To ignore her.

But, that’s not what happened, none of that has happened. Instead, he’s carried on like nothing happened, like she didn’t run away from him in near tears. 

Like they didn’t….like they didn’t almost have a moment.

He’s stayed true to his word in that he’s met her every day after work in the week that’s passed. And while the first day was awkward, mostly on her part, they’ve fallen back in that same confusing yet peaceful space. 

Confusing yet peaceful…that seems to be the theme since the day she said “I do.”

It’s not uncomfortable nor unpreferred over where she came from.

It’s just…..different. 

“Oh—okay.” Solana doesn’t know what else to say but notices that Naomi looks like she has something else to say but is hesitant. “Is—is everything okay?”

That seems to be the door that paves the way for said conversation.  “I’ve been thinking. You’ve come a long way. Like, you’ve really got the basics down, all the defensive positions, even fluidity of movement.” It’s leading up to something, Solana is certain of this, but it also means a lot to her that Naomi believes she’s progressed. Doing well with this or even retaining Naomi’s training is something she never saw for herself. “I want to advance you to learning attacks. Solana’s stomach starts to tighten. “With weapons.”

And there it is.

Solana winces. “Weapons?”

Bayley sighs, joining in to help Naomi present her case. “We wanna teach you how to use knives.” Solana’s stomach tightening quickly morphs into twists and knots. “Hear me out, please. I know….I know that’s gotta be a sensitive thing for you, and I totally understand why, but knife fighting is a really great skill to have, even if just to have one on you at all times and know how to use it if need be.”

“And let’s be honest, Roman isn’t going to let anything happen to you to where you would need it, but still.” Something tells Solana Naomi isn’t wrong about that. That neither woman is wrong in what they’re saying, but just the conversation brings back flashes of that night, the night that left the physical and mental scars she still bears now.

Bayley offers a sympathetic smile. “Just think about it, okay?” Solana can do that. She will do that, just….maybe not right now.

And she doesn’t have to because Roman and the twins suddenly enter the gym space. Solana’s stomach tightens seeing Roman shirtless, a sight that’s happened a couple times now, and each time doesn’t seem to make it any easier on her nerves. If anything, it gets worse.

“Whassup, ladies.” Jey greets, clapping his hands as he asks, “ya’ll ready for tonight?”

“Tonight?” Solana speaks up, not directing her question to anyone in particular, but Bayley is the one to answer. “What—what’s tonight?”

“Night of Champions.” She then goes on to explain. “It’s one of our annual wrestling events. Naomi and I are competing.”

Curious, Solana turns to Roman. “Are you fighting?” 

Jimmy, however, is the one to answer. “Soso, Big Dog don’t do these events no more. Not very often anyway, but he’ll be there.”

“Can I come?” Solana directs her question to Roman, knowing that it will be his call. He eyes her unexpectedly. 

“You want to?”

She nods, referring to the group. “I—I wanna see them fight.”

It also feels like the right thing to do, to support the two women who’ve been nothing but supportive of her since day one. Even Jimmy and Jey with their often inappropriate comments about her body and continuous praise over her cooking abilities. It’s still always been very respectful in a strange sort of way.

Roman steps towards her, and Solana finds that it takes a concentrated effort to keep her eyes on his and to not gaze downward. Him being shirtless before her doesn’t help with the attraction she’s still trying to wrap her head around and navigate. 

He lowers his voice, asking, “you sure?”

She’s confused only for a second when she remembers why he seems to be ensuring this is what she wants. This will be the first time Solana has returned to the Warehouse since Grayson and Austin’s attack, since she caused a whole scene that resulted in the whole damn place being shut down and Roman sending a grim message to all.

For a second, she backs away, retreats from her initial desire. Briefly tells herself that this isn’t what she wants, but that other distant voice in the back of her head, not as present or loud, seems to win the battle this time around.

“Yes,” is the final answer she settles on. “I’ll be fine.”

Roman nods, informing. “We leave at 6:30.”

Solana starts to wonder about what this night could entail when Jey suddenly expresses, “It’s kinda nice outside. I think I’m gonna go for a swim. Get in that aquatic cardio.” 

Jimmy also cosigns this after sharing a quick kiss with Naomi. “Oh shit, yeah, lets’ do it

Roman is instantly annoyed, asking with all of the exasperation. “Don’t ya’ll have a pool at your houses?”

“Yeah, but yours is nicer.” Jimmy answers like it’s the simplest thing in the world. He then looks over at Solana, asking, “you joining us, Soso?”

And that, not the idea of returning to the place where she was almost attacked, is what brings on the heavier anxiety. Once upon a time, Solana loved the pool. Swimming with her mom on hot, summer scorching days used to be some of her favorite memories. Now, those memories are plagued with flashbacks of being held under water, a form of torture implemented by her brother.

“N–no.” Solana catches Roman’s gaze on her, the way his eyes dip to her running her fingers against the sides of her workout pants. “I—ummm—I’m going into work for a little bit today, so I should get ready to go.”

Roman speaks up first, skeptical.  “I didn’t know you were going in today.”

“I have to take care of something.”

Solana being vague is new, it’s unfamiliar, and it doesn’t feel the best to lie to him in a sense. Even if it’s less a lie and more a vague answer. 

There is something she needs to take care of. She just has no desire or even ability to tell him just what she needs to take care of, because that would mean she has to tell him the why, and that is something she’s never discussed with anyone and has no desire ever to.

________

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you as much. Life has been….very confusing and different, but not bad. I think….I think I like living here.

I like Bayley and Naomi. They’re so nice to me. I think you would like them too. Bayley is Mexican, so we talk in Spanish sometimes, and I love that because it reminds me of us, mama, all our conversations and writings.

Jimmy and Jey, Roman’s cousins, make me laugh. They’re also nice to me, and they really like my cooking, your cooking. I still use a lot of the recipes you taught me.

I finally have a dog, mami! Her name is Dulce. She’s so sweet and little and adorable. Roman got her for me. 

Roman…

He’s not what I expected. I don’t….I don’t understand why he’s nice to me. Cause that’s what it is. That much I’ve finally realized. He’s….nice to me. 

I’ve never had a man be nice to me. 

We had….something happen a week ago. I still don’t really know how to describe it, just that he was touching me, not even inappropriately. And I think…..I think I liked it, but then I got scared because it was like….it was like it wasn’t him touching me. It was them. 

And I….I hate that. I hate it because it’s miserable feeling this way. Wanting something but not wanting it. Being scared of something but wanting it. Desiring to be close to someone but not wanting that either.

I feel so torn sometimes. 

I’ve been thinking a lot about that book the detective gave me after it happened. There’s gotta be a reason I kept it all these years. I think….I think I want to read it.

I don’t know what to expect, and I’m nervous because I don’t like thinking about it, but I can’t, I don’t, want to keep living like this.

I can’t.

________

When Solana asked to attend Night of Champions, she was thinking it would be similar to WarGames. A foolish assumption. It is in the sense that the arena area is packed, not a single seat unoccupied, the boisterous sound of loud chatter and music serving as a backdrop against said chatter. That’s all the same and unchanged.

What is different and what Solana should have thought about was the fact that the two women who made her feel so comfortable last time won’t be there this time, because they’re competing. And so are the twins. 

And Nicki is apparently upset with Jey—a recurrent theme, it seems—so she also won’t be present.

That leaves one person.

Roman.

Solana didn’t think about the fact that she’d be seated with Roman. It’s not as nerve-racking as it could be, as it probably would have been almost three months ago when this whole new, unexpected chapter of her life began. 

But, it’s still a bit anxiety inducing.

She doesn’t miss how Roman’s grip on her hand remains firm on hers from the moment he helps her out the SUV, his eyes again taking her in the same way he did when she met him back in his office to tell him she was ready to go.

Solana initially felt unsure of herself given the fact that Naomi and Bayley could only pick out her outfit, shoes, and accessories for the night but couldn’t actually help her get ready given the fact that they were competing. Solana struggled to navigate her hair, as always, pinning it up on her head, and her makeup definitely isn’t as nice as the night of WarGames, but it mostly covers up her facial scar, and that’s all that matters.

Still, she must not look completely awful because Roman did not hesitate to give her a slow one over followed by a muttered “damn” and more vocalized, “fuck, you look good.”

She’s starting to lose count of how many times he’s said that now, and each new occurrence still gives her the same butterflies as the first time.

Roman escorts them to their seats, the twins and Paul already being present. Jimmy is the first to speak, whistling loudly.

“Damn, Soso. How we supposed to fight and you distracting us looking all fine and shit?”

“If you want to live and make it to the actual fight, you’ll shut the fuck up.” It’s hard for Solana to tell just when Roman is being completely honest with his cousins or just deadly honest with his cousins. 

This is one of those moments. 

“Thank you.” She doesn’t know what else to say, what kind of response is appropriate to something that isn’t as so.

Roman then motions for Solana to sit down and easily props his big body down in the seat right next to her. Their arms are nearly touching, but she tries not to think of that. Tries to distract herself by asking the twins, “shouldn’t you be in the locker room?”

“Naw, we fight toward the end of the night, so we like to assess with Roman till then.”

“Assess?”

While Jey was the one to provide the initial answer, Jimmy handles the clarification. “You gon be a member of the Warehouse, you gotta earn that shit. That means doing your thing in the ring. You ain’t cutting it, you out.”

Solana nods, quietly. It makes sense. Roman seems like a man with high standards. “So…you all have the final say?”

Jimmy takes a sip of his beer, shaking and nodding his head toward his cousin. “Naw, that’s all Big Dog.”

Solana glances at her husband who’s focused not necessarily on the conversation at hand but the preparation for what’s sure to be an eventful night. 

“If you don’t mind, My Tribal Chief is trying to focus here.” Paul’s voice, equally nice as it is nasty, reminds her of his presence. For some reason, she’s surprised by said presence, though she shouldn’t be. It’s clear the Wise Man is an important asset to Roman. 

“Whassup, my dogs!”

Just then a lanky man comes over to the group. He’s wearing a black t-shirt that says ‘honorary uce’ and has wild red hair that looks like it hasn’t seen a brush in weeks. Solana takes a second to look at him, finding him strangely familiar. It’s then she realizes that he fought with Roman, Solo, and the twins during WarGames.

He goes for some kind of special handshake with Jimmy, then Jey, and finally Roman who looks like he’s contemplating murder rather than wanting to return the greeting. He quickly plays it off, “that is well—okay my tribal chief, and—wow—” Him turning to Solana, finally noticing and acknowledging her, is an experience for the both of them. She notices his initial gaze sets on her chest which is uncomfortable but not entirely unexpected given the style of her dress. Still, she shifts in her seat, uneasy with the attention. “Those are—-ummm—” His eyes go wide, as he moves to backtrack on an obvious Freudian slip. “I mean, it’s uh, very nice to meet you, ma’am, or Mrs. Reigns, or your highness. Whichever you prefer is a-okay with—“

“Sami.”

His shoulders hunch and head drops in shame, like he already knows what’s coming. “Yes, Tribal Chief?”

“Go sit somewhere else.”

This Sami person doesn’t even hesitate, confirming he already knew he fucked up in the less than five minutes he was present. “Yes, my Tribal Chief.”

Solana watches, still partially confused but also kind of amused as he wastes no time in departing. 

Paul then leans over, chatting away, “I told you, my Tribal Chief, I never liked Shmuel. He’s always been so beneath you. I understand he makes easy collateral, but—“

Roman sighs loudly. “Wise Man.”

“Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“Go join Sami.”

“But……” Solana looks over at Paul. His expression is one of devastation, like he’s just been told he had six months to live. “I—I always sit with you for Night of Champ—“

“Wise Man.”

Paul swallows. “Yes, my Tribal Chief?”

“I’m not gon tell you again.” Roman finally looks over at his closest advisor, forcefully enunciating and instructing, “go.”

Similar to Sami, the Wise Man walks off with his tail between his legs, leaving just Solana, Roman, and the twins. 

She has no idea where Solo is. 

“See, now you ain’t even have to do all that, Big Dog. You be getting yourself all upset over nothing. You need to start doing some deep breathing or shit, then maybe you could get off them high blood pressure pills.” 

It’s that last part that Solana zones in on, that makes her turn to Roman, “you have high blood pressure?”

He lifts his eyes, dismissing, “it’s nothing.”

“Can’t—can’t that be dangerous?” It’s not necessarily a question she needs him to answer. Solana is well read on a variety of subjects, especially subjects pertaining to physical health. High blood pressure can mess with a lot of things, a lot of organs. Eyes. Brain.

Heart

Jimmy is the one to chime in, asking with that typical tone of humor. “Soso, you do know what he does for a living right?”

But, it’s hard for her to find said humor when all she’s thinking about now is how certain meals she’s prepared for him could maybe not be the best for his high blood pressure. How she could be exacerbating that.

Feeling pressured by her inner monologue, she offers, “I can change how I cook for you.” And she can. She probably will, making a mental note to peruse through her mom’s recipe books that would be more aligned with the type of diet he probably needs. “I know there’s certain things you probably shouldn’t eat—”

“Solana.” He interrupts, but it’s not with that same irritation he had towards Sami and Paul. “I’m fine. My numbers weren't that bad. The doctor is just being over cautious.”

She wants to believe him, wants to not be as…bothered by this as she is, but something tells her Roman isn’t unlike most men who downplay these sorts of things.

Letting the conversation go, her determination to help him maintain his health remains. 

The conversation shifts to a dialogue between the twins and Roman, the three men conversing in Samoan. She doesn’t mind this, as it also allows her the space to catch the gaze of Bayley and Naomi who look freaking amazing in their gear.

“Soso.”

“I swear to God, if you call her that one more fucking time—”

Jey, possibly foolishly, waves off Roman’s threat. “You understand Yeet, right?”

Blinking twice, she asks, “what?”

“Yeet,” Jimmy says it too, like it’s as basic a word as they come. “Our motto.”

“I—” Honesty is a bit easier with her husband’s cousins. “N–no.”

“Man,” Jey makes a sound with his teeth and jumps right into the explanation. “It’s like a way of life. Like, you yeet when life going good—”

“—when life going bad.”

“—or when you leaving.”

“—or going.”

“It’s a way of life.”

Jimmy and Jey playing off of each other for their presentation is entertaining, at best, but it doesn’t leave her any less confused than she was just a minute ago.

“I—I still don’t get it.”

And that, for the first time, is when Solana hears Roman laugh. It’s not something she ever thought possible, but it’s there, his handsome face turned into an amusing expression as he expresses vindication. “I told you it was fucking stupid.”

“See, I thought we was close, Soso. I thought we was becoming family and shit, but I see you a hater like your husband.”

At that, Jey punches his brother on the arm, reminding with a rough mutter, “man, she be cooking, don’t be fucking up our good thing.”

“Aww shit.” Jimmy quickly moves to backtrack. “I mean, I could see your point.”

Conversation continues as such until the start of the night, Solana watching as the three men around her easily shift into an almost business mode. Their gazes are almost intense, watching closely as matches begin.

Solana partially expected to have to sit and remain quiet for the evening, but certain moves, similar to what Naomi and Bayley have taught her, catch her attention. And it must show, because Solana finds herself occasionally being asked by Roman if she has any questions or if she understands why a fighter did a certain mood.

Some she can answer. Some she cannot. 

So she asks him.

And he answers all of them, clearly, concisely, in a way she can understand.

If Roman is irritated by any of her questions, he does a damn good job not showing as such. And to her credit, she does her best to take a guess vs asking outright with certain things, pulling from her time with Bayley and Naomi. 

And in certain matches, she’s fully immersed in watching their expertise that questions aren’t even a thing. Like the tag team match between two of the most beautiful women she’s ever seen, Jade and Bianca, as Roman called them. Same with Naomi and Bayley who independently show her a side of their ruthlessness she figured existed but hadn’t seen firsthand until tonight.

“Do you all learn how to fight when you’re kids?”

“More or less,” Roman answers, and Solana has a hard time not staring, not being caught up by how handsome this man really is. “This life….it’s kill or be killed. So to not be killed, you learn how to fight. How to survive.”

Survive…

Solana has such a complicated relationship with that otherwise simple word. 

“How come….how come you don’t fight as much?” She’s wondered about this, come up with speculation but would like to know for certain, especially as he seems to be in a relatively decent mood.

Like most things, he keeps his answer nice, simple, and vague. “I don’t have anything to prove to anyone.”

“Did–did you?” He looks over at her, and warmth rises back as she tries to clarify. “At some point, I mean.”

Again, it’s a one-worded response. “Yes.”

She’s not entirely sure just what he’s saying ‘yes’ to, but a full blown out explanation was never expected. He doesn’t seem like the type. But something more would have been….nice. Granted, Solana realizes she’s probably pushing her luck in asking all these questions anyway and sits back in her seat, relegating herself to focusing on the current match.

The chill of the arena makes its reminder yet again as Solana crosses her arms over her body, trying to warm herself. The man beside herself notices this, accurately assessing, “you’re cold.”

True to her nature, Solana shakes her head, downplaying the fact that she is very much cold. “I’m fine.”

Downplaying or being outright dishonest is clearly something Solana would do well to push away, because it seems like this man is capable of seeing right through any and all lies.

Roman shifts forward in his seat and removes his jacket, reaching it to her. “Here.”

Rejection would be rude. It would also make her feel even more bad than she already does at inconveniencing him. Still, her options are really singular, meaning there are no others. Only one.

Mustering a small smile, she accepts his objectively kind gesture, sliding her arms through and adjusting as best she can given their size difference. Warmth overcomes her as well as the scent of his collage, something masculine, almost minty. It fits him.

Silence befalls them for a comfortable while before Solana excuses herself to use the bathroom, Roman only nodding in acknowledgment. 

It’s in walking down the hall that Solana sees Jade and Bianca chatting away, admiring their championship belts. The taller of the two, Jade, happens to glance her way and smiles, exclaiming, “Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

“Absolutely killing it,” Bianca also compliments, her smile just as genuine and affable. 

Solana is certain she’s just staring dumbly for a good couple of seconds, because such a compliment from two objectively stunning women towards her was the last thing she expected. 

Descending off her shock, she offers an equally genuine smile and expression of appreciation. “Thank you so much.”

The compliment keeps that smile planted on her face. It’s so unexpected but deeply appreciated.  

Solana dries her hands and tosses the used paper towels in the trash. It’s a brief glance at herself in the mirror that serves as the start of the slippery slope, landing her back in a brief state of uncertainty. The dress is so revealing, much more revealing than anything she could or would ever wear. But it’s hard to think or sit too much in that discomfort when the night has consisted of several compliments. Sami, Jimmy, Jey, now Bianca and Jade. Not to mention the biggest one, or maybe the one that gives her the most butterflies, coming from Roman. 

“Fuck, you look good.”

Her smile shifts from something more silly to something a bit more bashful, her cheeks warming at someone as handsome and powerful as Roman Reigns thinking that she looks good.

Thinking that she’s beautiful.

A toilet flushes from the only other taken stall, and the door opening reveals the perfect reason why Solana should have just went straight back to join Roman instead of having a mental discourse in the bathroom.

Samantha’s long, shapely legs are the first thing Solana notices along with the way her dress melts to her toned, curvy body. She looks good, and she has to know that she looks good. A woman like her probably has men lined up by the dozen, Roman being at the front of that line. 

Samantha’s dark lips form into a smirk as she walks over to the sink. “Surprised to see you tonight.” She moves to wash her hands. “After that not so little incident a while back, I figured that was the last day you’d step foot in here.”

Solana swallows. She’s managed to not think about that day since it happened. Samantha bringing it up is definitely salt on an open wound. “I—umm.”

“Nice dress. A lil snug though. Maybe go up a size next time?” Her voice, so sweet and sugary, is also venomous and knowing. “Or two.”

Solana’s hands naturally move to her stomach, forearms trying to block the part of her body she hates the most and is certain Samantha is primarily referring to.

“Sage, right?” She doesn’t give Solana a chance to respond. “Let me give you some advice. Woman to woman.”

Something tells Solana she’s not going to like this advice. 

Samantha dries her hands and walks up to Solana. “I know you’re Roman’s wife, but you can’t seriously think that means anything to him, right? It’s just a title, and he’ll defend you only because it’s defending his pride.” Solana tries to not put too much into Samantha’s hurtful words, but it’s hard not to when Solana knows Roman continues to be intimate with this woman, even after their marriage. She can’t blame him for that, though, especially since he’s definitely not getting it from her. Still, it does sting a bit. “Trust me, I’ve known him very well since we were in high school.” Samantha smirks, chuckling. “So, I would know.”

“Bitch, you don’t know shit.”

The last voice Solana expected to enter the conversation was that of Nia’s. But sure enough, Roman’s’ cousin stands near the bathroom door, arms crossed over her body. 

Samantha’s expression sours tremendously as she icily greets the other woman, bigger, stronger, maybe even prettier. “Nia.”

Nia ignores the greeting and comes to stand near Solana, immediately going in on the slender women. “If you know him so well and you supposedly mean that much to him, how come it’s not you with a wedding ring on your finger?” Solana says nothing, keeping her gaze down, but it doesn’t stop her from also thinking about that very valid question. Just why didn’t Roman marry Samantha? “Or better yet,” Solana glancing back up allows her to see Nia’s cruel smile. “Why is it Solana’s name he said when he was fucking you?”

What?

Solana is visibly shaken by that because where in the hell did that even come from? There’s no way that can be true. No way Roman could be in bed with someone like Samantha and say her name. 

But Samantha is visibly disturbed, lip almost curling into an almost snarl as she spits, “fuck you, Nia.”

“I’d call you Solana too, so I don’t think you’d want that.”

Samantha storms out of the bathroom without another word leaving Solana alone with Nia, Solana who is still trying to process what was just said and finds herself asking Nia. 

“Is—is that true? Did you—did you really hear about Roman—ummm—”

Typically, Solana would keep her questions in the safety of her mind, but this…..this feels almost impossible to not seek clarification on. 

“You know he’s my cousin, right?” Nia looks visibly disgusted but still answers her question. “I would never make something up like that about family. Samantha is a blabber mouth that doesn’t realize she shares her shit with that dumbass best friend of hers, Tiffy, and the whole town knows.”

The answer is appreciated, but it still leaves Solana with so many questions. 

“I—I don’t understand.” Again, it’s something meant to stay inside but manages to slip past the cracks. 

“God, you are naive.” Nia rolls her eyes and explains while crossing her arms. “Sweetie, if a man is balls deep in Woman A and says Woman B’s name, Woman A is not who he wants.” 

That seems almost inconceivable to Solana. For Roman to think she looks good and maybe even consider her beautiful is one thing, but for him to desire her in that way is something entirely different.

She doesn’t know what to do with this information.

“Don’t let that skinny bitch get to you.” Nia seems eager to switch the conversation to something different. “She’s a pussy. All bark and no bite. Remember, you have the ring on your finger. You just have to put her in her place one good time, and she’ll leave you be. And if not, let Roman know. He’d never hurt or kill her himself, but he’d definitely ask me to, and truth be told, I’ve wanted to snap that bitch’s neck since high school, so you’d be doing everyone a favor.”

Solana can’t allow herself, or maybe more so doesn’t have the capacity, to think about that right now. She’s still trying to get a grip on chapter one. Still, she offers a quiet ‘thank you’ to Nia, turning to leave when the taller woman says her name. Solana turns back around. “Yes?”

Nia sighs and rolls her eyes. “I know you think I hate you, but I don’t. I may hate how soft you are, but I don’t hate you.” Nia then smirks with an almost playful add on of, “I don’t care enough about you to hate you.”

________

As expected, Roman is immediately asking what took so long the second Solana is back in her seat. 

Her excuse is weak. She tells him that there was a line, but it’s the best thing she can come up with on the spot. His expression is all the answer she needs that he certainly doesn’t believe her but will let it go.

For now. 

The rest of the night seems to be more of a blur, Solana now more consumed with trying to wrap her head around this newest bit of information. 

The twins end up finishing off the event with a brutal but successful match where they, as expected, retain their tag team titles.  

Solana could see this, understandably, pleased Roman. 

And outside of some constructive criticism towards Jey and Jimmy, Roman expressed his desire to leave as soon as they got cleaned up, which took less time than she expected. He’s guiding them, her, out to leave, her hand still in his, when a thickly accented voice calls the attention of the man beside her. 

“Roman Reigns.”

Solana can barely turn around to the source of the voice when Roman’s muscled arm is stretched across her body, moving her behind him, his big body serving as an impenetrable shield.

Because of their height difference, Solana can’t see a whole lot outside of the instant shift of security and even the twins toward whoever this person is. 

“How wonderful for you to bless us with your presence so soon after WarGames.” The man scoffs, clearly trying to bait Roman. “What is this, the second appearance in how many years? Hell hath fuckin’ froze over.”

Solana catches a brief glance of the mystery man and gasps. He has an imposing figure, similar to Roman but there’s something cold about him, something….sinister. 

“How dare you acknowledge the Tribal Chief—” Roman lifts his hand to silence Paul. 

Roman simply states, “talk.” 

“You know what I want, Reigns.” Solana hears a footstep and notices how Roman makes a subtle movement that results in the twins also moving closer towards her, shielding her from this man. “You don’t deserve that title. You may have been a fighter then, but you ain’t now. You’re about the Bloodline, and I respect that, mate, but the Undisputed title deserves to be with someone who defends it more than once a fucking year.”

“So what, you think you the one who gon’ take it? Man, we outta kill your ass right now for talking out your neck like that to our Tribal Chief!”

Solana hates being unable to see Roman, to see his face, to be able to gauge and read his facial expressions. He’s an enigma of a man, typically oscillating between irritated, angry, and indifferent, but not having the option altogether to know where he currently lands is bothersome.  Especially with what comes out of his mouth next.

“Do something.”

Solana freezes. That….that can’t be good.

“You standing up on me. You make a good tough guy face. Do something.”

Solana’s fingers tap against her side, that familiar knotting in her stomach returning. She glances over at Jey who seems to also be a bit confused by Roman’s response.

“Uce—”

Roman ignores him. “Go on. Pull it.”

Jimmy speaks up this time, rough voice quiet but urgent. “Roman, we got Solana here—”

“Come on. Make it happen. What’s different? Ain’t nothing changed. Think back to the last time you challenged me.” Solana hates when Roman moves away from her, because it means he’s a step closer to this man, this man who seems determined to pick a fight with the Tribal Chief and may get just that. “Think about it. I whooped you then. I’ll whoop you now.” Roman speaks with such a confidence about him, the most violent, straightforward promise of sure brutality she’s ever heard from a man. “Ain’t nothing changed.”

Solana isn’t necessarily thinking about what she’s doing when she suddenly moves herself in between Roman and this man who’s apparently hellbent on getting her husband riled up. It’s another unconscious act as she plants her palms against his chest, both relieved and nervous by how his gaze instantly drops to hers.

Solana licks her lips and finds herself pleading in an unexpectedly calm yet typically soft voice. “Let’s just go.” His initial expression of fury and simmering anger seems to lessen the longer he looks at her, and Solana adds on, desperately. “Please.”

This act of boldness is completely unplanned and entirely stems from Solana unable to stop thinking about how Roman being so upset all the time can’t be good for his blood pressure. It can’t be good for his health. 

And for reasons she doesn’t quite understand, that bothers her. It concerns her. 

Him not being healthy concerns her.

What does not surprisingly concern her is when Roman moves his hands down to her hips and almost gently moves her to the side, forcing her hands to drop. She expects him to lunge at the other man or to scold her for interfering, but he does neither.

He steps toward him and simply states with all the coldness, “you’ve got your match, but I set the date when I want it.” Solana’s more or less holding her breath, waiting for Roman to strike the man, or worse. “But know this, McIntyre, you step in that ring with me again, I’m not just ending your career this time, I’m ending your fucking life.”

Roman’s threat sends uneasy chills down her spine. There’s no mistaking Roman’s promise, something she’s certain he will be sure to fulfill.

He then takes her hand again and moves her to the side opposite of the man who looks like he hates Roman as much as Roman probably hates him. Solana is almost entirely eclipsed by Roman’s big body as he walks her past the ordeal.

The car ride is a bit uncomfortably silent, Solana recognizing that Roman is still seething from the exchange but most likely waiting until she’s out of his vicinity to express that rage. 

But, it's when she’s walking back in the house after letting Dulce do her business that Roman catches and speaks to her. 

“Solana.” He’s leaning back against the counter, big arms crossed over his muscular body. He’s so….big. “What happened when you went to the bathroom tonight?”

She can’t be surprised, can’t feel caught off guard by his question. It’s still not something she necessarily wants to talk about or knows how to discuss, but she’ll do the best she can. 

“I ran into Samantha.” Taking a deep breath, she tries her hardest to keep it vague but still an acceptable answer. “I don’t—I don’t think she likes me.”

At that, Roman nearly growls, “what did that bitch say to you?”

Solana winces at his tone. “It wasn’t that bad…”

He’s quick with the dismissal and redirection. “That’s not what I asked you.”

“She just—she just talked about my outfit, that—that was it, because Nia came in there, and well, I don’t—I think Nia might hate her more than she hates me.”

Roman sighs, running his hand over his face. “I’ll handle Samantha.” Before Solana can protest, he adds, “Nia doesn’t hate you.”

This brings a small smile to Solana’s face. “That's what she said.”

Roman also looks slightly amused by this, studying her for a second. “Solana.” The surprises keep on coming, because he takes an unexpected turn in the conversation. “I almost lost my temper tonight.”

This….this feels true. His issuance of threats were delivered in an almost calm manner, but it was more deceptive than anything. Like a setup for violence that was potentially about to unfold if she didn’t interfere.

Still, nothing ended up happening, so it doesn’t make sense for him to act like it did.

“But, you didn’t,” she points out quietly, offering a bit of an olive branch. “And….you were upset.” 

Solana would maybe argue that he’s always in varying states of upsetness, but that’s not the point of the conversation at hand. 

“I have no shortage of enemies, Solana.” His voice takes on a darker, almost subdued tone. It makes her previously amused expression slip into something more somber. “But, I need you to know that I would never do anything that would put you in danger. Drew wanted to issue his challenge. That’s it. He wasn’t going to do anything, because he wants an audience for that. I had it under control.” Solana isn’t questioning that nor did she plan to, but Roman’s next question definitely takes her for a loop. “Were you scared?”

It’s a valid, understandable question that she didn’t think about until this moment. There was anxiety, maybe some element of fear but also concern, so she decides to play down the first two. 

“I wasn’t scared.” It was more concern than fear, which, in her mind, are two different things. “Just….confused about what was happening.”

“That’s not what I meant.” His dismissal is nicer than what anyone else would receive. “Of me, Solana. Were you scared of me?”

Another valid question that she’s actually been thinking about on and off for the past few weeks. Solana would like to consider herself not naive to a lot of things about this life that she was born into. She knows that most of the people who surround her are killers. And Roman is no different. The king of that, maybe.

But…..

But, he’s done nothing thus far to make her ever believe she would ever be subjected to that side of him. If anything, he’s worked to stress and help her understand that she’d never be hurt by him. And adding up all of the things he’s done to support said message, Solana feels it only appropriate to be honest with him. 

About more than just his question.

“When—-when the twins asked earlier today if I wanted to go in the pool, I got nervous because—-” Solana displays her textbook signs of discomfort with the stammering and playing with her fingers but still manages to get out what she wants to share. “Wes, he used to…..hold my head under water until I almost passed out.” Solana looks away for a second, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “That……that’s who I’m afraid of.” Solana manages to set her gaze back on Roman, almost confidently assuring, “I’m not scared of you, Roman.”

He steps toward her, and Solana’s eyes never leave his, mindful of the way his hand lifts, tensing when he rests it against her face, palming her cheek almost gently. Solana stiffens but easily shifts into something not calm but not on edge either. “You don’t have to be scared of him anymore, of anyone. I won’t let anyone else ever hurt you again.”

And for the first time, she believes him without the speck of doubt and uncertainty in the backseat. Solana has seen nothing from the man before her to indicate otherwise. She doesn’t know a lot of things regarding him, regarding them, regarding just why he’s so hellbent on defending her, but one thing she’s realized is that he’s intentional and determined with his dedication to protect her.

This is similar, very similar, too similar to that night where her fears got the best of her, where she was unable to overpower the discomfort and fear. But, this isn’t that night, and Solana doesn’t feel that building dread in the core of her stomach. It could be the fact that it’s only one hand on her, cupping her face. Nowhere else.

It could even be a very early sign that maybe, just maybe, that book she was given so long ago really does have the healing properties someone from so long ago once promised. 

There’s even her conversation with Nia from earlier that sits in the back of her mind, the undeniable confirmation of Roman’s attraction to her. Enough to where he would say her name during that.

Whatever the case, she doesn’t move away, just nods quietly, slowly moving away from him. 

“I’m—I’m gonna get ready for bed.”

Roman says nothing, also nodding as acknowledgment, watching as Solana grabs Dulce and disappears out of his sight but not the front of his mind.

________

The Reigns estate is as spacious as it is grandiose. There are several ways and paths to reach a destination. 

So, Roman doesn’t have to pass Solana’s room to reach his bedroom. There’s an alternative route in coming from where he was working, but he decides this specific way for reasons he’s not entirely sure of.

It ends up being a good decision because it’s in walking past her door that he hears low scraping against said door. Instantly, he knows it’s Dulce clearly needing to go outside. And she confirms as such with her soft whimpering. 

Rolling his eyes, Roman opens the door just enough for Dulce to run out, stopping when she sees it’s him. He glances at the bed to see Solana sleeping, open book on her chest, indicating she fell asleep while reading.

Dulce whines again, and he chides quietly, “be quiet before you wake her up.”

Dulce’s ears go down as Roman picks up the puppy that’s still too little to walk up and down the steps, hence needing human transportation. It’s annoying, but he brings her down the steps and out the backyard. 

Settling her down, he instructs, “go on. Do whatever you gotta do.”

He’ll give the dog some credit where credit is due. She’s far more obedient than he expected for a puppy, because in less than 10 minutes, she’s emptied her bladder and is being carried back to Solana’s room. 

Roman is careful to lay her little ass back in her bed, aware of her bristle looking legs that would probably break with one bad drop. 

Rising back to his full height, he catches Solana turning on her side, the shift in position causing the book to slip and almost fall out the bed, but Roman is fast, catching it before the crash and potential disturbance can wake her up.

Naturally, he glances at the front cover, noticing the age of the book. But the aging look doesn’t mean shit to him when he sees the title and a piece of paper that clearly has Solana’s handwriting. He doesn’t read that, wanting to respect her privacy, but he definitely reads the title, and it instantly shifts his entire mood. 

The Courage to Heal: A Guide for Women Survivors of Child Sexual Abuse

It shifts his mood from his default state or irritation to quiet rage. 

There’s only one reason she would be reading this book, working out of this book. And it’s not that he didn’t already know she’d been violated in one way or another. Her medical records confirmed as such.

But, he was thinking she was a teenager, not any better, but definitely not a fucking child.

Someone hurt her when she was still a child, a literal goddamn kid, and this is something Roman cannot find it in him to avoid investigating. He’s always been a man uncomfortable with unanswered questions, and there are no shortage of them in regards to Solana. Not that he would ever put her in a position to answer them. No. He wouldn’t do that to her, would never make her share something like that with him.

But, he does know someone else he can demand answers from. 

Two people, actually. One of them being shit out of luck after narrowly avoiding Roman’s wrath from earlier today in learning that he fucking tortured Solana.

Roman carefully places the book on her nightstand and makes sure Dulce is still in her bed on the other side of Solana’s before quietly closing the door.

Roman is down the hall, powerful strides taking him to his room as he pulls out his phone, dialing the one person he knows for a fact will answer his call at any time. Hitting dial and switching it to speaker, Roman tosses his phone on the bed to get dressed. 

Sure enough, he answers on the second ring.

Roman jumps right into it. “Meet me at the Miller house. Get your brothers.”

Solo only pauses for a second, answering in that stoic voice, “we’ll be there in 30.”

Not good enough. 

“Make it 20.” 

________

As expected, Roman is met at the Miller house by his cousins, all three.

Slamming the car door shut, Roman hears Jimmy yawning loudly. “Man, why the hell is we here?”

Ignoring his older brother, Solo straightens his stance and informs, “I had Pearce disable the security system.”

“Good.” It’s the fact that Solo already knew to do so without being told. Moments like this is when Roman knows he made the right decision promoting and moving Solo up the ranks. He’s more than proved himself.

“I have questions. Miller has answers.” Roman’s answer there is intentionally vague. Solana’s trauma is no one’s business but her own, and just because he is also aware doesn’t mean he needs to broadcast it. “And Solana told me today her brother used to waterboard her.”

“Waterboarding? Like actual fucking torture?” This information seems to awaken both the twins, eliciting angry reactions. “What the fuck is wrong with his ass?”

“We killing them, right?” Jey, forever the hothead and also relatively equal with Roman in terms of how quickly he travels from zero to one-hundred, is the first to ask the most obvious question.

“No. Not tonight. That would be too easy.” And it would. Roman meant that shit when he said he wanted their asses to suffer. “But that doesn’t mean we have to make living easy for them.”

They don’t deserve to live, let alone living easy lives. Not when they’ve done everything seemingly possible to make Solana’s miserable.

Roman then looks towards the twins, instructing, “take care of the brother.” It’s not a necessary directive, but he doesn’t hesitate to add, “make him fucking suffer.”

He then motions for Solo to follow him, the men headed toward the house as Roman swears out loud, “Xavier is mine.” 

Roman steps back as Solo waits zero time in shattering the large window in the living room, providing an entrance for the men. Roman grabs his gun, nodding for the twins to move first, followed by Solo, each man armed with a gun. It’s unnecessary, Roman is certain as they’re more likely to find father and son in the midst of illicit acts vs prepared for the onslaught headed their way. 

Up the stairs and on the second floor, Roman quietly motions for them to split up, Solo and the twins to the right while he moves to the left, the most likely location of the master.

Solo seems to give him an uneasy expression, but Roman simply nods and heads toward his target.

Xavier is his.

The combination of the brothers works just as Roman predicted, them successfully locating the brother’s bedroom, confirmed by his horrified shout of ‘what the fuck! 

It’s followed up with a shout of pain and Jey yelling “Get your bitch ass up!” and “Solo, fill up the tub!”

Pleased, Roman is standing directly outside of Xavier’s door when the older man rips the door open, face contorted in a mixture of shock and anger. That quickly morphs into fear when he realizes just who is responsible for this attack. 

Roman brings the gun across upside Miller’s head, watching the man fall down and writhe in pain, holding his hand against his now bleeding head. 

Undeterred, Roman reaches down, yanking the man up by his neck as he jolts his body against the nearest wall. “We need to talk.” Straight to the point and not in the mood for any bullshit this fucker may try to spew his way, Roman demands,  “I want to know what the fuck happened to my wife.”

And there’s a brief but telltale sign that Xavier knows exactly what he’s referring to without Roman even needing to elaborate. 

That only pisses him off even more. 

Still, Xavier stutters, shaking his head, “I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Roman gives a bitter smile, shaking his head and scratching his beard. It’s the last thing he’s certain Xavier sees before Roman again has him up by the collar of his pajama shirt. 

“You really want to play these fucking games with me?” It’s a no. It’s a hell no, but Xavier insulting Roman’s intelligence by lying to him indicates the opposite of no. So, Roman will treat him as such. “Who the fuck touched Solana?”

His question is followed up by screaming coming from down the hall, the beautiful sound of a piece of shit getting exactly what he deserves. 

“What? Ain’t so tough now, little bitch! Like to beat on women but a pussy when it comes to fighting another man!”

And while it could bring a smile to Roman’s face, Xavier looks horrified in hearing Jimmy’s taunts. Instantly, he’s pleading, pathetic and pitiful, “pl—please.”

“I’d torture and kill that bitch right in front of you tonight if I could.” It pisses Roman off to no end how this man can care so much about his demented son but not give a flying fuck about his innocent daughter. “Now, answer my fucking question, who touched Solana?”

Again, Xavier decides to test Roman’s patience, offering unasked information. “She—she was a virgin before she married you.”

“I don’t give a fuck about her being virgin or not!” She could still be a virgin and have been touched. But truth be told, that shit’s never mattered to him anyway. Virgin or no virgin, it’s always been an irrelevant deciding factor to who he took to bed. “Tell me what happened to her or I’ll blow that bitch son of yours fucking brains out right in front of you—”

Roman pulls the gun from out of the back of his pants, knowing full and well that while he would love to empty the entirety of it in the scum before him, it’s better served torturing him in another sort of manner.

Mentally.

And it does the trick.

“Alright, alright!” Xavier finally caves, sweat bubbling across his wrinkled forehead. “She was raped, alright? Two men broke into the house when she was 12 and attacked her. Beat her real bad. They—they never found them. Okay? That—that’s the truth. That’s what happened.”

No. Not fucking okay. Nothing is fucking okay. Roman wanted answers, felt like he needed them, but knowing the truth, it doesn’t do shit but paint his vision red. 

He knew something happened to her. 

He just didn’t know how bad.

Raped. 

Beaten. 

Twelve.

And then another thought hits him, the absolute terror on her face that day when she was faced with what should be the most simplest thing for a person: going into their childhood bedroom. 

Roman remembers her fear, the dried blood, the scratches on the wall. 

It all makes sense.

She was attacked in her fucking bedroom.

The thought of a child being hurt at all has never sat right with him, but to be hurt in that way. As a child, and for that child to have been Solana. 

He’s fucking breathing rage. 

“Where the fuck were you, huh?” Roman jerks his body back against the wall, half ready to break this fucker’s neck. “Answer me!”

“I wasn’t home!” Xavier’s sweating has progressed into droplets from his forehead onto the bridge of his nose and shirt. “I—I was out on a fishing trip with Wes.”

A fishing trip…..

This man was out enjoying fucking nature with his dimwitted offspring while his daughter was at home alone fighting for her fucking life.

“You left a 12 year old home alone?” It keeps getting fucking worse. “How long was she alone!” Roman is fully prepared to risk snapping this motherfucker’s neck when he spits out a desperate answer.

“A week. It was just a week.” And if it makes a fucking difference, he desperately adds on, “I—I’d done it before, and she was fine.”

Xavier is either stupid or very stupid, because Roman can’t conceptualize how this imbecile would think the additional information makes it any better. 

Solana was hurt.

She was hurt in the worst way possible, and it’s all his fault. 

With all of the aggression in his body, Roman throws the piece of shit across the room, intentionally aiming for the glass coffee table that instantly shatters under the weight of his fat ass.

Without a second of fucking hesitation, Roman fires two shots directly into Xavier’s body, one in his right hand and the other in his left foot. Xavier’s shouts of pain do little to dull the unadulterated rage coursing through Roman’s body.

Shouts morph into tiny, pathetic whimpers as Roman slowly walks through the broken glass, tossing his gun to the side as he pulls out the brass knuckles in his back pocket. 

“I told Solana I wouldn’t kill you until she gave me the word, and I’m not going to take that from her.” He crouches down besides the now crying older man, crying in the way Roman is certain Solana did when she was alone and helpless. His fury is practically bubbling over now as he coldly vows, “but that doesn't mean I can’t make your life a living fucking hell until then.”

________

Roman walks back into the house with a weight he can’t shake, even with the brutal carnage he unleashed on the Miller household, leaving father and son on the brink of death. That type of violent release typically abates his anger, and it did diminish a lot of it, seeing that piece of shit pummeled into a bloody, broken mess.

But Roman is still plagued with thoughts of the hell Solana endured living in that household. To be attacked in that way in her own home, in her fucking bedroom, it makes Roman want to get right back in his SUV and carry Xavier and his equally piece of shit over the doorstep of death.

But, he couldn’t do that to Solana, take that away from her. He’s just the executioner in this situation. He’ll let the day of reckoning be determined by her because that’s the least she can get. 

Coming straight back home, Roman didn’t bother to stop and get himself cleaned up. His guards have seen much worse, and Solana is asleep, so that’s not a concern either.

But, it is a concern because in an almost scene of deja vu, Solana is most certainly not asleep. She’s sitting on the sofa, Dulce right beside her when she hears his heavy footsteps. 

Roman doesn’t have time to say anything, too stunned by this happening yet again, even later than he’s returned before. 

Why is she up?

Solana jumps up off the sofa and is suddenly standing across from him, her face painted in what’s obviously a moderate to tremendous amount of worry and anxiety. 

But, she isn’t looking at him. Not really. She’s more so focused on the blood stained and splattered clothes that adorn him.

“You’re hurt…..” He’s heard her say it the last two times they were in this type of situation, eerily similar in a lot of ways, but this time….this time is different.

It’s different because she rushes over to him, her hand floating over his chest, one place, two place, another place. Like a plane trying to find a safe space to land, she’s unsure where he’s hurt and clearly overwhelmed by it all.

And then he sees it, the blurry overlay of water over her eyes and the slight tremble of her lip.

Roman steps towards her, trying to be respectful of the distance between them. Her discomfort with touch makes all the sense now. “Please don’t cry.” And this is yet another new, unfamiliar, unexposed territory for him, seeing her so distraught at her belief that he’s been hurt. The way that the thought alone clearly wrecks her.

Roman quickly notices the changing of her breathing pattern, heavier, rhythmic almost. 

“Shit…..”

Roman has heard this song before.

Realizing this is a matter of de-escalation, he does what’s needed in the moment and brings his hands to her face, cupping her face.

“Solana, breathe, baby.” The term of adoration isn’t even something that really registers with him at the moment, not an intentional addictive or something he gives two fucks about in this moment, really. He’s solely focused on settling the woman in front who’s on the brink of a panic attack.

He can’t see her deal with that again, especially now that he knows just why she had the first one.

Roman has no hesitation in pushing away loose strings of her hair, never once taking his focus off her. “I’m fine, Solana. I’m not hurt. It’s not my blood.” Recognizing she clearly needs to see it, he moves back to lift and toss his shirt on the floor. “See?”

And that seems to do something for her, something to help settle the panic. 

Roman watches her and forces himself not to think about the heat that fills him at her hand on his chest, over his heart. It’s all so innocent. Recognizing her breathing has settled into something less alarming and more familiar, he moves his hand over hers, reiterating once more, “I’m fine.” He waits for her to finish taking a deep breath to ask, “why are you up?”

This has to be the third time Roman has come home at an ungodly hour to find her waiting for him, and he’s trying to figure out what the real reason is. 

She licks her lip, clearly working her way up to a response. “Dulce had to…..had to use the bathroom, and I saw you weren’t here, and you didn’t answer my text.” Roman curses himself. He was so caught in his uproar that he didn’t even bother checking that thing, never expecting for Solana to be the missed notification on his lock screen. “I just…..I wanted to make sure you were okay.” Roman has heard this part before and tries to navigate how he wants to push back on his belief that it can’t be just that, but Solana surprisingly beats him to it. “I get….I get worried when you’re not here at night and—-and I can’t sleep until—-”

“Until I’m back….”

He has a good guess why. She was attacked in the middle of the night, and he’s also pretty certain he remembers reading that the attack that killed her mother also happened at night.

“Solana…..” For the first time in a while, if ever, Roman is active in his attempts to explain this to her as gently as he can. “What I do…who I am…I can’t always be here.”

“I know,” she sniffles. “I’m sorry—I don’t mean to bother you—”

“You could never bother me, okay?” He wipes away more of her tears, hand back to cupping her face, realizing she’s not going to pull away from him this time. He takes full advantage of that. Roman moves his other hand to the small of her back, holding her against him. It’s not missed upon him how she also brings her other free hand to his chest. “But, I always make it back, alright?” She nods, as he runs his thumb over the apple of her cheek. “Can’t no man put me down.”

She smiles, a little laugh that does more to him than he’d like to admit, that he feels comfortable with. And this settles him. It settles him more than nearly killing her dad and brother for hurting her, directly and indirectly, did. 

Solana nods, murmuring a quiet, “o–okay.”

He’s studying her. Closely. Maybe more than what’s necessary. It comes from a place of concern, and he’d admit as such. “Are you good now?” 

She nods again, and he believes it enough to let her go, watching her start to walk away when he’s caught off guard again because of her body, so soft and warm, against his again. Her sweet perfume filling his senses, her arms around his neck.

She’s hugging him. Solana is actually hugging him. He can’t remember the last time someone did that shit.

But he doesn’t waste a second of time accepting her embrace that seems to end just as quickly as it began. He can’t be surprised or upset. This is big for her, obviously, and he would never push her past her comfort zone, but he also can’t deny that the absence of her in his arms is noticeable. 

And uncomfortable.

Solana murmurs a rushed goodnight and grabs Dulce to head back up the stairs, Roman eyes never leaving her until she’s completely out of view.

Roman stands there for a few good minutes, unsure of what just happened, working to process the same unfamiliar feelings that coursed through him the last time they had a moment like this. It’s the same as before, just ten times stronger, more intense, more consuming.

Unsure of a lot, two things he knows for asbolute fucking certain:

He’s going to find Solana’s rapists and make them pay for every sick fucking thing they did to her.

There’s not a fucking force on earth that could take this girl away from him.

She’s his.

And he’ll protect her with everything in him.

No matter what the cost.

[grace-williams-xo]

RAMBLING THOUGHTS AFTER FINISHING PART TWO. GONNA ADDRESS MY P1 THOUGHTS FIRST. SPOILER WARNING.

1 & 2: I think Debling could’ve worked in the second half, and I’m kinda sad Cressida didn’t get a happy ending. The Creloise fell of a CLIFF after ep 5 but I think it could still be saved

5: no cishet man has ever loved his wife more than Anthony Bridgerton I’m gonna be ill

6 & 12: kanthony’s absence was felt BAD in the finale, I think their reactions to LW were sorely needed. Also Jonny and Simone have both said they’ll be at every sibling’s wedding and stick around for years but they missed Francesca’s??? Also felt their absence too much then. They’re both booked and busy I think we’ll continue to only get a couple episodes a season from them

8: Francesca did get to thrive happy in pt 2 my baby I love her

9: I think they managed to disconnect the mondrich plot even further like 😭 once again, I don’t mind them their plot just feels very empty

10: Pen and Delacroix CONTINUE to be my fave duo I love them so freaking much and they can never get rid of it

13: Portia’s growth this season continued to be 10/10 I loved her and Penelope’s relationship it really showed what it’s like to be closely related to people you oppose and the process of needing to forgive and understand them for your own peace of mind

14: that was not how I was expecting Colin to find out about Whistledown

15: Marcus felt a little rushed in part two but I think I need to watch the whole season together to fully decide

17: this was indeed the longest 27 days of my life I got Covid day after it dropped lmfao

MY ~NEW~ THOUGHTS:

We finally got character development from Cressida and if they write her out I’ll be inconsolable (as will Jessica Madsen)

I hope they paid Golda Rosheuvel good for her feet exposure. Worth more than titties in this economy

I feel the need to tell everyone that £5000 in 1815 is in the realm of £500,000 today and we cannot brush over the fact Penelope has made herself the equivalent of a literal millionaire

Anthony has two moods ‘I’m obsessed with my wife’ ‘I want to win this game’ like it is comical how drastically different his facial expression is in the game of charades compared to pretty much every other scene

Anthony saying the marriage is perfect and not hard work and Kate being like BOY I will humble you,,,, doing the lord’s work I love her so much

At some points I felt like Francesca was fighting Anthony for ‘Violet’s least favourite child’ award lmao

John saying he’s off to look at the wainscotting was unfairly funny

Cressida in the red dress is even better than I imagined fuck even if she’s not gay then I am

Peneloise back together the universe is healing I love my babies all we need now is creloise lovers and peneloise friendship simultaneously I don’t like it being one or the other sue me

However much Brimsley is getting paid isn’t enough,,,, Hugh Sachs the man that you are

I adored Penelope’s wedding dress so much and as bitter as I am still about no kanthony wedding in s2, it felt kind of right somehow for Polin to be the first wedding we properly see in this show

Most of the costumes and makeup feel like they got worse,,,,, big ‘I hired a 14 year old’ energy. I don’t need historical accuracy but I would like a modicum of care and the costume/hair/makeup dept looking at a single historical reference from before 1850,,,, please

We all got the bi Benedict we’ve been asking for and I appreciate it, and recognise that he needed Tilley to explore that, but I still would’ve preferred if they first main queer experience was not a threesome

If they go straight into benophie in s4 (which idk, I’m so torn bc I feel like F, E and B all could work well next season) then I also feel like bi Benedict was just them throwing a bone for 5 mins but meant nothing

The CONTENTIOUS Michaela Stirling,,,,, I was undecided until I saw it but that was the definition of gay panic from Francesca and it worked so well I am so excited.

As your resident peerage expert, it is much easier for women to inherit titles in Scotland than England so I wonder (not that anyone on this show knows anything) if that was a reason they chose Francesca to be sapphic [general peerage info and female inheritance info if you care]

On the above, if they can canonically end racism with one marriage then they can end homophobia with one marriage as well

We all know Eloise was the easy and obvious choice to be the queer love story but part of me does kind of like them not taking the easy route, and them going something more unexpected, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want Creloise/Sapphic El like they had eight children let’s be honest

Finch’s sneeze and Phillips’s “now Varely! The bugs!” were unfairly funny

Everything Lady Danbury said to Penelope about suspecting her and what not felt very in character and you can fight with the wall idc

Did they tell us the name of Polin’s baby boy???

Hyacinth saying she thinks of Gregory as the family pet,,,,, girl you an icon walking amongst mere mortals

Predictions I got right:

Anthony didn’t kill Colin, but “are you gonna duel your own brother” lmao I was on the right track

I knew Polin would win the Featherington baby race and I love that for them (but why were Prudence and Phillipa pregnant most of the season, barely showing, Kate was showing almost immediately, and then in the epilogue the sisters all had baby’s similar-ish ages???? Give the writers room a calendar please)

I SAID FROM DAY DOT THAT THE FURNITURE THEY BROKE FROM SEX WAS A CHAISE I CANT FIND THE POST BUT I KNEW IT I FUCKING KNEW IT WHERE DO I COLLECT MY PRIZE SOME OF YOUR GUESSES WERE TRULY FUCKING COOKED

Okay that was too long if you made it this far I’ll make you cookie ily

[chaoticallywriting]

☂Death and Her Companion☂

Prologue

Description - And so we meet the girl from the bunker, the hidden away secret. The one to powerful, to fearsome and to quick-witted. How sad it must be to be the harbinger of death and yet have such a kind soul. How odd it strikes the other Hargreaves that this wondrous woman is their 'little' brothers supposed ex. One must wonder what her role is in everything, which chest piece she is on Reginald Hargreaves board. One thing is for sure, to Five she is the all mighty queen.

A/N - Please don't expect much of me, I am dragging myself through work four cans of alani at a time. There are little time jumps throughout their time in the apocalypse. I plan on writing more cute apocalypse bonding moments for them throughout the series.

Warnings - Canon typical violence, use of y/n like twice. Needles, blood, syringes, abandonment issues. Self worth issues. Mentions of skinniness due to lack of food (from the apocalypse my dudes)

Pairing - Five x Reader

Word count - 6k

To tell a story, one must have a character or set of characters to follow. They may not be reliable or entirely likable nor good-hearted or kind, they may not be evil or extraordinary but simply intriguing. Intriguing enough to hold the reader's attention, to keep them coming back for more. And that is Y/N, a girl born on a day where something extraordinary happened and if given any other power she would have been one to marvel over. 

But the babe was born with fingertips dosed in inky darkness and killed her mother during birth. Then her grandmother who held the babes pinky and so on. Eventually she was kept hidden with the help of one Reginald Hargreaves, who agreed that her power was too strong for the world to bear. So said girl lived her life underground with a robot as a mother (to keep her from accidentally killing her too) and eventually a robotic companion that was meant to resemble her age. 

Even through glitches and random updates she didn’t know what normal really was, so she never batted an eye. As she grew so did the darkness upon her fingertips until eventually it stopped at her elbows. She read every book given to her, watched every movie and show and held a strict physical regiment to keep her in shape. 

She learned just about every fighting style known to man thanks to the updates her mother was given and regularly ran in the underground garden. Her bunker was her life and she never thought it odd until she was 14. You see, all those movies and books showed a different life than hers, exciting ones that showed the ocean and the sun, the moon, stars. There was romance and friendships, adventures galore. Suddenly her life which was once fulfilling felt… suffocatingly dull. 

Neither her companion nor mother would let her out nor sympathize with her. They only tried to distract the girl from her growing desires. But such desires only grew and mixed with the rage of a preteen girl came a moment in her life she’d always remember, the moment when the monotony would finally end. They didn’t listen, they tried placating, and they tried deflecting. At one point they tried to make her feel crazy, but her textbooks and ways of entertainment showed proof of a different life. So finally when all that rage and loneliness finished brewing it came time to try to escape.  

She didn’t make it past the second steel door before a syringe was put in her neck. She awoke, she tried again, she was kept locked in a more secure room, no longer allowed to roam her bunker. So when her mother and companion came to visit on the 5th day she used her upbringing to her advantage and killed them. Twitching metallic limbs were scattered about the padded room, oil seeping out instead of blood and the sound of frying wires filling the air. 

Finally, from doing this, she met the man who built her bunker. He kept himself protected behind a wall of plexiglass, staring her down through his monocle with a disapproving glare. “You have caused quite the mess.” 

The young girl was sobbing, she had just killed the only people - no things she ever knew. She was a monster, a murderer. “I just want out, please let me out!” 

“I cannot do that child, your power is beyond my control. You were able to suppress the medicine I tried to give you and are not fit for normal ways of living.” 

His voice was cold and stern, in her already fragile state his lack of empathy only made her feel small. He only seemed to validate her worst fears. 

“I can offer you something though, a way out from this life. All you must do is step through those doors and into the chamber I’ve built for you. It will let you out, I promise.” 

The young girl, having never seen him before, didn’t know how this man was full of deceit. With barely anything else to do, she simply nodded through her tears. Whilst sniffling the girl followed his instructions and clambered into the small chamber. As she turned to face him, she realized how tiny it was and began to panic, but it was too late. Before she could even open her mouth to protest, the chamber door slammed shut and a gas filled the space. 

It seemed like only seconds before air flooded the chamber, ragged gasps escaping her cracked lips. The pain she felt was overwhelming, it flooded her body and felt as though she was being torn in two. As her eyes rapidly blinked, she found the glass of the chamber had shattered and all around her was clouded by smoke and dust. As the terrified girl tried to move, that sharp pain halted her movements, causing her to crumble onto the floor. 

Her hands and knees fell against the ground, shards of glass embedding into them and as the metallic taste flooded her mouth the young girl found a sharp metal stuck within her abdomen. Her once pristine white dress now drenched in blood and covered in smears of charcoal gray from the soot surrounding her. Blood dripped from her lips as she started to wheeze, her body falling the short distance onto the surrounding rumble. The icy grip of death was squeezing her and in her final moments she saw a pair of small and childlike leather loafers appear before her eyes. 

Seconds turned to minutes as a confused and heart wrenched Five watched the young girl die. The only living being he’s seen since arriving in the future a mere eight hours ago, has perished within seconds of being within his presence. His confusion only heightens as he takes in her hands and forearms, then stares at the science fiction esque chamber she seemed to have fallen out of. It looked like something out of the comic books his brothers read- or well-used to read now that they are dead. The thought only hurt him more, causing tears to fill the pubescent eyes. 

This odd looking girl had been stored in their family home, for how long? Five doesn’t know. But what he does know is his family is dead, and the world has ended, he’s seemingly alone and all he wishes to do is mourn his siblings. He takes a step backwards, planning on going back to their remains, (where he had spent the last six hours, sitting numbly among them) when a finger of hers twitches. 

At first, he thinks he must be hallucinating from all the fumes and exhaustion due to all the tears he’s cried, but then it happens again and then her left arm jerks inwards, curling around her stomach. He’s stunned as he watches the young girl begin to slowly lift herself into a sitting position, the large piece of metal once lodged in her abdomen just… falling onto the ground, drenched in her blood. 

The gaping hole begins to slowly mend itself as she wheezes and groans. Even all the tiny scratches across her body from the glass begin to heal and Five is left standing before some undead fourteen-year-old in a mixture of shock and awe. His siblings would probably be horrified and while he won’t say it out loud there is a small part of him that is; but that morbid curiosity of his kicks in and overpowers the dull horror ebbing through his brain. Suddenly it makes sense on how she survived an entire building collapsing on her and her near indestructible pod, how somehow whatever killed everyone else around him didn’t harm her. 

“What are you?” He utters in a scratchy (he has been crying and screaming for hours) and awe filled tone.  

Her nose scrunches, bloodied features full of fear and offense at his question. Those inky hands lay flat against the rubble as she pulls herself to stand, all wounds once leaking blood now closed and scabbed over. Her tone is soft and barely audible, as if almost scared to speak. “I’m just Y/N.” 

The duffle slung over her shoulder is threadbare and has millions of random holes across it that have been half hazardously stitched back together. The uncomfortable strap digs into her shoulder as the weight of her valuables bogs her down. Their last source of shelter ended up collapsing not too long ago and so the sixteen-year-olds are once more on the hunt for a new place to call home. So they walk along a road cluttered with trash and rubble, dilapidated buildings lining both sides and the scorching sun beating down on them. 

“What do you think we’ll find this time?” 

He huffs, “I don’t know, something with a roof preferably.” Five has a duffle too along with a cart full of heavier items like their jars of food they’ve collected, jugs of barely drinkable water and makeshift tools. 

The heat from the sun has made the girl drenched in sweat, body glistening and dirty, misshapen clothes stuck to her. Perhaps if she took her gloves off she’d feel a little better, but ever since discovering them she’s kept them on no matter the weather. 

A year into the apocalypse they found a department store, one where Five became rather enamored by a mannequin. As he spent the better of twenty minutes simply staring at that torsoless thing, she hunted for any clothes they might need. Anything that didn’t seem within their size she set aside to eventually make a blanket out of it and began to softly hum to herself. 

Finally, Five abandoned the mannequin and tossed something at the girl. A pair of elbow length black gloves. “Try those on,” he said as he began sifting through her pile of maybes. These were on the mannequin, she realized. The whole time she was worried about him losing it, and he came back with these instead of a new “friend.”  

The gloves were a bit big but not enough that she had to worry about them slipping off. The inside felt silky and due to the size they went just passed her elbow instead. “These will be nice when winter hits, I won’t have to worry about potentially freezing any fingers off this year.” 

“You should try touching the next rat we catch before we kill it… I have a theory that may help.” 

And they did help, tremendously. The girl was shocked all it took to stop her powers was some cheap fabric. Her heart squeezed with appreciation as she finally began feeling less terrified of being around anything living. It felt ironic in the beginning how she finally felt free from not only herself but the chains that she was metaphorically born with, after the world had ended. Almost everyone was dead and she was finally at peace. 

Now at sixteen she wears the same pair of gloves which now fit perfectly. There are holes and tears that have also been stitched with random thread that they scavenged throughout the years. Despite the fabric containing her undesired power, she finds herself hardly ever touching anything she wouldn’t want to kill. Anything that isn’t Five is food and well Five isn’t a very tactical person. There are a few nights each winter that they’ll huddle together for warmth, which he always makes a face about; but beyond that it’s more of a safety precaution. A ‘just in case I bump against you or need to grab you before you fall’ kind of thing.

As she stares at the dirtied gloves, a thought that’s always drifted through her mind bubbles to the surface once more. While they usually scavenge in silence to keep them focused for danger, today feels like an okay day to break that. There haven't been any accidents in a while, and typically they tend to be some sort of problem with herself. She’s fallen on rebar and been bitten by rabid rats, caught deathly flus and been the taste tester for water since the very day she fell out of what she can only assume was some type of cryochamber. 

“Why do you think he never thought to do this to me?” 

He eyes her for a second, brow raised. They both step over some debris, worn shoes knocking small rocks out of the way as he speaks. “What? End the world?” 

A cockroach skitters by and for a brief second they both watch it in concentrated silence. There’s a silent debate between them, eyes locked, on whether they should hunt it and kill. Five makes the first move of ignoring it and moving on. They have jars of food, and it’s not that big. Plus they don’t have the necessities to pickle it like they did in the past. 

“No dumbo.-“ He glares at her, “-give me gloves, so I couldn’t harm anyone. He could have saved so much time and money and I could have been one of you guys! One of the umbrella academy, going on missions and having a real family.” 

“What we had wasn’t exactly a proper family,” he starts. The girl sighs, thinking of what her family was. While his wasn’t normal either, it wasn’t as insane sounding as hers. “I’m guessing you can’t really make a toddler or even a young child keep the gloves on, no matter how much you stress the importance of them.” 

“Then he should have just killed me when he adopted me.” 

He stops all together which she doesn’t pick up at first, too busy surveying their surroundings for anything useful. So far it’s just more collapsed buildings and dust. Sometimes she thinks of the old westerns Thomas (her childhood companion) liked, and imagines a tumbleweed lightly dancing across the street ahead of them. 

“You think so?” Finally, she turns, noticing the distance between them and the girl just shrugs. He eyes her, gaze critical. They’ve been at this whole apocalypse thing for a while now and a major part of staying alive has been having one another. Yes he has the motivation of seeing his family again to help keep him going, but it’s been her that’s helped keep him off that delicious looking precipice of madness. 

“I do, if he couldn’t trust me to simply keep some gloves on then he should have killed me. Obviously I was too dangerous for the world, and yet he wouldn’t just do the one thing that was probably best for everyone involved. I mean do you think he adopted me, realized my power and just shoved me in the bunker? Or do you think maybe he tried alternatives first?”

He rubs his face which is already smeared in dust and dirt, his hair is tangled and long and beyond greasy. She knows hers doesn’t look any better. It’s been a while since they’ve found anything sharp, the last sharp thing they had was a broken bottle that they used as a makeshift knife. It didn’t last long. 

“I think despite his cold nature, killing a baby was too heartless of a task even for the old man.” He finally walks again, stopping at her side. Neither move, simply staring at one another. “I don’t know why he kept you in there, maybe we can figure that out when we get back.” 

Despite his insistence of them returning, she finds herself hardly believing it. She’s never told him how she doubts him, worried it will cause a rift between the two. The idea of rocking the delicate balance between them has always been at the back of her mind. Sometimes she wakes in the middle of the night from a horrible dream of him abandoning her, claiming she’s too much of a liability or something. 

“You have caused quite the mess.”

It loops in her brain like clockwork, constantly there to remind her of the life she once lived. Even if they were robots, she killed the only two companions she ever had, and she wonders if Five has ever judged her for it. 

“Yeah,” she says in a slightly dejected, half-hearted tone. “Maybe.” 

Around her twenties, something happens. She’s not quite sure how or why, but she stops aging. Five continues to age as time drags on and she stays relatively the same. They theorize that it must be because of her whole ‘not dying’ shtick which then just springs forth a new panic inside her. She’s always worried about Five somehow dying but now no matter what she’ll end up alone. Because even if she wraps him in bubble wrap and always takes good care of him, he will die and she won’t. There is no old age for her and there most likely never will be. She can do everything in her power to keep him alive but one day he will die, and she will be eternally alone in this fiery hellscape. It’s befitting, she guesses, due to his nickname for her being Death. 

Death will be stuck in hell completely by herself because death always takes from others so why should it be given something in return. Why should it have companionship or a happy ending of some sort? 

They’ve grown closer recently, it’s odd and comforting all at once. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that they’ve managed to make a somewhat stable makeshift shelter. They’ve spent two and a half years there and just recently have come across a small packet of potato seeds. There’s little hope anything will grow but that small piece of happiness has caused them both to briefly stop thinking of what needs to be done next to keep from dying. 

They’re thirties now, or well she’s still physically twenty, and have recently been reading together at night. They huddle by their fire as the autumn chill sets in, and he reads a few passages before the flames die down. Shoulders bump and sometimes their heads lean against one another. He’s grown to be handsome in her eyes, and she wonders if she’d still think that if others were around. 

One day, after the embers dwindle and a cold breeze drifts through the cracks within their makeshift home, something odd occurs. Within the darkness she makes out his eyes still open as they huddle together, surveying her features. When they make eye contact he clears his throat and shifts to look at the metal sheet ceiling they’ve concocted. 

“What is it?” Death whispers. It’s not great to be loud at night, as time went on the rats got bigger and as did the roaches. They’ve become a sort of predator for them and while both are excellent fighters neither wants to deal with some sort of altercation this late at night. 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he coldly responds. Ahh, so she gets to deal with defensive Five. The one who deflects and tries to turn it around on her. It’s funny and kinda cute that despite all the years that they’ve spent together, he still thinks he can lie to her. 

“You were staring at me,” she turns to her side to face him, trying and failing to hide a smirk. Her hands are flat underneath her head to act as a cushion against the flattened pillow she’s been using for the last six years. 

“You have dirt on your face.” 

“I always have dirt on my face-“ 

“Yeah well,” he drawls, “you have more than usual.” 

In a flash she turns to the other side, hand digging into the dirt nearby and smears it across his face. His mouth is gapping open, and she can’t stop the laughter that bubbles out. He clamps a hand over her mouth and for a moment, they stare into each other's eyes in silence as they wait to hear for any nearby creatures. His eyes are wide with anger and his grip against her mouth is rough, but she’s not scared. She could never be scared of him. 

They stay like that even once it’s clear they aren’t in danger. His grip on her mouth softens slightly but neither diverts their gaze. It almost feels like a contest on who can wimp out first. 

“You have beautiful eyes,” he mutters, his voice so soft it’s almost lost to the howling wind. “That’s what I was looking at.” 

Deaths mouth drops open as his hand falls away. 

“Oh.”

Her bravado is lost, and she feels something tighten within her chest. Her heart is beating rapidly, like whenever they're in danger, but they aren’t. She vaguely remembers watching heroines in romance movies describe this type of thing, this sort of rattling within her abdomen and sudden clamminess of the palms. 

“And your lips,” he starts- 

“What about them?” She whispers, far too nervous to let him continue without responding first.

“They suit your face perfectly.” His thumb comes to rest on her lower lip, and he slightly pulls at it. The woman’s breath hitches and unconsciously scoots closer to him. Their chests are touching as they lay on their sides, due to the closeness her hand comes to rest on the forearm of the hand that’s now moving to gently cradle her face. 

“And I can’t stop thinking about them. Even when we’re in danger, I’m not focusing on the task at hand because all I can think about is your lips.” 

She surges forward, closing the gap between them and pressing her lips against his own. He tastes of dirt and the saltiness of his sweat, but she doesn’t mind, she’s sure she tastes the same. It’s awkward and their teeth clash against one another, saliva dribbling down their chins and their touching each other everywhere they can think of. It’s messy and not romantic at all, holding this sense of life ending urgency. Like if she doesn’t kiss him until she can’t breathe then she’ll finally experience true mortality. 

Eventually they reluctantly pull apart, both gasping for breath as their noses bump against one another. He’s still cradling her face and her grip on his forearm is bruising, as if worried he might pull away with regret. 

“Esattamente come immaginavo” he whispers. She can’t help the smile that breaks out across her lips, nor the happy little sigh that escapes her. She kisses him again, and again and again. He indulges each one. 

She breathes the words against his lips, his fingers now gripping her hip to hold her close. It’s hard to concentrate with his thigh pressed against her. “Come lo hai immaginato?” She finally breathes out. 

“Perfetto.”

More years pass, that same shelter still works as their home, even if it is quite rickety. There’s a makeshift shelf lined with pickled roaches or rats and there’s new support poles throughout. With Fives age she does most of the intensive work now, which he hates and there’s always an argument about it. They are as close as can be though, despite everything and despite the wrinkles littering his face or the slight graying of his hair. She loves him, and he loves her in their own twisted little way. 

One day someone appears and breaks their routine. A woman who goes by the title of “The Handler,” explains the commission to them and its mission. Then she pitches a cushy contract to them and while Five hymns and haws over it, Death is about ready to sign on the dotted line. It’s not that she doesn’t understand the risks or thinks it’ll be enjoyable, but it’s out of this apocalyptic wasteland, and it gives Five a chance to live longer. If they get out of here they can retire in their original timeline and get the medical care he may need in his old age. 

Eventually, he concedes, and they leave behind what they’ve known as home for more than half their lives. It’s weird, being part of society again. At least for Five. Death was never fully part of society to begin with so it’s more of a whole panic inducing experience for her. They are given a small living space which consists of a queen bed and an en-suite bathroom. There’s a kitchenette against one wall with a small metal table that has two chairs pushed underneath it. Five says it looks like a motel straight outta the ‘50s. The Handler tells them that’s the current decade they are in. 

Proper clothes and toiletries are given to them and the first time she showers since before her cryochamber is an experience. The hot water hits her back and seemingly melts her hair, turning it from a ratty mess to complete wetness that hangs down her back. The woman hasn’t had a hair cut since she was a child and as she climbs out of the shower she realizes how much hair she currently possesses. A towel is wrapped tightly around her when there’s a knock on the bathroom door, and she cautiously opens it to let Five in. 

He whistles as he takes her in. Beads of water trail down her body and for once there’s not a speck of dirt on her. She spent forever scrubbing at every crevice and callous on her body, trying to rid herself of decades worth of dirt and survival. Her hands tightly grip the towel, afraid to be near him without her gloves. The commission took their old clothes away, claiming they were just trash now. She was promised new clothes and new gloves, but it hurt to part from the hole infested pair gifted to her by her partner. 

“You look like a whole new woman,” he states. She looks down at her body, all skin, and bones from feasting on scraps for so long. She can’t hold back the chuckle that leaves her. 

“I guess so,” she claims. He’s clean now too, even his beard is gone and all that’s left is a mustache. She’s shocked, he’s had one for so long. They’d try to cut it whenever they could to keep him cleanly but even then it’s not like they could do much. She grabs a pair of scissors from the counter and carefully hands them to him, holding her breath as she watches him take them from her. “Will you cut my hair?” 

Five is shocked, it seems the idea of her cutting her long mane never crossed his mind. But if they are going to be assassins then she needs to be practical and there’s no need for such excessive amounts of hair now that they have access to proper scissors. It’s quiet as he cuts, there’s the faint sound of some old song playing in the background, most likely from the little radio on their dresser. She can hear the snip of the metal each time he cuts away a chunk of her past, the weight slowly lessening. It’s symbolic in a way, as if it’s him shutting the door on that part of their life. 

Time drones on, many songs pass and neither of them speak. Eventually he turns her to him, careful to keep her away from the mirror. She watches him with bated breath, realizing now that maybe he won’t like her with shorter hair. It never crossed her mind, it’s only ever been them so the idea that he may suddenly lose interest just seemed… impossible. 

He snips at a few strands close to her face, her initial reaction being to jerk away which he just tuts at her for. Finally, she stays still, and he finishes his work with a few more snips. After slowly setting the scissors down he takes her in, a smile slowly creeping into his thinning lips. “Bellísimo“ he whispers. 

He always flirts with her in Italian, it causes her to flush. With all the dirt gone and the lights of the bathroom shining down on her, only a towel covering her naked frame, she suddenly feels insecure. She’s never felt that around him, never felt the need really. It was never about being pretty, there wasn’t time for pretty. But now there sort of is and there are the resources for it too. 

He turns her to the mirror and the woman before her isn’t apocalyptic Death. This is the new her, fresh into society and ready to kill anyone necessary for her. She hopes that she comes to like who she sees in the mirror, or at least recognize her. Right now it seems like a hollowed out stranger with bags under her eyes and a bony form. But she will admit, Five is a good hairdresser. 

The commission is smart, that she will give them. They hardly ever assign her and Five on missions together. They become ships passing in the night, barely seeing one another for an hour or so at a time before they are rushing off in a new mission, after a new target. Furthermore, they give her new silky black gloves and The Handler has dubbed her “The Belladonna” because she’s stealthy like a poison and quick like one too. Efficient and always out of sight. She loses count of the people she’s killed, at this point it’s instinctual to take off her gloves and just touch whenever need be. The horror of watching someone drop-dead mere moments later soon wears off, and instead she’s left feeling emptier each time. 

Five has always been trying to figure out how to get home, but now with the technology of the commission he’s really started cracking down on it. She tries to help when she can, offering insight and even solving one of the various problems. It’s late one night, a rare one where they are both in their room together. 

He’s got a drink in his hand, and she’s in one of his shirts with her gloves on. They’ve got papers scattered across the floor with various formulas and her brain hurts from all this thinking. She just got back from a mission, having successfully killed eight people who were at risk of disrupting the timeline. It was easy until the end, one slipped away and a chase began. She eventually got him but had to pull her gun on him which has always been her least favorite way to do it. It’s not like she’s bad at it, quite the contrary, but it’s messy. It’s brutal and suddenly it seems more impactful. With a simple touch they choke and freeze, then fall to the ground and boom! Dead. With a gun there’s a struggle and so much blood, there’s gasping and wheezing and pleads for a second chance. She feels less human every time she pulls the trigger. 

“What about your age?” She randomly asks. He’s sat on the edge of the bed and her question has his gaze whipping away from the papers to her pacing form. “I mean, if we can travel to the correct time to fix the apocalypse from happening then maybe we can do something about your age.” 

“What’s wrong with my age?” a white brow is raised and she sighs. She’s never really voiced her fear to him, worried he might end up becoming offended. In all honesty old age suits him, he’s always acted like an old man. Crotchety, opinionated with sarcasm dripping from his tone. He’s the kind who’d probably sit on his porch and yell at kids to get off his lawn. 

Death walks over to him, her hands coming to rest on his shoulders. They lock eyes, and she knows it’s time to finally tell him. “You’ll die in a couple of decades, and I’ll most likely still be a twenty-something year old woman. If we manage to get back to your family's timeline and retire then… Shouldn’t we be given the chance at a proper life together?” 

“What like kids and a house? I didn’t peg you for the whole suburban life.” 

She scoffs, eyes practically rolling into the back of her head. “No, I’m not talking about the whole white picket fence shebang.”

“I’m talking about us building a home together, finding a place with big windows in the living room that we’ll place two armchairs by so we can read in the sunlight. We’ll buy enough books to fill up a whole wall with them and a bar cart with your favorite spirits always stocked up.”

“We’ll get serious business-esque jobs and on the weekends we’ll lay in bed for an extra hour, cuddling or making love. You’ll get more time with not only me but your whole family too. Don’t you want that?” 

It’s quiet for far too long as he contemplates her words, his eyes scanning over her features before looking at the mess of papers behind her. She can tell he’s doing the logistics in his head, weighing the pros and cons. His hands rest on her hips, and she gently straddles his lap, her arms linking around his neck to keep him close. 

“It’ll complicate the formula even more,” he softly observes. “We’re so close to finishing this. I can tell.” 

Her hands slide up to cup the back of his head. She can’t help but frown as he lets her down, her heart squeezing as she thinks of what’s down the road. “Please, we’re both smart, and can easily figure it out. It’s just a couple extra numbe-“ 

“Death-“ 

“Please,” she practically begs, her hands tangling in his hair and slightly tugging. “I can’t go live a normal life if you aren’t part of it.” 

“I miss them, they’re my family, and they need me.”

She’s losing him, the wall is slowly going up, and she’s desperately trying to jump over it before the finality sets in. “What about me, don’t I need you too? Don’t we need each other I mean we survived the apocalypse together for fuck's sake!” 

“And I spent the entire time thinking about getting back to them. Surviving for them.” 

He doesn’t mean too, she knows that deep down, but his words cut her deeply. A wound on her barely beating heart is forming, and he’s just staring at her with a hardened expression. 

Her eyes well with unshed tears, voice quivering as she speaks. “What about me, about us? Didn’t you survive for me too?” 

It’s silent for two beats, then three and then four. They just stare at each other waiting for one to relent. Both of them are so stubborn and so set in their plan. She knows this is a pipe dream, but she was still holding out hope until this very moment. He thickly swallows and she just knows.

The wall is fully between them now. She couldn’t make the jump. His mind is made up, and she’s scared to hear what he’ll say. “I think I should go alone. There are less numbers if it’s just me.” 

And that scratch, that wound, only deepens. It’s a crater now, and she fears there’s very little of her heart left functioning. She’s died a million times, been stabbed in every place imaginable, contracted various deadly illnesses, died from fire and hypothermia and yet now, this hurts far more than all of those combined. She climbs off of him like his touch is hurting her and aggressively wipes at her eyes. 

“I didn’t realize I was hindering you so much-“ 

“I didn’t say that. I’m just sa-“ 

“I heard you loud and clear. If my presence is such a bother then I think I’ll request a different room.” She pulls on a pair of pants and quickly slips her feet into a pair of slippers. He just watches her too, doesn’t jump up to stop her. All this time she’s worried about what would happen if she voiced her thoughts, and it turns out her fears were warranted. All it took was her asking for something for once, begging for something even, for him to shut her out. 

Five is selfish and cold-hearted, and he doesn’t love her like she loves him. He’s a man obsessed with one mission only, and she bets he won’t even like his family once he gets there. He just wants to be some kind of hero to them, to prove to himself that he can be the savior. To make up for his absence all those years. 

With the click of the door, she severs the only love she’s ever known and changes the course of her life. 

[phantom-0-writer]

scene 03: get in loser, we’re going shopping

original prompt: gotham academy's mentorship program

more at: table of contents

timeline: much later after scene 1 & 2

Danny and Damian sat at one of the corner tables in the library. Danny had finals coming up, and was busy reviewing the term’s worth of topics from all his classes. Damian, who had insisted on joining him, sat bored. having nothing left to study. 

Danny looked at the younger boy when he sighed for the 3rd time in the past five minutes. Deciding that maybe he should take a break and indulge Damian, Danny finished the last problem, and let his book shut with a loud finality. 

Damian looked up at him hopefully, “Are you done, now?” He asked. Danny could tell he was trying his best to not seem too eager, but Danny couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. 

“Yup,” packing his things away first, he waited for Damian, when he noticed what the boy had taken up in his boredom. “Woah, Damian.” He whispered in awe, picking up the paper closest to him. “You did this?” 

Damian seemed to need a moment to understand what Danny was referring to before becoming flustered and embarrassed, a soft pink spreading on his ears, “It was simply mindless work.” He sounded defensive, like someone had berated him for his artist interests before. Danny tried not to react to that, knowing Damian would probably find it insulting. 

The sketch was on the back of a math worksheet Damian had long since completed, it was of a fighter who seemed to be using his sword to attack a nondiscript opponent. Danny knew from his many intensive training sessions with Pandora that the figure's form was slipping into leaving them open for an easy frontal attack from their opponent, while simultaneously leaving the fighter to not have the range of motion they might need to defend themselves. Most of the lines of the drawing were scratchy and short but overly repeated giving the fighter the illusion of fast movement, directly in contrast the hard outline of the fighter’s form made it seem like the fighter was stuck in their position. 

Liminals and liminal-agencent people by definition did not have a strong awareness to manipulate ectoplasm consciously like other more ghostly beings could. Coincidentally, liminals tended to leak their own internally produced and stored ectoplasm when they acted on their deep emotions. Scientifically this usually showed itself as a person ‘harnessing their full potential’ in moments of crisis or in some more extreme and rarer cases accessing their metagene (meta’s were not to be confused with liminals or ghostly beings they hold few to no similarities outside of coincidence). Danny had known from the beginning that Damian was a liminal, likely from prolonged exposure to ectoplasm, and paradoxically had a difficult time understanding and accessing his own emotions. Emotional negligence was never healthy for an ectoplasmic being, and Danny knew it would be a long process for Damian to learn how to properly deal with his layered and complex emotions. 

  That being said, there was a steady level of ectoplasm spread over the paper, something that did not match what Danny would have expected from Damian’s current state with his emotional and subsequently his ectoplasmic abilities. The fighter was clearly a character Damian had either consciously or subconsciously created to represent himself. 

Danny could work with this. 

During the long moment of silence Damian seemed to have grown more and more anxious for Danny’s reaction. Danny let his emotions display easily on his face, wide eyed, “This is so good, Damian. I didn’t know you drew. Do you like art?” 

“I do not draw. Art is a meaningless waste of time and only those without higher goals would indulge in such an activity.” Damian sounded conflicted, and the words he was saying were pretty obviously echoed from what someone else had said to him. 

“That’s ridiculous,” Danny scoffed, “Art is a very important basis for almost everything. I mean it would feel pretty stale to live in a world where there was no uniqueness anywhere. Drawing, painting, writing, acting, sculpting, singing, or whatever else, are all unique forms of making something that no one else could truly ever recreate exactly. Even if it’s minute, there are always differences in the way that one person would commit to something than another person. It’s the basis of humanity and in the core of the human mind. If you try to block it so harshly from yourself, you’ll end up locking up an integral part of yourself that sets you apart from the other 7 million people on this planet.” 

Damain stood there, considering what Danny said. 

Not waiting another moment, Danny grabbed Damian’s bag heading out of the library. “What are you doing?” Damian asked suspiciously, quickly falling in step with Danny, grabbing his bag back. 

Danny smirked at him, “We’re going shopping, Loser.” 

Damian looked scandalied at the nickname, not understanding the reference. “I am not a loser.” he huffed. 

Danny just laughed as they waited for the next bus. Once they got to their stop and entered the store, Danny beelined for where he knew the art supplies to be. Damian followed behind him, unfamiliar with the store.

Sure, if Damian wanted, he could easily buy the more top of the line supplies, after all he was a Wayne. But Danny was pointedly a broke scholarship kid right now, and it didn’t sit right to let Damian pay for things he was buying, no matter how much of a trust fund kid he may be. Not that Danny was exactly broke, but he imagined the cashiers at their local supermarket wouldn’t appreciate him trying to pay for a sketchbook, a couple sketch pens and pencils, and a 25 pack of Crayola markers with solid gold coins. 

It was around 4:30 when they left the store with their stuff, Damian eyeing the bag curiously the whole time. They walked the rest of the way to a local cafe, and Danny sat Damian down. 

“Okay, we’ll be here for the next hour,” He pulled out his own sketchpad, the concepts filling the pages were more accurately  blueprints more than drawings, “Draw whatever you want.” 

“I don’t know what to draw.” Damian huffed, awkwardly taking the supplies from Danny, and examining his surroundings carefully. Damian sat in the corner for a while, blending into the surroundings as he watched how the world spun around him. Danny was half-way through reviewing one of his older designs when Damian finally decided to open the pack of pencils and the first strike on the paper was made. They stayed there for long over the allotted hour, both sucked into their own projects. 

“I finished.” Damian breathed in satisfaction, stretching his hand and back in his chair at the admission. 

Danny eyed him with curiosity. “Can I see?” He asked. Danny wasn’t sure how right he had been about Damian using drawing to help regulate his ectoplasm and emotions, and he wanted to check how consistent it would be. Also he was really curious to see what he had drawn. 

Damian looked a little bashful at his request, but he nodded, handing the sketch book over to Danny. Danny could easily feel the ectoplasmic energy scattered across the page, it wasn’t as constant as the first drawing had been, but it was still there. So he was right. 

The drawing this time was of what had likely originally meant to be the barista, based on the outlines of the industrial coffee machine and register that had started out but been forgotten later for the center of the piece. The man was wearing an apron similarly like the one the barista had been wearing and a similar uniform, but that was the only similarities that Danny could draw from his surroundings in the drawing. The man, unlike their teenaged barista, was quite aged, with thin but well groomed hair, and a mustache. He had a longer face scattered with wrinkles of old age. The old man was looking down, presumably working on something, and seemingly happy with whatever it was. The ecto-signature was more concentrated around the old man, leading Danny to believe it was someone Damian likely loved and admired. 

“You’re so good at this.” Danny complemented, honestly. “Did you have fun?” He asked, it was starting to get dark and they had stayed at the cafe longer than Danny had asked him to without complaint. 

“Yeah, I did.” He answered after a moment. Danny ruffled his hair affectionately, “Hey, you’re gonna mess it up.” He complained, making no effort to remove himself. 

“C’mon, let’s get you home. I have to go to work soon.” Danny led them out of the store, just in time for an expensive looking black car to pull around the bend and expertly stop in front of him. 

“Young Master Damian, I’ve come to pick you up.” An old British gentleman spoke from the driver seat, it was the man from the drawing. 

“Understood, Alfred.” Damian turned to hand the art supplies back to Danny. 

“They’re yours.” Danny refused. 

“I’ll take care of them.” Damian promised, placeing the supplies carefully inside his book bag. 

“I’m sure you will.” Danny nodded, stepping back so the car could drive away. 

“Mister Daniel, I would have no problem taking you home as well. It is quite late now.” The driver spoke kindly. It surprised Danny how accurate Damian had drawn that picture without so much as a reference. 

“No it’s alright.” Danny waved away the idea, “I have to go to work now, and it’d be too out of the way for you.” He explained. 

The driver didn’t press, but Danny noticed how his eye caught on something in the distance before he bid his farewells and left. 

Danny made his way to the bus stop, and waited, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Moments later another older teen approached the bus stop as well, waiting idly for the transport to arrive. He had black hair with a white tuft in the front, a sign of prolonged ectoplasmic exposure Danny knew all too well, roughly 6’ and some inches, and wore a hood of his red jacket over half his head. 

Danny supposed it was fitting for someone who called himself the Red Hood. 

The bus arrived, and both Danny and his co-passenger got at the stop before Arkham Asylum. Park Row AKA Crime Alley. By the time Danny clocked in and changed into his uniform for his shift it was already dark outside. 

“Welcome to BatBurger.” He said in chorus with the rest of the workers at the bell chime of the door opening. The man walked to the counter silently, his white tuft of hair skillfully swept under a baseball cap he hadn’t had before. When he approached Danny’s station, Danny took his order, and right before completing the transaction, as per procedure, “Can I get a name for your order?” He asked. 

“Jason Todd.” 

[sutashii]

Hoshina Soshiro x Writer!Officer!Reader

setting: you are an officer of Third Division, and one of your hobbies is to write different fictional stories. as soon as Soshiro finds out about your hobby, he, as a true fan of literature, will never leave you alone anymore.

pairing: Hoshina Soshiro x Writer!Officer!Reader

warnings: lots of lolz because Soshiro is a tease, but nothing explicit here

notes: yes, Soshiro have read even NC-17 works of yours hehe. it was really funny to write lol. btw this one is about 3,8k words, it’s longer than my usual drabble-like works. but i still hope you will enjoy!

tag section: @moon-cakiie Thank you again for your support!

On the Edge of a Sword

You worked hard to finally become who you are today.

Long days and even nights of training sessions, reading books about kaiju up and down, each time more and more dangerous battles on the battlefield made you the one who can lead others. The one who can assess the situation with a second glance, react quickly, or hide and wait for the right moment when you can deliver the most devastating and accurate blow.

But, naturally, you, like all officers, had your favorite hobbies. After all, you were a simple person who loved, for example, to eat well or sleep longer when the situation allowed it. On weekends, you went out into the city to look at the shop windows and walk around the shopping centers, absorbing the noise of the crowded streets and seeing with your own eyes what you were trying so hard for.

And you also really loved to write.

There were times when inspiration would hit you, and for several days in a row you would scribble something in the notes on your phone in any free minute - during meals, in between workouts, before and after showers. These were short notes about ideas that came to your mind and that you absolutely could not lose. They were about the development of the plot as a whole, about some small details that were definitely worth mentioning, about dialogues between the main characters.

But there were also days when you didn't want to dive into it at all because of the accumulated fatigue, so you put off writing the next chapter until next time. The fatigue had been especially strong lately, considering how much more dangerous kaiju attacks had become. However, you still found time for what really made you happy.

One such day, during your lunch break, you hurried to finish your lunch as quickly as possible and go out for some fresh air. You thought much better outside, even though you were surrounded by the polluted air of a noisy city. At Defense Forces’ Base, by the way, the air seemed cleaner, but you tried not to fill your head with such details, because otherwise you risked losing the thread of the story. You fished your phone out of your uniform pocket, opened your notes, and, exhaling, began typing.

Today, it took you only a couple of minutes to get into the right mood. Your fingers flew across the touchscreen keyboard, and your breathing seemed to have almost stopped, concentrating a small influx of fresh air at the very top of your lungs. You already knew how you wanted to continue your new story. All that was left was to write a few chapters in which the main heroine's dilemma would come closer to its resolution, and in which her love story would reach its climax.

"I wonder who you're texting with that excited expression," a painfully familiar voice sounded in your ear, making you flinch and your heart sink into your heels. You instinctively pressed your phone to your chest, hiding the screen, and carefully looked up.

In front of you stood your vice-captain himself.

"N-Nobody," and it wasn't a lie, you noted with your inner voice. You really weren't texting anyone at this moment, so you couldn't be caught doing anything. And anyway, is it even forbidden to write love messages during a break? Why vice-captain was looking at you with such a sly squint?!

"Yeah? And it seems to me that I had never seen anyone other than you who typed so fast," Soshiro said with feigned thoughtfulness, clearly testing your strength. You felt that he had been watching you for a long time and noting your actions, and today was clearly no exception. You attributed his behavior to his vice-captain duties, to the need to keep an eye on each of his subordinates so as not to miss any danger. However, you did not expect that he would appear in front of you so clearly and ask you a question directly.

With Soshiro… let’s just say it was a bit complicated. You knew you couldn’t be too open with him. It would sound stupid from the outside – everyone knew that the vice-captain was always reliable, that he would always listen and support, even if he didn’t forget to have a good laugh. However, you knew very well that if you dug a little deeper than his carefree nature, you could find a calculating mind that noticed every detail about everyone. You were wildly impressed by his ability to pick up even the smallest facts and put them together to give a crushing verdict. Naturally, you were both fascinated and scared by this.

Because there was no way Soshiro should have known that you were in love with him.

"You misunderstood," you smiled awkwardly, turning your phone back on. The screen showed an unfinished sentence, and you sighed tiredly. "I'm not texting anyone. I'm finishing up the chapter."

"The chapter?" Soshiro asked, opening his eyes slightly. Your heart skipped a beat, because every time you saw the vice-captain's gaze, your own lingered longer than it should have.

"Yes," you nodded, smiling nervously. He wouldn't scold you for doing something like that during lunchtime, would he? "I promised my readers to post the chapter last week, but, as you know, the kaiju attacks make their own adjustments to our plans."

Silence fell between you. You anxiously chewed your lip, a bad habit that should’ve been gotten rid of a long time ago. Soshiro froze, his gaze piercing you with a very serious expression. Did you do something wrong? Was it really written in some regulation that you can’t do this, especially during duty? Did it even apply to breaks?

"Vice-captain, I assure you, I do not write anything that could somehow reveal our officers’ duties," you hastened to justify yourself, so that Soshiro would not think in any way that you were giving away Defense Forces' secrets. It would never have occurred to you to do so, because you knew perfectly well how important and dangerous your work was, and any ill-wisher would certainly learn something from your works. You could not and would not take such a risk.

"I know that you would not do such a thing," he finally said, and you felt your heart begin to beat at a normal speed again. "However, I will certainly take it personally that I am still not on your reader lists."

You froze, unsure of what to say. Did you hear wrong, or did Soshiro really just complain that you didn't share the link to your author page?

"Sorry, vice-captain, but I don't think you'd like that," you said, and Soshiro's grin only widened.

"Oh, I get it. Fanfiction and all that stuff, eh?" Soshiro sat down on the bench next to you, his smile oozing with cunning and something else you didn't quite catch.

"Well... not only that," you cleared your throat, the awkwardness of the whole situation causing a slight blush to play on your cheeks. "My page used to only have fanfiction on it, but I've been writing more original stories now."

"Interesting," Soshiro nodded and handed you his phone, to which you could only raise your eyebrows in surprise. "I'd like to read it in my spare time. If you don't mind, of course."

"S-Sure," you nodded, trying not to squeal in joy, shame, and excitement. With slightly shaking hands, you took Soshiro's phone and began to type in the address of your author's page. "Here, you don't have to register, even unregistered users can read and comment here," you expertly instructed your vice-captain on how this Internet platform works, to which Soshiro nodded in satisfaction.

For the next few days, your interaction with Soshiro was reduced to almost nothing, except for training and sparring sessions. You were tirelessly practicing your fighting skills, training almost to the point of exhaustion, so you could not find even a second to ask Soshiro his opinion. And, frankly, you were too embarrassed to do so, so you decided to simply ignore the situation, and Soshiro only helped you in this, literally evaporating into thin air after each training session.

After a few days of hard work, you finally found enough strength to look at the updated statistics for your works. The platform allowed you to track the daily growth of views, likes, and comments on your works, and it was very convenient because you did not have to manually scroll the page and keep track of it. When you opened the statistics this time, you were surprised to find that even on your very old works, the number of views began to increase proportionally to the number of chapters, and you turned off the screen of your phone in a panic and buried your face in the pillow. You should have expected this, having given your vice-captain your page, but you still felt awkward. Did Soshiro really even read this?!

It was more than strange for you to feel two such different worlds touching each other, especially in such a strange manner. You even partly regretted giving Soshiro your account with a bunch of similar works, because after reading them all, Soshiro would definitely not let you live a quiet life. You secretly hoped that Soshiro would quickly get bored of reading second-rate fanfiction on unfamiliar fandoms, but on the other hand, you were offended that he would not even get to your latest, more serious works, and the difference between them and fanfiction was colossal both in time and in the quality. And why did Soshiro start reading from the very beginning, and not from the latest works?! After all, if he understands that there is nothing to catch here and gives up reading, only your worst works will remain in his memory!

You let out a heavy but quiet breath, trying not to wake the officers in the neighboring bunks. Shame and disgrace, that's what had been playing in your blood for the last few days. There was something thrilling in the fact that your love had paid so much attention to your work. You smiled to yourself and mentally crossed your fingers in the hope that Soshiro would finally tell you his opinion.

The days continued to slip through your fingers, and the interactions between you and Soshiro continued to be limited to just a few words during training. You began to worry even more. Was it really that awkward to talk to you after what Soshiro had read? You continued to practice your close combat moves with particular thoughtfulness. Punch, dodge, counter, dodge again. Suddenly, it hit you, and you almost squealed right in the middle of training.

Did he even get around of reading NC-17 rated works?!

You were ready to bang your head on the floor from indignation and shame. You hadn't thought about this at all when you gave Soshiro the link to your page. The awkward feeling you had felt earlier? It was nothing compared to what you felt now, knowing that Soshiro had probably already gotten to the particularly intimate works that you had started writing a little later. You tried your best to continue training as if nothing had happened, but these thoughts just wouldn't leave your head.

"Don't get distracted, or you'll be eaten alive on the battlefield," Soshiro reminded, coming closer. Even he noticed that you weren’t feeling well, and you hurried to tidy yourself up as much as possible - at least to remove the "I'm dead" expression from your face.

"Yes sir," you said crisply and continued practicing your close stance and punches. Soshiro's gaze lingered on you a little longer than it should have, and you were about to ask if everything was okay, when suddenly...

"A true samurai never backs down from the obstacles that Lady Life throws at him," Soshiro said with feigned loftiness. His lips were still adorned with the same mischievous smirk that he usually bestowed on his subordinates when he was plotting something or noticed something incriminating. At first you didn't pay much attention, but a few seconds later, when Soshiro had already gone off to give help to other officers, you felt as if you had been doused from head to toe with ice water.

It was a quote from your fanfic.

You really wanted to bury yourself in the ground and never show yourself from under it again.

Which is essentially what you did. Now you were deliberately avoiding Soshiro, unobtrusively, but still trying to cross paths with him less. The feeling of shame was growing in you exponentially, and you didn't know what to do.

For the first time in your writing life, you were afraid to open the statistics. However, once every couple of days you still did it, looking at the phone screen and squinting, afraid to see the obvious. You sighed heavily. Soshiro really did go through the NC-17 fanfics and also liked them, like the previous ones. At least he didn’t write comments, you thought. On the other hand, you really wanted to hear his opinion about your writing skills, because it was obvious that the newer the works were, the better their quality changed. At least, you wanted to believe it.

Weeks passed. You carried out your duties as an officer of the Defense Forces responsibly, training hard and bravely defending the city from the attacks of the kaiju. The battles were not easy, and despite the support of Hibino Kafka as Kaiju No. 8, it became more and more difficult to deal with the threats. However, at the end of the day, you were happy that you were all a team that stood up for each other.

You were standing on the balcony of the main building. The setting sun was slowly disappearing behind the horizon, and the air was starting to get cooler. By your calculations, Soshiro should have gotten around to your original works by now, and you were especially curious about his opinion, but you didn’t dare to ask him directly. Since then, you hadn’t had a chance to talk. Your conversations had mostly been about work, barely touching on aspects of your personal lives, and not a word had been said by him about your works. This could only mean two things: either Soshiro was simply choosing a more convenient moment to share his positive impressions (and the thought of this warmed your heart), or things were so bad that it was easier for him to pretend he hadn’t read anything (and this thought had already hurt you and your writer’s ego). Or maybe Soshiro was just trying to make sure that you really didn’t include work details in your works. This option seemed the most reasonable.

But most of all, of course, you were worried about your latest work, which was in progress. As already said, you would never take details of your officer entourage to write a work, and for the sake of everyone's safety, you were going to stick to this rule in the future. However, the only detail that could be latched on was the love interest of the main heroine. A short, dark-haired man with an athletic build, a traditional swordsman who devotes all his free time to training, cheerful, but at the same time serious in the right places, did not leave your regular readers indifferent either. Hino Shigekazu became the absolute star of your work, and you understood why. His entire image completely repeated the image of your vice-captain, and from the very beginning you understood what thin ice you were walking on, but you could not find the strength in yourself to delete or stop working on this work. In many ways, the main heroine reflected your values ​​and principles, and her love interest in Shigekazu only added color to the existing plot. The two of them really were a great couple, and that was the only thing stopping you from deleting this work.

It was too filled with your hope that something similar would happen in your life someday.

"It's almost time for lights out," a familiar voice said from behind you, and you flinched. A smile appeared on your face involuntarily, and you turned around. Hoshina Soshiro was standing right behind you. His body didn't show any tension even after a long day of training, and his neat but strong hands, usually so deft with swords, were now hidden in the pockets of his uniform.

"Yes," you nodded and forcibly returned your gaze to the sunset creeping behind the night clouds. "I'll be leaving soon."

"Don't worry, I'm not a mother to keep track of who goes to bed at what time," Soshiro came closer and leaned his hands on the balcony railing, also turning his gaze to the setting sun. "However, if you stay up late, as your vice-captain, I will be obliged to intervene."

You smiled and exhaled in relief. You missed your casual conversations so much, missed Soshiro's attention, which at such moments was directed exclusively at you. His presence always caused an indescribable storm of emotions in you, even if you were just silent next to each other. You felt his care, albeit sometimes hidden under a layer of strict remarks and bitter jokes. Despite the difference in your positions, you always felt equal to him when it came to the two of you.

"I never thought that fanfiction is such an interesting thing," Soshiro chuckled thoughtfully, and you almost lost your balance. Is he going to discuss all of this right now?!

"I'm glad that, uh, it gave you some pleasure," you muttered awkwardly.

"At first, of course, I thought it was a hopeless undertaking," ouch, you thought. Soshiro really knows how to press on a sore spot. "But as I read, I couldn't help but be amazed about how quickly your writing skills have grown. I can confidently say that your latest works can easily compete with the current authors on the market."

Gods, it was so nice to hear those words after so many weeks of uncertainty.

"Vice-captain, you're too kind to me," you tried to return your face to normal state, but you couldn't wipe the stupid, satisfied smile off it. Praise from Soshiro meant especially much to you.

"Oh, no, I have a lot of complaints too," Soshiro said playfully, crossing his arms. "Let’s take your latest work, On the Edge of a Sword, for example. Why is Hino Shigekazu such a slowpoke? I understand that it's the author's intention, but didn’t you think that he may have noticed his feelings for the main heroine a lot earlier, not after 16 long chapters?" you couldn't believe your ears. Was he criticizing his own image? "He's not stupid, after all. You pointed out his attentiveness to his surroundings, so why do you think he wouldn’t notice such an important detail from the start, especially with a woman he clearly cares about?” Soshiro shook his head, and something inside you clicked. This conversation was hardly a normal critique. “When writing a love story, pay more attention to the chemistry that occurs between the characters. Many of their interactions may not seem like what they seem at first glance.”

“Vice-captain,” you began cautiously. You weren’t stupid either, but you still really wanted to check your guess. “Are we really talking about my work now?”

Soshiro smiled slyly. “Like a kitsune, huh,” you thought, and an idea for your next work instantly popped into your head. However, for now, you quickly pushed those thoughts aside.

“What if not?” Soshiro raised an eyebrow and looked thoughtfully into your eyes, and you quickly looked away.

“Then… you know my answer,” you said with a tremor in your voice, this whole situation was so absurd, but at the same time romantic, just like in the books. The sunset, the one-on-one conversation, the veiled confession of love - all of this ignited your writer's heart and gave it inspiration, but, of course, it was all secondary. You couldn't believe that Soshiro really, really admitted to you that he noticed your feelings from the very beginning. And that he approved of them and believed that they were mutual. Oh, Gods. You were ready to pass out right then and there.

"No, I don't know," Soshiro smiled, and your breath caught in your chest. He really wanted a direct, unvarnished answer from you, even though he had admitted his own feelings in such a sophisticated way just a minute ago. You just shook your head and smiled. Something about the vice-captain remained unchanged.

"Vice-captain," you said, plucking up the courage to meet his gaze. "More precisely... Soshiro." You narrowed your eyes slightly, tasting the name, savoring it on your lips. "I... I care about you, as you may have already realised. No, not like that. I could even say that I love you, and those feelings are much more than just the relationship between a vice-captain and an officer. Of course I do not expect you to reciprocate, and if you decline my feelings, I assure you that our relationship will remain the same as they are now. This will not affect my duty as an officer in any way," a bitter lie. Of course it will, but you still will do everything possible to survive this. After all, your duties cannot allow you to behave recklessly because of emotions.

"I believe you. However," Soshiro said thoughtfully, his gaze radiating seriousness as if he was in the middle of a battlefield. "My feelings for you have gone beyond a work relationship for a long time ago already," he went silent for a moment, but then his face lit up with a sly smile again. "You specifically wanted me to say that out loud, didn't you? Tsk, well, 1:1."

You laughed heartily, happiness filling your lungs and your stomach twisting unpleasantly with excitement, but you were willing to put up with this feeling. You knew that in the end it was justified and even pleasant.

"Sorry, vice-captain," you breathed out and smiled again, still not believing what was happening. This wasn't another one of your fantasies, not another one of your works, but reality? Wow, you really could be considered lucky.

"Well, I'll be looking forward to new chapters," Soshiro stretched, moving away from the balcony railing. Despite his outward calm, you could tell from his voice and posture that he was nervous too. It was cute, you thought, but you didn't dare say it out loud. "And be sure, I'll be expecting even more interesting plot twists from you."

"Yes sir!" you said, a wide smile still playing on your face.

Soshiro always knew how to make you happy.