#have they learnt NOTHING from these past 3 games

[njdivas]

Nico is stronger than me bc I would’ve killed all my teammates already

[1864reruns]

ㅤㅤㅤgratefulness (i'm sorry, can this be over now?)ㅤ౨ৎㅤ12.9k

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ2024 ©1864RERUNS

oneㅤ/ㅤtwo synopsis. luffy loves you— you know this with how abundantly clear love is in every ministration of his outstretched hand and a grin— yet your traitorous heart demands more, even though you're in no place to give him your loyalty. you know this so you do not demand his love nor to be saved, even when met with a relentlessly stretched hand.

warning(s). gn! reader, hanahaki disease, but some creatively liberated variation of it, angst, hurt/some comfort, slow burn, but does it really count if nothing happens?, unrequited love, pining and the works, background character death, blood, violent imagery, vague allusion to an unspecified mental disorder that involves eating habits (pls be careful!!!), luffy tries his best to be kind but it's cruel, reader spirals 🙏; minimal editing and proofreading (these are basically my thoughts raw and unadulterated)

from vyon. the card game they play is a vietnamese one also known as smth like thirteen in english and has too many rules to explain but it doesn't really matter :3 i was a beast at that game though i fear; this fanfic has been in my drafts for so long, it also grew into too big of a project than it was meant to be. i also had to split this up into two parts, it was getting too long, i'm sorry ＞︿＜

do not repost / copy / translate.

Once you know Monkey D. Luffy, you'll know his heart not a few minutes after. He's welded the unmoving, burning ingot to his bicep, always on display due to his amassing collection of armless vests; rubber skin melted around the golden gem, oozing past the lines of his beating heart to staple it there, an anomaly on the expanse of skin not otherwise susceptible to bullets or cannons. Your captain is a man that lives with his heart on his tongue, always ready to dictate the lay of your next move with an irregular beat that drums against the skinned men of war and an impulsivity that makes his crew scramble after him exasperatedly; oxygen taken from his cerebral arteries to his brain are stained in the grease and oil that stick to the meat he handles so carelessly. In the same endearing way, he's careless with his heart, allows for the small stuff to momentarily prick his heart, for judgement to cloud into anger before it picks up on the bitter taste of agony.

It's always easy to get a frown onto Luffy's face. Feign disinterest in his stories; make yourself too busy to help him look for strange insects; force him to shower, scold him after he does something he wasn't meant to; keep him away from something he seems interested in; starve him for more than five minutes— he makes it all exceptionally too easy. You're not audacious enough to claim to know Luffy any more than the Strawhats, especially not those that he had met in East Blue; you try not to let it bother you that they managed to meet a younger Luffy who had so many holes in his defence, whose smile threatened through skin more, who had yet to find scars in his palm from how hard he had to clench his fists.

To you, it seems unfair that Luffy had managed to uncover so many of your firsts. His unwavering presence by your side as you learnt how hard it was to live on sea, the intonations of your screaming when a marine canon was pointed at you, to live so freely away from the confines of restrictive justice, how it felt to have a hand in yours to promise forever and then some. Luffy has no preferential treatment when it comes to people he loves; he treats them all the same, no hierarchy could dream to disrupt that.

With the same sandals he uses to stomp on the faces of Marine's, he could demand food from Sanji, money from Nami, Zoro to play with him— instead, you watch him whine Sanji, food and dissolve into a puddle when his cook orders him to wait, he allows Nami's fists to fall onto his head when he makes any financially impulsive decision (or even thinks them), and he idles himself with drawing on Zoro's face with Usopp and Chopper, with the previous two of them taking the psychical brunt of their consequences. (Chopper is let off with a mere promise that he won't join in with their shenanigans again when it involves making Zoro into a fool and a growing bump underneath his hat.)

Luffy, from second to fourth gear, is tender aggression when it is love.

His form is bizarrely respectful when the door opens and light dawns upon your face; you see him through the gaps of Nami and Sanji's legs and towering forms over him, his hands on his thighs and feet tucked underneath his bottom. He slurs out an I'm sorry that lets you know that his face is definitely messed up and then follows up with an I was hungry though!

Then Nami messes him up some more for his shitty justification.

She leaves him— some caricature of her anger— on the floor with her hands on her hips and Sanji trailing after her with hearts in his eyes at her dominant display of power. As she passes Brook, he asks for the colour of her underwear and earns himself the same treatment. It's then that you laugh. Luffy snapped his head up, following after the trembling air of your laughter and then calls out your name, the syllables are all messy around his swollen cheeks and a missing tooth that will come back after a few minutes but you cannot rid yourself of the thought that it's sticky with love that you only remember hearing when you were just a babe, screaming and crying in the arms of a tired and ill mother in a hospital. You were introduced to a group of midwives with same love you hear now, their idle finger catching into both your small hands; Luffy's hand dances across the air, breaking apart your laugh with urgency and catching onto your wrist.

You're not sure if it's you who had been pulled to him or if he'd managed to catapult himself into you but you both end up a mess on the floor regardless. Limbs tangled around each other in a wave as you both fall to the deck, Luffy does not correct the length of his arm and takes to wrapping the limb around you like a vine snaked around the trunk of a tree. You don't know a start nor an end as Luffy nuzzles his beat–up face on your shoulder. "Hey captain," you raise your head to look down on him, trying to wrench a hand through the tight spirals he's coiled around you.

"I'm hungry," he whines in lieu of a response, "and I'm bored, Usopp kicked me out after I ate one of his ketchup stars." He doesn't relent with his hold on you, simply loosening the coil that you're trying to work your hand through before tightening again once your arm makes it past to trap it against your side. You don't question the fact that Usopp's ketchup stars may be laced with gunpowder or what the small dose of gunpowder may have done to Luffy's internal organs.

You guess even Usopp has his limits when it comes to his childish captain. "I can't do a lot about either of those things if you're keeping me hostage here." He looks up at you, his exaggeratedly large lips in a pout that matches the swelling of his cheeks and then says your name again, like you’ve done him wrong. It's a disordered collection of the letters again but you find you can't really do anything to fight against it. Instead, green tendrils sprout from your trapped arm, each vine wrapped in a light of leaves and strain against his extended limb before he gives in and, instead, laughs as he wraps his rubber arm around the spindly, twisted branches splitting open layers of skin on your bicep. His skin coloured against the green runner keeps the bine from wilting down to meet gravity.

You let Luffy do whatever he wants, with an expression that you're not sure you're too familiar with etched out on the lines of your face. Thinking back on it, you could've simply done as Nami had or Usopp, ignore or scold him enough into submission but his fingers catch one of the fronds and it curls between the meat of his fingertips, reaching out to tickle his palm and something soft blooms inside you. You know it must be you, not the work of your devil fruit, because as much as you've tried in your lacklustre pursuit of beauty, you've never been able to sprout any kind of flowers.

When Luffy finally lets you go, you find your way into the kitchen and give Sanji a smile. You apologise for interrupting him and tell him that you know that lunch had been served only an hour ago but, if he wasn't too busy, you were still a little peckish. Sanji shoots up immediately and asks you what you've got a taste for— you assure him any leftovers from lunch will do and he tells you, though this doesn't come as any surprise, that Luffy had worked his way through any grain of leftovers with a laugh. You laugh along with him and well, you seemed to be craving meat right now.

The plate he prepares seem to be more about quality rather than quantity, with sauce underneath the red meat drizzled across the white ceramic, a slab of meat already cut into bite sized pieces for you and a decorative herb stuck between the fatty slices but when the light oozes down into the stretch of meat, you don't think Luffy will complain too much.

You, of course, were right about that.

The shattering grin he greets you (the plate of meat, however small it seemed) with gives you the faint smell of sticky rain drenched in the light of the sun, and you almost give him your hand when he reaches out for the plate. Brook's guitar strums in the background and your heart shakes in time with his strings and Luffy's incessant chewing.

You've really no problems with Usopp asking you to help him with target practice, it's fairly common for you to help the crew with their unique fighting style— save Nami and Franky for fear of losing your life with their less than particular aimed area of damage— it's easy enough really. You don't even have to be mentally present for it; shaking through layers of flesh, vines grow across the deck of the Sunny and rise up straight to tower over Usopp as he fixes his goggles over his eyes. You keep a quarter of your mind instilled in every chloroplast that shivers across the skies so you can keep them moving but the other three quarters are focused on the card game you play with Robin, Chopper, and Franky.

You hear the snapping of elastic and your finger twitches against the back of playing cards as the particular vine shot to the left, glancing curiously at Chopper's hand across from you when he turned to Franky and accuses him of looking at his cards.

"It's not my fault!" Franky frowned, fixing his comedically small glasses to perch on his metal nose. "Your cards just happen to be in my view when I'm looking at the pile 'cause you're tiny!"

Chopper takes to this horribly (you reshape a vine that has fallen to one of Usopp's stones and keep it relentless across the wave of air) and he grows into the much less cute and broader, more human version of himself to hold his hand out of Franky's view. (Two vines snap together and they take the path to slice through air to where Usopp stands, you hear the cracking of wood as Usopp shouts at you, saying he only wanted to focus on offence. An apology is drawn out with the green arm in the air.)

"Ivy," your eyes flicker to Robin and she gestures to the pile of discarded where the two of spades had been placed on top. "It's your turn." You glance down at your hand, eyes flickering over the collection of 7's in your hand. 

"Bomb." (You feel a vine break apart into pieces, think about the fact that it's lucky you've no nerves attached to the tendrils, and keep the one down to give Usopp a little win.) Franky curses your name as Robin chuckles.

Chopper glances at the four 7's with a sense of wonderment that you're sure is too dramatic for the moment. "No wonder I had no sevens!" You give him a sly grin and watch Robin pass her turn, ignoring Franky's levelled glare behind his glasses.

In the end, Robin wins anyways, ridding herself of her hand with her final card being the two of hearts. The loss is taken bitterly by both you and Franky though you think Franky definitely takes it worse than you do as when he stands to sulk away, cards fall out of his speedos, and they leave a trail after him. Robin, in all her morbidity, laughs behind a hand as you and Chopper drop your jaws in disgust.

Chopper collects the cards, hesitating with the ones that had been on Franky until Robin points out that you've all played many rounds and there's a chance that all of them had shared the same fate. (Another vine shutters down to the floor, broken apart and particles flown across the deck.) The cards slowly fall to the floor as Chopper cries out in disgust. Shaking your head with some colourful amusement, you use the two vines fallen to pick up the cards and start shuffling them.

Responding to Chopper's call, Luffy shoots his way from Sunny's figurehead. "What're you guys doin'?" He falls graciously to where Franky had previously been sitting; his eyes are ever so impatient to glance over the cards being shuffled. "Oh," he says with great interest, "are you guys playing 'go fish'?" He leaned towards you— the cards in your possession, actually— and blinks at the shuffling. "Lemme in!"

"We weren't playing 'go fish', Luffy." The little doctor has since calmed down, taking a seat between Luffy and Robin and shaking his head. "We were playing—" he turns his head up to Robin, to which she supplies 'bài tiến lên' with the intricate accents and all, "that!"

A flash of thinking places itself on Luffy's face, crossing his arm and tapping the side of his sandals on the deck, then it's gone. "Let's just play 'go fish' then."

Chopper whines, saying that 'go fish' is boring and that Luffy always snatches more than one card from other people's hands, which is cheating, and that he doesn't want to play.

Luffy turns to you with a pout, eyebrows furrowed at the dip where his nose bridge starts and then straightened out towards the end. The two vines that had been expertly dodging all of Usopp's shots and taunting him by doing silly dances and twisting into words in the air both crumple down to the floor at the same time, they follow the curve of your spine as you double over, a breath stuttering in your throat. You hear Usopp call your name and the deck of cards slip out from the vines that had been shuffling this entire time, your hand wraps around your throat and you hack out a cough you've managed to choke on.

"Are you dying?" Chopper shoots up, frantic as you keep coughing and choking— both violent in temperament, and scampers around, shouting for a doctor.

Footsteps tap closer as a shadow forms over you, Usopp's hand patting your back ferociously comes after the sound of shoes stop.

The blur that came with tears invading your eyes gives you the confidence to look at Luffy again before you're calling Chopper to a stop. "I'm fine, just choked on air."

You don't mention how it felt like you were breathing through a cheesecloth, how your lungs feel so restricted with every inhale as you all compromise on 'chase the ace' and how easier it feels when Usopp pushes his way between you and Luffy, too intimidated to pick from Robin's hand; when you all finish up for dinner, Robin is looking at you in a way that makes you think she's caught onto how you've been struggling.

Dinner is a strange ordeal. It's characterised with its usual events: Luffy sneaking his hands into people's plates though his stands full, Usopp trying to hold his plate out of his way, Zoro tending to his glass bottle of beer, Sanji making some quip about Zoro's show of alcoholism, Nami getting increasingly annoyed by the noise around her, Brook's laughter, Zoro escalating the situation with Sanji, Chopper screaming when Luffy clears Usopp's plate and then goes for the doctor's, Robin watching the scene with the patience of a saint, Franky pretending he was better than the rest, Usopp exacting revenge on Luffy by swapping their plates. It all ends with Nami telling them all to shut up and Luffy taking one final chicken leg from Zoro's plate. You stare down at your plate and count the missing bits, Luffy hasn't really touched any of the potatoes or asparagus, so you finish them up.

Two chicken thighs sit in stark contrast to the plate, thinking about having them anywhere near your mouth makes you a little sick for some reason, the weight of them in your stomach, the taste of caramelised skins, crisped with wells of juice sat next to a tinge of burnt flesh; you push the plate over to Luffy and detest the way he can take the colour of well–done oranges between his teeth and not care about the juice dribbling down his chin.

Luffy says thanks with his mouth full of chicken; Nami glares at him and turns a more concerned face to you (that also makes you sick) and inquires about you not eating. You mumble out some excuse about not being hungry, not feeling well, having a little bit of a headache, feeling tired— something along those faux lines, you don't remember but you remember that you don't tell them the truth exactly. "Sorry Sanji," you fix into your shitty excuse after, running a hand through your hair, to make yourself feel better about the entire ordeal.

He offers to make you a more palatable porridge or soup instead.

You take a cigarette and a red apple, going to bed hungry and angry at some unknown thing that brews on the tip of your tongue.

The next island is of great interest to Luffy.

The entire crew knows that its history nor culture was not either reason behind his excitement, only the mere prospect of digging his sandals into new, uncharted land is why he's running around the deck, filling up the empty spaces with bubbling laughter. Sanji finishes up bentos for those that are leaving, taking unnecessary extra care with Nami’s, and wishing he had it in him to starve Zoro whilst Nami is giving everyone an allowance. You take two bentos, yours and Chopper's, and head out onto the deck. Luffy only seemed momentarily sad that you were going with the doctor but bounced back immediately after when the trees come closer enough to intimidate so you push down the offer to join him instead. Franky joins up with Usopp, Luffy'll run off alone regardless of who he ends up going with, Nami ends up going with Zoro (to Sanji's displeasure), and you and Chopper make plans to find a pharmacy and a library for Robin.

Being around Chopper is easy enough with this unsettling prick of poison that's forced minimal responses, curt words, a flurry of tiredness, a sickening chill through your days recently. The little doctor is a lot more mindful of changes in mood, it's not any imminent injury either so he doesn't press to know why. Out of guilt (for being a brooding asshole lately), you ask him about his rumble balls and all his different forms. He answers cheerily and you can only pick out every other word with a persistent headache as the smell in the air changes from salty skies and bloody fish to sweetened foods and something unfamiliarly clean.

It's a bright island. You hear a faint bell in the distance that is traced over with the sound of children and stall owners; Chopper's hooves rhythmically sound beside you on the pavement and you find yourself counting them in groups of four. "Ah, there." You pick up your head and turn to follow the direction of Chopper's eyes. A sign is hung on the side of the building, the library. "Robin wanted a book of North Blue diseases for some reason," Chopper mumbles to himself as you two push open the door.

It's a small bookstore, walls lined with books and the paths carved with more standalone bookcases. "North Blue diseases?" You repeat, confused, "do they have North Blue exclusive illnesses?"

Your question goes unanswered, though it looks like it opens a vault of new questions for Chopper. Books aren't of great interests to you, so you follow behind Chopper as he walks through each section and grab whichever book he tells you to bring down for him. On the way back, you tell Chopper to keep going and change your course in search of something you're not too sure of.

You stray away from the town centre and head deeper through the small alleys of the town, there's no destination in mind; without the urgency of a fights and with the domesticity of a small knit community, you wander adrift. There's a dampness in the air to the walk around a shadowed hide of the place that loosens up the tension below your ribs, many different eyes follow after your form as the heel of your shoes click against a null path; shadows ooze around the soles of your shoe and lacquer up between the carved maze of black rubber of your soles until you find your way into a dead end.

It's a little bit of a cliché to be met with a ragtag group of delinquents when you turn to go back. Your eyes trace over them. In the hand of the one closest to you sits your wanted poster.

Something blooms inside you again— it's a much more pleasant feeling than the unmoving sap of ire that's been invading lately. Each man before you is physically bigger, towering over you ominously and shadows eating you but they all have swords and guns in their hands and that's why they lose. You, to the detriment of all life around you, are a weapon in and of itself; you choke out the vitality from others and steal their nutrients. They strained against their confines as their skin blossoms through shades of blooms, you are not the merciful rubber of a human, so your constraints don't relent, they squeeze and squeeze until the bark splits apart, until blood is cut off at the source, until they wither, until you are full.

On the way back, you buy a gift for everyone with the money you hadn't used and when they take to it, all in their varying degrees of joy, you feel less bad about the dead end alley full of brothers and sons. You tell yourself, handing Zoro a gift of alcohol, if not them, then it'd have been you.

You end up staying anchored to the island for a week to your displeasure. The longer you're stuck there, the closer you are to exploding; you always keep an eye out on the log pose strapped to Nami's wrist like you could quicken the process if you stare enough. Usopp starts avoiding you out of fear you'll blow like a poorly constructed cannon, Zoro makes you train with him to see if it'll help blow off some steam, Sanji brings you iced drinks at a rate that keeps you dizzy but you always feed it to Luffy or redirect it to Chopper's or Usopp's office with a little note.

On the third day, you follow in Zoro's example and sprawl out on the deck to rest your tireless mind. You've always wondered how sleep was ever a possible option for him when the feet thundering across the deck came with obstructive vibrations, no doubt slapping any chance of sleep away from his mind, but you find that it's almost pleasant. Beats all from familiar loves translates through the groves of wooden planks and etch through the back of your spine, you feel a bone fall back into place after Nami's heels against the floor and the thunderous kick that lands where Zoro was standing manages to work its way up your head to ease a headache.

The sun burns cries into your eyes and the skies move fluidly, they don't ripple as clouds shrivel against a light blue you're unfamiliar with; even as you close your eyes, you continue to feel the burn of the sun. The slapping of weaved straw against a sticky, sweaty sole then the deck comes as you slip into sleep.

Dreams have never been so amicable enough to become a recurrent in your life; more often than not, you're shown memories all blended together into a mess that leaves you sick, the abhorrent now and the nostalgic then bleeding past their confines until you see your mother stood next to that deceitful Marine admiral, both with that same look in their face. You wake up with a start when a loud bang scours its way through a flurry images you're unfamiliar with and then your body escapes you. Your head weighs with the heaviness of the bodies dropped to the floor, arms cold as if dipped into the river Styx, bones locked in place with a restrictive pain, muscles burning, aware of every breath that shivers through your suddenly odd body.

"Owww," three Luffys blur around each other as you pushed a hand to the floor to straighten up, you try blinking away the other two, but they're glued to the captain reflecting in your eyes; he looks down at what he's tripped on and follows it back to you. Your hand is met with something curved in shape when you go to push yourself up and when you look down, you see vines underneath you. You realise then that a burst of them had grown beneath you, splitting through the lawn deck and uplifting some of the planks underneath the greenery and inching upwards towards the guard rails of the ship. They take the form of something you think you met in your most recent sleep.

Luffy has managed to crawl his way towards you in the time you spend wondering why your devil fruit had been acting up— in your sleep no less and he wraps a hand around your ankle to get your attention. "Hey, you're really cold." He pointed out, eyes flickering down to the flesh between his fingers and then trailing his fingers up your thigh as he shifts closer to you on his knees.

The touch makes you violent and tender. "Really?" You managed to puff out, giving too much air back to the world with how much you're panting, "I feel a little warm though."

Luffy hums, clapping his hand over your cheeks with gentleness he only shows to those he loves, and it feels wrong. You get an itch underneath your skin that urges you to move, move, move but you can only push Luffy away with a ferocity he'd never shown you as you tremble under the bursting of violent air hacking up your throat, your shoulders strain as you wrapped your arms around your stomach, trying to heave out something that wasn't there.

Luffy scrambles back immediately, not caring for you shoving him away, and soothes away the rattling of your core with his clammy hands on your arm. "Are you sick?"

No, you think as a retch comes up your mouth; maybe, you correct as the path is marked by drool slipping down your chin and tears streaking across your cheeks. You shake away Luffy again. He's less submissive this time, his legs open over yours to plant his knees by your thighs. You hear him call for Chopper and it's obvious he has something of a frown marked on his face; you keep burning beneath your skin, but Luffy keeps rubbing his palms over your arms like you're cold.

You realise what your vines had drawn underneath you when Chopper comes out, fretting over you as he takes Luffy's place close to you. A grave. The image makes you laugh as the reindeer instructs his captain to haul you up after you'd ignored his inquires on if you could walk; your arm bends around the shape of Luffy's shoulder and your laughter erratically convulses into a collection of coughs from the skin on skin high.

You forced into bed rest after Chopper does a preliminary round of tests on you and declares you've simply gone down with a cold. You take to the diagnosis apprehensively, though in Chopper's defence, how was he meant to accurately diagnose you if you don't tell him all your symptoms? Instead, you sit in his office and spend the minutes, all alone, trying to retch out the feeling of having a piece of hair down your throat; you claw at the blanket and keep hacking until you've got a blanket full of tears and spit. The feeling does not pass.

At lunch, you get a visit from Franky who comes by to complain that you've made unnecessary work for him. "—seriously, how did you manage that in your sleep? Were you having a nightmare?" He ranted, legs crossed and leaned back in the visitor chair in a way that pushes his skinny, hairy legs close to your face.

Scrunching up your face, you sit up. "It was the future." You rebut, in between all his fantastical stories of his nightmares and talking about how he'd never attack Sunny even if Chopper grew a mechanical, giant arm and overthrew Luffy to become their captain. "A future," you correct yourself before turning to Franky with eyes judgemental, "are you scared of Chopper?"

"You weren't there at Enies Lobby," he tells you, which serves as a cruel reminder of sorts. You think about all the scars you've seen littered on the crew's skin and wonder which ones they've collected while they were with Luffy and who knows of which. The faint, protruding marks underneath Nami's tattoo, the stitches around Zoro's ankles, the ones pulled across his chest; you wonder if Sanji's got one hidden underneath his bangs. "The future?" Franky repeats after a moment, "are you a prophet?"

"It's a working theory," you brush off instead. "Though I can see in my mind's eye that Luffy is currently eating all the food and you’ll be left to starve if you don't go back."

Franky scrambled up from the seat not a second after your words.

With him gone, you settle back onto the bed and wonder about too many things to recall.

Between the hours after lunch and before dinner, Luffy comes by. He settles himself on the bed and forces you up as well, the shifting causes another cough to burgeon in your throat and you turn your head the other way to spit it out in an uncontrolled group of four. "You're not feeling better?" He frowns.

You see now that he's holding two pieces of barbequed meat in his hand, he's got the bone in his palm as he holds it upright like a sword, juices from the flesh dripping down to his hand and the smell gives you a headache. "Do you want this?" You move your eyes to Luffy, he's got his eyebrows furrowed together and his lips straightened out in a line when you don't answer. "Both?" He looks over at you, then the meat, and then you. "You," he swallows, "you can have them," his knuckles turn red around the bone, "since you need energy and you're sick." You think he's trying to convince himself to give them up.

You reached out and watch Luffy's face turn sour as his expression squeezes altogether around a midpoint trapped in his nose; you retract your hand and watch his face relax and his body unwind, you think he's moved his hand back a little. You repeat it again a few more times until laughter comes up and dislodges the uncomfortable feel of hair set deep in your throat. "It's fine, Luffy, you can have 'em."

"Really?"

"Mhm, go for it."

He moans around a bite of meat, crying your name as he chews and says thank you. The feeling is back as soon as it left.

No one comes to visit after that. Chopper comes by before he heads off to bed to make sure you're all set for the night and tells you that he expects to be woken up if you feel any symptoms get worse. You agree to his conditions, though can barely make yourself seem like you were taking him seriously with his cute face scolding you, but it seemed to work well enough as he's gone after he leaves a cup of water by your side. Sleep lingers around the corner, shirking away from your twitching fingertips and restless eyes; you give up after a few minutes, thinking about Robin who'd been thrown on watch tonight.

After going back and forth on the details, you bundle up yourself in the blanket (not wanting to have to mimic any semblance of serious guilt to get through Chopper's less than intimidating scolding if you get any sicker in the morning) and wander to the deck. The darkness of the sea would be safe for you, twisting around every limb extended to grope your way through your chosen path and oozing out from strands of hair to empty at your feet if not for the lamp of the moon ahead of you. Its light a forecast of tragedy, reflecting off a blade that would drive through the blood of a man who faced an unlikely love with only disgust and betrayal. "Robin?" The light hangs onto your word with a vehemence to uncover your unjustifiable deeds.

"Ivy," a shudder of surprise rattles your head to duck to your shoulders as you turn around. "Sorry, did I scare you?"

You give Robin a frown, tugging your lips down. "Yeah, my weakened bones nearly fell to the floor." She huffs a laugh. "Please announce yourself before you appear." Robin traces over your palish face and your features soften into a smile when your eyes meet.

"Can't sleep?" She asks once you two settle at the side of the Sunny where you'd napped earlier today, some of your vines still wedged between planks and parts of the floor haphazardly missing. You lean your back against the side of the ship and lower your eyes to the floor.

It's a total void, welcoming you back home. "No," you answer, a little breathless. The moon doesn't shuttle into the hole of the deck and something reaches a hand out for you between the atoms of a black hole. Roots twist out, easing close to your feet and sinking beneath the soles of your shoes. "I napped a little earlier." It's safe.

Robin hummed— I know rattles through her hum— and her elbow falls onto the guard rail of the ship. For the next few moments, you regret coming out. Robin's always been more receptive to the details and fine lines; it's not surprising that she can nitpick through a flurry of fronts and covers to the feelings you want to hide. They beckon out to her, wanting to fill that hole that's grown smaller with every day she wakes up to the open seas and the lively sound of her crew. "Chopper said you were sick?"

"A cold," you sniffle, bringing the blanket closer to you. Finding some semblance of confidence inside you, your eyes flicker over to Robin but she isn't looking at you— only turns when she feels your gaze levelled on her. You hesitate, searching for something to say and land on extending an arm and opening the blanket to invite her into your bundle. "You cold?"

She laughs, "it's fine, you should go back in if you've got a cold though." Her head tilted with a smile, "it'll be bad if the night air makes you worse."

Not wanting to find yourself softened in moonlight nor her eyes, you nod and bid her a goodnight before shivering your way back into your room. The door opens and light from Sunny's hallway is swallowed into the darkness of your room before it's banished out with the slam of your door, you shuffle around odd things thrown on the floor and slip into bed.

Your sleep is broken through with intervals with coughing, curling into yourself, shivering still though you burn in the night like a sibling of a star. When you wake up, sometime in the afternoon, you're heaving and reaching out your arms all around your duvet to haul together the skin that feels like it's melted down. Your palms prick against the leaves of vines that have overtaken your room, they fluoresce around your body and branch outwards to all corners of your room. The mess all blur together as your brain thrashes in your head with every splutter, you shake and twitch, trying to make sense of anything. Skin burned raw as you attempt to kick away the shrubbery that's keeping the blanket contorted around your body.

Your throat skinned and crude with its imminent thoughts of water.

A hand reached back blindly to grope at your bedside table for the cup that Chopper left for you last night. What you find instead is the burning touch of the sun, it seeps through the micro wounds stabbed through lines of your fortune and inflames every nerve straight to your heart. Your hand snaps back towards your body, the bones shivering from the imminent heat. Your entire body twitches at different paces, an invasive and hungry need drowns your senses. You need water, you need not for this to happen, water, you need for your sleep to be calm, you need to stop burning, you want to stop losing control, water first. You want water. Water— you turn your head to find the water, you need— Luffy?

Luffy is sat on a chair that you don't remember being there and when you look a little closer, you see that your vines had granted him a throne to comfortably lay on, other than that, they avoid him like the near plague. His body is leaned forward, his chest laid against the side of your mattress and arms crossed on your bed to sleep on like a pillow. You retch up some acid and, like the bowed head of a priest, a gentle petal disrupts the stream, flowing against the tide. It's a beautiful purple colour that's light against the transition to white towards the middle and an eye-catching yellow streaking against the white; lines of a deeper hue stretch through the petal and it's oddly reminiscent of veins.

The petal sits on the puddle of stomach acid that warms your thighs, your head bowed down to stare at it; you feel your soul unfurl at the sight of it, branches stretched outwards over a riverside, the heavy head of buds pulling weighted branches down to drink from the stream. Everything else blurs with a ripple, the petal is withstanding no matter no much you try blinking away an oncoming headache. The river near dries up in your attempt to wash down this unnerving disgust; you hunger for more.

Little changes when you find out what this 'cold' truly was. The lighting in Sunny's library is several shades warmer than the light of the sun, it draws upon the hunched shoulders down to your back as you tilt your head to hear the bones crack under your ear. Four syllables, that's all your death is. A lot of words are four syllables. Anonymous; unfortunate; hilarious; adventurous; hanahaki. It doesn't mean a lot by itself, so you try giving it some context. You pretend to tell Chopper that you're dying, you have hanahaki and that it's something he can't cure in a way you'll accept and you still feel nothing. You think about Chopper's face. He adamantly tells you that he'll cure you, he'll do it. The you in your imagination tells him no. Faced with your refusal, Chopper cannot do anything. In the end, it is a grave that cures you.

Death, as it stands, was something you had accepted when you stepped onto a pirate ship. Even someone with as stubborn a character as Zoro could be welcomed in by death, even Luffy. For a while, you wonder about death. The air in the room pauses as if to grace you with the silence to ponder on it, all you hear is the sound of your own breathing.

The closest thing to death comes searching for you a few minutes later.

You've always been interested in Brook. A skeleton with nothing but a sword; he has no lungs yet still sings, no heart and still smiles, dead but human in all his actions and behaviours. "There you are." He sneaks up behind you, bones falling onto your shoulder as you think, he smiles down at you. "Luffy asked if I’d seen you earlier.” He looms over you for a moment before he's straightening back up and calling out loudly, "but I'm a skeleton so it's not like I have eyes to see anyone anyways!"

It's the two syllables 'Lu–ffy' that shakes you the most. You stifle a cough in your chest and feel it tear through your ribs instead, searching for a path out. "For what?" The breaths rattle in your chest and shudder through your words.

"He wanted to show you a beetle." He takes the seat next to you, peering down at the picture book that you have open. You wait for him to make a comment about seeing what you were reading before disregarding it all with a lack of eyeballs so he wasn't seeing it really but he doesn't say anything, so you're forced to talk instead.

"Brook."

"Yes?"

It takes a single breath to prepare you to say this, it's warm and evident that you've not yet truly succumbed to your illness. "Do you see yourself as dead?"

Death is the art of those who do not live. It's something that keeps people tethered to the moment; it's the one thing that keeps humans humane. It's evidence you've lived, no matter how full nor how long. She's beautiful in her own right.

"I cannot see myself as anything because I am a skeleton with no eyes!"

Brook does not get to elaborate because Luffy shuttles in moments later, whispering loudly. (He'd learned somewhere that you're meant to be quiet in a library when he was younger but his whispers still manage to shake the room somehow.) "You're here! I found a beetle to show you!" He tip–toes to your side, "what're you reading— oh, hi Brook! The flowers here are pretty!" He points a finger down to a sunflower; his index covers an entire petal and he strokes it upwards to the middle. "Do you think they're edible?"

He turns to you with a smile.

You meet him with the same, "their seeds are." He gasps and picks up the book to scour through the letters in search of a name of these seeds. You take in a shuddering breath and when you feel another urge to cough, you cannot stop it.

When vines splatter around the room, they uproot the place; they've always been disruptive in this way. A wave of them washes various bouts of furniture to the floor, through the pounding of your ears, you hear the sound of books thudding as green appendages snake through bookcases and rattle them at the base; Brook's chair collapses as a vine chokes out one of its legs into splinters, the world blurs into a hue of greens and purples. A hand reaches from down in your throat, you heave around gaps of allowance for air and gag, cough, retch up more acid and some tea that Sanji brewed earlier this morning in lieu of breakfast. It's unpleasant. It's ugly in a way death should not be, though you guess the dead don't get to choose how to live in the same way the living cannot choose their death.

You're hauled off to Chopper again.

Chopper's voice comes as the hollow sounds of keys on an old piano. He does another round of tests on you— this set lasts a little longer than the previous and he takes extra caution with some. He finds that your heart is a little faster than it should be, he nitpicks at the bluish tint around your fingers and notes the concerning amount of weight you've lost in the past few weeks. When he asks you, what's wrong, you tell him that that's what he should be telling you.

Hypoxia; another four syllables for your cause of death. "Some of the symptoms are there," Chopper frowns, mumbling to himself. "It's when your tissues aren't getting enough oxygen, do you have difficulty breathing?"

You placed your cheek into your palm, elbow on Chopper's desk. "You're a pretty good doctor, Chopper."

The effect is immediate, he starts blushing and kicking his legs in his seat, a hoof goes to rub at the back of his head and nervous laughter comes from him. "That isn't distracting me at all, you bastard." You smiled and watched the compliment break any semblance of professionalism in him.

He gets back on track a little while later, placing a stethoscope on your chest and asking you to cough. You're not sure exactly what he's looking for but you give a soft cough into your elbow and you can say for certain— just based off the way he jumps back and looks at you a little quietly for a second, it's nothing good. Chopper spends a few minutes looking at your fingertips, then your lips, then some other parts of skin already exposed and humming to himself, troubled.

For now, he says, he wants you to try not to exert yourself— maybe leave fighting to everyone else and focus on resting until he can figure out a better way to confidently diagnose you. His lips are pulled into a frown, hands in his lap and trying his best to be professional and keep his emotions at bay. Before you know it, your hand is on top of his pink hat and fondly rubbing over the material softly. "Thanks Chopper, I'll keep that in mind."

He nods. You hesitate for a second before you're getting up to leave so that everyone else can see that you're not dying— or maybe you should tell them you are, you're not sure you could take another session of Franky accusing you of destroying the Sunny to create more work for him.

Your hand wraps around the doorknob and twists, stopping when Chopper speaks again. "You're not hiding something from me," he accuses gently, "are you?"

Your hand tightens around the doorknob. A flash of that imaginary Chopper comes back to you— heartbroken and confused at your refusal to be cured— you steal an unnecessarily large breath from the world. "I get sudden cravings for sweet things if that means anything."

Chopper, unbeknownst to you, takes those words and carves them true and raw into himself. His eyes are unwilling to leave you for more than necessary during the times you eat together, he watches you push aside the food on your plate, tearing small bits of meat off the bone to chew on it for a couple minutes too long before swallowing. He makes note of the way you have no problems finishing up everything but any sort of meat, sliding them over to Luffy, or one of his victims.

You're met with another blossom soon after lunch. You've made a bad habit of leaving the table early to escape the smell and resign yourself to the open deck, sprawling out on the grass like Zoro usually does. You're certain you're about to fall asleep shivering but the slap, slap, slapping of your captain's sandals are nearing closer so your brain kicks awake with a start; your eyes twitch, eyelashes shuddering in the wind. The darkness over your eyes morphs into a shadow of Luffy hovering over you, head tilting with a hand on his hat— your mind supplies you with the frown— and then you hear him taking a step back and sitting down next to you.

A troubled melody hums through his lips and when you open an eye to peek at him, you see his hands wrapped around his ankles, legs loosely crossed; he turned back to you and you quickly close your eyes. Here is where you finally learn that when Luffy touches, he's never placated with a simple tap, a light knocking between skin— no, he must stroke, he drags his fingers up the side of your thigh, he shivers from the coldness of your flesh and, even then, crawls closer. Then he's silent for a worrying amount of time and for a moment, curiosity takes you over. You find yourself wanting to draw light upon the disgusted features when he's met with someone he thinks close to him is growing closer and closer to a grave amongst the roots.

He leans his forehead against yours whilst you shuffle through the despicable crawl of your heart through your bones, something shifts in you and when you reach to itch at your side, it dislodges. It takes no more than a simple flip for your entire world to shift; you think you saw Luffy hovering over you momentarily before you had snapped to the side.

A fragment of the world greets its end.

Something strangles you, a hand of a giant pressing two fingers against the sides of your neck until everything in you bursts and splatters against parts that have gone unknown until now. There's nothing new to the tremor of vine that erupts through your skin, bubbling through the surface of flesh like a geyser; the tentacles claw their way your throat until you're choking around them, searching for an allowance for air. Your knees shuffle up to find some balance, head ducked to meet the lawn across the deck and elbows digging deep into the dirt. Your spluttering comes in time with the sound of Luffy calling your name, shouting for Chopper; there's a knot tied inside your mouth, you shake away tremors and tears all the same. You erupt yet there's nothing to be burnt, it's only ash that leaves your mouth— only the colourful petals of the wisteria plant that wash over the green of the open deck, burnt in hues with blood.

The next island is a spring island, known for their sweet peaches and sweeter music.

You watched Luffy devour two peaches in his hands, the ripe skin melting underneath his teeth— pale with a dusted blush until it snapped into a bloody red, melted at the pit. Then he's gone with a rustle of mikan trees as you held out a basket for Nami to delicately place her mikans in; apparently, she'd managed to catch the attention of some peach vendor with her sweet tangerines and swindled the poor man out of his money for a basket.

The streets are lined with lively hums and a strumming of odd instruments, music escapes through every crevice of a worn-down building as Luffy jumps from stall to stall, drooling over the goods before you're beckoning him back with his lunchbox and a promise of meat after you finish this errand for Nami. On your way to the stall, you hear faint chattering that doesn't interest you but Luffy straightened up beside you and turns to stare at the people as they argue on who had managed to grow the biggest peach this year.

You sigh, grabbing hold of Luffy's collar when he stops to stare at them and drag him off to the stall vendor who had fallen victim to Nami's schemes. The exchange is easy enough— give him the basket (ignore the fact that Nami had managed to make it look like it was overflowing by artfully bunching up a cloth on the bottom and filled gaps between the fruits with flowers) and make sure you've got the correct amount of money. It's when Luffy asks the stall vendor who has the biggest peach this year that things begin to go downhill.

Rather than answering Luffy's question, the man goes on a tangent about some kind of festival for a God and how the biggest peach will be the offering to said God this year— apparently, Shumi (the woman who owns the fabrics shops) had managed to get her hands on this, that, or the other to help her husband grow a peach large enough to bring doubt to the fact that Gyupuri had managed to grow the largest peach (again) this year.

Luffy insists on tracking them both down to help the people come to a decision as he wiped away the drool on his chin. Resigned, you managed to find Shumi first with her shop being the only one in town that sold fabrics and she denies you both permission to see the peach; Gyupuri, on the other hand, is more than happy to show you to the peach he grows. He takes you straight out of town, into the forest, and then up the mountain to where there's a clearing full of nothing but flesh coloured peaches.

As you listen to Gyupuri's story on how he was merely taking after his father to grow these strangely sized peaches, you have to keep Luffy in your hold so he doesn't go running to the giant peach and take a bite out of what could be for a God. Somehow though, he manages to get a handful of flat peaches when you weren't looking and when you attempt to apologise to Gyupuri, he doesn't seem to be fazed, shoving a few more peaches into your hand and telling you it's fine.

"So, who is this God anyway?" Luffy asks, his legs wrapped around your waist and chin hooked on your shoulder as he leaned back, satisfied with cheeks full of the peach you were holding in your hand. You turn to give him a look, but he merely stares at you back.

The people here must have made a unanimous decision to answer questions from the left side of the field because Gyupuri only tells you the name of this God when he drags you and Luffy up a hill to stare at a statue of this God carved out of generic stone.

To be polite, you call the statue pretty; Luffy feels no need to be polite, so he says it's not really. When you look at him to furrow your eyebrows at him, he's already looking at you.

When you're back on the ship, money handed to Nami, you think about that moment so much that it grows moss in your mind and vines burst through the crevices of the worn–down artifact you've made out his gaze to be. You throw up everything you manage to eat and feel hollow and worthy when you meet Luffy's eyes in Chopper's office again.

There's a chill that follows your days after that.

It's persistent and stubborn in a way that cruelly reminds you of Luffy. On a brighter side, you've got an excuse to be lazy in bed though it irks your bones not to have the weight of you walking thrumming up your body. You get visits from the Strawhats, get your food delivered to you, some of the crew shuffling into your room to keep you entertained with some card games and the likes— you get Luffy consistently making his way into your room and treating it as any other room on his Sunny. He comes in, always makes himself home on the bed, and talks about what he did today. At some point, it becomes less endearing and more annoying to be treated as though you were actually dying. (You hadn't told them for a reason.)

Four days after Chopper had resolutely punished you with bed rest, Luffy decides that he was going to start sleeping in your room. Apparently, your face had translated over what your head was thinking too quickly because he starts whining, saying that he wouldn't get to see you enough if he doesn't do this and, well, since you've always had a tender, raw, skinned soft spot for the boy, you end up saying yes.

He spends his first night telling you what he was going to spend tomorrow doing and you come to the realisation that every other sentence contains you. (Going to find more beetles to show you... Chopper told Sanji it'd be good to get more meat into your diet... Zoro accidentally cut snakes and ladders in half so Nami is giving me money to see if we can find one for you so we can play... Robin said there's a really pretty flower on this next island… For you… For you...) It’s all there laid bare and you cannot face it. You hide your face into the crook of your elbow and wretch out a cough. Luffy frowns but doesn't mention it. He talks himself into sleep and you lay awake to him, trying to keep yourself from blooming throughout the night so he doesn't wake up, cold and still.

When you're startled awake with misty embrace in a dream, you see that Luffy has gone.

What he has left is his straw hat and a mouthpiece of his greatness. The straw is rough against your fingers, resembling the thorns that grows along roses and you stare at it in your lap until you can feel the roughness in your throat— just when you think you need to get water, Sanji shows up with breakfast. You eye the cigarette in his lips and ignore the settling of the tray on your bedside table, watch the smoke fight the smell of scrambled eggs and bits of bacon to take over your room.

"We're at an island?"

Sanji walks around your bed, finding himself comfortable on the couch across the foot of your bed. "We docked early this morning," you watched his smoke rise, ash falling to the wooden floor of your room, waving and grasping hands up to God. Sanji keeps himself entertained by looking around your room, his foot pushing around odd leaves and petals on the floor before he nods over to the plate. "Eat." Then he's gone.

You stare at the tray, settling Luffy's straw hat aside, you shuffle to the end of your bed and take the fork in your hands— you look at the plate until you swear you can taste the eggs in your mouth and the slight bursts of saltiness that'll come from the bacon and you have to wash it down with the glass of water he's given you. You push it aside and opt to go back to sleep.

You dream of a still life on top of a hill, overlooking a dock as the Sunny pulls back out into the sea; you thrash but find every part of you rooted down to one spot, the wind picks up and you feel tangles of what could be hair or leaves hitting against a part of your body. You're still rooted despairingly in a garden of silks and duvets when you wake, Luffy had found himself unable to keep away from your breakfast but when you sit up and look a little closer, you see a pile of the diced bacon bits shoved off to the side as he shovelled eggs into his mouth.

Shattering free from the earth with a faltering cough broken into four, you shuffled yourself up and spit out a cluster of wisteria. At this point, you do not need to look at Luffy to know what his face looks like; he turned to face you, cheeks full and quickly finishing the eggs to shuffle closer to you on the bed with a book in his hands. "You left your book under the plate."

It's a hardback children's book, pulled out of Sunny's library and coloured a light blue that resembled the sky and broken apart by a sunflower in the middle and petals around it, the title curled around the sunflower. You know that the book was left in the library when you were having your episode. The cover is smooth to the touch as Luffy gives it to you and ends up knocking his shoulders against yours in his attempt to get closer; your eyes moved over to the tray of food and you think of Sanji, who'd grown up in the North Blue where this children's story was more popular amongst the romantic commonwealth. 

He knows, you think, and it fills you with a dread that the wisteria blossoms feast upon delightfully; he knows, and he could tell everyone, the vines throb over your heart as Luffy opens the book over your lap and looks up, expectantly at you.

Myrsa was a pretty girl, enough so that praises sang for her ended up calling upon the scorn of love's Goddess. The depiction of her getting cursed is almost comical, stricken by lightning as she returns from a forest with a basket full of flowers and mushrooms. "What happens next? What happens next?" Luffy pushes his face closer to the book, tangling a rubbery leg with yours as he moves impossibly closer. "How does Myrsa beat up the God?"

It's the certainty he holds that Myrsa will beat up God that makes you laugh, it's the fact that she does not beat anything that makes you tremble, shaking coughs and petals out your throat. Luffy seems to think that the book is too excitable, trying to pry it away from you and saying that he can ask Robin to read it to him later so you should just rest. "Don't you want to know if Myrsa will beat up the God now?" You ask instead, knowing the answer will be yes.

Perhaps they were the wrong words to convince Luffy because when you're on the last page, Myrsa buried in a forgotten land and her love used as fertiliser for a field of sunflowers, he's threatening to beat up a God made up to exact revenge for Myrsa. It's a lot more cheerful than you had expected— all the characters drawn with round faces, small bodies, and black dots as eyes. It makes death seem redeemable. 

After Luffy hauls himself out of your room, in search of the God had turned Myrsa into sunflowers, you force the bacon down your mouth and bring the tray out to Sanji. You linger in the kitchen, eyes watching him as he scrubbed the dishes and danced around the kitchen, no doubt knowing why you were there. He doesn't seem to want to be the one to approach the topic just based on the way he refused to stop even for a moment for the past fifteen minutes you've been there.

You know nothing about Sanji past the fact that he's blond, he's a cook, and he used to be a prince from North Blue's Germa Kingdom.

"You know Myrsa didn't die because she had hanahaki." Your hip meets the edge of an island, arms crossed over your chest as you watched Sanji finally slow to a halt, throwing a glance over at you. He takes his cigarette between two fingers, breathing in for a moment and then takes it out, holding it out to you. "What she was cursed with, wasn't ever meant to be able to kill her."

"I know."

Sanji takes the cigarette back after you shake your head, shrugging a little as he continued. "Myrsa died."

You laugh a little, "I read the book."

There's a point he's trying to make that's as foreign to you as the notion of a love that doesn't hurt but he turns a glance to you that almost reads like he's disappointed in you and it settles nicely against the vines choking you through. You straighten up, uncrossing your arms and his visible eye wanders back over the pots he has boiling on the stove. "You liked the ending?" The ending of the North Blue story was a two–page spread of a sunflower field, a planet of bright yellows and a dull light blue, clouds breaking apart overwhelming tones of sunny golds and drowning diamonds.

A tree split awkwardly in half due to the spine of the book, curved in shape and pinched in the middle until you held the pages at the edges and pulled to straighten in down. "It was pretty," a gentle breeze running through the leaves shedding from the tree, a shiver to the wooden flesh that split apart if looked at the right way by the right man. Myrsa was beautiful, even in a death she didn't pick treated her well.

How could you hope to live when she did not?

You find a lot of things pretty now; you wonder if that's the dead crawling in you that is beginning to appreciate the life around. Robin sat on the deck with a cup of cooling coffee on a table in front of her and a book in her hand, Nami stood between her rows of mikan trees, Zoro straining under the weights of his responsibilities, Brook with a violin to his shoulder. The sky drowned over the ocean as Luffy leaned his head against you on Sunny's figurehead, his voice a soft beat over the water rushing against the hull of the ship. He's talking about Shanks and his dream and your heart aches selfishly; his skin gulps down the orange light of the dawning sun and you resigned yourself to a death loving him.

You wonder if Luffy still thinks of his dead brother, your tongue slips against the bark of your gums, and you open your mouth without thinking. "Luffy," you hear spoken into the wind, "will you tell me about your brother?"

"Sabo?" He's clapping his feet together excitedly, turning from the sky to you with a large grin on his face, "he's a part of the Revelation Army— no, wait revocation? Revenge Army? Renovation Army! Wait— that's not right."

"No, the other one." A whisper haunts the wind, 'the dead one' written in its movement.

There's a certain hesitation to his words that brings you to the realisation that being loved by Luffy is a wonderful thing. He's never been one to be articulate with words, picking the simple ones that come to mind first without a moment's hesitation but strangely the simple–minded way served him well when it came to love. Love is not articulate either— it's one of the simplest things in the world— so when it's met with someone like Luffy, it blossoms into an art form of all things beautiful.

You regret have not meeting Luffy when Ace was around. Dancing around his features is a tender skip of tightness; his shoulders pulled up to his ears, head ducked down, lips awkward and tongue thick as he told you the story of being accepted to be Ace's brother. Hues of embers fluoresce, dripping down on Sunny's figurehead as you reached an arm around him; his words are stained in blood and adoration, strained and slow but Luffy persists, his love persists.

"You should've met him!" He finishes, turning to you with a light chuckle. "You would've loved him."

Your hand falls onto his shoulder, pulling him closer despite the crawl of vomit up your throat and you leaned your head against his straw hat. "Maybe I will."

Death is another thing you think is simple. It's as easy as slipping into Chopper's office to find him hunched over his desk, his hooves holding onto a pestle as he circled the butt around in a mortar. "Ah, you're here?" He glanced over his shoulder as you walked around him and settled onto one of the beds he has in his room. "Give me a second! I nearly have your medicine ready."

"Chopper," you think you've played this out in your head before, "I have hanahaki."

His arms slow down to a halt, his face dropping by several degrees; the previous petals that made up his hopeful and cheerful expression flutter to the floor, guided by the winds you'd altered with those four words.

"Hanahaki?" Chopper's words are slow as he settled the pestle down, "I thought— but it doesn't exist?"

"Funnily enough, it died off." You tell him with a little laugh. "As more people took to the seas and chased after the one piece, less people fell victim to hanahaki." The Chopper you've told this to before in your mind was definitely less devastated and surprised to be greeted by the fact that you have hanahaki.

He's stumbling over his words, trying to pick something to focus on first as his face was scrunched up, eyebrows furrowed, and lips open into disbelief. "How long have you known? Why didn't you tell me? You'll have the surgery, right? You can trust me; I'll definitely save you. When did it first start?" Your head is pounding with the incessant questions he spits at you, unable to answer any of them as any allowance for a response was filled in by another inquiry. Suddenly, he's pulling his mind to a stop as he turned back to you, solemn and sad and asks, "who is it?" 

It's easy to tell how Luffy has touched people, Chopper makes note of the way your head tilts and you smile and it's obvious that there was no one else capable of calling upon your love.

"And the surgery?"

The look on your face, although foreign to you, tells him all he needs to know.

That doesn't stop him though, he keeps himself by your side and urges (pleads) you to have the surgery; his constant presence becomes a problem when he makes a point of forcing Luffy away from you. It's small at first, trying to distract Luffy with other things, claiming to want to be the one to watch over Luffy when you all dock so you're not given the chance, clinging onto your arms and demanding your attention when Luffy threatens to take it away from him. Then, when Luffy notices that he's been holding onto this flower for hours, fingers pinched around a sunflower stem to ask you how you get seeds from the flower to eat, and every time he's seen a speck of your colour from corners, Chopper shows up to drag you away or points a finger somewhere to shout about a meat mountain, he has a problem.

You notice it's about the meat mountain at first though.

He's slamming the door to Chopper's office after the fourth time, shouting, "Chopper! Where's the meat mountain you keep talking about?" He doesn't seem to care about the fact that Chopper is checking up on you as he stomps into the room, plopping himself down right next to you. Chopper pushes him away when your shoulders brush against each other and you're coughing out bloodied petals. His attention diverts when he hears the shaking of your cough, how you knock into him uncontrollably as your torso leans to meet your thighs, hands deep into the foam edge of the mattress. Petals splatter onto your shoes, clinging to the leather with saliva and re–painting the laces in a sickly red. Luffy’s touch is intrusive, a hand tightened on your thigh that burns your skin to ash and forces vines to splutter out your skin. They attack him, you reel yourself away from Luffy in hopes that they don’t reach him but in some disgusting way, they force themselves to new lengths to coil around his limbs. Spindling up and up and up and you can’t see his face anymore as a thick rope of vines in the shape of his hand reaches out for you, they keep moving up until you only see his hat— your back knocks against the wall. You sternly tell yourself this death is acceptable; the vines grow limp.

When you’ve calmed down enough, the first thing Luffy asks you is, “why aren’t you better yet?” And you feel as though you’re being scolded for some reason; your eyes flicker over to Chopper, fingers tangled together in front of your thighs from the corner of the room you’ve forced yourself into. When Luffy catches the wandering glances— as if you’re trying to keep him out of something— he treats you exactly how you’re acting. Like a criminal.

“Chopper?” It’s unnerving how his eyes are still on you, no trace of expression on his face, “out.”

“But—”

“Out.” Chopper throws you an unhelpful glance as he passes you to get to the door.

You’ve always had the wrong impression of Luffy— everyone that doesn’t know him has the same image; he’s a pirate that has taken down warlord after warlord, who has brought horrifying change and shifts the balance of authority wherever his feet take him. Hearing hushed whispers of him and his close affiliates in the lightened haze of booze, to distract from a tooth getting knocked out of place never does much for his image either. Though it wouldn’t be right to say that Luffy is wholly good either— he’s selfish. Selfish and impossibly kind and downright disgusting with the handling of his own needs; the sound of your name fizzing between his teeth has you startled, nodding your head back to him on the bed you’d left him at.

“You’re hiding something.” It’s not a question nor is it an accusation of any kind. It’s an observation. Luffy slides himself off the bed, his sandals comically slap against the floor of Chopper’s office, “tell me.” His hands fall onto your shoulders, one stays there and the other slides down. He treats your skin like an amusement park for his pleasure; his nails drag across the goosebumps of your bicep, pressing down on raised scars and then splashes into the palm of your hand, dragging ripples in the centre.

You hesitate, twisting your fingers together and pulling as if to attempt to dislodge the odd feeling that follows his fingertips. “Are you asking as a captain?” Despite how general expectations of Luffy remain pretty low to those who do know him, it’s also known that Luffy has a nerve in him that’s impossibly receptive to hurt. There’s a certain way to activate it and when it’s on, it doesn't quieten down until its idiot owner is pleased. Luffy scrunches his face up in an odd way, displeasured at your question as if he couldn’t believe you’d ask him something that hurtful, and his head tilts.

“Tell me.” You’re met with an unwavering stare, the hand on your shoulder tightens and there’s a hardness to it that you’ve never associated with your rubber captain— you can feel the bone in his fingers, stern and undeniable. Your eyes trace over the exposed, tanned skin of his bicep and you wish that you could force your vines through his skin to crawl into his chest and listen to the tremors that’ll run up your devil fruit from his beating heart for some kind of answer. There’s a sudden breath that’s available to you that isn’t tainted and clogged, trapped before it even meets your lungs, but it burns in a new way as you stare at Luffy, scared and terrified of a new life that’ll be forced upon you if you tell him what’s wrong with you.

You open your mouth with an excuse, but Luffy huffs and the words shrivel in your mouth, collapsing to a grain on your tongue and when you close your mouth, you taste dirt. “Luffy,” you beg, “I can’t— just, I’ll be fine.”

There’s a hint of some anger in his gaze before it turns into a haunting realisation, “Chopper knows, doesn’t he?” He pushes you aside, “I’ll just ask Chopper.”

There’s a ringing distant in your ears that chimes like the bell of the church from that place two islands ago, maybe three— you haven’t been too good with time recently. Sunny shakes like the earth as a body hits the pavement, you feel disgusting and heavy and an itch claws through your palms where Luffy’s hand has just been. You’re sure it’s Chopper he’s shaking an answer from but you hear Robin’s voice, calling for him to calm down and when that doesn’t work, Sanji cuts in. It all gets further and further away, you think about the planks of Sunny opening to welcome you back into that darkness from nights ago, you think about being choked by one of your vines, you think about the wisteria blooming whole in your lungs— you think and you think and think and suddenly, it’s all nothing. You’re dying, you think, that’s a fact, what else? Luffy is the reason. Or maybe you’re the reason.

“Luffy,” were you the one talking? “Luffy.” The voice comes again, stern and your eyebrows furrow with the same tension that the voice is carrying. “Thank you for being my captain.”

Not that it surprises you, Luffy punches you.

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 3

-> Part 1

-> Part 2

-> Part 4

Turns out, you did jinx yourself last week.

You should have learnt your lesson from all those times you and your sister had spoken bad luck into existence, be it unannounced guests or other inconveniences.

But you didn't, so here you were.

Staring down motherfucking Ursa the Drake, with Dvalin pinning them (her?) down with his massive body and motherfucking Crepus Ragnvindr looking at you both simultaneously like it's Christmas and like he thinks he's schizophrenic.

Diluc didn't look any better. He was as white as a sheet and if you were any better at identifying emotions, you'd think he was about to cry.

...surely not?

But then again, he was younger than in the game and his father was right there, alive and well - you doubted he was anything like the cold and grumpy Diluc who closed himself off from the world that you knew.

A terrified baby that was probably overthinking how Ursa would kill him, his father and the whole cohort they traveled with all the way to Tuesday.

...now you just felt bad for judging. You wouldn't be any better in his place, especially without your scary Dvalin priviledges.

"Ursa, darling, what exactly are you doing?"

All you got for your troubles was a roar in your face.

Except it didn't even feel like a scary dragon about to eat you, it felt like a child throwing a tantrum.

...the notion of Ursa being this uncontested and plaguing Mondstadt for a thousand years while being a mere child was kind of terrifying actually, so you very deliberately decided not to dwell on it. For your own sanity, if nothing else.

"Dvalin, you know Ursa, so... Any ideas?" You asked the dragon, who looked almost bored as he outright lounged on Ursa as if they (she?) were his beddings. If that didn't make a statement, you didn't know what would.

"While we did not cross paths frequently in the past, I had always thought her to be... Especially nefarious."

Ursa trashed around, but Dvalin didn't budge and effortlessly kept them (her? her.) pinned down.

"She reminds me of Durin. But where Durin was oblivious to the grevious harm he caused and merely wanted to play, Ursa is fully conscious and reveling in the pain she inflicts on others, often being open to agreements that involve human sacrifice."

Ursa screeched. In protest, maybe?

"For now, there is not much that can be done. You would need to be much stronger to subdue her permamently, which requires time. But I shall stall her until you are strong enough, alongside Boreas."

Oh.

So your scary Dvalin priviledges were being voided. It was a shame, you really liked his company -- his stories were a delight to listen to and he spoiled you rotten for comfortable accomodations, any bed or chair from now on would be a massive downgrade.

Still, it was understandable. Responsibilities and human lives were priority over your comfort. You weren't going to complain too much.

"I'll miss you," you say as you stroke his wings, not really having access to his torso or head to hug him properly due to Ursa.

Speaking of Ursa...

"Be good. You're making trouble for everyone."

And maybe you were being reckless and simply asking for your arm and face to be bitten off, but you flicked her on the snoot, because you only live once and Dvalin had you mildly convinced nothing in Teyvat would hurt you.

Ursa startles and then, honest to God, whines.

Dvalin huffs in what you assume is amusement and grabs at Ursa with his massive limbs. His wings stretch as he readies himself to take flight.

"I will miss you too, (Name)."

And just like that both dragons are gone like the wind.

...

That left you all alone to face the Ragnvindr and C.O., so you put on your customer service smile and clap your hands in fake excitement you really don't feel.

If nothing else, working in retail taught you how to play the fool.

"So, now that that is done and over with. I believe you have a mess to clean up?"

Crepus looks at you like you grew an extra head, before doubling over in a hearty laugh that broke through the weird atmosphere that settled over the caravan as easily as a hot knife through butter.

Diluc still looks like a poke would knock him over, but at least he got some colour back in him.

"Ah, thank you for that."

Crepus walks over to you and offers you a handshake, gripping your hand firmly and with enthusiasm that was entirely on him. Not that you weren't excited to meet characters from Genshin... but that was the thing, wasn't it? They weren't the characters you knew in Genshin. Crepus was barely a mention, Diluc was a different person entirely and the rest of the caravan were either NPCs hanging around on the map somewhere or didn't exist in the game at all.

So, you had to treat them like actual people.

And you weren't good with people.

"No problem. I'm (Name) (Last Name), just call me (Name) please."

Smile through the pain Harold, grant me your strength.

"Crepus Ragnvindr, and the redhead over there is my son, Diluc. It's a pleasure to meet you, (Name)."

He lets go of your hand and smiles so brightly you half-heartedly wished for some sunglasses. Was this man sunshine personified? Certaintly felt like he was.

"I would say I wish we met under different circumstances, but that's not exactly the truth, is it? Any other circumstances would have me trying to fight Ursa the Drake and that was bound to end badly for me, so... Thank you for saving my life."

And at that precise moment the Knights of Favonius spurred on by Kaeya Alberich himself burst into the scene, weapons ready.

...Kaeya looked like such a baby too, it had you thinking on just how young the literal children like Diona would be.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

Suprise, we're 4 years early in the timeline! And I have no idea what the timeline is besides what little I glimpsed from the Wiki, so lore accuracy is thrown out the window!

✨ I still can't tag the one person that asked to be tagged and I'm feeling horrible for it even when it's not my fault ✨

Also, yes, ✨ is my favourite emoji, why do you ask? :D

Also, also -- yes, I did pump out 3 parts in 2/3 days, it is an anomaly, do not expect such pace from me especially since I'm about to throw myself head first into HSR.

✨Self-plug time✨

My UID is 715 837 832 and I got a lvl50 Bronya as support.

I am still on Walt copium, even though I didn't get him even once despite the many, MANY rerolls I did, but that is neither here nor there.

[maxsimagination]

𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆, 𝗷𝗲𝗮𝗹𝗼𝘂𝘀𝘆 - 𝗴.𝗿𝗲𝗶𝘁𝗲𝗻

summary: guro gets overprotective after a waitress hits on her girlfriend.

-> i apologise if any of the translations are wrong

𖦹 masterlist

𝗜𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 𝗚𝗔𝗠𝗘 𝗗𝗔𝗬, chelsea against tottenham. we had spent couple of weeks in portugal, training and preparing for the pre season, before returning home to stamford bridge. emma had released the starting eleven players yesterday and me and guro were both listed, along with sam and millie.

i was nervous to say the least, it was pre game jitters that took over. but magda gave her captain's speech in an attempt to hype us all up. we all ran out onto the pitch afterwards, took a knee, then the whistle blew. we were off.

the first half was anticlimactic, really. both sides scored a goal, leaving the score 1-1. after half time we were back out there, and pulling more tricks than ever. sam made a miraculous goal from 15 metres away, celebrating with her signature backflip. then tottenham equaled the score with a header that flew past our zecira.

but it came down to the 85th minute when guro passed me the ball from across the field and i took a powerful kick for the ball to fly straight between their goalies' legs and into the net.

we finished the game after 5 minutes of injury time, and the score was 3-2 for chelsea. we all ran together and cheered, and i found guro, running up to her and jumping into a hug. she spun me around before placing me back down on the field.

after we'd all taken a victory lap around the pitch, we all traipsed back to the changing rooms and celebrated even more, jumping around and singing.

when we finally made it back to our hotel, guro followed me to my room, telling me to get changed into 'dinner clothes' because she was taking me out. i was baffled and she wouldn't tell me where we were going, only that it was a restaurant somewhere.

so i picked my clothes and got dressed, before she came to get me again. we drove around for a bit before she parked in front of a building, fairy lights hung around the entrance. it was a nice place, and the setting was perfect.

guro led me in, and spoke to the hostess who led us to a table and told us a waitress would be here soon. it didn't take that long before another woman came by, i assumed she was our waitress. we had looked through the menu, and told her what we wanted before she left again with a short nod and a smile thrown in my direction.

when i turned back to look at guro, she didn't look too happy. "hva er galt, kjærlighet?" (what is wrong, love?) i spoke in guro's mother tongue, i had learnt norwegian for her. she looked up at me, more relaxed than before.

"servitøren, hun så på deg." (the waitress, she was staring at you.) she looks at me slightly sheepishly, and i giggle at her words. "du har ingenting å bekymre deg for. i am with you, not her." (you have nothing to worry about.) i spoke the last bit in english, just as our drinks came over. "the food will be over shortly."

the waitress brushed her hand against mine as she placed the glasses down, and a less-than-subtle smirk was directed towards me too. i pulled my hand away immediately and grasped onto guro's in an attempt to both make her feel better and make myself feel better.

"i see what you mean." guro hums in response, holding onto my hand just as tight. eventually the food comes too, the waitress bearing it in her arms. she placed it down in front of us before asking, "is there anything else i can get you? maybe my number?" she looked directly at me, her hand hovering near my shoulder.

i pulled back i little and shook my head, then guro went into protective girlfriend mode, as i liked to call it. "she has a girlfriend." her thick norwegian accent made it sound more aggressive and the woman looked over at her. her face paled at the sight of my angry partner and she backed right off.

i smiled at the sight, protective guro was my favourite. "det var heit." (that was hot.) she grinned up at me when i spoke, blush tinting her cheeks.

[the-possum-writes]

Hi! Could you do a Finn x Fem reader lemon? Maybe it could be with and inexperienced reader while finn already has some knowledge about it and shows her how to do it. Thank you! <3

[Finn with an Inexperienced Reader]

❥Character: Finn Mertens

❥Tags: NS/FW hc's, handj0bs, established relationship, fem!reader

❥Synopsis: Finn takes things slow with you but you convince him to teach you how he likes to be touched.

❥A/N: I was going through a writing block so there's no full smut but rather some handsy stuff.

❥Whether you've been dating for years or just a few weeks, if you tell Finn you want to take things slowly, he'll respect your wishes.

❥Only kissing and hugging, nothing more.

❥But that doesn't take away how startling it is when a kissing session becomes too intense, and just as you feel the warmth cling to your heart and stomach in a tightening squeeze, Finn pulls away from you and acts as if nothing happened, resuming whatever video game you were playing or changing the subject.

❥You know where babies come from and all that basic biology class, but you have yet to personally experience it and are kind of wary of unplanned pregnancies, that's why you told Finn you wanted to take things slow.

❥And he was okay with that, but it didn't stop the growing doubt since you know he's had past encounters with other girls before. "Is he getting frustrated at me cause I'm making him wait?" you'd start asking yourself.

❥Finn is a passionate and outgoing guy who pours his heart into everything he does, whether it's fighting monsters, reading comic books, or simply indulging in his favorite meals. And, given how much he adores you, you're filled with illogical guilt at the thought of preventing Finn from physically expressing his feelings for you.

❥You've already asked him directly. "Finn, are you mad that we haven't done couple things?"

"But we always do couple things."

"No I mean like, tier 15 stuff and all that."

"Oh... Not really.."

❥He's a straightforward and laid-back guy, so it didn't occur to you until lately when, on a day when you didn't feel confident, you pushed yourself to kiss him by placing your hand on his thigh and running it upward. Finn stopped you by holding your hand so he could ask you, "Are you sure you want to do this now?"

You try to kiss his neck while saying, "I know you've been dying to-," but Finn is insistent. If there's anything he's learnt from his previous relationship, it's to avoid diving into pleasures on a whim.

"It's not about what I want, I'm asking about you." His tone has changed a little bit, especially in light of your earlier question.

❥As self-doubt circles in your thoughts and seeps beyond your eyes, you choose to keep quiet, but Finn squooze-hugs you to his chest.

"We don't need to rush anything; I'm pretty happy with you so far. We can do those things when you don't have any more uncertainties in your lovely head."

❥"Alright, there's something I can teach ya but we have to keep our voices down. You don't need to take off anything so don't worry, we'll just be using your hands."

❥"But what if I do wanna do those things but I want to take it a small step at a time? Like when you taught me how to swim." you bring up.

Finn adjusts his hold on you, the two of you were in the middle of a movie night and are currently on the couch. Jake is already asleep and BMO is probably lurking around the treefort but he promised to not peep at you two during visiting hours.

❥Finn leans back on the couch's headrest, allowing you to rest on his thighs as he tells you."How about I give you a lesson in Finn-biology?" he chuckles."I can't say no to my favorite subject." you respond. Considering the stories and experiences you've heard from your close friends, you have only a rough idea of what he's considering, but you're nonetheless anxious, intrigued, and interested about it.

❥Finn starts out by smooching you, easing a bit of your nerves as he gently grabs your hand and lowers it down his chest until it reaches his groin, he motions for you to rub him through his shorts, feeling something grow underneath.

❥It's warm, really warm.

❥Finn raises himself from the couch to lower his shorts with his underwear, and you remain silent while watching his half hard dick peeking out from the confines of his baby blue trousers. You temptingly touch his head with the tip of your fingers, unconsciously wrapping more and more of your around around him until he finches a bit, pulling away at the discouragement. "It's okay, it just needs something slick." he assures you. At the mention of it you're unconsciously rubbing your thighs together upon feeling something getting wet downstairs, but you don't bring it up.

❥The attention has Finn squirming in his spot but he continues with the lesson.

"Give me your hand." he asks. When you do he purposely spits on his dick and guides your hand to smear it all over him, amplifying the prominent musky smell coming from him.

"It's sensitive here." he explains in short breaths, hearing his panting picking up the more you run your fingers over the underside of his shaft right where it connects with his pink gland.

❥Once you've gotten the hang of it, Finn releases your hand and lets you try a few more things. What if I squeeze here? What if I touch this tiny hole with my finger? What if I gently squeeze his balls? Finn struggles to form meaningful sentences any longer and is only able to utter things like, "Just like that," "That feels good," and "Wait not like that, there you go... Oh Glob..."

❥It's a hypnotic and undeniably sexy experience, watching him lose himself in his own pleasure to the point where he forgot the reason for this little lesson until he came all over your palm and soiled his own shirt in the process.

[chososcamgirl]

𝐈𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐈𝐍𝐆 - the old heads

—

—

m. list

background !

the five friends have been a close knitted group ever since highschool, and that didn’t change throughout college or after.

shoko graduated with valedictorian and top of the class and nanami was bitter about it for 3 days and didn’t talk to shoko at all. she completed her md and residency and now is an orthopaedic surgeon. choso and gojo both studied computer science in college however gojo just barely passed all his classes not because he wasn’t completing the work but because he was absent for almost half of them. satoru often takes advantage of the few skills he learnt in his classes and makes troll sites and leaks people’s ip on val after he loses (he shortly becomes semi-famous for this). choso, who actually paid attention in class, now works for a software company. nanami graduated with a degree in engineering and is planning to start his own company with the help of suguru who teaches with a degree in business and hospitality.

suguru, choso and satoru all live in a condo together and are all rather living pretty comfortably. whilst shoko and nanami choose to live separately and own a house each, they all live within the same block so if ever they need help, it’s just a 2 minute drive. upon graduating with a degree in business and hospitality, suguru opens up a new cafe. he has been planning this for the past year and nothing was stopping him now that he has all the expenses paid off. even though satoru is a trust fund baby and offered to give him all the money for it early on, suguru declined not because of his pride but because he needed to do this on his own for himself.

fun facts !

ᨘ໑▸ the characters included in this post are all aged 27-28 years old.

ᨘ໑▸ choso always scolds satoru about his digital footprint but that man does not GAF.

ᨘ໑▸ the whole group meets atleast once a week - which is usually friday nights at the condo in which they all eat dinner together - choso always ends up being the cook because not only does he volunteer but because he makes knows how to make a mean dish. the night usually ends in a board game which always ends up with gojo sulking and throwing a tantrum, accusing the winner (which is nanami most of the time) of cheating and then drinking until he forgets about the whole thing and starts dancing on the table.

ᨘ໑▸ due to satoru’s antics with trolling and doxxing and his new found fame, the whole group is blew up by association.

ᨘ໑▸ suguru adopted a stray black and white cat left on the side of the road. he called her ‘spring’. he loved her until her last breath up until she died 5 years later when he was 18. he cried for a week and gojo comforted him whole time. it was bittersweet but he knew she was in a better place. this was one of the reasons the cat cafe he’s opening is going to be home to multiple strays which will be up for adoption.

ᨘ໑▸ someone made a velocity thirst edit of choso after finding out about him through gojo and it’s now repeatedly played during dinner.

ᨘ໑▸ nanami and choso hated eachother in highschool because both of them claimed to be my chemical romance’s #1 fan

ᨘ໑▸ gojo was not joking in those tweets..

a/n: if i ever make typos plz do not make fun of me </3

#𝐂𝐀𝐓 𝐂𝐀𝐅𝐄

synopsis ; the season of sun-kissed oceans and golden-hued moments is before you! however being a broke college student is not an ideal look to have, especially at your age. desperately seeking solace from financial woes, you and your bestfriend stumble upon an unexpected opportunity - a cat cafe. crafting lattes and pampering purring patrons seems easy enough, right? that fantasy lasts about one day before reality claws in.

🏷️taglist: @coquetteslvt @aliventboo @izakyun @luvvmae @tuihiatus @soonajeeme @ascybous @rotten1angel @catobsessedlady @myguumi @enhleui @viviennevianna @spacebaby1 @iheartlinds @haikyuu-tothetop @mua-for-now @waytootiredforthisss @j2upiters

[jackactuallywrites]

All Seeing, All Knowing, All Loving Part 3

Rating: Spooky! But no real violence, gore, or sex

Warnings: If you’ve had a home invasion or stalker, this may be triggering

Summary: You’ve got a poltergeist in the house. Or is it a ghost?

Notes: There’s britishism: bobbles = hair ties and grips = bobby pins

Word Count: 2,797

ao3 link

Life had been considerably more annoying since Soap had come into your life.

You’d always known what cats were like, having taken care of them for the past half-decade, but Soap was one of the most chaotic young males you’d ever had in your care.

If glasses weren’t knocked over, spilling water for you to find with your socks in the morning, he was waking you up in the middle of the night by noisily lapping it up from the mug you kept on your bedside table, the creature having no understanding of personal items. Anything that was left on the side was considered fair game for him to slap around, with Soap caring very little how fragile your items were. He’d already smashed a beautiful glass dragon you’d bought from a local glassblower, after which he’d cut his paw walking on the shards and then, naturally, sprinted around the flat, getting blood on every spot of cream carpet he could manage. So, in the first two weeks of him being there, not only had he cost you in vet bills, but you’d had to rent a carpet cleaner to get all the blood out so you didn’t get fucked by your landlady.

You’d have thought that Soap would have calmed down after a month, settled into a routine, and, though he wasn’t quite as much a nuisance as he was initially, he was still managing to be an absolute pain in the arse. He’d learnt his lesson on delicate objects, though you’d still used tack to stick most in place, spending most of his time snoozing in the heated bed you’d bought him, but he’d caught a desire for clothes now, stealing your socks and bobbles, and knocking any loose grips down the back of your drawers.

Yet, there were stranger happens still.

If you were superstitious, you might have thought you had a poltergeist; the footsteps you heard in the night sounded far too heavy to be Soap’s, and the eyes on you in the night felt human, not animal. Stranger still, doors you thought you’d closed were open in the morning, noticeable by the way you’d find Soap curled up in the sink rather than in his bed.

It was hard to explain, the feeling of paranoia, the feeling that someone other than Soap had been creeping about your flat in the midnight hour. There was no solid evidence, but you could have sworn that one morning, just seconds after you’d woken up, there was the slightest smell of cologne in the air, the sound of your front door closing. When you’d gone to check, there was only Soap, sitting by the front door, licking his chops. You would have thought he’d be more distressed if there was a proper intruder, yet he came sauntering over to you with his tail up in the air, pleased as punch, as though he’d just been given a fat juicy steak. You had to patrol your flat after that, unable to relax otherwise, taking one of the kitchen knives as you crept around, terrified that you’d find someone around every door.

Naturally, Soap didn’t give a damn, trotting after you as though it were nothing more than a fun adventure, slapping at your feet as you carefully peered around, twisting around your legs as though he was determined to trip you up.

Of course, like every other time, you didn’t find anyone in your house, but there was something new.

A line in the dust.

On the sideboard in the hallway, where you plonked your keys, there was a thick line in the light layer of dust, as though someone had dragged a finger through it. It could have been you, absent-mindedly tracing a line while thinking about dusting, but it seemed too big, thicker than your largest finger.

That had been the last straw. The doorbell camera and command strips had been ordered the next day, and by the next evening, you were out in the hallway, sticking it to the doorframe. You’d finally been able to sleep soundly that night and every night after, knowing that any movement outside would be tracked on the cam. More importantly, you were getting a great amount of gossip on the camera, seeing who your neighbours were bringing back, seeing the occasional bickering, and the neighbour who always swore at the camera every time. It was boring, until it wasn’t.

You were sound asleep, having given up on getting Soap to sleep in his own bed, allowing him to snooze by your head on the pillow, ignoring his paws, kneading your jaw as you drifted off. It only felt like you’d been asleep for five seconds before your phone started pinging with notifications, vibrating against the bedside table. There was no denying how tempted you were to roll over and ignore it, but Soap had decided that since you were up, you could pay attention to him, giving a warm chirp and immediately starting to massage you with his paws, his claws digging into your cheek as he purred directly into your ear.

A sweet gesture from Soap, who’d become both affectionate and vocal over the weeks, though it didn’t make it any less annoying. Your phone buzzed again, and you gently pushed Soap away from you so you could grab it, squinting at the bright light from the lock screen. 02:40

Five notifications from the last minute, indicating movement detected outside your front door. It could have been a drunken neighbour; after all, it was a Saturday, but somehow you doubted it. So, with great reluctance, you unlocked your phone so you could see exactly what was going on, opening the camera feed.

It was him.

He was out there, standing in your hallway, not a spectre, but a ghost. Those cold green eyes stared into the camera, the rest of his face covered by that same skull balaclava, his head slightly tilted to the side, seemingly intrigued by this new development.

It took you less than a second to spring from bed, sprinting out of your bedroom to the hallway, not bothering to stop for long enough to get your dressing gown, standing at the front door in your T-shirt and shorts, phone clutched in your hand. Your door was still locked, the latch still in place. He couldn’t get in.

You daren't look through the peephole, afraid he could somehow see you, so you watched him on the camera. He reached into his jacket pocket and brought out a small black case. You couldn’t look away, desperate to know what he was doing. He opened up the case, revealing several thin pieces of metal, two of which he drew out, shoving the case back in his pocket. Then, he bent down, out of view of the camera.

It took you a second to realise what he was doing. There was the soft but unmistakable sound of metal scraping against metal. He was picking your damn lock! You’d never thought to keep the key in, assuming that the lock would be safe enough, but now you were faced with the evidence that it wasn’t. How many times had you ignored that soft ticking at night? How many times had he been in your apartment without you knowing?

The fear that filled you was paralysing, and you could only watch as the lock began to turn, a deep pit settling in your stomach. The lock unlatched. The picks were withdrawn with another slight scraping sound, followed by a moment's silence. Then, a thin sliver of metal was pushed through the slight crack in the door. Slowly, it moved up towards the chain.

Finally, your brain snapped into action. You slammed your hand over the chain, holding it in place, dropping your phone on the ground so you could take your keys from the sideboard and shove them in the lock. The piece of metal stilled and then slid back out. You could feel the tightness in your chest, the danger that lurked near, and the fact that you couldn’t see it made it all the more terrifying. You didn’t dare take either hand off the door to look through the camera but just listened silently, desperately trying to figure out what was happening next.

There was a gentle knock on the wood, and you flinched even though there were three solid inches of oak between you. With one hand on the chain, you let go of the keys and carefully reached down to get your phone, looking at the feed for the camera.

Ghost wasn’t trying to break in anymore. He just stood, watching the door as though he could see you trembling on the other side. His attention turned back to the camera. You couldn’t see his expression through the balaclava, but the fabric flexed as though he was smiling underneath it, a gesture that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers came to the camera, tracing the very edges of the lens, a strange, gentle caress, before his hand covered the camera entirely, the feed going dark. Then, it died entirely. You took a second to clock what he’d done.

That fucker had ripped the camera off the damn door!

Irritation overtook common sense for a moment, and you banged your fist against the door, hissing quietly through the crack in the door, “Cunt!”

You could hear a soft chuckle on the other side of the door, and then your phone pinged again. There was only one email address that was starred to notify you.

‘Subject: Big Bad Wolf

Are you going to let me in? :-)’

The fucking gall of the man.

‘Subject: re: Big Bad Wolf

Fuck off or I’m calling the police!’

You chewed your lip as you stared at your phone. ‘Or’. You should have said you’d already called them. Why hadn’t you called them? There was a strange man at your door trying to break in; you had the footage of him saved on your phone! Fuck him! You tabbed over to the keypad, getting the first two 9s in before another email popped up.

‘Subject: Big Bad Wolf

Won’t be quick enough. ;-)

You can keep latch on. Just wanted to see Soap.’

What kind of fucker still used dashes in emoticons. He emailed like your dad! Christ. What were you supposed to do now?

Soap had come to investigate, wrapping around your ankles and purring, then rubbing his cheek on the doorframe. He just wanted to see the cat. Right? You could do that, and he’d go away. Theoretically.

Fuck it.

You picked up Soap with one hand, then thought, quickly going to the kitchen to grab your largest knife, holding it in your other hand as you went back to the door, leaving your phone behind. Hm. Two hands busy, and you still had to unlock the door. You squashed Soap under your armpit, who seemed entirely unbothered by your distress, his legs floppy as he purred, and carefully unlocked the door, though you kept the latch firmly on. You pulled it open a crack, and then tapped your knife on the frame of the door, “You try to unlock it and I’m taking your fucking fingers.”

“Understood. Soap?”

Moment of truth. Shit. It was a bit tricky to juggle a cat and a knife. You adjusted the knife in your hand, trying very carefully not to drop either as you held Soap up to the crack in the door. Of fucking course, he decided to wriggle out your hand, suddenly uncomfortable, and you twisted to grab him before he scarpered, leaning away from the door.

That was all it took. The second you were away from the door, it was pulled to and then shoved forward, the metal latch breaking free from the doorframe. You quickly turned, knife in hand, pointing it at the man standing over you. He was calm as anything, closing the door behind him as though he’d been invited in for tea.

You brandished the knife at him, “Come near me, and I’ll chop your fucking bollocks off!”

Soap had no such issue, chirping happily and trotting over to rub himself on the man’s legs, curling his tail around his calf. Traitor! No wonder he never warned you; he seemed more than happy with the intruder. The knife in your hand felt rather futile; the man was fucking massive, easily clearing six feet, and built like a brick shithouse. He wasn’t wearing his uniform this time. Instead, he wore a pair of plain blue jeans and a black waterproof. Even in his civvies, the outfit still screamed military, right down to his walking boots. Especially that stupid balaclava. He didn’t seem at all bothered by the knife in your hand and gestured with his head, “Go on then.” “What?” He gestured to himself with his hand, “Have at it.” You blanched. He wanted you to attack him? Was he mad? Well, you’d established that he was already; after all, he had quite literally broken into your home. He clucked his tongue at you, “Thought not. Hand it over.” “Get to fuck.” He held his hand out, “C’mon. Before you hurt yourself.” You chewed your lip again. Could you really stab a man? You didn’t get time to so much as consider it; his hand had flashed out to snatch it from you, easily tearing it from your grasp. You shuffled back away from him as he advanced, but he strolled straight past you into the kitchen, noisily putting the knife back into the drawer. No knife, and of course, no fucking phone.

You scrambled to your feet, quickly marching into the kitchen where, in a new, fucking annoying pattern, he had your phone. He didn’t seem at all bothered as you walked in, casually going through your phone right in front of you, “Didn’t bother to change your code, eh?” “What are you doing with my phone?” “Deleting footage of me.” “Why?” “Like my privacy.” “Well, I wouldn’t have footage of you if you didn’t break in!” “Swings and roundabouts.” You huffed at him, irritated by his blasé nature, “Why are you here?” He placed your phone back on the kitchen side, “Told you already didn’t I? Check on Soap.” “There’s easier ways for you to check on him you know!” He paused, and folded his arms, “Latches don’t work y’know. You want a deadbolt.” “You know that I don’t often have strange men breaking into my flat, right?” His mask shifted again, which you’d decided was definitely a smile. “Oh aye? You sure?” “How many times?” “How many times what?” “How many times have you been sneaking around in here like a thief in the night?” “Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to.”

Soap hopped up onto the counter behind him, tail upright, meowing for attention. The man reached out to fuss Soap’s head, and you huffed again, “Right, well, you’ve seen Soap. You can clear off now.” He dug into his jeans pocket, pulling out his wallet, “How much was the camera?” “I don’t care! Just get out.” He took out a pair of ten pound notes, placing them on the counter behind him, “Don’t bother with the camera. Get a deadbolt, yeah?” “If I say yes, will you fuck off?” “Scout’s honour.” “Fine. I’ll get the damn deadbolt.” “Good.” “Right. Off you pop then.”

You were surprised that he actually moved, patting Soap on the head, “See you later, Johnny.” Johnny? How many names could a cat have? Where did he get Johnny from Soap? You weren’t about to complain, not when he was on his way out, so you escorted him in silence. He reached up to touch the broken latch as he went out, “Deadbolt, yeah?” “God, I already said yes.” You opened the door for him, yet there was something playing on your mind. “Why d’you want us to buy a deadbolt if you like breaking in?” He paused, leaning on the doorframe, “I want you and Soap safe. Honest.” “You have a really fucked up idea of keeping us safe.” “Aye.” “Well next time someone breaks in, I’ll email you.” “Put my number in your phone. Ring us if someone breaks in. Keep the chatting to emails, though, yeah?” “I’m not-“ You figured there was no point arguing, “Fucking.. Fine. Instead of calling the police, I will inexplicably call a fucking literal cat burglar.” He nodded, “Good.” He had another look at the broken latch, “Get yourself a nice Yale lock too.” “Fine.” “And a taser too.” “You know those are illegal?” He paused, “I’ll bring you one.” “Okay. Bye-bye now.” He nodded, stepping out into the hallway, giving you one last glance, “Take care.”

[thedragonagebigbang]

Bang Creator Interview: Tumblr: @vaamiel  |  AO3: vaamiel

The Collaboration period has begun! In these quiet months before works are due, we want to foster a sense of excitement, camaraderie, and celebration among our participants. To that end, all participants were given the option of a formal interview by our mod, Dema, or an informal “ask-game” survey. We hope you enjoy getting to know our phenomenal creators as much as we have!

Interview with Vaamiel

Vaamiel and Dema talk artistic development, childhood anime obsessions (-cough-Naruto-cough), and hoping to see Dorian in DA4

Dema: So, I know you take commissions, but have you done many exchanges before? Any Big Bangs?

Vaamiel: I've done a handful of exchanges over the years, but nothing really substantial. No big bangs either - though I've certainly read enough fics and seen enough art that others have done, haha. I'm sort of just... dipping my toes into the world of fanart for the first time since I was a teenager, so even though I've been drawing for ages, a lot of this is completely new territory for me.

Dema: Oh that is awesome! Welcome to the bang! What led you to return to fanart?

Vaamiel: I think a combination of a couple things: confidence in my own ability plays a big part of it – it's really intimidating to draw characters that I love so much and translating them into my style has always been difficult – but this past year is also the first time I've been really passionate about a game in... well, about a decade, and I think that's led to more experimentation and willingness to stick to learning subject matter that I otherwise struggle with. Mostly, Dragon Age coming back and Baldur's Gate 3 being out at the same time really pushed me back into the world of wanting to participate in fandom from more than the sidelines.

Dema: I really love your work. Artist to artist, how did you develop that confidence and style expression? What has that journey looked like for you?

Vaamiel: Thank you so much! It's funny actually, because the way I draw now has kind of... always been my style? It's just my technique and understanding of fundamentals that has improved. I can look back through my childhood sketchbooks and go, this was for SURE made by the same person, haha. As a kid I was all about anime and comics and games – particularly early gamecube and xbox stuff that relied on very stylized graphics to compensate for the technology. All of those things really saturated my brain and effectively became super tied to my own understanding of art and artistry and how I wanted to make art.

I've tried to emulate other styles or artists' techniques over the years, but (and I think this ties back to why I struggle with fanart) my own voice is so strong in my work that it really took all the joy out of creating. I've learnt over time that my personal art evolution is all about small changes and improvements, rather than trying to force ideas or ability through radical stylistic changes. Basically, I draw what I like and add things here or there as I come across something that I think would fit organically into my own style. That's been things like brushes or expressions or even the way I structure my sketches - all things that are small but can make a big difference in the overall picture. Add to that how my confidence has improved as my actual ability has improved, I think I've really organically grown into being better able to wrangle my style and apply that to fanart, original art, et cetera.

Dema: So now I do have to ask what fanart you were making as a kid and high-schooler? (I was a Sailor Moon kid. Sailor Scouts for ALL the most obscure celestial bodies one can imagine 😂)

Vaamiel: Hah! oh no 😂I was CRAZY about Naruto as a kid - actually, the first fanfiction I ever read was Naruto fanfiction. Then after that it was Homestuck, Inuyasha, Steven Universe, Pokemon, Dragon Age/Mass Effect... not necessarily in that order! I wish I was a Sailor Moon kid to be honest – would be WAY cooler than admitting I was a Naruto kid!

Dema: Inuyasha!!!!

Vaamiel: YES!

Dema: To be fair I am older than you by a pretty big margin LOL, I probably would have been a Naruto kid as well.

Vaamiel: LOL fair enough! It was in just the right time slot on cable when I was about...9 that the 4kids dub formed the foundation of my entire personality from that point onward.

Dema: So cute! Was there a particular moment that got you into Dragon Age fanwork?

Vaamiel: So, for my own work, I think it was the trailer last Dragon Age day and then in… January of this year or so, replaying Origins that had the cup finally spill over and I sat down and started making fanart. It was like my love for the series hit critical mass and with Veilguard coming up, it felt like the perfect time to actually try to make it work, you know? When it comes to appreciating Dragon Age fanart as a fan, it was two creators from tumblr that did it. Crystalvfae did a series of fanart that fundamentally altered my brain chemistry (I still look back on their painting of Morrigan and sigh sometimes - it is SO good). Then I found Spicyshimmy and was never the same. Their Anders/Hawke work is so special and got me into reading fanfiction voraciously in general. It totally reignited my love for reading and was the thing that got me into AO3!

Dema: Is there any specific bit of Veilguard that has you most excited? Or are you mostly avoiding spoilers?

Vaamiel: I am SO all in on all the Veilguard content honestly. I love trying to pick little bits out of the trailers and stills we've gotten so far and make connections to the lore/put together potential plot theories. I think I'm so excited for all of it? Like, I'm just ready to get back into the world of Thedas itself and experience a cool new story. Of course, I do love the graphical upgrade and all the locations we've seen so far and the costuming!! It's really all been exactly what I've been wanting. Also seeing Dorian again. That's probably pretty up there too.

Dema: Yes! Man. I cannot believe how cool Minrathous is. Dorian tried to tell us, but I am still flabbergasted.

Vaamiel: He was right!! All along!!! We really were in a different century.

Dema: As far as the current collaboration process goes, how are you feeling? Are the ideas percolating? Are the sketches sketching?

Vaamiel: Yes! I feel amazing about the partnership I've got!! I've got some scenes that I've got some sketches going for already – as soon as I read my fic I could see exactly where I wanted to take the art. The atmosphere is so good and the writing lends itself perfectly to the kind of pieces that I love to make. I'm really, really excited to be creating for this fic and collaboration!

Dema: I am delighted to hear that, we cannot wait to see what everyone creates!

Vaamiel: That was Very Difficult to be appropriately vague for haha - it really is an absolute delight to be working with my partners and I can't wait to talk about this fic and the art I'm making for it.

Dema: It is soooo hard to ask questions that are not POINTED hahahahaha, as someone on the inside who knows everyone's matches. You get an A+

Vaamiel: Yay!!!! I’m glad I was able to keep things appropriately mysterious 😌

Dema: Thank you so much for taking the time to chat with me today, it has been super fun!

Vaamiel: Absolutely! Thank you so much for hosting this interview and all the work you've put in for this event!! This has been a blast!

[nottyourlover]

Broken Bonds - ch 2

a/n: prolly 4 ch's now :) sorry this took 800 years i kinda put off writing this bc i didnt want to disappoint but here it is.

ALSO SORRY THERE WILL MOST LIKELY BE ~7 WEEKS OF HIATUS AFTER THIS.

series summary: as azriel leaves for a long mission in vallahan, you find that clinging onto old bonds does nothing to heal them.

contains: angst, still mental health themes, pregnant y/n, off-page death, language. slowburn ???????

word count: 8506 (oh gosh)

ch 1 // ch 3

***

Many weeks passed, and with each day, the void left by Azriel's absence grew wider, but luckily you found yourself surrounded with some of the best people in the world, you thought. As always, Feyre was wonderful; she helped you get out of bed, she re-ignited your passions. She listened to you vent about your relationship, gave you advice and she constantly surprised you, always with a little gift from a new store in The Rainbow. However, one of the best surprises you received didn't come from Feyre.

About two weeks after Azriel's departure you had received a letter from your childhood friend Aiden and his now fiance, Malakai. You couldn't believe it, because it had been centuries since you'd seen Aiden, let alone been contacted by him, but on the other hand you saw Malakai weekly. He was Cassian's right-hand man, and you learnt from him after the wedding that Aiden had become a healer who travelled around Prythian, practicing in all the courts. Their jobs were different in every way, but they complemented each other perfectly.

It was unexpected, the letter, but you couldn't have been happier to hear from them, especially because the envelope held an invitation their wedding.

The wedding was a modest celebration, but all the Inner Court members attended to show their support for the happy couple. Kai had known Cassian, Rhys and Azriel for years, since training together for the Blood Rite, and had stayed in touch for centuries after. He was now Cassian's Lieutenant General who commanded the Night Court's forces where Cassian was otherwise preoccupied with Inner Circle business. You knew him from the occasional training session, and you were glad that the two of you had gotten a lot closer after the wedding. He had become fast friends with the rest of the Inner Circle, and after the wedding Aiden also befriended them. It was almost laughable how you had managed to miss that the male Kai talked so fondly about, the healer that had stolen his heart, was your friend. Your Aiden.

Even if the last few months of your own life were less than ideal, the newly-wed couple had become your rocks, and you knew they would eventually become amazing parents since they were so doting towards you and your baby.

You were still early in your pregnancy but careful nonetheless. Although you still planned to work for as long as you could in an attempt to maintain some sense of normalcy, you quickly realised that it was going to be somewhat of a struggle hiding your pregnancy from the rest of the Inner Circle for any longer. Training was not any easier as no one suspected anything, and Mor and Cass still held their monthly game nights when they drank like there was no tomorrow.

Under Feyre's insistence, you had lessened your field work and so majority of your days consisted of writing letters to the other High Lords and leaders in attempt to strengthen alliances and unite the various factions within Prythian, hoping that it would create a better world for your child to grow up in. Due to past efforts, relations with the Day, Dawn, Summer and Winter courts were strong, and you were certain you had their support. The Spring Court with Tamlin, and Autumn with Beron were other matters, however. Perhaps you would ask Feyre to use her sway with Lucien who could convince Tamlin to at least reply to one of your letters, but you had recently heard Lucian say that he had not visited Spring in a long while, instead opting to stay with the Band of Exiles. Then you thought about High Lord Beron. He was a grumpy, disagreeable High Lord, and also a problem for another day, you had finally decided.

The first week and a half after Azriel's departure, you had rarely gotten out of bed, even when Feyre had tempted you with tarts. You felt bad that Cassian looked so regretful when he couldn't cheer you up when you neglected morning trainings those first few weeks. He thought it was because you were missing Azriel, and you were, but even more so, you were worrying over your pregnancy. When Feyre had finally managed to get you out of the house, the two of you mainly walked up and down The Rainbow, visiting the old bookstores and trying all the new bakeries.

Aiden was staying in Velaris for his honeymoon, but he still insisted on working, the kind male he was. You found happiness in visiting his healing clinic, helping him organise records and patient data. Listening to stories of his travels had inspired you like nothing else could. He told you about the catacombs under the Dawn Court, the unique architecture and history of Day.

His stories made you miss your mate, of the adventures the two of you had planned for the future, but you vowed that one day you'd travel with Azriel again. You tugged on the bond softly, something you had been doing since he left to feel connected. You weren't even sure if he could feel it though, since he never 'replied'.

Over the course of around two and a half months, you started to feel lighter. When you thought of your mate's return you started to feel optimistic. Maybe a break was the right decision, no matter how unplanned it initially was.

***

You had been spending most of your Sundays in Aiden's clinic, him helping with the pregnancy and keeping you company. You were browsing his bookshelves when you stumbled upon a book about Illyrian anatomy. It hadn't fully dawned on you yet that the child you were bringing into this world was likely going to come out with wings, but Aiden assured you the birth was not going to be too difficult seeing that you were half-Illyrian yourself. Your father had been an awful person, but at least he gave you the gift that would allow you to start a family with the one that you loved.

Obviously, a lot of trauma and pain occurred at a health clinic, but there was lots of warmth and beauty too, and it was becoming more apparent to you than ever. The young fae that lived in Velaris would occasionally come knocking to sell their sweets, or on quiet afternoons, Aiden would seek them out and give them some harmless (but hilarious) potions that would do crazy things, like temporarily turn their bodies invisible, colour their hair an electric blue, or even make them grow scales. Aiden was the finest healer in Prythian, and you were disappointed he could not stay for much longer than his honeymoon period before he needed to return to the road.

One such Sunday, the 12th week of your pregnancy had finally arrived. You were looking at your reflection in the full-length mirror, hand on your stomach.

You were showing. This was real.

You admired the swell of your stomach under the light, flowing dress. You looked... healthy. Glowing, even. Your features were not so hollowed out anymore, your cheeks fuller and eyes brighter, filled with shine. You felt better than ever.

But it was heartbreaking that your mate's absence had caused this, in a roundabout way. You closed your eyes, taking in this special moment. You reached to tug on the bond, and you swore you felt a glimmer of warmth before the string in your mind felt cold once more.

Aiden's voice dragged you out of your haze. "Y/n, are you ready to do the scan?" he asked, placing a gentle hand on your shoulder.

An "ultrasound" is what Aiden had called it. On his travels to the mortal lands, he had studied in the most advanced medical institutions on offer and was bringing this human technology to Faerie. This ultrasound was supposedly a sort of test they did on mortals with child, to verify the health and gender of the baby, and he was going to perform one on you today with the help of some of his healer magic to help.

"Just lay back on here, your dress should be stretchy enough for you to just lift it up..." Aiden trailed off as he fiddled with a tub of gel and a weird device, he explained he was going to lightly put on your stomach.

"In the Mortal Lands, they have these screens that show the mother the baby, but since I couldn't lug back a large computer, I'll compensate with a simple incantation. Unfortunately, this does mean you won't be able to keep any physical images of your baby."

You frowned slightly. You didn't even know it was on the table, to keep pictures of the little one growing inside you. You sighed a little as you readjusted the pillow and Aiden got to cleaning up. They would've been nice for Azriel to see, you supposed.

"Oh. That's okay, there's nothing you can do about it," is what you settled on saying. It had been centuries since the you had seen Aiden again, and after being somewhat abruptly pushed into each other's lives again... it was awkward, sometimes.

"I trust you," you added, "But exactly how many times has this magic-and-mortal-device combination been used for ultrasounds?"

Aiden flashed you the same boyish grin that got the two of you out of trouble when you were younger and given that your mother was... well, who she was, that was a difficult feat indeed. It was one of the reasons you had stuck with the slightly infuriating male who stood before you today; he would always protect you. Of course, this was until you had lost touch. "Well..." he pretended to do a thinking pose. You hoped he was joking.

You narrowed your eyes at him, but you doubted he could even see you. "Aiden? This is safe, right?"

"Just kidding, y/n. Of course, it is safe for use and has been trialed numerous times."

"Not funny." You muttered to yourself.

Under Aiden's instruction, you lifted up your dress until it was just under your bust. The masses of fabric were somewhat blocking your vision, but even so, you lifted your neck slightly to try see what Aiden was doing.

"It's interesting how mortals compensate for not having magic, this gel is especially interesting," he mused. He had become such an intellect, always curious and ready to learn. You were somewhat shocked to see what he'd made of himself, so different from that class clown you used to know.

You couldn't do more than make what hopefully came out as a sound of interest, as you weren't really able to see what "gel" your friend was even referring to.

"This might feel a bit cold," Aiden said, before he applied a thin layer of a wet, smooth mixture to your stomach. "It'll help this little machine to see your womb."

"Sure," you reply. What else could be said?

"Oh! Wait." You add abruptly. Aiden stopped his movements instantly. "I... don't want to know the gender." You finished, chewing your lip slightly.

"Are you sure?"

"Yet. I mean, yes. I don't want to know yet. I'll find out when everyone else does, whenever that is."

Aiden sent you a confident smile. "Okay, y/n/n."

After that, he seemed to sense your nervousness, and so after the gel was applied, Aiden placed a comforting hand on yours, which were busy pulling at the seams of your dress. The clothing suddenly felt too thick, and the breezy material no longer cooled your skin, but instead made it itch, and the back of your neck felt hot. He changed the positioning of your bed with a small flick of his wrist, in a swift motion. Slowly, your upper body rose to a sitting position while your legs stayed flat. This way, you could see what was happening.

Then you heard it, and suddenly, there was too much to say.

Unmistakably, there was thumping. Muffled thumping that seemed to echo around the room.

Aiden had big grin on his face. He met your eyes only for a moment before returning to the task literally in front of him. You realised he was concentrating hard on a small floating projection, a clear screen that showed all sorts of charts and figures. In the center of the clear screen there was a black rectangle that had something moving in it. Different shades of greys and white danced across the screen in pixelated motions but they all moved together, as if they were forming something whole.

"Is that...?" you asked softly. You couldn't get the words out, because your heart was in your throat. It was difficult to see, from the weird angle that you observed the screen in, but it couldn't have been anything else.

Just like when you were kids, he read your mind.

"Yes, y/n," he breathed softly. His fingers floated across the keyboard on the bedside table. which you suspected was somehow connected to Aiden's magical projection.

The perfect mix of fae magic and mortal engineering.

At last, Aiden spoke.

"That's the heartbeat."

***

It had been 2 weeks since that first ultrasound, and you were talking with Feyre about breaking the news to the rest of your friends. The two of you were sitting in the courtyard, the late afternoon sun casting its warm, friendly glow. You marveled at the beauty of the gardens a "Oh, I'm so excited for you! Your baby is going to be spoiled like crazy," your friend exclaimed fondly, a big grin on her face.

Hearing Feyre's enthusiasm calmed your nerves immensely, and you reached for your High Lady's hand. "I wish Az was here," you admitted, "if he was, I'd do something bigger. I think I'm just going to tell everyone at dinner."

Feyre's glance softened at the mention of your mate. "That sounds good, but y/n, I hate to mention this now but when are you going to tell Azriel?"

You bit your lip, averting eye contact. "I'm not sure, actually. Whenever's best, I suppose."

"You can be honest with me, y/n/n. I just think you should tell him."

"Of course I'm going to tell him."

"But your baby's going to be born before he gets back, surely you're not going to have him come home blind-" Feyre said insistently.

You started to get a little annoyed. "I will tell him, Feyre. He will not 'come home blind'."

But were you sure? Would Azriel even reply to your letters? Would he care enough to write more than his usual 5 sentences? A pain ran through your heart as you recalled the last time you wrote was about a month ago. He hadn't replied. You didn't want him to be distracted on the mission, or worse, hurt himself because he was worrying.

Feyre could read your expression. "Are you really thinking about lying to your mate? About your child. His child, y/n. It's Azriel's too."

You fought the urge to roll your eyes. "Gods, Feyre. You think I don't know that? Stop pushing this, it's my decision and if I want to leave it until he comes back... then that's on me." But deep down you knew she was right.

Your words just hung between you as the conversation ended. You didn't believe what you just said, and by the silence that fell, you could tell Feyre didn't either.

The two of you sat in your respective chairs and avoided eye contact, Feyre was fiddling with the sash on her dress, and you were looking into the sky, eyes squinting as you immediately regretted staring straight into the sun.

"Feyre, darling?" called Rhys' smooth voice. You glanced at your wristwatch, which indicated Feyre and Rhys' meeting was about to start. You sighed a little; you would have to apologise later.

"Here, Rhys!" Feyre quickly gathered her things but put a comforting hand on your shoulder as she passed. "Bye, y/n."

Then Rhys whisked Feyre away, leaving you alone in the courtyard.

You didn't want to keep sitting in the courtyard rethinking your conversation with Feyre. Or perhaps was it an argument? You quickly left the gardens as soon as the sun started setting, in hopes you would bump into another one of your friends. You walked towards the door to the main house and luckily, the moment you turned around after closing the door, there was Kai, gathering some items in a satchel, looking like he was about to leave.

You wondered if you should bother him as he looked busy, but before you could sneak off, it seemed that Kai used his big-brother senses because he turned around and spotted you.

"Y/n! My favourite person." He beamed, tucking strands of his golden hair behind his ears.

"I think Aiden might take some offense to that statement." You approached him smiling, yet slightly embarrassed he had almost caught you jumping over a couch.

"I'm sure he agrees with my sentiment." Your friend smiled.

"Going somewhere?"

"Just off to the Night Markets to buy a sheath for Aiden's present. It's a dagger, from my last mission overseas," He cocked his head slightly, as if trying to see if you were okay. "Would you like to join me?" Kai broke into a beaming smile. "We can get ice-cream."

You couldn't help grin as his words lit you up. The two of you used to always get ice-cream together, it was your thing. The ice-cream stores in Velaris changed their flavours daily, always a mix of aromatic spices and exotic fruits that somehow blended perfectly together. It was well-known amongst all your friends that Night Court ice-cream was one of your favourite things, and almost every birthday you got a tub of your favourite flavour, whatever it was. It reminded you of happier days, and some of your favourite memories consisted of you, laughing along with Kai over large cones of the sweet, icy treat.

"Really? I'd love to!" This is exactly what you needed to help you take your mind off your disagreement with Feyre. "I hope I'm not intruding though."

"You could never intrude. Besides, I could use another set of eyes. You've seen my wardrobe; I don't exactly choose the most stylish things." He bumped your shoulder affectionately.

You snickered. "That I have. Then you're lucky I took pity on you and offered my services to you."

Ever the drama queen, Kai lowered himself into a deep bow, "I thank you then, y/n."

Being with Kai had lifted your mood almost instantly. You had confided in him through your highs and lows, and when you had shown such intimate parts of yourself to another, it was easy to settle into comfortable companionship. He was like an older brother to you, one of your closest friends.

You watched Velaris' bustling marketplaces in awe as Kai soared through the air, his wings flapping. It had been a while since you had come out to see the signature Night Markets, but it was just as breathtaking as you remembered. There were crowds everywhere, and each store had twinkling lights. It was dark now, the light from each stall was illuminating the air around it, the mountains were shining a soft white from the snow, and you felt like you had returned home to the familiar sights, sounds and smells.

Kai led you to a few shops, and gods, it was lucky you were there. Somehow, he managed to pick out some of the strangest, weirdest designs that there were. It took almost 20 minutes of convincing before Kai discarded a sheath that was covered in ridiculous dyed fur that also had googly eyes stuck to the front, with eyebrows that jiggled when you removed the dagger.

"It's like an adorable fluffy animal!" He exclaimed.

"Kai, no. It looks like a mutilated toy rodent. I think I see bugs moving in the fur, and it smells like Cassian after training."

Kai whistled. "Harsh critic."

You shrugged, looping your arm through his to drag him back through the door. "I just saved your marriage, my friend."

Eventually you two of you picked a simple design. A sleek black design with silver buckles that was functional enough to store a pen or two, as well. Perfect for Aiden. Knowing him, he probably would use the sheath to store some of his equipment for operations, and the like.

"Thanks for helping me tonight," Kai smiled. "I owe you one."

"Don't mention it. All you ever need to owe me is some ice-cream." You almost jumped when you saw the old gelateria where the two of you frequented decades ago. Had it really been decades?

Kai seemed to be thinking the same thing because the moment the two of you sat down, he smiled, wistfully asking, "Do you remember the last time we came here?"

You hummed in thought, trying to come up with an answer. "I don't think I do. Must've been to celebrate something?"

Kai grinned. "No, not to celebrate. I remember," he started.

"Shocking how someone so old has a better memory than me." you smirked.

"Hush, y/n/n. Surely you remember, as it concerns your favourite person."

"My favourite person? So, not you then," you laughed.

"I'm wounded." Kai replied, deadpan. "No, anyway. I mean Azriel. You came to me after a big fight with Azzy."

You opened your mouth in shock. "I can't believe you still remember that!"

"Well, hard to forget," he said, dryly. "I had never seen you so upset." His expression turned pensive and worried, as if he was sensing the truth in your expression, which had turned from shocked to anxious with one sentence. He was sensing that maybe you weren't letting on exactly how saddened you were regarding the situation with Azriel. Of course, only Feyre and Aiden knew you were with child, and this factor contributed greatly.

"You know, because now you two are doing a lot more than just argue..." Malakai tried to lighten the mood, and for a second it worked. Then he did that stupid thing that mortals do; he made a "kissy face"... and then some.

Your eyes widened, but you had a big grin on your face. "Gods, Malakai! You did not just do that in public!" but your friend just smirked, innocently shrugging his shoulders. You wouldn't stay mad at him anyway. Never could.

The two of you finished your cones in silence.

"Let's walk around for a bit," Kai said, wiping his hands with a napkin.

"Okay, sure."

You and Kai walked behind the bustling marketplace to a lone bench where the two of you used to come all the time. It was your spot.

"I do have something to tell you, though."

"Oh yeah?" Kai looked as if he was trying to guess your news.

You took a breath in to steady yourself. "I'm telling you before most of the others... because I trust you. And I love you, you've always been..." another small inhale. "Maybe you can help me figure out what to do."

Kai swiveled so he was facing you more. "Of course," he smiled. "You know I'd do anything for you."

You smiled gratefully. "You may know that Azriel didn't really leave me on the best terms... Well, uh, he didn't leave me, specifically, you know, but I just mean that we'd argued before he left." You rambled. "A lot, actually. We argued a lot."

Kai put a comforting hand on your arm. "You don't have to tell me if you're not ready," he said gently, kindly.

Kai kindness overwhelmed you, but lately it had felt like Feyre was treating you a bit like a broken doll, and she was just waiting for you to finally crack. Being doted on wasn't a bad thing, but it felt suffocating especially now, and you felt Feyre's time was wasted when you realised that only one thing would make you feel better about this situation, you were too much a coward to do. It should've been easy, telling Azriel he was going to be a father. You were good at writing, letters especially. So why couldn't you tell Azriel?

Everything is just more complicated when love is involved.

You cleared your throat. "Sorry. I'm fine. I'm ready to talk about it, I promise."

"Okay," Kai nodded. "No pressure."

"I'mfourteenweekspregnantandAzrieldoesn'tknow." The words spilled out like a waterfall. A small brook, perhaps. All in one motion but in a low whisper. There was no going back now, but it seemed Kai hadn't heard your jumble of words.

"You're... what?"

"Pregnant. I'm 14 weeks pregnant and Az- Azriel doesn't know." you were dangerously close to tears, but you felt a million times better now that you had told someone else.

Kai was silent for a dangerously long time. Then his mouth curved into a small grin. "Wow, y/n. I'm so happy for you!" and then he clarified, upon seeing your slightly startled expression. "I know you've been wanting to start a family for a while now, and you're the most deserving person to have your dream come true." He took a deep breath in. "I'll admit it's difficult that Azriel doesn't know, but you're strong, and we can work through this together."

You had started to cry. "S-sorry, I'm happy too, I- I don't know what to do. I've been k-keeping it from you for so long, and I just don't know what to do." Your voice broke.

"You don't need to apologise, I get it. It's going to be difficult, y/n, but you don't need to do it alone."

"You've kept a pregnancy from Aiden before?" you sniffed.

He smiled softly, wiping a trickling tear. "No, but I know relationships take work. What you and Az are going through is only natural, and you're both the strongest people I know. I see the bond you two have, and it's like no other I've seen." He stretched over the table to wipe away a tear falling down your cheek. "It's beautiful, y/n. I know you, and I know Az. He will support you, and whatever you choose, so will I."

You sniffed again, wiping away more tears. Gods, there were a lot of tears on your face. Kai pulled a large, thick handkerchief out of his pocket and handed it to you.

"Aiden makes me carry it around, the massive thing. A real inconvenience. However, I've been told it makes an excellent torniquet." the warrior shrugged.

You managed a laugh. "Thanks."

Kai's expression softened. "Are you happy?"

His question caught you by surprise. "I've been processing these part few weeks. We were fighting because just noticed Azriel got increasingly unenthusiastic about our dates. About me," you felt the lump in your throat as you spilled your heart out. "S-sometimes I feel the b-bond go cold. Since he's been gone I can barely feel it, Malakai. I have to reach oh-so-far for something that should be permanent. Something that should be natural, and easy."

Kai wrapped you up in a hug, and you rested your head on his shoulder.

You took a pause. "But am I happy? I think so. If I can work this out with Az, then I will be. Really happy." You smiled slightly at the thought.

Kai nodded knowingly.

"Looks like you've only gotten wiser with age," you noted, slightly sad. Where'd all the time gone?"

"I guess we've both just gotten busier these past few centuries. You were sorting out your... confusing friendship with Azriel," you let out a laugh at that. Confusing was certaintly one word you could use to describe the relationship you and Az had before mating. Kai continued. "Well, and then you found out you were mates, but I was busy training here while trying to keep my relationship from my parents."

Your smile dropped a little. "But they were at your wedding, are you guys still okay?"

"Thanks for your concern, but we're all good. It's just that when I was younger, I saw how the villagers treated my sister when she confessed to me she favoured females, and word got out. It was a miracle no one blabbed to my parents before she finally told them decades later," he smiled. "I'm lucky my family are so supportive."

"I have a pretty great family too," you squeezed his hand.

The two of you sat in silence for a beat, smiling.

"Wait, before you said '"most" of the others know about your pregnancy. Who else knows?" Kai asked after a moment.

"Well, Madja, obviously, and Feyre and Aiden."

"My Aiden? He kept this from me?" The Lieutenant's eyes looked like they were going to bug out of his head. Aiden was definitely about to receive a stern lecture about how his wedding vows promised no lies.

You laughed. "Well, smart guy, your Aiden is a healer, and I couldn't exactly go visit Madja because Rhys is always there on High Lord business, and Cass occasionally brings his soldiers there for checkups, you know this. Besides, Aiden's clinic is more private, and I like getting priority service," you replied, smug.

Kai sighed, "And here I was thinking that I was the only one getting that service. When you think you know someone." he tutted.

"Well, people surprise you." You couldn't help but bitterly think "Just like my mate did."

"But I know your news before Cass?" When you nodded, he did a celebratory fist pump. "I always knew I was your favourite. $5 for me, baby."

"Don't be silly, I love you Illyrian babies all equally. Wait, you guys bet on me?"

Kai snorted, choosing to ignore your latter comment, but the gleam in his bright blue eyes told you all you needed to know.

You just rolled your eyes. "When do you think I should tell the rest of our friends?"

Kai composed himself as he realised you were jumping back to serious conversation. He cleared his throat, and said, "Well, you want to tell them all together, right?"

When you nodded, he continued. "So, logically, unless you want to tell everyone while they're drunk playing board games, or drunk, dancing at Rita's, I'd say your best bet is at our group dinners, but you know, tell them early, so they're not too drunk." He gave a small smile.

"That's what I was thinking. Gods, when's the next dinner again?"

You counted what day of the week it was in your head. If you guys usually gathered for dinner on Fridays, but the Velaris Night Markets occurred on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays... but Thursdays were when Feyre and Rhys had their meetings (which you remembered Feyre had gone to that afternoon), it would mean that the next family dinner was...

"Tomorrow," Kai finished helpfully. "Friday."

"That's soon," you tried not to sound too panicked.

"Luckily you have me to help you then."

***

The Inner Circle sat around the grand dinner table in the beautifully adorned dining room of the Night Court. The soft glow of candlelight danced on their faces, creating an atmosphere of warmth and camaraderie. Feyre and Rhysand were engaged in a lighthearted banter, their eyes filled with affection, while Mor, Amren, and Cassian laughed along, their spirits high. Nesta had her hand on Cassian's shoulder, and Elain was talking with Nuala. Aiden and Kai were sitting across from you, Kai's eyes trying to meet your own. Tonight would be the big night.

As the conversation lulled, your heart pounded in your chest, your hands clammy with nerves. Taking a deep breath, you gathered your courage, your voice slightly shaky but resolute, and cleared your throat to gain everyone's attention. Feyre's eyes met yours with a flash of concern, then understanding. You sent her an unsure smile and nodded slightly, notifying her that you were ready to share the news with your family.

"I... um, I have something important to share with all of you," you began, your eyes flickering with a mix of vulnerability and determination. You looked towards Kai and Aiden; both of them looked ecstatic, and you could tell Kai was reigning in his emotions. The room fell into an expectant silence as every member of the Inner Circle turned their gaze towards you, their expressions a blend of curiosity and concern.

Your eyes darted around the table, locking with each person's gaze, drawing strength from their unwavering support. You continued, "I'm pregnant."

The room erupted in a cacophony of reactions. Cassian's jaw dropped; a half-chewed bite of food forgotten in his mouth. Rhysand, startled by the unexpected news, coughed and choked on his wine, while Feyre, caught between annoyance and concern, hit his shoulder. She caught your eye and sent you a look that apologised for Rhys' behaviour.

"He doesn't mean it like that!" she mouthed. For the first time in your life, you hoped your expression betrayed your thoughts. "I'm sorry", you were trying to convey. "I love you". Feyre nodded once and smiled, and you knew she understood.

Mor was the first one to say something. She let out an excited gasp, clapping her hands together. "Y/n, that's amazing! You're going to be a wonderful mother," she exclaimed, her eyes shining with genuine joy.

You felt everyone else's eyes on you. Amren had narrowed her eyes, and Varian was looking quite uncomfortable. Oh dear.

You felt a bittersweet mixture of relief and apprehension wash over you as you glanced around the table, searching for comfort amidst the tumultuous sea of emotions. Everyone looked pleased though, it seemed the extra 5 seconds of processing time had done wonders. Even Amren had a slight smile on her face now, and Varian looked less... strange.

Rhys, having gathered himself now, spoke next, a beaming smile on his face. "I'm so happy for you, y/n! You and Azriel deserve this. How'd he take the news?"

You hesitated, your eyes dropping to your plate, tracing the intricate patterns etched onto the fine China. You could feel the glances of Feyre, Aiden and Kai on you.

"I... uh.... haven't told him yet," and then there was silence in the room again.

The weight of your words was sinking in for your friends.

"I don't want to get into it now, and- and ruin our evening," you said, voice shaking slightly. Perhaps you'd already ruined the evening, if the heavy silence was any indication. "But we haven't exactly been on the best terms lately. We were fighting all up until he left, and I- I can barely feel the bond anymore. He hasn't written me back in a month.

With that bomb dropped, you looked up to the ceiling, blinking away tears.

"I'm scared."

Cassian, recovering from his initial shock, reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on your trembling one. "We're here for you, y/n," he reassured you, his voice filled with sincerity and warmth. "And when Az comes back, we'll figure it out together. You won't be alone in this. I can't believe it. You're pregnant." He finished with a joyous laugh.

Aiden chimed in, "We love you, y/n. As long as we're here, you don't have to do anything alone."

"You have the best support system possible; one that has been formed through years of hardship. No bond is stronger than this group bond, y/n." Kai continued. "Your pregnancy will be a beautiful thing."

Nesta spoke up next. "You can count on us for anything, y/n/n. I know you must have concerns, but now you don't have to carry them alone." You sent her a grateful smile, to which she returned.

"It'll fly by, the 10 months. Enjoy the process. Plus, you'll look great with the pregnancy glow." Feyre laughed.

Then Elain cleared her throat - daintily, if that was possible. "I'm happy for you too, y/n. Your child is lucky to have you as a mother, and... I know we're not too close, but you can count on me." She smiled; her cheeks rosy as all the attention turned to her.

You were in shock. That was the most you'd ever heard Elain speak, especially in front of everyone. You reached across the table and lightly put your hand on hers.

Surprisingly, Amren said, "You're in capable hands, y/n. It'll be such a joy having another Nyx around." The table chuckled at her sarcasm, but you knew she meant it with no malice.

"That means more than you could know. Thank you, everyone."

"You know how Azriel is. He may draw back, but he is always there for the ones he loves and trust me when I say you're on the top of his list." Mor said. "I don't know how he'll react to the news,"

Your smile dropped a little. Thanks for the confidence boost, Mor.

"But I know that every relationship has its ups and downs. You've been there for him since the day you arrived, and he's been there for you, too. I can promise you that this experience will only help the two of you grow closer." Mor's words were sincere.

As the Inner Circle rallied around you, offering support, reassurance, and a safe space to share your fears and uncertainties, you felt a flicker of hope ignite within you. Even Varian had bowed his head in respect. In that moment, you realized that you were not alone in your journey. With your loved ones by your side, you knew you had the strength and resilience to face whatever lay ahead. When the time came to reveal the news to Azriel, they would help you navigate the delicate path, giving you the support and courage, you needed.

And so, amidst the clinking of cutlery, the sound of Feyre's exasperated sigh as Cerridwen chased after Nyx (who'd run into the room looking for his mother), and the warm laughter that filled the House of Wind's dining room, you embraced the love and acceptance that you had received, finding solace in the knowledge that no matter the challenges you faced, you would never have to face them alone.

You tugged on the bond once again. Once. Twice.

And then you felt it. A pull from Azriel. Stronger than you'd felt in months.

***

"You guys really didn't have to plan all this," you smiled fondly at your friends, who insisted on throwing you a baby shower. Feyre later told you that she spent almost an hour explaining the mortal concept to Amren and Cassian, the latter thinking it was about hygiene. It had almost been 3 weeks since you told your friends at that fateful dinner, and they had embraced your news with love and kindness, just as Aiden, Feyre and Kai all insisted they would.

"Nonsense, y/n. You deserve the best baby bath achievable." Cassian beamed.

"Shower, Cassian." Feyre reminded him.

"I just showered," Cassian rolled his eyes. Nesta slapped his shoulder, and he quickly stopped his jokes when she gave him a kiss. You suppressed a snicker as you watched her. Cassian looked at her so lovingly, and Nesta, however annoyed she may be, always returned that look with equal fierceness.

You looked to your High Lord and Lady. Rhysand was sitting in a plush armchair, and Feyre was perched on his lap, his hand draped across her waist, fingers fiddling with a loose thread on her cream sweater. Nyx's addition to their family had only made them closer, and you could only pray that your little one could provide the same effect.

It was obvious to a total fool that Varian was irrevocably in love with Amren. His gaze was constantly on her, his eyes soft and longing, as if he knew something everyone else didn't. Amren rarely shared personal stories with the Inner Circle, but maybe she'd told the prince of Adriata something she hadn't yet shared with everyone else. You had a feeling Amren was going to find her eternal happiness with him. After all, he was here casually lounging with the Night Court's elite Inner Circle, wasn't he?

Then you looked to the pile of presents that your closest friends had prepared for you. The pink and blue streamers your friends had pinned around the room. Feyre said she was incorporating another tradition into this baby shower, something called a 'gender reveal', that she said was a celebration where loved ones of the mother gathered so she could make the gender of her child known. The room laughed as Rhys recited some adorable thing Nyx had done that morning, and for a second you were just lost in the haze. These wonderful people had chosen to spend time with you, and all vowed to support you.

The baby shower and gender reveal passed in a blur. It was just a mess of happy memories. You opened and accepted everyone's gifts (even the sharp "toy" Amren had gifted for "teething purposes". Perhaps Azriel would like that one.), and Nuala, Cerridwen and Elain had done an amazing job with the cake, which had either pink or blue frosting inside.

Since you wanted Aiden to keep the gender a secret, you had no idea what colour was in the cake either, and you were equal parts excited yet slightly nervous. If you thought hearing your baby's heartbeat made it real, celebrating this moment with your friends made it unreal. This was truly, really, definitely, happening.

You cut into the cake and it was...

"Pink!" you exclaimed. "Pink! She's a girl!"

Your friends whooped and cheered, Feyre rushed up to hug you, and Cassian immediately bobbed down to your stomach.

"A baby girl! Aw," he cooed. "Uncle Cass is going to spoil you!"

You laughed at Cassian, but he had lifted the mood tremendously. You couldn't believe it. You were having a girl, and you knew she would be perfect.

After the celebrations, Kai came and found you flipping through a photo album. It had detailed most of your and Azriel's relationship, and now there was a chapter all about your pregnancy.

"Thinking about him?" Malakai asked.

You smiled sadly, thinking about the huge milestone you had just celebrated without him. "I can't help it. I miss my mate." and sent another tug down the bond.

This time, it wasn't reciprocated. Something felt different, this time. You almost thought you heard a cry of pain.

***

“You know, maybe it would help to get out of here a little,” Cassian said one day at training. You were in the middle of sparring with him and Nesta, sweat dripping down your face, but you could tell they were going easy since the birth of your daughter only 5 weeks prior.

"Yeah, y/n,” Nesta smiled as she thrusted the dagger upward. "No harm in a holiday, you work so hard."

You stopped, mid-jab into where Cassian's shoulder would've been as you considered the idea. You hadn't left the Night Court for leisure in over three decades, and a small part of you did long to explore the other courts. Back when you and Az still talked of the future, the two of you had dreamed of holidaying in all the seven courts.

>>>>

"Do you ever think of the future?" you asked, playing with your mate's hair. Azriel paused his reading and thought.

He hummed softly, replying, "Of course, one with you."

You smiled, hands resuming their tousling of Azriel's hair, "I think one day I would like to travel. See all the places that the stories told me about when I was younger."

"That sounds perfect," Azriel replied, now fully sitting up and facing you. His book was discarded, and his hands were drifting up and down your arms. "I am content everywhere with you, but I hear the Winter and Summer courts are especially beautiful year-round."

You made a noise of happiness. "How much wine do you think we would need to buy Rhys for him to gift us one of his luxurious holiday homes in the Winter Court?"

Azriel's laugh ricocheted through the empty house, "My darling mate, I bet it's more wine than we can afford."

You laughed softly, "Well, I guess we better start saving. When I mend relations with Spring and Autumn, we must visit all the courts! Oh, just imagine it, Az."

Azriel's eyes softened. "Have I ever told you how much I admire you?"

You tilt your head, "You tell me every day, Az, but I think I admire you more." you said in a whisper, as if it were a secret, but how could it ever be, with a mate like Azriel?

Azriel smiled but shook his head. "Your job is amazing, y/n. Co-ordinating all these alliances, responding to our people's concerns and solving their problems. Velaris would really be nowhere without you."

You blush under Azriel's heated gaze, and say, "Well, someone's got to make the bribe money for Rhys' wine."

Azriel laughed deeply, the sound warming your soul. "Well, good thing I make up for my immense lack of income with other skills."

You watched the corner of Azriel's mouth curl up in a smirk. "Wouldn't you agree, my love? Or would you like a reminder?"

>>>>>>>>

When you named your daughter, you cried.

Cerise. Cerise Beatrice Singer.

Beatrice was your mother's name. A mortal name. She was half fae, as her mother was mortal. The courts gossiped for your entire childhood, from when you were six up until at least seventeen. They didn't even stop when she died. Seventeen was the year where you couldn't take it anymore. The year you finally left your 'family' and fled into the centre of Prythian. You travelled around from court to court for 2 years until one day, you arrived in the Night Court.

The people of your old village called her horrible names. They'd hiss at your mother as she walked across the street, throw all sorts of things at her. They were horrified that a mortal walked the streets of Prythian freely, no matter the fact she had never actually been in the Mortal Lands. No matter the fact she grew up the same as them. No matter the fact that she learnt the same faerie customs in the same faerie schools. No matter the fact that she grew up eating faerie food and wearing faerie-produced clothing.

No matter any of that.

Once, there was a rumour that you heard at school. People were saying your mother used witchcraft to lure herself a man "as great as that scum's father". You hid behind a wall, eavesdropping. The voices were muffled, the pitch all weird, but it was clear they were talking about you. Aiden was there with you. When he saw you were on the verge of tears, he told you to cover your ears and he hugged you tight. But even his hugs were never as tight as your mother's.

You are remembering thinking that you had never heard such foul language coming from 11-year-old children. You had dared a peek into the classroom, and when you saw the towering figures huddled, you realised. It was the teachers. The teachers using slurs and the teachers belittling the one woman who actually cared about you. About everything.

Decades from that day you thought of your past. You thought that, maybe it was true that once, your father had felt love for her. Beatrice bore him 4 children, after all. You knew your mother married him soon after meeting, and when she would brush your hair, back when you were young and the world was simple, she would tell you stories about how he courted her. Oh, how he courted her. Before the age of eight you used to wish for a love story like theirs. But as you grew up, it was plain to see that he felt nothing for her. In the end, one of your father's drunken rages had led to her death, and she died protecting you.

She cared for you when no one else did, in your family. Not your older siblings, and certainly not your father.

When you named your daughter, you cried.

Love and passion. That's what her name meant.

You were going to make sure love was all she felt from her family. Cerise was going to grow up with love. You loved her, your true family loved her, and Azriel would love her. You were sure.

Her raven hair was just like his, her eyes were like his too. Sometimes a piercing green, sometimes a calming brown. Beautiful, just like her father. She had your mouth though; Feyre had told you. When she smiled it was like the sun brightening the sky after a storm, and you had never seen anything better. She loved to laugh, her small eyes crinkling at the corners, her nose twitching. She was beautiful.

Cerise, she had wings. Small, baby Illyrian wings, but wings none the less. Wings like Azriel. Not wings like your father, but wings like Azriel. Majestic and powerful, with the ability to give what you had lacked; freedom.

>>>>>>>>

It had almost been 9 months since you told your friends at that fateful dinner, and they had spared no expense, treating you and Cerise like royalty.

Feyre could tell you were drained from your new motherly duties and said she would be happy to take care of your daughter for as long as you needed, but you had refused her offer.

"Oh no, Feyre, that's so kind," you smiled gratefully at your friend. "It's okay though, I will pick a place suitable for the both of us."

You had picked up Cerise from eager Auntie Mor's that morning and had decided. It was time for a holiday.

Feyre's eyes were scanning your face, waiting to pounce on any sign of hesitation. "Besides," you continued. "You have Nyx to think about!"

Upon hearing her son's name, Feyre beamed. "Yes! Oh y/n, I am so excited to have them grow up together." Her eyes softened. "It may seem hard now, but I know you'll be a great mother."

You reached for your friend and pulled her into a hug. "Thank you, Feyre. I learn from the best."

When you pulled back Feyre grasped your hands, grinning excitedly. "Now for the fun part. Let's pick a holiday destination; where are we sending you!"

Rhys walked in about an hour after you and Feyre decided to research to find Prythian's best Court for a vacation.

"How about the Day Court?" He suggested. "Helion loves you, and I'm sure both you and your daughter would enjoy the sunshine."

You looked at Feyre who was beaming.

"That sounds perfect."

That's how you ended up holding your daughter, watching as Helion - ever the show-off - had insisted you fly to the Day Court in his finest white carriage, led by the horses with manes of flame. When Rhys had heard about this plan, he just rolled his eyes, telling you that once, he had banned Helion from coming into the Night Court in that carriage, but Helion's loophole was to take you out of the Night Court in it.

"Go easy on the flying, okay? You have a post-partum mother and a baby on board," you said to Helion, only half-joking.

Helion raised one dark eyebrow at you in reply. "Of course. I promise you a mellow ride." He smiled and turned his attention back to his horses. A quick tug on the reigns from Helion, and the three of you were gone.

@ladyescapism 💗💗

edit: I ONLY JUST REALISED I DONT USE READ MORE OMLLLL

edit 2: WEDDING VOWELS LMFAO

[queerofthedagger]

WIP Snippet

I was tagged by @swanhild and @gardensofthemoon to share a bit of a current WIP, thank you so much!! <3 I've been working on a "quick oneshot" that got entirely out of hand, of Fingon in the aftermath of Fingolfin's death, with a bit of getting back together Russingon vibes. I am hoping to finish the first draft this week, even if that took roughly 15k words more than I wanted it to lmao

It is midday by the time they ride out of the courtyard, the late March day crisp but fair. They have a small guard with them that keeps its distance, and the fresh air and open sky already make Fingon feel more alive and solid. “So, what’s the plan then?” he finally asks, once they have made it down from the mountain that Himring towers on. “Wasn’t most of the surrounding lands overrun?” Maedhros glances at him, comfortably letting his horse find its way while keeping his hand loosely on the reins. He has always been a good rider, and like with almost everything else, he had only doubled down on regaining that skill in the aftermath of Thangorodrim. “It was, yes, everything but Himring. But we successfully closed the Pass of Aglon again not long ago, even as my brothers have stayed in Nargothrond. Tyelko, of course, always had hunting lodges up there, so I thought it might be a good choice. Whether we’ll be hunting game or Orcs I cannot tell you yet, but then, I have an inkling that you might not exactly mind getting to kill some Orcs.” Fingon grins, helpless against the surge of affection. “Is that your idea of an apology?” he teases. Maedhros grins back. “I don’t know; is it working?” “Haven’t decided yet; might be a start, though.” He is lying, of course. They are way past the start. He watches Maedhros, tall on his horse and armour gleaming in the early light of the year; watches him and thinks of the way he had yielded to every one of Fingon’s demands these last few days; watches him, the easy way he talks of his lands and the future and how Fingon will fit right into it, and is reminded of something he has learnt to be true a very long time ago. There is nothing he would not forgive Maedhros. It stopped scaring him just about as long ago.

No pressure tagging @kairenn-n @insane-ohwhyfandoms @melestasflight @mirkwood and @softest-punk, and anyone who would like to! Would love to see what you're working on <3

[abby118]

Loki ask 3 + 5 pls & ty B)

3 - What do you think happened to Loki after his fall?

Hmmmm, I had to really think about this one because I've got to admit it's an area I have left untouched because I believe a story should have aspects which are somewhat unexplained and left for the 'what ifs'. However, according to the mcu canon (and now, I do not know whether this information was added later or not because I do not accept the later additions as canon), the official version is that he fell right to the Sanctuary where he met the Other. (source & x).

My personal headcanon is not that far off from that though it does differ. I think he was found relatively soon after his fall, but not that it was the Other who found him. I think the Other was introduced later, after it was determined he was ready to lead the Chitauri, and the ones who interacted with him before that were mainly the Black Order. He was probably tested a lot; after all, they needed someone who would withstand what they asked of him and it was done in a way that took advantage of his vulnerability in that situation while making him believe that what was being done to him was a deal, a trade, something that would be beneficial to him in one way or the other. I've made a meta covering a similar topic in the past.

5 - Do you have any hcs/theories about Loki's biological mother?

(I know this can be a touchy subject and one I got dragged for in the past so please don't kill me lol. They are my hcs, nothing more than that.) I am one of the people who hc Loki to be half-Aesir (which is a whole topic on its own that ties into his use of magic* and his appearance/the reason he did shift as an infant; no I do not think it was Odin's doing, not entirely). I think she was a witch, a shapeshifter, and he inherited her magic (I don't think you can use Seidr unless you're born with the gene that allows you to access it and do so only if properly trained, which is what I think happened in Loki's case with Frigga and the mentors he must have had growing up as the second prince). She was raised in the outskirts of Asgard and learnt her magic from her mother who came from a line of witches. Despite the undeniably dominant effects of the warrior society of Asgard, I hc the palace to have a coven, which ties into an arcane university and guilds dispersed throughout the city (as Asgard is a realm heavily built around magic even if it's not accessible to all and thus feared and mocked). She was not known by any of those institutions (despite her mother having been a part of them, which is how she got to tap into her abilities). It's a rather complicated headcanon that is a part of the additional info to my fic so I won't go any further with this but she was relatively unknown on Asgard but had a history and the genes associated with magic which she then passed down to Loki. He never found out who she was and neither did his family. *And whilst we're at it, because I just have to add this one, I don't think genes are what makes a mage. Yeah you won't be able to do anything without them but they are not an automatic sign that someone will be a skilled mage. They don't even have to be strong enough to appear. For example, when it comes to illusions, one has to be more than capable of above-average visualisation. They need to know what image they want to create first, with detail, or else it will never feel and look realistic. Then, they need the actual skill to create it (which can be taught / trained), while talent and imagination is something one has to be born with and it relates to what the rest of said person's relatives are specialised in if they are capable of wielding magic. That is an example but I just do not think this came from the Jotuns' side of his biology.

----the ask game----

14, 23, 24, 4

[sequinsmile-x]

Stained Glass Windows - Chapter Fifty One

Life was complicated, but they wouldn't have it any other way.

-x-

Hi friends,

As always, thank you so much for your love on this fic! Now we are past chapter 50 it felt like time for another new banner, so I hope you like it!

Also, this chapter of SGW makes my overall word count on AO3 tip over into 1.7 million....which is absurd. That means I am now about 35k words away from having written more words for Hotchniss than there are words in the entire Game of Thrones 'A Song of Fire and Ice' series!! Again...absurd haha

Whilst this chapter, and the next couple in this story, are quite domestic and fluffy....we do have some more drama and hurt/comfort to come.

Please do let me know what you think <3

-x-

Words: 2.9k

A full list of warnings for the fic can be found on the Series Master List and will be updated as we go along.

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

Emily blows out a steady breath as she lifts Lily out of her car seat and holds her against her chest. 

“You ready?”

She turns to look at Aaron, the understanding smile on his face going some way to make her feel slightly less ridiculous, but not entirely curing the mix of anxiety and guilt swirling in her gut. 

It was her first day back at work. The past few months had flown by. The days had been long, sometimes drawn out with very little sleep and a type of exhaustion she hadn’t known existed, but now looking back on it she couldn’t believe her maternity leave was over. Surgery and a traumatic birth she knew she still hadn’t entirely processed felt like they had happened both a lifetime ago and just yesterday simultaneously. 

Emily nods tightly, even though she feels anything but, and she watches as he grabs the diaper bag out of the back of her car and then closes the door for her. They’d driven in separately since he had to go straight to the jet once they dropped off Lily for her first day in daycare. Emily had heard something she refused to call panic rise up in her chest as she was making sure she’d packed enough milk for Lily when she heard Aaron’s phone ring. A call at that time in the morning only ever meant one thing - a case, and the thought of dropping their little girl off for the first time, by herself, made her more anxious than staring down a serial killer ever had. 

She was sure she’d never loved her husband more than when she heard him say he’d meet the team on the jet, that he had something important to do first. It was one of the moments when she was strangely grateful that she was his second wife, his second chance. He had taken the lessons he’d learnt from the mistakes in his marriage to Haley and was doing what he could to make things right now. 

Aaron wraps his arm around Emily, his hand on her shoulder as he guides her into the daycare centre. It was the best one in the state, something that made him feel infinitely better about leaving his little girl here, and mercifully close to work. He knew this was one of the occasions when he had to be the strong one. All of Emily’s nerves and doubts, things that she only let him see, were just beneath her skin, her whole body vibrating with them if he looked close enough. He could push his own feelings down so he could assure her that everything would be fine, that their daughter would spend her day with people trained to look after her. 

He smiles as the daycare director approaches them. They’d met her, a kind woman called Jane Martin, once when they came to register Lily. There was an air of reassurance to her, something that seemed unflappable, but Aaron knew that would do nothing to help his wife through the next few minutes. 

“Mr and Mrs Hotchner,” Jane says, her smile wide as she walks over, “It’s so lovely to see you,” she turns her attention to Lily, the baby still snuggled in her mother’s arms, “And hello Lily, you somehow got even prettier than the last time I saw you.” 

In any other circumstances, Aaron is sure he’d laugh at how his wife holds Lily even tighter, an unnecessary defence mechanism towards the woman they were paying to look after her. He knows now isn’t the time and he clears his throat to cover it, passing the diaper bag over to Jane. 

“She ate about 45 minutes ago,” he says, returning his hand to his wife’s lower back, his palm warm through her shirt, “And we’ve labelled the milk up as you instructed.”

Jane nods as she hangs the bag over her shoulder, “I’ll make sure it all gets put in the fridge,” she says, turning back to look at Emily, who was still holding Lily as if she was going to be snatched from her. Jane’s smile turns sympathetic, and Aaron is sure this is something she sees on a daily basis, “Well Lily,” she says, stepping closer, “I think Mommy and Daddy need to go to work.” 

There’s a moment of silence, and Emily feels her throat go dry, her heartbeat loud in her head. It was ridiculous, a pull she didn’t understand, but all she wanted to do was run out the front door and take her baby with her. She knew she needed to do this, that her work was part of who she was, part that she had missed in the last few months, but right now, the part of her that wanted to keep her daughter with her at all times was threatening to win out. 

“Sweetheart?” 

Aaron’s voice and the way his touch on her back gets more insistence draws her back into the moment, and she clears her throat and nods. She tilts her head down to look at Lily, her heart seizing in her chest as her little girl smiles at her. She kisses her forehead and then her cheek, breathing her in like it wouldn’t be a matter of hours until she sees her again.

“Mommy loves you very much,” she says, her lips still pressed against her daughter’s soft cheek, “And I’ll be back to pick you up later, okay?” She kisses her again and pulls back, her lips shaking as she smiles, “I love you.” 

Aaron smiles at the sight of them together, something he could never tire of, and his eyebrows start to furrow as he realises his wife is making absolutely no attempt to hand the baby over to either him or Jane. He clears his throat, getting his wife’s attention, “Em-”

“I think you’re going to have to take her from me,” she says, her voice cracking slightly, a sure sign she would lose control of her emotions the second they stepped out into the parking lot, “I…I can’t let go.” 

He nods, briefly squeezing her hip to let her know he understood, and then he reaches for Lily, “Come here Lily-pad,” he says, noting the distinct lack of his wife’s chastisement that usually followed his use of the nickname she hates. He takes a moment to hold Lily close, to press a kiss to her cheek, his heart clenching in his chest as she giggles, one of his favourite sounds in the world, “Daddy loves you too, and I’ll be home as soon as I can.” 

He smiles at Jane as he passes Lily to her, his fingers twitching to take her back as soon as she’s no longer in his embrace. Instead, he wraps his arm around his wife, holding her slightly tighter than he usually would in a public setting just in case she tried to bolt. 

“You have our numbers if you need anything,” Emily says, her eyes fixed on her daughter as she speaks to Jane, “I’ll just be a few miles away, I can come any time.” 

Jane nods patiently, once again obviously very used to this, to the difficulty parents had in letting go, and she smiles, “Of course Mrs Hotchner,” she shifts Lily so she’s facing them a little better, holding her tiny wrist up and helping her wave at her parents, “Say bye bye Lily.”

Emily and Aaron say goodbye simultaneously and she feels rooted to the spot until Aaron starts to turn her, his hand gentle but firm on her as he guides her back into the parking lot. As soon as the door is closed, as soon as they are alone, she wraps her arms around him tightly, sinking into the comfort he willingly gives her. 

“She’ll be fine, baby,” he assures her, stamping a kiss to the side of her head as he runs a hand up and down her back, “We picked this place because it’s the best, remember?” 

She nods against him and sniffs. She pulls back and wipes a stray tear from her cheek, shaking her head at herself as she does so, “I feel ridiculous for crying,” she says, an edge of frustration in her voice. She looks back into the building but she can’t see Lily anymore and she blows out a breath, “It’s stupid but I miss her already.”

“It isn’t ridiculous or stupid,” he assures her, wiping a tear from her cheek as he cups it to make her look at him, “I feel the same way. Do you want to know why?” He asks and she nods, drawing a small smile out of him, “It’s because we’re her parents.”

She chuckles humourlessly, “Does it get any easier?” 

Even though she missed Jack whenever he wasn’t around, this felt different. It had always been a part of her relationship with the boy she loved as her own - saying hello and then see you soon, something she was used to. She’d never been separated from Lily for more than a couple of hours at most, and she’d missed her every second. 

“No,” Aaron says, wiping another tear from her face, smiling when she frowns at him, “It doesn’t.” 

She scoffs, “You couldn’t lie to me?” 

He leans in and presses a kiss to her lips, “Never have, never will.” 

She hums and leans into him, wrapping her arms around his middle as she rests her cheek against his jacket, any usual concerns about getting make up on his suit nowhere to be found. 

“Tell me something good?”

He smiles and cups the back of her head, his fingers tangled in hair she still complained was too short, “In a few hours you’ll go pick her up and you’ll be able to tell her all about how amazing your first day at work was, and how her mommy is a superhero.” 

She pulls back and smiles at him, biting on the inside of her cheek in an attempt to contain it, “You’re sweet,” she checks the time on her watch over his shoulder, “And you’re also late.” 

He kisses her again, “You’re sure you’re okay?” 

She nods, even though she’s not sure, and she kisses him before she pulls back, “I’ll be fine,” she says as she steps towards her car, “Be safe. I love you.” 

“Love you too,” he replies, digging his keys out of his pocket, “Let me know how your first day goes.” 

She winks at him and blows him a kiss as she gets into her car. She pulls the door closed behind her and spots the empty car seat in her rearview mirror. She closes her eyes and gives herself a moment, blowing out a slow steady breath as she tries to force herself from the mindset she’d been in for weeks into the one she’d had for years. 

She opens her eyes and looks at the car seat’s reflection again before meeting her own eyes in the mirror. She was Emily Hotchner, wife and mother, and she had to remember how to be Emily Prentiss, FBI Special Agent all over again.

She just hoped the day would come when she’d be able to feel like both without feeling like she was failing at one of them. 

___

Emily is torn from sleep by a familiar sound, her daughter’s cries waking her up what felt like mere minutes after she’d finally drifted off. She struggled to sleep without Aaron next to her, the warmth of his body, the safety of his embrace, allowing her to relax and rest in ways she would have once thought impossible. She missed him when he was away on cases, the luxury they’d once had of always being together when she was still on the team something that was in the past.

Her first day back at work had been good. It felt strange to be part of a new team, to get to know people whose faces she’d seen before around the office but had never spoken to more than polite conversation in the kitchen or elevator. She felt out of sorts and out of practice, trying to balance proving her worth, something her language skills had done almost immediately like when she joined the BAU, and pumping milk in the bathroom before her breasts felt like they were going to explode. 

The relief she’d felt at the end of the day when she’d picked Lily up was palpable. A tightness in her chest that had only loosened the second she saw her little girl, when she held her in her arms. Aaron had called at the time he knew they’d be getting home even though he was busy with work trying to pin down a spree killer in the midwest. 

Emily groans as she sits up, blearily rubbing her eyes as she looks at the time, noting it had only been about 90 minutes since she’d last checked it.  She smiles at Lily as she leans over the bassinet and picks her up, shushing the infant by instinct, her lips against her forehead as she settles back onto the bed with her daughter on her chest. 

“Mommy’s got you, sweet girl,” she says, whispering even though it was only the two of them in the house, both of them now awake despite the unsociable hour, “What’s wrong, huh?” Lily continues to cry, one of her tiny fists in her mouth as she turns her head towards Emily’s chest. Emily chuckles softly as she adjusts her hold on the baby, unbuttoning her pyjama shirt so she can start to feed her daughter, “Daddy always says you’re like me,” she says, shifting Lily so latches on, the sensation, although still painful at times, was something Emily was used to now, the strangeness that had once existed with it long gone, “But he’s always hungry just like you,” she says, stroking Lily’s cheek, “And you both have a thing for my breasts.” 

She leans back against the headrest and lets out a yawn, her eyes fixed on her daughter as she eats. When it was just the two of them like this she couldn’t help but wonder about what it was like when she was as young as Lily. If her mother had woken up in the night with her, or if the nannies Emily remembered from her earliest memories had always been around. There were so many gaps in her knowledge of when she was a baby, questions she’d never been able to ask her mother, their relationship not one that allowed for queries about whether she’d been breastfed or not, whether she’d been fussy or slept through the night. It was hard to imagine either of her parents getting up with her, impossible to picture them exhausted as the baby who turned out to be their only child kept them up all night. 

She couldn’t picture them looking at her the way she looked at Lily, awe and love and adoration seeping out of every pore no matter the time of day or night. 

She knew her parents loved her, that there must have been joy somewhere along the line. Excitement when they realised they were having a baby, relief when she was born safely despite her slightly early arrival, but that knowledge made everything worse. They’d both chosen something else over her, whether it be a new life completely or alcohol, and she couldn’t imagine ever doing that with Lily or Jack, or any other children that she may have. They would always be her priority, and she would spend her whole life making sure they knew that. 

Emily sighs as she feels the guilt from that morning return, the burning feeling in her chest she was sure she would get used to. A phantom sensation she’d only ever realise was there when she paid attention to it. 

“Mommy loves you so much,” she says, smiling at the sight of an increasingly sleepy Lily, the baby milk drunk as she pulls away from her mother’s chest, seemingly full for now. Emily lifts her so she's against her shoulder, gently patting her back as she kisses her temple, “I hope you never doubt that for a second.” 

She smiles as her response is a burp, and she kisses Lily’s temple again before she sits up, placing her back in her bassinet. Emily yawns as she re-buttons her pyjama shirt unevenly, not caring enough to start again, and she lays back down. Her phone vibrates and she picks it up, squinting at the bright light as she reads a text from her husband on the screen. 

Hope you are asleep. We got the unsub, I should be home with you by morning. Love you. 

She smiles as she types out a quick response, locking her phone and placing it down on the nightstand before she snuggles back into the covers, breathing in the scent of her and her husband on their sheets. 

Love you too. If you wake our daughter up when you open the front door we’re never having sex again. 

-x-

Tag List:

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Join my tag list here!

[hopepetal]

This is for the double life enjoyers <3

--

Sitting astride her donkey, Pearl kept her eyes peeled as she traveled through the forest. The sun was setting, so she urged her donkey to go a little faster. Nothing good would come from being trapped in the forest at night, with mobs and red names on the prowl. Spying her base in the distance, Pearl breathed out a sigh of relief upon seeing that it was (mostly) intact, her shoulders relaxing as she approached the place that had kept her safe for so long.

Speaking of red names, however...

Pearl heard them before she saw them, the glint of armor and the shine of bloodred eyes that lusted for death. Keeping her voice light and nonthreatening, she called out, “Do I have some red names around my base again?”

Bdubs whipped around, his eyes shining. He gave her a toothy grin. “Helloooo, Pearl!”

Pearl gently pulled on the reins, bringing her donkey to a stop. “Hi... you're not here to burn it, are you? The server is burning!” Because everyone decided to make wooden bases as usual, having clearly learnt nothing from the previous games. And now that the majority of the server was red, the fire wars had begun.

Bdubs shook his head. “I can't burn a tower!” As he spoke, Impulse rode up beside him on a horse. Pearl felt herself tense again, now alone with not one but two reds. That was never a good predicament, even if she did have her dogs.

Opening her mouth to speak, Pearl was interrupted by the little ‘ding’ of a notification on her communicator. Checking it briefly, she had to do a double take. Judging by the exclamations from the soulbound pair in front of her, they were doing the same.

“Falling stalagtites?!" Bdubs shouted, saying stalactite completely wrong. “Wait, was that it?! Did they just-?”

Pearl gripped her communicator tightly, ghosting her thumb over the names on her screen. “They just- they just died! To a stally- to a stalitite!” What? It was a hard word to say! “When was that?” After a moment to process, Pearl urged her donkey forward. It had become night during the course of their conversation, and she was itching to get home. She felt an arrow whoosh past her, barely missing. Bdubs, clearly. “You get your butts out of here and go check on whatever's going on! Oh my gosh…” Briefly watching to make sure both Impulse and Bdubs were riding away, she turned back toward her base.

As she got closer to the tall tower, Pearl noticed a horse in the ground, golden armor glinting in the faint starlight. “Why is there a horse...?” Approaching the horse cautiously, she hopped off her donkey and tied it to a nearby tree before crouching by the edge of the hole the horse was stuck in. “Hey there, lil fella.” She reached out and gently scratched the horse under its chin. “What are you doing down there?” Glancing up at the dark sky, Pearl frowned. This would have to be dealt with in the morning, when there wasn't a danger of being blown to bits.

Worn down by exhaustion, she stumbled into her base, and that was the last thing she remembered before everything went black.

–

Scott and Cleo were traveling through the forest on their horses, laughing as they sped away from the red lives that shouted after them.

“Poor Bdubs,” Scott gasped out in between his laughter, “trying to get all the reds to do the same thing and be coordinated is harder than getting a bunch of teenagers to listen to their parents.”

Cleo barked out a laugh, shaking their head. “Right? That’s a good thing for us, at least.” They urged their horse forward with a soft command, Scott falling a little behind them as his horse kept at a more steady pace. “Means we can survive just a little more easily.”

“True, true,” Scott admitted, relaxing his grip on the reins. Despite his calm demeanor, he had to admit he was a little tense. Being around reds did that to you, it was a scary time in the life games whenever they were near. Scott knew firsthand the bloodlust and rage they all experienced, having been the victor of the previous game. “But our soulmates being who they are kinda cancels out that ‘ease of survival’ factor.”

Cleo groaned loudly. “Oh, don’t even. Your insane soulmate is nothing but trouble. At least mine isn’t as unhinged! He at least tried to make up with me!”

Scott laughed. “The server’s homophobic anyway. Doesn’t it know I’m a gay man?”

Cleo made a strangled sound that sounded somewhat like a laugh. “Scott!”

“What? It’s true-!”

The immediate, surging pain that didn’t belong to him ripped a strangled, pained scream that made him briefly black out. He woke up on the ground, unable to breathe, the impact against the ground having knocked all the air from his chest. Cleo, having jumped off her horse, stood over him, frantically shouting something that didn’t quite make it past the ringing in Scott’s ears.

“...what… Pearl… stupid-!” Cleo was saying, gesturing frantically before a strange expression settled on their face. They dropped to their knees, rifling through their inventory as fast as they could.

Scott coughed painfully, blood leaking from the side of his mouth and dripping down his chin. White-hot pain shot through his entire body, and the fact that the pain was lessened for the soulmate was impossible for him to comprehend. Surely it couldn’t get any worse than this. Surely there was no way Pearl was feeling even more pain than he was and still alive.

But the fact was that he still breathed, that his heart still beat meant that Pearl was alive, and so was he. And if she was alive, that meant she was dealing with about twice the pain he was. Alone. Scott didn’t really have the time or presence of mind to feel guilty though, not before something cold and tasting of magic was shoved into his mouth, and he bit down instinctively.

Immediately the pain cleared, the shock of artificial regeneration clearing Scott’s mind as he swallowed what he supposed was a piece of a golden apple. He spent a moment just laying on the ground staring at Cleo as he struggled to process what had just happened. She had a sort of guilty expression on her face, but one that said she didn’t regret anything at the same time.

Taking in a deep breath, Scott sat up, wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand. Cleo put a hand on his shoulder, and he sighed. “Thanks, Cleo. We need to go check on Pearl.”

She didn’t even question him, only nodding and helping him stand. Picking up the golden apple, Scott placed it in his inventory just in case Pearl needed it. What was the harm- he had already broken his connection to Pearl by eating it, it wasn’t as though she’d be breaking the rules more than he had. They got back on their horses and rode toward Pearl’s base, the tall tower of cobblestone and deepslate that held that tiny little wooden hut in the air.

The scene was an absolute nightmare. The smell of gunpowder clued Scott into what had happened right away, and he cursed. Of course Pearl would get herself caught in an explosion. She wouldn’t have thought to double check. Urging his horse forward, he cleared the trees and saw firsthand how bad it was.

Pearl was trapped under a huge chunk of stone, unconscious as blood trickled down her chin, pooling in a small puddle beneath her head. One of her dogs- Tilly, Scott assumed, given how much love she had expressed for the dog before- lay next to her, whining and sniffing her hair, even pawing at her in an attempt to get her to stand. Scott felt his throat constrict. Now that he was in his right mind, guilt shot through him. She looked so small and helpless- and he had been calling her insane just a few moments ago.

Hopping off of his horse, Scott was followed by Cleo as they began to carefully and silently dig Pearl out of the rubble. It was a good thing they had all become more muscular over the course of the game, because Scott would never have been able to help lift the rubble before. Once everything had been shifted off of Pearl, Cleo pulled out a health potion. “Should we use this on her, or just wait?”

Scott frowned. “I was thinking of using the golden apple, but…” He pulled it from his inventory, noticing how the skin was rapidly turning brown. “...it seems that whatever runs this game noticed what I was planning. That’s a shame.”

Cleo shrugged. “Potion it is, then. I knew I had a good reason for making it a splash one…” She took a step back before throwing the bottle, watching the glass shatter and the effects take hold.

Scott looked at them in confusion. “Why’d you make it splash if you didn’t know you were going to need it?” he asked, receiving an amused smile in response. “What? It’s a valid question!” he defended, earning a laugh.

“For you, of course! In case you started rapidly losing health for some reason-” And she glanced at Pearl when she said that- “and weren’t able to regen fast enough or something. It was just in case,” she repeated, “I was worried!”

Scott smiled back, letting out a small huff. “Well, I appreciate the thought. Thank you, Cleo.”

A soft groan drew the pair’s attention. Tilly whined again, nuzzling against Pearl’s cheek before giving her blood stained face a gentle lick. Pearl groaned again, her eyes opening slightly before she closed them again with a gentle sigh. The health potion, while it had worked, hadn’t been quite as strong as Scott had hoped. But still, they didn’t have any other supplies they could waste on Pearl. Despite their bond in the past game, Scott felt absolutely no loyalty to her now. None at all. Absolutely not. He was not still yearning for past friendships in the slightest.

Okay, yeah, he absolutely was.

Nevertheless. Despite his feelings, all Scott did was stand there and wait for Pearl to wake up.

–

Pearl woke to the sound of a dog’s soft panting and gentle kisses. Opening her eyes, she saw Tilly’s face immediately and mumbled out a soft, “good girl” before closing her eyes again. Everything hurt and she didn’t know why and all Pearl wanted to do was to go home, curl up, and sleep for a thousand years.

And then she remembered where she was.

“Scott-” Her eyes flew open as she remembered that she wasn’t just responsible for herself, but her soulmate as well. He must be furious, if not incapacitated from the pain. She had put them both in danger once again, without thinking. If he had-

“Hey, Pearl.” The familiar voice of her soulmate made Pearl gasp, and she looked over to see him standing there next to Cleo.

Unharmed.

Holding a rotting golden apple with a slice taken from it.

Pearl was quick to put the pieces together.

“You...” Pearl's voice was raspy, scratching against her throat in a way that made her cough painfully, “you ate the golden apple?” It may have been the pain, or maybe she had been hit in the head by some debris, but there was a delirious sort of denial in her voice. “Scott, that's against the rules...”

Scott's gaze was every bit of cold dismissal- though Pearl wanted to believe that she saw a flash of guilt in those eyes, even if just for a moment. “Given I was partnered with you, I had to break the rules for a chance to win. Besides, what's this stupid game going to do to me? Kill me?” He let out a sharp laugh. “News flash!! I'm going to die anyway! So why would I rather go out a loser than a winner?”

Pearl tried to push herself up, wincing when a sharp pain shot through her ribs and legs. She couldn't help but notice that her pain wasn't mirrored by Scott– her one and only, her tether, her soulmate.

Maybe it was never meant to be. Just like nations rose and fell, love was bound to do the same– even if there was nothing in Scott's heart for her to begin with. It still felt wrong, no matter how Pearl tried to deny the longing she felt seeing all the other soulmates getting on just fine while she was alone. The rules of the game had been clear– you have three lives, a soulmate, and an unspoken but clear need to be near your bond. She supposed the third unspoken rule wasn't official for a reason, and Scott had taken advantage of that.

Maybe it was something to do with Pearl. Everyone seemed to think so, anyway. “Crazy!” they shouted at her, “Wicked!” they cried from afar, “Witch!” they screamed while dying, dying in the arms of their soulmates. And maybe it was true. Maybe Pearl was all of these things. She probably deserved this, if she was being perfectly honest. The pain was welcome, but that didn't stop it from hurting.

Nothing stopped it from hurting. Nothing stopped her from hurting. She was destined to hurt. That's all she was good for, after all. If she wasn't good enough for her soulmate, then she wasn't good enough for anything. If the one person who was bound to her by the universe refused her, then what was stopping everyone else from doing the same thing?

Pearl laughed, even as tears burned down her face.

[thearcher1003]

My turn to ask you some questions :)

3,5,7,8,15,17,18,23,24,26,31,35,42 and 43

3. Yes I like pasta!

5. Yeah kinda yeah 😅

7. No, sadly I never learnt :(

8. Yes, I have had plenty of water. My throat gets extra parched in rainy weather for some reason.

15. Weirdest thing that happened to me? I can't think of anything immediately. I have made a lot of situations weird because of my behaviour but that's not the question. I'll come back to it if I can think of something.

17. There is this cartoon show called 'Krish, Trish and Baltiboy' that aired on weekends only. These three characters were a cat, a monkey and a donkey who narrated folk stories through different folk styles of visual art. It was my absolute favourite show.

18. No, video games look cool but I don't have any :(

23. silly, nervous, caring, confused, smol

24. In the past few years I have learned that I have developed this pattern of working only under extreme pressure which is really bad. And it gets worse now that I am aware of it and still don't act upon it. So now I am like calm and keep thinking "why am I not getting stressed? I should be getting stressed. I need to get work done." But nothing works.

26. Yes, I do. It's a vast vast universe. We can't be the only living beings here.

31. No, thankfully I have never been bit by a dog or any animal for that matter.

35. I am good with literature and creative writing to some extent.

42. Earphones

43. I remember a lot from my childhood. My mother is a teacher. At the time I was born, she was employed in a school that was in a different city than the one we live in so my mother and I (and a roommate whom I developed a close affinity with) used to live as paying guests near that school. I remember how that flat used to look like. I remember the shop there from which we purchased a hippo soap case that I still use and the ankle length hair of a girl in that shop who was probably the shop owner's daughter. I remember the tiny ditch that my aunty (the roommate mentioned before) helped me skip on the way to school and how she would give me a flower for it saying that I was brave like a knight for crossing that large ditch. I remember we were going on a vacation around my 4th birthday. We were in a train at 12 am on my birthday so we were gonna cut the cake there, but my father ordered a 2kg cake instead of a 2-pound cake so we shared that cake with a lot of people in our train compartment. I also remember the same nightmare I used to have in that flat and how I never had it again when we moved to our current house when I was 6. I could go on and on but lets stop here cause it's getting unnecessarily long so sorry for that > <

Thank you for sending the asks, I loveee answering them <333

[springagainafter]

Liara's first convo, part 3, as I gleefully skip past the whole "we have learnt to take a philosophical approach to our unions" discussion because yeaaah that's definitely not happening until probably after Noveria.

Merrick and Liara are, of course, still stranded on some random planet and have successfully navigated past all the awkward about dissections and indepth studies.

Having a whole dialogue available right away with Liara on How Asari Reproduce strikes me as really weird, but anyway, it's there.

Ingame you can't get to the bit about Liara not knowing Aethyta without going through that whole talk, but I am confident in Merrick's ability to ask Liara about her family without getting into All That yet.

So he asks about her parents and Liara tells him that "Benezia rarely spoke of her partner, though I know my father - if you want to use that term - was another asari."

Shepard: Benezia never told you her partner's name?

Yeah, Benezia and Aethyta could have handled this better.

Liara: Union with our kind is no longer common. Not for the purposes of reproduction. Most asari believe it weakens our species. Liara: Asari daughters inherit racial traits from the father species. If both parents are asari, than nothing has been gained. Or so conventional wisdom would hold.

The Ardat-Yakshi are also a factor. (I suspect the writers didn't come up with them until developing ME2.)

Liara: I am what is sometimes called a "pureblood," though no asari would ever be cruel enough to say the word to my face. It is a great insult among my people.

Vasir would. :/

I do wonder if Liara had to deal with anyone saying that behind her back while younger, or if being Benezia's daughter protected her from that.

Liara: It is possible that Benezia's partner was embarrassed by their union. She may have been too ashamed to publicly acknowledge me as her offspring.

That is awful.

I've said it before and I'll said it again: she should absolutely get to be mad at or about Aethyta in 3. I am convinced she lost it offscreen pre-ME3 once she figured it out.

I've decided she absolutely does just lose it back on the Normandy after that little conversation on the Presidium and goes into a full "Where Was She My Entire Life/Where Was She After Alchera/Why Didn't She Come Talk To Me First/Why Didn't Benezia Tell Me Who She Was" meltdown and Merrick just lets her vent.

Shepard: Maybe she wanted to meet you but couldn't. Maybe something happened to her. Maybe she passed away.

Merrick sees Aethyta in 3 and immediately goes hostile when he figures out who she is because Where Have YOU Been For Liara's Entire Life. It is not a pleasant conversation.

Liara: You might be right. I hope you are. But I have no way to know for sure.

So wild that the best option there is an implicit "it's not you" + "something terrible must have happened to her" and LIARA HOPES THAT'S THE CASE.

The game does not really allow for Shepard to have an opinion on this, but Merrick does get quietly fierce about it's not at all fair to Liara and Benezia should have told her more.

And since what's the point of being stranded if things don't get worse and the game should have thrown in a broken translators bit at some point, their translators *both* break down shortly after that and they are reduced to charades and military signals and trying to read each other's body language while trying to get back to the Mako.

Merrick can speak a little bit of the same asari language Liara does but it's a different dialect *and* he's rusty at it *and* he has an accent so it is a struggle. There's a lot of "so what were you saying right then" when they get back to the ship.

[definitelynotshouting]

OK! ANON HERE WITH THE FIRST ROUND OF ANALYSIS/SCREAMING INTO THE VOID. (I have more quotes but i dont want to overwhelm you and do them all at once)

-☀️

"This fantasy carries him through the rest of the night, past false dawn and into the early onset of staccato birdsong. Grian stares blearily at the bleeding warmth creeping in through the window; gentle golden hands that march over the floorboards and press their palms against the walls. They're less frenetic than the moonlight had been— the shadows here are dappled, innocent things, splaying over stripped bark and playing in the whorls within planks. They breathe depth into this tiny, wooden box, shifting slowly under daylight's cautious curve into the sky, until scintillating rays curl like shackles around his wrists."

- the word choice in this is just so masterful. It's so TENSE, Grian's emotions and thoughts are a complete mess, and this is mirrored even in how you describe the environment. It feels like nothing is safe, which is brilliant, because Grian's currently driving through life on a cord as thin as silk. Its the way even the birdsong is frantic and unsafe "staccato". The "gentle" hands that harden to "march" and "press". Things start out kindly, and then the words become harsh and cold, and this just perfectly reflects how mistrustful Grian is. Nothing makes sense to him; everything is out to get him.

-☀️

"Grian snorts without meaning to, then claps a hand over his mouth, something ugly coagulating in his heart. He doesn't deserve this kind of laughter, this reluctant amusement simmering in his chest. It burns him from the inside out, scorching the back of his throat; hot coals between clenched teeth. Grian inhales embers, exhales ash, and summons every spare ounce of willpower at his disposal to keep his voice from shaking."

- Oh, this. This hurts so much. I can talk about how bird boy's mental state is so poor he's even depraving himself of laughter, and how this is an extension of how he started out starving himself of food, then sleep, now laughter. The fire imagery here is so potent as well. He's burning himself from the inside out, which i feel like is such good imagery for what is actually happening: his code breaking apart. Mans IS literally coming apart from the inside. Ough

-☀️

"It's a pretty effect; it makes Grian's gut plummet all the way down to his lap."

- CRYING CRYING CRYING

- They know each other so well. Grian and Scar learnt each other's tells under the desert sun. He understands how tension and anger and sadness plays on Scar's face and body language when theyre in the games, and in those games everyone's emotions are caused by grian. But now theyre not even in the games and all grian can see is how HIS existence is hurting the people he loves most

-☀️

That's all im going to do for now. Thank you for tearing out my heart and smashing it on the pavement <3

(Also idk if you want me to leave an anon identifier? Maybe i can just stick with the ☀️ if no one else has taken it?)

HEY ANON. WHAT IF I CRIED AND SOBBED AND WEPT!!!!!! HOLY SHIT THIS IS SO !!!!!!!! /POS /POS /POS!!!!!!! LOSING MY MIND RN IM GRINNING FROM EAR TO EAR SO EXCITEDLY THIS JUST MADE MY ENTIRE DAY

hooooly shit i cannot thank you enough this is so kind and wonderful and just!!!!!! listen i LIVE for people analyzing my writing bc i try to put SO MUCH into it, as much as i can possibly cram without oversaturating, and to see people pick up on this stuff is like being handed an immaculately wrapped present every single time. This is truly making my mind go crazy im so fucking happy rn oh my gods, thank you so much this is such an incredible treat

Im not sure if the sun emoji has been taken or not (i think i had another one a long time ago???? but im not sure if you're the same one or not djehdjdjr) but!!! Absolutely feel free to leave an emoji identifier, whatever you want!! :D i rlly enjoy seeing regulars in the inbox so absolutely feel free to do that if ur comfortable!!!!!