#he doesn’t know how he was conceived & he’s much too afraid to ever ask. did crepus have a thing for 1000+ year old ppl

[venti-death-watch]

when traveling the world diluc learns hexenzirkel nicole the disembodied voice in the sky is his mother and vows to never let kaeya learn about that ever because he will not be able to control himself from throwing himself or someone else out a window when kaeya brings up immaculate conception

[klausysworld]

can u do a yandere!reader with klaus? liek reader has complete control over him but he doesn’t notice coz he’s too in love with her

Yandere reader & Klaus head cannons:

Klaus didn’t notice what was happening, he was almost entranced with you, he trusted you blindly and whole heartedly.

He never thought you would harm a soul and believed you to be kind and good.

He wasn’t aware that you had caused a car crash which involved the doppelgänger and the Bennet witch because how dare they try to conspire against him.

He didn’t know how much you loathed that stupid shadow Petrova. You hated how much he wanted her, hated that he needed her to create his hybrids, he does that need hybrids when he has you.

The person you hated the most? Caroline Forbes. You had caught Niklaus glance her way a few times, her flirtatious smile and glint in her eye had her nearly drowning in a pool of vervain, she barely managed to drag herself out.

Stefan and Damon Salvatore. The amount of times that had caused Klaus or his family harm could not go unrecognised.

Both woke up gutted and strung from the ceiling, no idea who did this to them only knowing that it was agony. And as they tried to free themselves petrol was poured over them and into their wounds. A match lighting them both aflame, pure luck that Elena had bursted through the door in-time to save them.

And when they dared to accuse Niklaus? Another attack. Jeremy screaming as he was locked in a cellar with 4 turning werewolves.

Klaus didn’t understand who was doing this or why they thought it was him but you were always there to comfort him, laying in his arms with your head on his chest while you drew soothing patterns on his arm

He loved how you climbed ontop of him when you slept, caging him to the bed so he couldn’t leave.

Elijah had grown suspicious after witnessing you wipe some blood from your hands, a dagger was near to puncturing his heart when he threatened to tell his younger brother. Elijah did not question how you had it, simply walked away slightly nervous.

Kol had confronted you, faced the dagger but instead of being afraid he found it fun, he told you that he commended you control over his brother and helped you trap him. He enjoyed that you had things over his other siblings, they wouldn’t date harm him if he was on your good side.

When Rebekah accused you of doing something she threatened to leak her little secret of summoning Mikael to New Orleans, Rebekah never mention it again.

All throughout the siblings were overly kind to Niklaus and although it confused him, you convinced him that he was just a better person with you around and of course he believed you, everyone was much nicer recently.

He didn’t pick up on the possessive words you would whisper to him as you made love. He didn’t notice how you’d manage to make him tell you how much he needed you.

He was glad to receive little gifts from you, unaware that the necklace was a claim on him. The new clothes he wore were to show that you payed for his things because he was yours

When you traced his tattoo and suggested getting something to symbolise your love for one another he loved it. He was very happy to share something so special with you and you booked both of you in to get matching tattoos, something permanent like your love for each other.

He wasn’t aware that you had been to witches asking if there was a way for a hybrid to conceive a child.

He was over the moon when you fell pregnant, how could he ever leave you now that you were to be the mother of his baby?

He did everything for you, couldn’t have you even the slightest bit uncomfortable.

His siblings made sure to keep you happy, afraid of what would happen during your pregnancy mood swings.

And when the baby was born, and you saw that look in his eye you knew that you had him Always and Forever

He smiled at you so brightly it was as though he were the moon in a world of only tiny stars. He was yours.

[zephfair]

26, 27, 28 for writers ask 👀

Oh, thank you so much! These were interesting to think about!🧐

26. How do you get into your character’s head? How do you get out? Do you ever regret going in there in the first place?

I don’t know, I don’t know, and no because I don’t think I ever do? 😭😭😭

I do try to re-read (or watch) parts of canon that made an impression on me or really seemed to show who the character was. Sometimes I want to footnote them along with a fic so I don’t get accused of being majorly OOC. Like in Call Down the Hawk, Ronan jumping when Gasoline suddenly appears and then getting mad that he would’ve looked stupid if anyone had seen, and he bumps his head on the light in the first Nino’s scene in the series, and there’s a couple more scenes that show him to be a little clumsy/goofy but hurrying to hide it because he’s afraid of looking silly.

The ones I can’t really get into are the hyper-masculine characters, especially in anime. First of all, I’m not a masculine person, and very few of the masculine people I’ve known personally are that hyper- toxic masculine type, so I don’t have a lot to go on. And the very few of those types I HAVE dealt with...were all assholes that I wouldn’t want to spend time with.😂😜

27. Who is the most stressful character you’ve ever written? Why?

Lately it’s been Adam Parrish. In canon he has such a mean, asshole side that doesn’t always come out in fanfic, but then I re-read the books and I'm like yeah, I wouldn’t want to be friends with him. And I honestly don’t understand him and his motivations in the first book; they just don’t make sense to me. I simply can’t conceive what drove him and what was going through his mind when he couldn’t accept help. Without getting too deep, I just don’t get him because our reactions are completely opposite and a few sentences about his motivation from The Author didn’t clear it up for me. So, I know I woobify him when I write him, but I struggle to keep him mean/lovable/independent when I just can't get into his head, at all. Oh, maybe I should've put this into the first question!😂 I guess the stress comes from trying to keep him in-character while not going completely into Adam fanon instead.

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why?

On the other hand, I loved writing Riario from Da Vinci’s Demons because he was a murderous, lying, vicious bastard, but I actually understood/related to his motivations and why he was doing what he did. And he got a little bit of a redemption arc that actually made sense (then they ruined it in the last season, but hey, that's what fandom is for!). I don’t know, it’s fun to slip the leash at times and write an unhinged character with a panache that I could never show in real life re: murder, violence and lying.😈😂😭

Also, Gansey is always a delight to me because it’s fun to write a young man with the heart and vocabulary of a Depression era grandfather. I always just want to pinch Gansey’s cheeks and bless his heart!😉🥹

[clairenatural]

i had a dream that sam and dean took cas to an art museum and showed him all these paintings of angels and it was like that scene in vincent and the doctor and cas said these paintings are beautiful because they depict the angels as human when a true angel could never be described as anything but monstrous and i woke up crying

anon i love this SO much. i love it so much i had to write it. this is 1.4k, destiel, human!cas

They’re making their way out of the city, monster killed and day saved, when Castiel sees a poster, pasted up on the side of the plywood wall of a construction site. It’s an angel—he doesn’t recognize the artist, but he’d guess late 19th century. Be Not Afraid: a History of Angels in Art, it proclaims, the logo of the city’s largest art gallery tucked into the corner.

Castiel stares at it. The angel on the poster stares back, wings spread and staff raised. Valiant. Something in his heart twitches, but it’s hard to place. He still has his blade, tucked safely into the trunk with the rest of their frequently used weapons, and he never had wings like that; even the shadows, the ones they showed to humans, were simply the closest representation to the real thing possible in this dimension (his back aches anyway, dimly, his human body reacting to the loss as if they were real severed appendages. He ignores it).

Dean notices, because of course he does. He stops, because of course he does, and flags Sam down before his long legs can carry him too far ahead. “Hey. You good?”

Castiel isn’t sure how long he’s been staring at the poster, but it’s long enough that Dean is obviously concerned. “Hm? Oh. Yes, I’m—I’m fine.”

Dean nods but doesn’t move. He considers the poster. “Art gallery, huh?” he asks, avoiding the obvious elephant. Castiel appreciates it. He nods back.

“I’ve never been to one,” he offers, as explanation. It seems odd—he can remember the painting of the Sistine Chapel, he remembers watching with fascination as humans began collecting the smaller paintings into collections and museums, but he’d never been inside one. It hadn’t seemed necessary. Humans collect art in large boxes to remember their history, but Castiel has seen it all.

Dean seems surprised by this. “Seriously?” Castiel nods, and there’s a pause, and he’s about to turn and keep heading towards the car, and Kansas, and home, when Dean claps him on the shoulder and turns to call over his own.

“Sammy! How do you feel about seeing some art?”

“You want to go to an art gallery?” Sam sounds incredulous, and is closer behind him than Cas expected. He hadn’t noticed him retreat the half-block he’d managed to gain on them.

“Yeah, why not? Come on. What happened to ‘a little culture wouldn’t hurt, Dean?’”

"What happened to ‘I’ve got plenty of culture, eat your damn burger?’”

“It’ll be fun, Sam,” Dean counters. Something in his tone has changed. Cas doesn’t think too hard about it.

There’s a long pause, and Cas knows there’s some sort of communication happening he can’t hear or see. “…Okay,” Sam concedes. “Okay, sure. Yeah. Let’s go.”

So they do.

Dean makes a comment about “haven’t been in one of these since I was a kid,” before they all fall into the hushed silence of the museum floor. It’s nice—nicer than Castiel had expected. Not in aesthetics; the building is sleek, and modern, and the art is obviously beautiful. But it’s nice to be there. It feels almost Holy—humans, funny creatures they are, with their habit of treating their own culture with the respect of something divine. Creating houses of worship out of museums and libraries and living rooms. 

He wanders through the various exhibits but doesn’t really pay attention until he ends up in the exhibit from the poster. He’d managed to lose the Winchesters halfway through the photography exhibit, when both the brothers had gotten distracted. Castiel had continued onward anyway, on a mission, and by the time he finds himself walking into the angel exhibit he’s on his own.

He comes to a stop in front of one of the largest paintings in the room. It’s not the same angel as the poster. It’s several, actually, looking over what appears to be Mary and a baby Jesus. The angels are beautiful—smooth, flawless skin. They have long hair that looks soft, even in paint. They’re wearing white robes, and their wings are white and dove-like. None of these angels have several heads, rotating bands of fire, or thousands of eyes. They’re beautiful, but they aren’t angels. The human who painted this didn’t know that, of course—none of them did. Humanity was faced with the concept of divinity and conceptualized it as a version of itself.

“The real things ain’t as cuddly, huh?”

Dean’s voice startles him, which he hates, both because he hates being startled and because he’s still adjusting to Dean being able to sneak up on him.

“I was just thinking,” he starts, pretending he’d known Dean was there the whole time, “you paint us like we’re human.” Not ‘us’ anymore, he reminds himself, but he brushes that thought off. Not now.

Beside him, Dean snorts. “Yeah, well. If you’d told any of those Renaissance guys that the real angels are dickhead balls of celestial intent, they’d’ve arrested you for heresy.”

Castiel shakes his head. “No.” he pauses. “Well, yes. But that’s—” he turns to face Dean for the first time. He notices Sam over Dean’s shoulder, focusing intently on a painting a few feet away and obviously pretending not to listen.

“My father—God—Chuck,” he cycles through, which will never not be weird, “created us first, but not in his image. We weren’t worthy of that. Only you were. Humans, his perfect creation, modeled after their creator. But then—” he turns back to the painting and gestures to it. “You created us in your image. You thought about divinity and you couldn’t conceive anything more Holy than yourselves.”

Dean shifts. He tries for a laugh, but it comes out short. “Well, damn, Cas. Way to make a guy feel self-centered.”

Castiel turns back to him. He blinks. He frowns. That’s not what he means. “Most of my siblings thought so,” he agrees. “But I always thought it was an honor. Look,” He turns again and reaches out for the painting, only remembering a few inches from its surface to not touch it.  “This one has a lyre. You always paint us playing music. But music, art….these are human things, Dean.” He lets his hand fall, but keeps his eyes forward.  “We’re soldiers. They don’t teach us to play the harp in Heaven, they train us to fight. But these angels are…soft. Kind. Angels you trust to protect. The kind of angels people pray to, build churches to.” He looks back at Dean, who is staring at him with a frown. He holds his gaze, steady, and takes a deep breath before finishing. “I wish I was—that any of us were—worthy of being depicted this way. I wish we were the angels you paint us as.”

There’s a long pause while Dean searches his face, obviously trying to decide on the right reaction. If they were at home, Cas thinks Dean might reach out and hug him. Instead, Dean reaches out to clap a hand on his shoulder—he lets it linger there, and Cas knows what it means, so that’s okay, too. “For what it’s worth,” he starts, and his voice is softer than the last time he spoke. “You’re the closest thing to those angels that I’ve ever seen.”

It’s a nice sentiment, but Cas smiles sadly as he turns back to the painting. “I’m not any kind of angel anymore,” he points out, and tries his hardest to keep his voice neutral.

Dean squeezes his shoulder and tilts his head, trying to recapture Castiel’s gaze. “Hey. Look at me.” Reluctantly, he looks back over. “Your wings weren’t what made you a good angel, alright?” he brings his other hand up to poke into Castiel’s chest. “That was all in here.”

He sounds like he’s quoting the Wizard of Oz, and Cas wants to make a joke about that, but he’s also never wanted to kiss Dean more. He doesn’t, because they’re in a museum, and they’re still working up to that, but he makes a note to do it later. Instead, he reaches up and pulls Dean’s hand away from his chest, links it in his own, and squeezes.

“Thank you,” he says, and it’s earnest, and it’s for everything.

Dean smiles. He understands. He squeezes back.

[geekydane]

Talk to me - Tommy Shelby x reader - Chapter 17 - the end

Masterlist

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

6 months later

You hated when another man had to touch you. It was something you would never get used to. Not that it was a huge problem anymore as you were with Tommy and most men didn’t even dare to look in your direction, when you were walking into a restaurant or just down the street. Tommy was crawling his way up the ranks of society, only wishing the best for his family – and that soon included you.

“Everything looks fine miss y/l/n. I don’t think there is anything to worry about. I don’t see any alarming damage to the curvix. I don’t know if we could get any further clarification, but we could send for an x-ray system from Oxford? It might take some weeks for it to be available and get here. It’s not free either.” Doctor Harold that had been speaking to you form under a white linen that was covering your legs, finally lifted his head and you could relax your shoulders again. Harold was one of the best and few gynaecologists in London. It was still quite taboo to talk about the female parts of the body, so it had been a long and hard search for someone that was both professional, proud of their job and could be trusted. You had only ever been looked at by a regular family doctor after the incident, so getting a more professional perspective on how damaged your body might actually be, was very much needed.

“If there is nothing wrong, why haven’t I conceived yet?” You asked, as you finally sat up and closed your legs. The doctor politely looked the other way and was already cleaning some of his many weird looking instruments.

“I can’t say for curtain. It is just harder for some women to conceive and it will only get harder with time, I’m afraid. My only suggestion is to keep trying.” He gave you a quick smile and went back to polishing the equipment. You couldn’t help but blush as you weren’t use to discuss your intimate life with anyone.

“It’s not that we are actively trying. It’s just for the future.” You tried to explain yourself and brushed even harder.

“Miss, enjoy yourself while you can. It will get a lot harder to get any time alone when the babies arrive, trust me.” The fact that Dr Harold shared his own experiences baffled you at first, but it also made you even more relaxed in his company. He was not like many other men. You giggled at his comment.

“But do you really think it would be possible for me? For us?”

“Yes, it might be possible.” You smiled at his answer and hugged the linen a little closer.

“And now I will fetch Mr Shelby from the waiting room. I’m sure he’s only a minute or two away from ramming the door. You can get dressed while I’m away.” Dr Harold winked at you and left the room to find your fiancée. You quickly found undergarments and stockings and just got to pull them on before Tommy entered the room with the doctor behind him.

“Was it okay?” He asked concerned. He liked the thought of another man touching you as little as you did. You stepped into your shoes before walking up to Tommy and placed a hand on his cheat to calm him.

“It was perfectly fine. Nothing hurt, just a little uncomfortable with the very cold equipment.” You said with a laugh. He calmed by your words and put an arm around you.

“So doctor, what is the verdict?” He said in his business tone of voice, but Dr Harold wasn’t one to be scared so easily, even though he looked into your fiancées icy blue eyes.

“I say that you should keep trying. I see no hindrances but as I suggested to miss y/n we could let Oxford know that we want to burrow an x-ray system. It might be the only testing I haven’t done on your soon to be wife.”

“Arrange that.” Tommy simply said.

“Tommy! You haven’t heard the price yet.” You protested.

“It doesn’t matter. Even if it can’t show us if you can bear a child or not, it might give some peace to know that the bastards didn’t break you in any way.” You were glad that you could speak freely about that matter with the doctor too. It wasn’t like people didn’t know what happened to you, as it was a big and public case back when it happened, but so much had happened since. It was almost like a lifetime had passed and you were not the scared young girl anymore.

“I’ll arrange it and call when I know the date. I hope it isn’t too much trouble for you to get to London again and again?” The doctor said and looked at the two of your own the rim of his spectacles.

“We have an automobile and enjoy the ride here.” Tommy said simply and gathered your coat and helped you get it on. “Thanks for now doctor.”

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

“You know Ada is waiting as soon as we get home, right?” Tommy broke the comfortable silence in the car. You were looking around on the landscape you passed on your way home. You cringed by him words though.

“Again? There can’t possibly be more things to consider before the wedding?” You leaned your head against the side of the car, but quickly regretted it, as you were driving on a very bumpy road. Tommy made a snorty sound, like he was trying not to laugh.

“You are going to be married into a family of gypsies. There are many traditions that we need to follow.” He explained.

“Hmm, wasn’t it a tradition that the bride should be a virgin?” You asked teasingly. You reach out and ran your fingers along the stubbles on the back of his head.

“Okay, we are not that traditional. But if I was you, I would let the Shelby women do what they do best.”

“You mean how they make me try dresses, doing my hair in fifty different ways, practice vows and makes me taste food for the celebration? I haven’t been at the office more than a few days since you proposed.” You sighed. You really missed the time at the office. Tommy was there more often than not these days and you enjoyed working with Lizzie. More people were hired over the last few months, which you hadn’t even met yet.

“You are not required to work at the office, darling.” He looked at you shortly, before turning his gaze on the road again.

“I want to work. I can’t just sit at home doing nothing. I’ve done that enough when I spend years at the Langston’s. I need to get out of the house.” You explained and Tommy nodded. Both of you fell silent for a moment until Tommy again cleared his throat. You turned to him. He was trying to get a piece of paper out of the inner pocket of his jacket.

“I was visiting some friends, while you were at Dr Harold’s office.” He shortly explained and you looked at him questioningly as he finally got the folded piece of paper free from his pocket. He gave it to you, without taking his eyes of the road.

“What friend?” You asked, but took the paper and unfolded it. It looked very official with the British crest of arms in the bottom. You took your time reading it and your hands started to shake more and more as you read further.

“Tommy what is this?” You asked in the end of the letter.

“It is what it is.” He simply said, like it was nothing.

“How did you do this? How did you get Mr. Langston’s position? How on earth did you get into the House of Commons? There hasn’t even been an election!” You couldn’t fathom what you were reading. This should be absolutely impossible. You knew Tommy could make many things happen, but getting into the part of the British Parliament that needed the common people to vote for you. How was this man real?

“It turns out that no one really liked Langston. It wasn’t hard to find dirt on him and in the end, a bit of manhandling can make any old man in his position piss his pants. Besides, there are 650 members of House of Commons. They will not realize that I haven’t been voted in anyway.” He said it like it was the easiest job in the world. You laughed out loud. Tommy in politics?

“Why are you laughing?” He asked with a smile himself.

“You are amazing, you know that? And I do like the sound of manhandling.” You laughed again and shook your head.

“You can say that I did it for the both of us. My business will only flourish with my new position. It was just a really great bonus that I could throw the old pig on the street while I was at it. As far as I’ve heard, he is broke. They have lives on loaned money for a long time, after your money was gone.”

The old you would have felt bad for the people who took you in, while you were deep in your whole of depression. But the new you recognized what they did to you. Locked you away and took the money to spend on themselves. Even though you have moved so much further in your life, it kind of felt good to know that they got what they deserved. You really admired Tommy for his hard work and dedication to his business but also about how he provided for his whole family and you. You couldn’t wait until this man was yours for good.

“Tommy?”

“Mmh?”

“Do you think we could stop on the way? Maybe get a room at a nice and cosy inn?” You asked innocently.

“I’m sure we can get home before it gets dark. Ada and Polly is waiting for you at home and…” He stopped whatever he was about to say, as you glided your hand along his inner thigh. You could see how he stiffened a bit. His whole body reacting to your touch. That only made you reach further, but Tommy caught your hand and kissed your knuckles.

“I think an inn sounds like a wonderful idea.” He gave in. You chuckled and let your hand rest on his thigh until you came to the first inn along the road. Tommy might be able to take over whole cities, beat the mafia and cheat his way into the parliament… But you are the one that has him wrapped around your finger.

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

Authors note: Hello and thank you for reading. I can’t believe it took me this long to finish this but it has been some tough years. I love every single comment i get and everyone that takes there time to read any of my stories. Remember to take care of yourself and do what makes you happen. You all deserve it so so much.

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taglist:

@im-the-colourless-sunshine @fearthequeer595 @sununicorn @i-love-you-green @imnotsomewhore​ @imnotuglyimjustpredebut @hi-there-x @namiknows @imnotsomewhore​ @captivatedbycillianmurphy​ @irishgirl1995 @stalker83005 @stressedandbandobessed7771 @tuliptx @stydia-4-ever@ladymelissastark @yoheyyosup @calciferthelivingfire @actorinfluence @theamuz​ @affection-rabbit​ @jenepleurepasbaby​ @mango978 @csigeoblue @independentgirl @sweatydragoncloudknight @kiaoizz @rosedunne-shelby@greedysiren @adelinekam weebllespaces ldynblack  @barnestann​ @mssbelikova​ @hellsredskies​ @redmercysugar​ @astheworlddturns​ @annshit

[boldlyvoid]

Amoreena | Chapter Six

Chapter Six

main summary: Heaven is a real place and it's located exactly 14.6 miles away from the FBI, Quantico Headquarters. Off behind a small park, under a fantastical willow tree surrounded by wildflowers, in every colour young minds can imagine.

Don't forget, heaven also comes with angels.

Chapter Warnings: slight smut** angst, spencer's overthinking and anxiety, passing out, plot twist, very understanding reader, happy ending, smut implied but not graphic

word count: 6.2K

from the beginning <3

Derek and Savannah planned to come over on Sunday morning to introduce Hank and Amoreena, his namesake and his honorary daughter meeting felt very important to him.

Y/N and he spent the morning cleaning up the house, making sure all the books were away and the coffee was on so when they pulled in at 11 for brunch they’d be ready.

Amoreena was beyond excited at the idea of a 16th cousin, not knowing about Henry or Michael yet either, bringing her total to 18 cousins.

Spencer learned something new about them and the farm every single day he was there. Which he expected, it had been 8 days and he was all but moved in. They joked just that morning about them moving too fast, shrugging it off and living their lives anyway.

Derek and Savannah were one of the sweetest couples Spencer knew. They had a love he admired, it also blossomed fast and stayed strong through everything Derek went through.

Derek was always going to be his rock, someone he loved deeply and cherished more than he could ever explain to anyone. More than a brother, a long-lost lover, a confidant, his best friend in the whole world. If he could live through everything he’s been through and still be happy, so could Spencer.

Amoreena is out the door and meeting them before Y/N and Spencer are even aware they pulled in. “Hey little lady, I’m your uncle Derek,” he can hear Derek’s sweet voice that he only uses with kids.

They walked out onto the porch to see Amoreena shaking both their hands before asking if Savannah needed help carrying her purse. Ever the little helper, she intended on making the best introduction to her new family members.

“Spence, this place is amazing!” Savannah gushed as she pulled him into a hug, and then Y/N, “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“You too! You’re all so pretty, holy cow,” she swoons, “what does the FBI put in the water over there?”

“Whatever it is, I’m sure it’s running off over here too,” Spencer compliments Y/N right back.

Derek gives Y/N the biggest hug he’s ever seen, “you are my new bestie, anyone who loves Reid as much as me is a keeper.”

“I like this one, Savannah you have good taste,” Y/N teases, holding Derek in her embrace.

“We got the best guys the bureau had to offer and stole them away,” she laughed, wrapping an arm around Spencer as they turned to see Hank.

“Well, someone had to put them to good use,” Y/N had an arm wrapped around Derek too, slipping into Spencer’s life effortlessly.

Hank was almost 5, it blew Spencer’s mind to think that Derek had been a father for 5 years now. He was the sweetest little guy, holding Amoreena’s hand as the two of them walked up the stairs.

They had sandwiches and muffins in the garden, everything was homemade and grown on the farm. It was a life Spencer was excited to get used to, they even made their own cheese and wine in the summer for the farmers market.

Every time he learned a new detail about this place it got more perfect.

Hank loved the goats, he crawled right in with Amoreena and sat down in the mud. Petting the babies and letting all the mamma goats nibble at his hat as they got close. He giggled and screamed, petting all of them nicely as Amoreena told him all their names.

Derek was very quick to pick out a cowboy hat and pretend he was southern, trying out his fake accent and making Savannah laugh as they explored the farm, skipping through the fields and kissing in the grass. They were just as in love as Spencer and Y/N, they all got along like couples who have been friends since college.

Like this had been their life all along, nothing about it felt new. It just felt right.

Everything about her fit into his life like she was handcrafted for it, picked and polished before set in a box and hidden away from the world. She was a collector's item and he was a collector, keeping her close and never letting her go. He knew her worth, but the feeling she produced in his heart was better than anything in the world.

Before they know it, it’s almost 3 and Hank is about to fall asleep in the grass as Amoreena reads him a story. Derek and Savanah are laying back on a blanket half-listening as they watch the clouds. Spencer and Y/N doing the same.

It’s wonderful, he makes eye contact with Derek while running his fingers through Y/N’s hair. He just smiles at Spencer, prouder he can even express.

“I think it’s about time we head out,” Derek cuts into the peacefulness of their day.

“We’ll be back, and often,” Savannah laughs, “I’m going to hide here from the hospital, you don’t have service right?”

“Not if you turn it off and leave it in the car,” Y/N laughed too, pulling Savannah into a hug and walking with her towards the house. Best friends in the making, it was going to be trouble for him and Derek, exciting, but frightful at the same time.

Savannah excuses herself to the bathroom before they leave, Spencer offers to help Derek carry his tired little toddler to the car so they can talk. He was excited to hear Derek's thoughts about the day, proud of the life he could introduce them to.

“Can I ask you a serious question?” Derek finally cut into their quiet walk to the car with a very serious tone.

“Sure,” Spencer nodded vigorously, a little nervous.

“Do you remember when we lost that bet in 2008?” Derek started, “JJ and Emily were saying it wasn’t fair, that we were hogging all the sexiness and smarts and we should just donate sperm to help the population?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you actually do it?” Derek watches Spencer’s mind wandering as he recalls everything.

He has donated sperm twice in his life, keeping it between him and Derek the first time, telling no one about it the second time. The first was when JJ got pregnant with Henry, teasing him that he should make more geniuses in the world. Emily was even considering having a baby on her own back then before everything with Doyle went down.

The second time was after Maeve died in 2013 when he realized that he might not ever get to actually be a dad.

Donating again purely in the hopes that in 18 years someone would find him in search of a connection with their birth father. It seemed like the only way he’d be able to be a father one day, and that was right around the time Amoreena would have been conceived if she’s 7 now.

Spencer looks at him with wide eyes, “you think she’s mine?”

“Without a doubt,” he whispers, stopping to put Hank in his car seat and give Spencer some time to panic.

“She’s not mine,” Spencer keeps shaking his head, so hard that Derek is worried it might fall off as he panics, “she can’t be, that would be insane. No way, no I’m not even going to pretend she is. Nope.”

Derek places his hand on Spencer’s shoulder to calm him, “do you know who her father is?”

“No,” he whispers as he closes his eyes, pushing his hair out of his eyes. “She tells people that Amoreena is her fiancé Stephens, no one really questions that she had her 2 years after he died, but Y/N doesn’t even know who her father is.”

“That’s a serious conversation you need to have with her, regardless, she deserves to know you’ve possibly got other geniuses walking around out there.”

Spencer felt his anxiety dump adrenaline into his blood, making him sweat and panic as he turned around in circles a few times. He looked physically drained, not know what the fuck to do moving forward.

“I can’t go talk to her right now while Amoreena is there,” Spencer panicked as Derek finally closed the door, Hank was all situated and ready to go.

“I can bring you home?” Derek offered, “go get your things and tell her that you have to go.”

“Okay,” he whispered, trying to calm down enough to face her.

Walking back up to her house felt like it took forever, even passing savannah as he all but ran, stepping inside the house to see Amoreena reading on the couch while Y/N was in the kitchen, whistling happily, waiting for him to come back.

Amoreena looked up at him with a smile, “are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” he lied with a fake smile. “I actually have to go, Derek needs help with something at his place and I’ll be back later for dinner, okay?”

“Awe,” Y/N’s voice travelled from the kitchen to where he was, she walked into the room with an apron on and a towel in her hands. “I was hoping you’d help me make a pie.”

“I’m sorry, hun, I’ll be back soon,” he assured her, “I love you guys.”

“Love you, Dad,” Amoreena smiled, before returning to her book.

Every time she called him dad it made his heart stop, but that one made his breathing stop too, he struggled to swallow as he turned his attention to Y/N approaching him.

Y/N gave him a big hug and then he was gone, running down the driveway and hopping in Derek's car as fast as he could. Still overthinking everything, his mind memorizing every look on Amoreena’s face and trying to see if there was any proof in her being his.

There was a lot. He didn’t want to get his hopes up, he didn’t want to think about that at all. She was his regardless, no DNA test would change how he loved her. He was more afraid of Y/N’s reaction to finding out.

Savannah didn’t ask what was going on, leaving him and Derek to be as weird and cryptic as they always were together. Looking out the window quietly as Spencer had a panic attack in the back seat.

He convinced Derek to drop him off at the clinic where he donated the sperm both times. Still absolutely pissed off with himself that one of the biggest decisions of his life was the one he forgot about, wanting to know if he could find out anything about his potential offspring.

“Sir, I’m so sorry,” the nice receptionist tried her best to stay calm as Spencer rushed through his dilemma.

“Only a child can learn who their father was when they turn 18, if they choose to contact you it’s up to them. You agreed to that when you donated.”

“You can’t even tell me how many kids I have out there?” He tried to reason with her, “I’m in the FBI surely you can make an exception for me it’s not like I'm going to stalk the kids, I just want to know if one’s going to contact me one day,” he tried everything to get her to open up.

“What’s your name?”

“Spencer Reid.”

She stood and walked into the back, opening a cabinet full of records and pulling one out. She opened it, running a finger along with the document as she read it over.

“You have four offspring so far, none of the other samples used have produced a child, the women were all IVF as well so it wasn’t your swimmer's fault; if you wanted to donate again,” she read him all the facts and somehow it just made him panic more.

Y/N’s voice echoing in his mind, “after I did IVF.” She said those words. He heard them. She didn’t know the father. His name wasn't on the sample. It was anonymous. Everything caught up to him at that moment.

“Thank you,” he whispered, white as a ghost as he tried to turn away, dropping to the floor and passing out instead.

When he woke up, he was somehow back in Derek’s car on the way back to his apartment. Hank and Savannah nowhere to be seen, the radio on low as Derek paid attention to the road. It was quiet, he didn’t even know Spencer was awake again until he sighed.

He didn’t say anything to Derek, instead, taking out his phone and texting Y/N.

Spencer: Hey, something serious came up. I won't be able to come back till after bedtime and then I need to tell you something important that might make you very mad at me.

Y/N: you’re going to make me go grey being this ominous

Spencer: I’m sorry, but it’s going to be a lot to explain.

Y/N: should I get wine or something harder ready to listen?

Spencer: Honestly, I’m not even sure yet.

Y/N: cant wait… love you?

Spencer: I love you too, don’t forget that!

Y/N: as long as you don’t either ♥︎

—

He pulled up to Y/N’s house at 9:30, knowing that Amoreena would be well asleep by then. Unbothered by any crying or yelling that could arise from the news he had to share with her mother.

He was terrified to tell her but he needed to. Relationships only work with communication and he knew that, respecting her and loving her enough to do anything in his power to keep her in his life.

He walked inside to see the lights all off, heading around the back of the house to see her in the garden with a drink, surrounded by little lights twinkling as she listened to her favourite Taylor Swift album, he wasn’t shocked in the slightest to find her like that.

“Hey,” he announced himself to her so she wouldn’t be startled.

Her smile warms his heart and clears the butterflies from his stomach for a quick moment, “hey cutie, did you want me to warm up some dinner for you?”

“No thank you,” he shook his head softly, standing by the gate and not wanting to get too close. “I need to tell you something and you might get really mad at me.”

“Alright,” she sat up straighter, hands on her knees as she played with the material of her jeans.

“I donated sperm as a joke in 2008, but then again in January of 2013 when my girlfriend died because I thought it would be the only way to maybe have a kid find me one day when they turned 18. I never thought I’d get to have a family after Maeve died,” the words fell out of his mouth and onto the patio.

“Oh my god,” was all she said, eyes wide and mouth open, she was completely still.

“I went to the clinic and they won't tell me who my kids are, apparently there are four of them so I have no idea if it’s Amoreena or not and I’m just so sorry for not telling you. I honestly forgot, and I don’t normally forget. After everything that’s happened to me, I just forgot, I’m sure it looks like I found you on purpose or something but I assure you that I didn’t,” he wasn’t sure why he was just dumping all these thoughts on her when he hadn’t even thought them through, but they wouldn’t stop.

“There’s only one way to find out,” she shrugged then, smiling at his confused face. “We have more and see if they look like her.”

“You’re kidding?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I’d never joke about making another Amoreena, that would be amazing.”

“You’re not mad?” He blinked at her a few times, wondering if he heard her wrong, twice.

“Why would I be mad at the fact that you might be her real father and the reason she’s the smartest person on earth? She’s literal walking sunshine, am I supposed to be mad you could give her fully biological siblings? I wanted your babies even if she wasn’t yours,” Y/N paused, eyebrows raised as she made her point.

“If I’m supposed to be mad about you completing our family then I’m furious,” she laughed as she stood up, walking over to wrap her arms around him.

“Even if you’re not her father, you’re always going to be her dad,” she whispered as she reached him.

He looked down into her eyes, the most beautiful and caring woman in the world, cuddled into his chest in the middle of paradise. He couldn’t help but laugh, it was insane how easy it was to love her.

“I love you,” he reminded her.

She pulled him down into a kiss, holding her hand on his cheek lightly as he pressed his lips to hers. She rested her forehead on his as they parted, “I love you more.”

“Doubt it,” he teased her with a smile, pulling her in closer and lifting her up into his arms.

“Where are we going?” She giggled.

“Where would you like to go, Princess? This is your kingdom after all.”

The biggest, most suspicious grin appeared on her face then, “put me down,” she instructed and he followed. Setting her down and feeling her grab his hand instead.

She led him inside the house and up the stairs, placing her finger over her lip to let him know to be quiet. She pulled him inside her bedroom for the first time and he was absolutely mesmerized.

It was like a jungle of books in there, pictures of her and Amoreena all over the walls and the cutest mushroom bedsheets in the world. It was like he walked into her mind, it was calming and beautiful and just what he imagined.

Peaceful.

“We’re not staying in here,” she whispered towards him, pulling him into the closet.

She pulls out 2 black garment bags and places them on the bed before looking through her jewellery box. She brings back a small velvet box and places it in his hands.

“Would you want to do something insane with me?”

“Always,” he can’t help but smile.

“My grandma always wanted Stephen to propose to me with that ring, but he used his own mothers instead,” she whispered. “I don’t want to have an official thing, I already planned one wedding and never got to have it.”

“Okay?” He tried his best to follow along, analyzing her facial expressions to see just how nervous she was, as well as the underlying sadness of time missed. Just like she had mentioned that first night he stayed here.

“I had my grandma’s dress tailored to wear at my wedding, I’ve never put the final version on,” she unzips the one bag, revealing a silk white dress with an incredibly long train.

“My grandpa's suit is in the other one, I think you will fit into it,” she reaches out a hand to pull him closer to the bed and look at it with her. “I just want to put them on and tell you I love you in the field and just call you my husband. I don’t give a single shit that it’s been a week, why should I wait a year to call you that when I can start now?”

He doesn’t know what to say, he’s speechless for too long and he knows that it’s making her anxious but he can’t speak. His eyes turn glossy and his hands shake as he holds the small box in his hands, opening it to find a beautiful ruby on a gold band, surrounded by small diamonds, alongside her grandfather's gold band.

He gets down on one knee then and she pulls him right back up to his feet, shaking her head. “It can’t be like last time, I don’t want to repeat a single part of it. I can’t lose you too.”

“You never will,” he’s finally able to speak. “I’m not going anywhere, believe me, you are the most important person in my life. I would drop everything and hide here forever to keep safe, if you wanted me to, I’m too in love with you to go anywhere.”

She smiles at him with wide eyes and the glimmer of hope returning. She picks up her dress and heads to the bathroom door, “put the suit on and meet me downstairs?”

“Yes Ma’am,” he winks at her before taking the suit down the hall to his room.

He notices the wedding photo on the night table again, taking the suit out of the bag to see nothing really changed since the last time it was worn. Her grandfather was tall and skinny like him when they got married, so he fits into the 1950’s suit almost perfectly.

He straightened everything out in the mirror, making sure he tucked the ring box back into his pocket before quietly tiptoeing back down the creaky wooden steps.

Y/N wasn’t done yet, he could hear her walking around in her room softly as she paced from her dresser to the bathroom over and over, most likely trying to find something in her jewellery box and looking in the mirror more than once. She didn’t sound nervous, her feet weren’t hesitant, she sounded like a woman on a mission, that was a good thing.

He was the nervous one, scared out of his mind with the fear he wouldn’t do this right. That she had dreams, plans and expectations he needed to live up to and what if he couldn’t? He put his face in his hands and tried his best to push all the fears away but they kept swirling. Making his brain hurt, he didn’t want to fuck anything up with her. She was already so understanding and wonderful, she’d given so much to him already he can’t fuck this up—

And then she’s walking down the stairs. Like sunshine; parting the grey skies as the thunder clouds dissipate and the rain washes down the streets, he’s fine again.

“You look beautiful,” he whispers.

Her smile was priceless, “thanks, cutie, I’m so glad it fits you!”

He followed her towards the kitchen where she picked up the phone, dialled a number and waited, “hey mom.”

“Spencer and I are going on a late-night walk, outback, yeah, Amoreena is asleep, can you just keep an eye on the house? I’m going to let Rufus in to keep guard anyway,” Y/N explained over the phone, agreeing and humming to whatever her mother said in response. “love you too, thanks."

She let the dog in like she said she would, handing the overly friendly golden retriever a treat before finally pulling Spencer outside and towards the barn.

They were both in running shoes, it was incredibly adorable for the occasion and he wouldn’t have it any other way. Her hand was so soft as she tugged him along behind her, her dress and hair blowing in the wind as they walked.

She grabbed an old kerosene lantern from the barn, lighting it quickly and holding it by the handle, “you ready?”

“I am,” he smiled softly, still anxious in his core, more so now because he was overly excited to be spending the rest of his life with her.

They continued to walk down past the barn, through the cow pasture and finally entering a clearing. It was full of lilacs and ragweed, yellows and purples blowing ever so gently back and forth under the moonlight.

“This is where my grandparents would read to me, and where they renewed their vows when I was 14, and this is where I got the call that I was pregnant with Amoreena. It’s a very special place to me,” her voice was barely a whisper.

Spencer took the lantern from her and placed it in the grass, it illuminated the both of them just enough that they could see each other's faces and know exactly how much they loved each other without even having to say any words.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Spencer’s words were careful, he didn’t want her to think he didn’t either.

She nodded softly, “I loved Stephen very much, I don’t think I’ll ever stop, but I loved him enough to know he’d want me to be happy, he’d really like you and don’t tell him this but I think I love you more than I ever loved him,” she made light of a very heavy subject.

Smiling at him like he was the world, he fully believed her. “I thought Maeve as it for me too before she died, I was so, so wrong. Every day I discover a new level of love for you I didn’t think possible the day before, I never want to stop searching for how deep my love for you goes.”

“To new adventures,” she whispered.

“And happy endings,” he replied, remembering the conversation they had about the Disney characters they loved the most just yesterday morning.

He removed the box from his pocket, opening it and taking her ring out of the fabric. The tiny diamonds around the ruby sparked in the light, shining little rainbows over their faces as they smiled at each other once again, cheeks aching from all the happiness.

“What finger do you want to wear it on? Seeing as we’re doing this our way,” he compromised for her very easily.

“The middle one on my left hand, you?” She asked as she took his ring out as well.

“The ring finger,” he whispered. “I want you to be close to my heart forever.”

“Okay,” she whispered back, pushing the ring onto his finger first before placing her hand in his, waiting for his hands to stop shaking so he could put it on her.

He pushed it right back towards the knuckle, holding her hand in his after and just staring at the ring. He just married the woman of his dreams.

“Holy shit,” he whispered to himself, making her laugh.

“What?”

A tear trickled down his cheek as he tried to smile at her, his jaw wobbling as he tried to stay calm but he couldn’t, he let himself cry softly as she cupped his face with her free hand.

“I love you too, Spencer,” is all she said, pressing her lips to his, finally.

He held her there in his embrace, lips touching as they breathed each other in. The smell of the field and the flowers that were once so strong in his nose, now he only smells her perfume, he almost forgets where he is as they kiss. The world could have stopped and he wouldn’t have ever known, too caught up on loving her.

He doesn’t pull away when the kiss breaks, instead, resting their foreheads together as they breathed.

“I’m going to love you until the day I die.”

She brushes their noses together softly as if to agree, “give me at least 40 years with you, and then I’ll meet you in heaven?”

“We’re already here,” he whispers, “you and Amoreena are my angels.”

They kissed again, just as soft and perfect as before. She smiled at the end, pulling back and taking her cellphone out of the dress pocket that he didn’t even know was there.

She set it on the fence post that separated the cows from the field, making sure it was steady and setting a timer. She rushed to Spencer and pulled him back into the same kiss, letting the phone take a burst of photos for them to remember later on.

“Pick a song,” he whispered into the moment, seeing her face scrunch as she became confused. “We need a first dance, I know your grandparents had to have danced out here at least once if she loved music as much as you say she did.”

“I love you,” is all she can say as she beams a smile at him. Skipping over to her phone and doing just as he asked.

“I need a piece of Amoreena in this moment,” she explained her song choice, making him think it would be the Elton John song, but it wasn’t.

A beautiful piano balled played before he heard the all too familiar voice of Taylor Swift, the girl's favourite. “Seven, because that’s how many years it took for us to find you.”

He takes her hand again, twirling her around before pulling her body into his. The both of them holding on tight as they swayed to the song, it fit every single aspect of his love for her to a T. Like it was Taylor made for them.

“Sweet tea in the summer Cross your heart, won't tell no other And though I can't recall your face I still got love for you Your braids make a pattern Love you to the Moon and to Saturn Passed down like folk songs The love lasts so long,”

It was so unbelievable. She had mentioned the love she felt for Stephen, he mentioned his love for Maeve, both of their faces hard to bring to memory as they fell in love with each other. A new feeling, a happier love, a long-lasting one that wasn’t nearly as flimsy. Powerful and strong like the earth's gravitational pull, he was never leaving her.

She’s singing the words ever so softly beside his ear, her voice is softer than Taylor’s and his favourite thing he’s heard all night, but he’d never tell her that.

They kiss randomly throughout their dance, listening to more songs as they swayed in the evening breeze. The cows coming to the fence to see what was happening, they twirled and dipped and jumped with each other, it was perfect.

She pulls him in for another kiss and she is all giggles, high from the dopamine and serotonin rush they were both on. Like someone injected sugar right into his veins, he was unbelievably sweet on her.

“We’re you serious?” Spencer whispered against her lips before she can pull back any further and disrupt the courage he felt.

“About what? I’ve said a lot tonight,” she teased him gently.

“About having more kids?” His voice is low and his eyes can’t meet hers as he prays she was being honest.

She nods softly, “never been more certain, actually, I would have 10 more of your kids if they’re all as perfect as our Amoreena.”

Our.

He tilts his head to the side and presses his lips together in a tight smile, he lost all control of his tears a while back, feeling them slip down his cheeks as he took everything in. She had given him everything and then some.

“How are you this perfect? It’s been 8 days since I laid eyes on you and you’ve managed to make every single dream come true, while simultaneously creating new dreams I never imagined I’d be allowed to have. You’re the best thing that has ever happened in the world Y/N, I’m so incredibly in love with you I could scream right now,” he is more passionate than he plans to be, she stares at him with more lust than happiness this time.

“Prove it and make love to me, you said you’d rather fuck me at home. Well,” she kept teasing him opening her arms and twirling around as she showed off the farm. “This is your home now, husband.”

“Where should we go?” He felt adventurous, willing to take her against the fence if the cows wouldn’t eat her hair, the thought alone making him giggle to himself.

“What?” She can't help but giggle right back.

“I thought about fucking you against the fence for a hot second and then the intrusive thoughts kicked in and I thought about the cows eating your hair,” he admitted with a fierce laugh.

“I love you so much,” she shook her head and sighed, the same way she did at the museum when Amoreena made her laugh.

That was all the proof he needed. Never would he question how she felt, if she loved him half as much as she loved Amoreena then he was blessed by far. This was over the top.

He picked up the lantern then, handing it to her as well as her phone before picking her up bridal style and attempting to carry her back to the house. He made it to the barn before she begged him to put her down, wanting to skip the rest of the way with him.

Giddy as all hell, the two of them snuck back into her house. Rufus, the best guard dog in the world, was passed out on the couch and didn’t even move as they walked in. Locking the doors and windows for the night before tiptoeing up the stairs again.

Luckily, Amoreena’s room was on the opposite side of the house from Spencers. Y/N pulled him down the hall and inside the room, lightly closing the door before leaning back against it and sighing.

“Are you sure? I never asked you what you wanted,” Y/N whispered.

Spencer just shook his head and slipped out of his suit jacket. “All I want is to have a big happy family with you, where ever that takes us, I’m up for the adventure.”

Y/N was the one who teared up this time, looking away from Spencer and at her grandparent's wedding photo on the side table. She walked past Spencer, brushing her hand against his arm as she did so, picking up the photo and kissing it softly.

She turned it face down and turned back to Spencer, “help me with the zipper?”

He nodded, silently stepping forward and brushing her hair off her back, freeing her from the dress. He pressed his lips gently to her sun-kissed shoulders, surprised by the array of freckles, kissing the pattern they made on her skin as she let the dress slip to the floor.

He wrapped his arms around her, hugging her from behind as he continued to kiss her neck and shoulder. She hummed into the feeling, tilting her head to the side so he had more room to explore, her hands cover Spencers as she felt up his arms, still in his embrace.

She had the softest skin on earth, he could spend the next 14 hours kissing every square inch of her. It was all perfect and he wanted her to know it, “get on the bed,” he whispered in her ear as he pulled away.

He picked her dress up off the floor and put it on a hanger from the shirt he had on. She watched with soft eyes as he hung it on the back of the bathroom door, keeping it safe and taken care of while they became a married couple.

He slipped out of the tie and started unbuttoning his shirt, she laid back against the covers, pulling her grandma's quilt off and folding it at the end of the bed. She laid back and waited as he slipped his pants to the ground and finally joined her once again.

She met him halfway for a kiss, holding his face as he knelt between her spread legs, she leaned back and took him with her. He hovered then, barely touching her as she leaned forward to keep kissing him, eventually wrapping her arms around his back and pulling him down.

Skin to skin for the first time ever.

It’s slow and explorative, they take their time as they enjoy every single inch of each other's bodies. She’s soft and perfect, she fits in the palm of his hand like he’s always been holding her. Moulded for her and her alone.

He’s never made love before. Sure, he’s had sex but never in his life has it felt like this… no, this was perfect. It was everything he’s ever dreamed of and then some. Her kisses felt like dreams coming true, her touch so light it was like sunshine on a hot day, just dancing over him.

It was perfect.

He brushed her hair behind her ear, still inside her, as he took a moment to just look at her. Her eyes were hypnotic, he was so dawn into her it was like she controlled him. He kissed her gently on the forehead, “I love you,” he reminded her, for the millionth time that hour.

She pulled him in closer, breathing against his neck gently as they continued. Her nails on his back were amazing, he felt the sharp pain of her grip which only excited him more, fastening his pace, both his hips and where his thumb was pleasuring her between their bodies.

She looked like she was floating, relaxed as she laid against the sheets, blissed-out while she took it all in, panting airy nonsense as she got closer and closer.

She was quiet, they both were. It was silent as possible while they made love for the first time ever. She was everything in the world to him and then some, he couldn’t believe she was real as they both finished and managed to somehow get closer to each other.

Another level of love was just unlocked in his heart, he was never going to stop loving her. That would be the only impossible known to man.

tag list: @shemarmooresfedora @spencers-dria @spookyspence @reidsfish @manuosorioh @mochionly @samuel-de-champagne-problems @jswessie187

[softluci]

trendy [hcs]

someone (@yourlocalsinnamonroll​ hi again!) sent me a request a Long time ago asking me to do more gen z headcanons, and i have been working on this on and off for Months. this is something that i’ve had on my mind for a long time, and it most definitely can be associated with/attributed to gen z. 

this isn’t sfw so Minors DNI, but for a fleeting, wonderful period of time, there was a trend on tiktok that went, “buss it, buss it…” are you familiar? that should be enough of a summary, right?

anyway, once again, for my peace of mind, minors dni, and reader is g/n as usual, enjoy!

[a/n: so because this is so long, this part is going to be, like, the actual headcanons, and then the backstory i have for this will be right here]

lucifer

“intrigued,” would be the best word to describe how he was feeling. it didn’t cover the full spectrum of emotions that washed over him, but it was definitely a start. he started forming coherent thoughts after the fifth loop, but that's his business🤨

for one, he was upset. you mean to tell him that you could dance like this the entire time, and you—first of all, you never offered to do it for him, or on him, and you know his obsession for you would increase tenfold he has an appreciation for dancing of any and all kinds. you were depriving him, and for what reason, exactly? have you never been acquainted with shame before? 

second of all, not only were you keeping this crucial information from him, but you told everyone, at the same time. why can't he ever have anything for himself? he should relax— it's not too big of a deal, he's not too hurt because he'd have you to himself soon enough.

well, really, right now. he is suddenly in dire need of entertainment, you understand. he just called you to tell you to come to his room, and he would be a liar if he said he didn’t like how nervous you sounded. 

mammon

can everyone, like, get out of hell for a few minutes? he needs to be alone. the video is on its nth loop. he's laying face down on his bed, trying to recover from the siege you just put him under—how dare you?

you're supposed to be his—his cinnamon apple, his human, his everything—and you sent this to the group chat? is nothing sacred? is nothing in this world for him alone? what is wrong with you, genuinely? most importantly, why haven’t you ever even offered to dance with him? 

really, he's hurt. betrayal of this magnitude is bound to sting, so it shouldn’t come as a surprise. 

now, the pain of your treason aside, that was very easily the best thing he’s seen in a decade. before he collapsed face-first onto his bed, he was watching very intently, for at least two full minutes. he was actually so invested that questions didn’t form in his mind until, like, the tenth loop—but that was neither here nor there. now that he was recovering from the bomb you dropped, he had half a mind to go to your room and interrogate you among other things. 

unfortunately for you, he really only operates with half of his mind anyway, so he was already out the door. however, you have nothing to be afraid of. as we know, mammon is a man easily crumbled. all you have to do to disarm him is ask him if he liked it.

levi 

he knew. 

he didn’t know, like, exactly what was going to happen after he helped you trick out your d.d.d, but he knew it was gonna be fucking Something. 

he didn't even get through the video, actually—the beat dropped, so did you, and, suddenly,  his phone was across the room. his face was a deep crimson, and his thoughts were barely coherent, but he was already out of his bedroom.

simply put, he knew his brothers. he knew at least two of them would be on their way to you soon enough, but they wouldn't get there before him. he knew what he was going to do before his thoughts were fully formed. he'd get there, he'd bring you back to his room, he'd hide out with you in one of his cursed games—he would help you. if the two of you went slow enough playing it, everyone would have calmed down by the time you got back, right? right. 

was he being a bit dramatic? of course not! you would be safest with him, tucked away from his brothers until he was certain they wouldn't try anything. you know them, you know how they get, right? he'd never do anything like that unless you wanted him to. you are his best friend, and, really, he owes you this safety. this is at least twelve percent his fault. 

satan 

oh. oh, wow.

now, how many times did he watch that video? he doesn't know, he wasn't counting. he wouldn't tell you even if he was. he needs to maintain some kind of dignity here—not that there was anything undignified about being attracted to you, of course. it was just, well, you know—he was better than his brothers. 

in general, not when it came to you, but, even still. he's at a level of self control that they can't even conceive. now, have you been slowly, but surely, ebbing away at his centuries of hard work? yes. did this video put something of a dent in his poise? yes. 

but, in all honesty, it was fine. satan was smarter than all of his brothers, more patient—you know, better. he knew exactly how he would go about this. 

he wouldn't talk to you about this tonight, tomorrow, or the next day. he would play a waiting game, lure you into a false sense of security—and then, when you think you can trust him, when you think he's forgotten or just wants to show you mercy—then. he would come for you then. just wait for him.

asmo

miffed. he was miffed. like, arms crossed, tapping his foot on the floor, shaking his head—miffed.  once he was done staring at his screen for five minutes, he had about seven bones to pick with you. 

first of all, why didn't you come to him if you wanted to do your makeup and pick an outfit to film in? he's not saying you looked bad—believe him, he was staring for a reason—but you would've looked so much better if you let him style you. second of all, you had the absolute gall to make something like this and not invite him to join you? you're a villain. no, really—

but what really got him—what really drove him up a wall—was the fact that you never even hinted at the fact that you could dance like that. why did you keep such crucial information from him? he wasn’t even gonna think about the fact that you had yet to do it on him, it would be too much for him to process at once—your audacity would become palpable. he should really calm down, getting this upset is bad for his skin. 

now that he’s thinking about it, you were wearing a full face of makeup. it hasn’t been that long since you sent the video, you’re probably still wearing it, right? well, he wouldn’t be a good friend if he didn’t help you take it off! he knows he was a bit peeved a few minutes ago, but, well, that was a few minutes ago! now, as he reflected on his initial reaction to your video, he was in a forgiving mood. he was already on his way to your room to help you with undressing unwinding, and, admittedly, to tease you a little a lot—he thinks you’re cute when you’re flustered. 

beel 

he was more confused than anything, honestly. he wasn’t feeling jealous or betrayed like his brothers, nor was he feeling possessive at all. he was just confused, for a few reasons. 

first was the fact that everyone in the group chat was yelling at him. all he did was send an emoji of a fork and a knife, and everyone was on his ass all of a sudden, like he was the one who sent the video. he was the only person with their priorities straight, and there was lucifer, trying to scold him via text message, which only furthered his confusion. he was an adult, and he was fully allowed to have an appreciation for the finer things in life, up to and including your dancing skills. 

he was careful to relay his message in a private chat, not thinking too much of it. he would’ve given anything to see your reaction, but he wasn’t cruel enough to go to your room minutes after you sent it. he could easily do it tomorrow. 

this, of course, brings him to his second point of confusion. he really doesn’t get why you decided to do this on camera instead of on his face on top of him, but, like, to each their own. he’s content with the fact that he even got to see it, but he feels like he should still let you know the offer is there. 

belphie

first of all, you're already here, but for the sake of malice—go to hell. he was about to go to sleep, you absolute heathen. second of all, because he lost time he could've spent sleeping, you're going to have to take some responsibility and atone—immediately. he had a (correct) feeling that you wouldn’t be willing to come up to the attic, and he wasn’t willing to compensate for that by going to your room. 

this was, while a bit annoying, perfectly fine. it was late, it was a school night, you were undoubtedly going to sleep within the next hour or two. he would know once you did, such is the nature of the avatar of sloth, and then, he would pay you a visit while you were dreaming. nothing to be nervous about, don’t worry, he just had a few questions. 

the first question being, why, exactly, didn’t you just unsend the video when it was so clearly sent on accident? that’s not to say he didn’t enjoy watching it repeatedly, but he was quite curious. whatever—it’s not like everyone is going to know it was an accident, anyway, and he’s glad no one told you about that messaging feature. he uses it on lucifer all the time, but that is neither here nor there. 

the second question being, now, given that it is so clear that he is a bottom, why did you never—

[retrievablememories]

afterdeath | lucas

title: afterdeath pairing: vampire!lucas x fairy!reader genre: angst, forbidden romance, fantasy, vampire!au request: May I request a Vampire!Lucas with a fairy!s/o (Forbidden romance perhaps?) word count: 8.6k warnings: descriptions of death and sickness, mentions of a funeral, viewing, and funerary preparations, major character death (but...with a slight twist), mentions of blood and drinking blood, smoking cigarettes, arguments/conflict, mentions of physical violence, some romeo and juliet elements? a/n: hmm this fic probably could’ve been more detailed but i was trying to avoid triggering my own damn self with so much talk of death...ha...not sure why i went this route but i wanted a forbidden romance with an actual decent ending for both characters and this was the first idea i had recommended songs: OLLA - jhené aiko

Year 1508

“We’ve felled the demon!”

“Indeed, we have!”

Cheers ring through the dawn as a large group of fairies dance around an immense bonfire, raising their shouts of celebration to the sky. Within the fire burns the body of the Primitiva Vampire, the One and Only Pureblood, haphazardly thrown over the wood pile and relieved of her head—which sits near the bottom of the burning mass of wood, her face still twisted in a mien of anger.

As the sky begins turning lighter with the onset of sunrise, the fairies continue their celebration, staying close to the fire all the while. They carry large flaming torches to guard against any of the Primitiva Vampire’s followers who might try to sneak upon them and strike in that sliver of space where the sun has yet to rise.

The Primitiva Vampire had a long reign of terrorizing fairies and turning humans and other supernatural creatures into vampires. Each transformed being became a terrible revenant, one which viciously hunted villages and stole into people’s homes for more blood, more death, and more unwilling adherents to the vampiric cult.

Mass numbers of fairies had been decimated once the vampires first tasted their blood and took a unique liking to it. For over 200 years, the carnage continued on at the hand of the Primitiva Vampire, who had one day blinked into existence in a way that could never really be explained by any conceivable means, either human or magic. And without ever giving a hint to her strange conception, she tore across cities and towns, converting others into night creatures like herself and building a loyal following of half-bedeviled beings.

When fairy populations had dwindled to nearly extinction-level quantities, they were left no other choice—fight back or be wiped completely from the universe’s ledger. So they took up arms, honed their magic skills, and did just that.

And now, all their efforts culminate in this blood-stained morning. It marks a much-anticipated moment of revelry before they have to return to their posts to watch for the night creatures inevitably waiting on the other side of the sunset, ready to avenge their slain Goddess.

Present Day

“You probably shouldn’t be here right now.”

“I wanted to come,” Lucas replies, taking your hand is his large one. “I wanted to see you.”

“I can figure that.” You laugh quietly, a little afraid to let your voice rise higher in case it carries too far. “But that doesn’t mean you should’ve come.”

Lucas holds your hand tightly. His skin is cold against yours due to his slow blood, and colder still from the chill permeating the air. It’s only one of many vampiric traits that the other fairies would think of as strange or barbaric, but you don’t see it that way. The chilliness just reminds you solely of him.

“Well, I missed you. And I’m here now, so you’ll just have to deal with me.”

The building you’re standing behind is damp, old, and dilapidated, and it’s not even one of your pre-designated meeting places. In front of you is a rusted chain link fence, which barricades a field of tall and unkempt grass. More aged and crumbling buildings scatter themselves across the distance, taken over by grass and climbing vines.

You don’t know what’s out here. This is one place within your district you haven’t been to before. It was Lucas’s idea to come here, after your last meeting place had nearly been discovered and he found it too risky to keep going there.

The entire city of Beijing is split up into different districts, each belonging to a different faction of supernatural beings. Some nonhuman races have close ties with each other and allow frequent cross-district mingling; others are sworn enemies, forbidden to fraternize with each other under pain of death. In these latter cases, crossing into another’s territory without express permission—or in rare situations, ties to a powerful ally (or allies) on the other side—is asking to get arrested, injured, or worse.

Lucas would be your tie to the vampire side and you his tie to the fairy side if your species weren’t centuries-long enemies. Instead, you’re relegated to having him sneak in and out of your district and hide what he is with blood-scent blockers and eye contacts to make the trickery easier to get away with. There’s only so much you can do to disguise your fae nature; stepping into vampire territory would turn you into a shining beacon.

“Hmm…” you sigh, shaking your head with a small smile on your face. You grasp Lucas’s hand so you’re now holding it with both of yours. “How long do you think we can keep this up? Going from place to place like this. Hiding like criminals.”

Lucas gives a lopsided grin—one that cannot morph into a full smile because of the sadness coloring it. “I don’t know. Forever, if we’re lucky.” He chuckles.

You stare at your intertwined hands, unaware of the sheer intensity of the longing expression on your face, though Lucas sees it clearly. It threatens to burn his heart to ash. “Unfortunately, fae don’t live forever like you do, so maybe not. Besides, your people would probably find out and come after me before we could even settle into a ‘forever.’”

He shakes his head fretfully at your words, squeezing your hand. “Do we have to talk about all that now? You know we don’t have much time together. Let’s just enjoy it for what it is.” Lucas pulls you into him, tucking your head into his shoulder.

“That’s fine by me,” you say, and resist the urge to make some dark joke about how scandalous it is for a fairy to have their neck so close to a vampire’s mouth—or a vampire’s anything.

You both stay together in that dingy and old spot for a while, talking in the dark until he tells you he has to go. He follows you the whole way back home to ensure you’re safe, keeping to the shadows until he sees you disappear past your front door. Then, he slips away again to head back to the familiar manor in his own district.

It’s nearly morning when Lucas gets back to the large house he shares with the other six men. By this time of day, he knows they will either be in bed or getting ready to turn in.

“Still visiting that fairy, I see.”

The unexpected voice doesn’t scare Lucas, but it does make his body tense up a bit in irritation and a slight sense of anticipation. He sighs and stops in his tracks on the way to his room, though he doesn’t face the clan leader just yet.

“Is that a problem? Because you know I’m not going to stop.”

Kun makes a noise of disbelief. “Of course it is. You know what the consequences are if anyone outside of us finds out.” Lucas turns to him slightly, and the look on Kun’s face is more disappointment—maybe even slight fear?—than anger. “I clearly can’t stop you from doing what you want to, but I can’t help you if the Association gets involved.”

Lucas rocks back on his heels and sighs, rolling his eyes at the mention of the vampire organization. “Fuck the Association. They’re nothing but a bunch of old ass hags who have no purpose in their lives other than ruling over every other vampire in the world.”

Kun looks weary at his words. “You really don’t care, do you, Xuxi. They’d have your heart on a stake if they ever heard that.” He pauses and rolls his eyes. “They’re also not that much older than me, so I wonder who you’re calling an ‘old ass hag’...”

“Isn’t it a good thing that they won’t hear it, then?” Lucas laughs, but it’s not an entirely humorous sound, and he gives Kun a searching look as his chuckles die off.

“Don’t look at me like that. I have no interest in telling them anything, mostly because I also have no interest in our whole clan being wiped out.”

Lucas nods, reaffirming his somewhat shaky but still present trust in Kun, needing the regular reassurances for his own calm. He stretches his arms above his head and takes a few steps like he’ll go to his room, though he doesn’t move to leave just yet. “Just don’t see what the big deal about all this is. All this over some ancient bloodsucker who died like 500 years ago...who cares.”

Kun winces again, though he doesn’t bother with reprimanding Lucas this time; he only shakes his head and sighs heavily like it’s already a lost cause. “A vampire and a fairy together is more than blasphemy—it’s ridiculous. It’s illogical. They all think we’re bloodsucking demons hellbent on killing them.”

“To be fair, there’s definitely a sect of vampire zealots or two who are trying to do exactly that despite the laws.”

Kun sighs. Lucas is right; what can he say to argue that? “Xuxi…”

“I’m telling you I’ll be fine, Kun-ge. You don’t need to worry about me and Y/N. Things have been going fine for this long.” Lucas nods, then heads off to his room for real this time. Kun watches him leave, feeling a lot less reassured than the younger man.

Ten takes Xiaojun and Lucas on one of their weekly outings to a blood lounge. Blood lounges are an easy and accessible way for vampires to get blood, though the legalities of this practice are a little muddy. Before getting with you, Lucas didn’t mind drinking straight from the source—going to one of the back rooms and sucking some willing, vulnerable being just to the point of death—but now, it feels like a type of transgression. Drinking someone else’s blood can be an intensely intimate act, on the same level as sex depending on the context, and he doesn’t want to do anything to make you think he’d be unfaithful.

To his fortune, there is no club rule about having to feed off other beings; many vampires take their blood in fancy champagne glasses, just like drinks in a human club. He does that now as the three men sit in a darkly lit booth.

Their conversation is unexciting for a while, with Lucas keeping careful not to mention you or any of his recent visits to your district to avoid any prying ears in the lounge. However, things soon get interesting. “We all know how Renjun got taken off the Association’s Registry a year ago, right?” Ten asks suddenly.

“Yes, of course.” Xiaojun answers like he’s already bored of this turn in the conversation. “That’s what happens whenever a vampire dies.”

Ten nods, but his eyes are wide like he has a secret he’s itching to tell. “But I don’t think he actually died.”

Lucas’s ears perk up at that.

“Why?” Xiaojun asks.

“He was seeing that human before he supposedly died, you know—”

“The one who lost it and drove the stake in his heart? We all know how it happened—”

“Can you let me finish? Anyway, I’ve heard some...suggestions that he faked his death—that maybe he got a magic user to set the whole crime scene up and make it look like it was real. Illusory magic, or something like that.”

Xiaojun sits forward. “A magic user. As in a fairy? Or a witch? Who?”

“I don’t know, just someone who uses magic. People are starting to think he and the human faked it all and ran away to Tianjin. I heard someone even claimed they saw somebody who resembled him when they went to Tianjin recently, though I don’t know how true that is…”

Xiaojun’s interest is thoroughly engaged now. “Think the Association will go looking for him, if it's true?”

“I don’t know if they’d care enough to hunt down an unregistered vampire who’s laying low and not creating chaos with other citizens. We all know Tianjin is way more relaxed about inter-species relationships, too. But the Association doesn’t like looking stupid. And that kind of trick definitely makes them look stupid.”

Lucas sits back, taking all of this information in. He is uncharacteristically quiet, but he doesn’t know what to make of that situation or why Ten is telling them about it. He thinks he can guess why, though, by the way Ten’s gaze lingers on him, and that scares him a little. The way this rumor piques a forbidden interest in him scares him. Lucas lifts the glass of blood to his lips and drinks from it, trying to distract himself from the current conversation.

“All this for a damn human. Only an idiot would try something like that,” Xiaojun says, shaking his head.

“Maybe a smart one. It did get him off the Registry.”

“How can you be a smart idiot?!” Ten and Xiaojun start arguing over the semantics of the term, and Lucas watches them in amusement, though his mind remains in two different places for the rest of their time in the blood lounge.

—

Later that night when they are back at the manor, Lucas pulls Ten aside, just like the older man expected him to.

“What’s wrong?” Ten asks, though his expression shows he already knows exactly what’s the matter.

“You...the stuff you said about Renjun earlier. I…” Lucas doesn’t know how to start or break his idea to him softly, so he decides to just say it. “Is it really possible?”

“I think it’s possible. It wouldn’t be the first time someone tried to get off the Registry…though many other attempts were way less successful.” Then Ten hesitates before saying, “You could try it.”

“Are you serious?”

“I am.” Ten’s expression softens a little. “I know you and Y/N love each other a lot, but there’s no way the Association will ever let you stay together if they find out. Y/N’s life could actually be in danger. Both of you are, every moment you spend together while living in these districts. If you really want to stay with Y/N, then…”

“...But I wouldn’t be able to see any of you again.” You and Lucas have become so entwined with one another that he can hardly imagine a life without you, but he also finds it difficult to picture his existence without his brothers. They’ve become like blood family to him over the last couple centuries.

“Yeah.” Ten sighs deeply, and although his reply is short, Lucas knows that one word is carrying the weight of all of his stress and sorrow about the idea. “Maybe we could find a way to visit you sometimes. Get the fairies or witches to do some of their magicky shit.” Ten laughs quietly. “But...it’s still just an idea. You don’t have to do it.”

Lucas shakes his head slowly. He wants to put the idea to bed and try to continue on with his life, managing his clandestine visits to your district when he can. But now that he knows of an alternative way, no matter how unreasonable or unbelievable it is, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to forget about it. “Kun-ge is going to kill you once he finds out this was your suggestion. You know that, right?”

Ten shrugs, and the sadness lifts momentarily in the curve of his lips. “He can try.”

The next time you and Lucas meet up, it’s in yet another different place under an ancient and mostly abandoned bridge. As a precaution, you stand together underneath the darkness of the bridge and stay out of sight, though there are few chances of anyone being around to see you in the first place.

He has to muster up the courage to tell you of his idea, unsure of how you’ll react or what you’ll think of it. It’s a lot to ask of you. Your kinships and friendships are not as extensive as his, only having a brother and two cousins left in the world, but he doesn’t know if he could ever ask you to leave them behind like this. Or if he could shake off the guilt that would remain from it.

“There might be a way for us to change things…” Lucas starts, skipping the build-up because he knows it would take him forever to think of something appropriate to say. “But I don’t know if you’ll like it.”

“Change things?” You glance at him curiously. You wish you could see the deep red of his irises, but they are hidden behind his brown contacts. “As in, with us?”

“Yes. So that maybe we wouldn’t have to sneak around anymore. Or at least...not sneak around as much as we do now.”

“What is it?” you ask. Despite yourself, your wings flutter against your back as wonder and excitement rise in your chest. You and Lucas have waxed poetic many times before about how you wish things could be different; and neither of you have ever been able to come up with a workable plan. But now, his claim that maybe something is possible has you dangerously curious.

“Taking myself off the Registry. I could basically just...disappear. The Association can’t harm what technically no longer exists.”

You stare at him in confusion. “But you can’t do that, right? Only under special circumstances…”

Lucas sees the question in your eyes and nods. “Right. Like if I die…” You flinch, shaking your head immediately. “...or pretend I’ve died.” This makes you pause, not expecting to hear something like that come from him.

“Pretend...you’ve died. Faking your own death?”

“I know it sounds crazy, but...there’s another vampire who we think has done it before. And...it worked. Supposedly.”

You shake your head again, but you turn the idea over in your mind. “How would you even do that? Someone would have to know you’re not really dead. That can’t be as easy as it sounds...”

Lucas swallows hard. “I know, it doesn’t, but maybe if we plan it right...I think we could pull this off. Some of the others...already know about it.” Only Ten, really, but that’ll inevitably change soon.

Your heart is hammering in your chest just thinking about this plan—the small, undefined plan that it is—and you’re unsure how to approach it. “If we leave under those circumstances, we can’t come back here to Beijing. Which means we won’t see anyone else again, our families and friends...”

“You understand that.” Lucas’s voice comes out strained.

You sigh, wringing your hands. “I do.”

Lucas hangs his head, closing his eyes tightly. “It’s too much to ask of you. We can just forget about this, really. I know sneaking around has been difficult, and I just—”

“I never said I wouldn’t agree to it,” you say softly, interrupting him before he can begin deriding himself about the idea.

Lucas’s head perks up again, and you both look at each other for a long moment. A cold night breeze flows through your clothes and rustles your wings, which remain tucked close against your back.

“Just think of it as leaving the nest, I guess,” you say, though there are tears welling in your eyes. “Growing up and making a life for ourselves. We can do that...right?”

Lucas bites his lip and closes his eyelids to stave off the tears trying to form in his own eyes. “Yeah. We can do that. Even if it’s a bit...unconventional.”

You nod hurriedly, wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands before any more tears can make their way out. “If you really want to do this, then we need to visit my brother.”

—

Your brother is predictably not thrilled about the idea. He likes Lucas well enough, but he’s never been very good at hiding his skepticism about your relationship. Though he would never say this to you directly, he never expected your relationship to make it past a few months; and yet it’s been a year and a half since you and Lucas started seeing each other. Maybe he’d be glad about your relationship’s stability if your partner was anyone other than a vampire. Alas, he instead spends all his time stressing over whether either of you will be found out at any moment’s notice.

“You’re playing with fire,” your brother says as he sits down at his desk within his apothecary office. He shakes his head the entire time, but he rifles through his collection of books on magic anyway. If there is anyone who knows a potion or spell that could work for this scheme and would actually be willing to keep it all secret, it’s your brother.

“I know that, Aldriel.” You cross your arms, sighing impatiently at your brother’s continuous reprimands since you’ve stepped through his door. “That’s why we came to you. You’re one of the best magic wielders and potionists around.”

“Oh, I’m well aware. No need to blow smoke up my ass,” Aldriel replies, never one to let a moment to brag slip away. He continues flipping through his book fast enough to make the words on the pages blur, his brow creased with focus. He is paying attention to the words and pictures on the pages, though you also know him well enough to realize this is him trying to distract himself from the many thoughts that must be crowding his brain.

“Don’t be so worried about it,” you say, trying to speak against the lump that’s suddenly forming in your throat. “You’ve always complained about wanting me out of your hair, anyway.”

Aldriel pauses in flipping through his spell book to look directly at you now, his brows creased even further and his face creating a visage of bitter desperation. “Not like this.”

Sighing, you turn away from him and let him go back to his textbook, knowing you’d probably start to cry if you look at him any longer. And who knows what will happen once that begins.

You go back to Lucas, who is sitting in the other room with his face turned to the window. It is nighttime and the blinds are closed, so you know he’s not looking at anything in particular. His mind must be similarly preoccupied.

“You okay?” you ask, touching his arm.

“Fine,” he answers, though he doesn’t turn to you. He just grasps your hand where it slides down to his own, gripping your fingers tightly. “As fine as I can be in this situation, I guess.”

You sit down in front of Lucas on the floor’s intricately decorated rug, resting your head against his knee. “It’ll be okay.” You aren’t sure of the words when they leave your lips, but you have to believe in them or else all will be lost.

—

You both spend a few hours at Aldriel’s place. At one point, you try to prod Lucas into going back to his clan to avoid raising suspicions for being gone too long—you can just get the potion to him some other day—but he insists it’ll be easier for him to stay and receive the potion now.

Finally, in the hour before dawn, your brother’s door opens and he steps through. “It’s ready.”

Both you and Lucas come alert at that, and you step back into Aldriel’s apothecary to see what he’s developed.

“This is an advanced death glamor potion,” your brother says, holding up a small glass bottle. “It contains a magic incantation that will leave you dead for a week and only a week. Seven days. Your body will remain in perfect stasis, so there’s no risk of the regular side effects that come with death.”

“A week?” you repeat, nervousness coursing through your body. Lucas looks equally apprehensive, and he squeezes your hand tighter.

Aldriel nods, pushing his glasses further up his nose. “That should be enough time to take care of the funeral arrangements and make everyone else think you’ve passed.” He says the last bit while gesturing to Lucas. “I’m not super clear on how vampire funerary customs work, though, so—”

Lucas nods. “No, it’ll work. That’s enough time.”

Your brother’s mouth creases into a thin line. “Good.” He passes the vial to Lucas, makes an expression like he might say something else, and then shakes his head, glancing to you instead. “You plan to go to Tianjin, right?”

“That’s right,” you say quietly.

“You’ll need to find a place to stay, then, until you can get one of your own. And I think we both know exactly where that will be.”

The potion works just as Aldriel said it would. It’s hard to know whether to be dismayed or relieved about this, though the former emotion quickly wins out with everyone.

Lucas takes it a week after meeting with your brother and procuring all the necessary fake documents, claiming it’s best not to wait any longer for it. You feel apprehensive about doing it so soon; or maybe you just want to stall for a little while longer. By now the other five men in his clan all know, each with varying reactions to it but ultimately unable to do anything to change his mind—not even Kun.

On the night Lucas uses the potion, Kun makes one last ditch attempt at reasoning.

“You don’t need to go to this extreme,” the older man insists. Though his voice is cold and sharp and deceptively calm, his entire face is a picture of perfect anger. Everyone had already had their turns talking to Lucas alone and telling him what they needed him to hear—and now it’s just Kun left.

“It’s my decision,” Lucas says, keeping his voice steadier than he feels. “I want to be with Y/N. There is no other way.”

“You’re endangering the entire clan with this. You’d throw us all away for one person?” Kun’s eyes are red-rimmed, but not just from the rage; Lucas knows he’s been crying. Lucas shuts his own eyes, his forehead creasing as he presses the pads of his fingers to his temples.

“Don’t say it like that.”

“That’s exactly what it is.”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Lucas shakes his head, knowing he is treading on very dangerous waters with what he’s about to say. As if the situation weren’t already contentious enough. “You closed yourself off to love a long time ago. After Jingyi died. You just wouldn’t know.”

The vivid red hue of anger bleeds into Kun’s irises at the mention of his late human lover, and he has to make a very concentrated effort not to reach for the younger’s neck. “How dare you speak of her.”

Lucas opens his eyes again and looks directly at his elder now. “You’ve let the Association run your life too much,” he says, though the words come out sounding a bit defeated. He’s not even sure why he invokes Kun’s lover now; maybe he is trying to make the split easier by provoking the other man into hating him. “You’ve let them beat it into you that love is not worth trying for. What did you gain from that, in the end? But more loneliness.”

Lucas gets the breath knocked from him when Kun slams him up against the wall, and the unpleasant sound of wood splintering strikes against his eardrums. A long vertical crack forms in the wood behind Lucas, but not wide enough to make the wall separate completely. Not using his full strength, then, Lucas thinks to himself.

Kun looks for all the world like he might kill Lucas then and there without the younger man ever needing to take a potion—just bite his heart right out. He crumples Lucas’s shirt in his hands, fisting the fabric tightly enough to create small rips in it. His irises are the color of newly spilled arterial blood, and alongside the red rimming of his eyes from his earlier crying, it makes for an agonizing sight—one that sears itself into the back of Lucas’s mind. It’s made even worse by the new tears spilling down the older man’s face.

He chokes out through the tears, “You cannot do this. I raised you. You would have me destroyed twice?”

Lucas wishes he could shut every one of his senses off right now, but he can only manage to shut his eyes, once again, against the pain in the other man’s gaze. “I’m sorry, Kun-ge.”

—

After that, Lucas goes back to his own room and sits on the bed for a long time, replaying the events in his head and growing colder with the realization of what he’s about to do. He stares at the small vial on his dresser until he can’t stare at it anymore, and then he downs it all at once. He looks at the vial with renewed interest as it actually disappears once the fluid is gone, the glass evaporating away in the palm of his hand like water droplets under the sun. No evidence.

Lying on his side, he stares at the wall across from his bed and waits for the spell to begin working. He doesn’t know how much time passes, but eventually his vision begins to blur, almost so imperceptibly that it’s difficult to realize until he notices everything in his field of view is doubled, objects bleeding out of their lines like pictures drawn by a drunken artist—there’s a strange ringing in his ears too, a sound on the edge of his hearing but still present, and he doesn’t know what any of it means, or if this is how other beings feel when they are on the brink of death—it’s frightening, and he feels a momentary pang of sympathy for other nonhumans and humans alike who have no choice but to experience this terrible ordeal at the closing of their lives—

It’s harder to keep his eyes open now, so he closes them and lets all sounds and sensations fade out of his hearing—he only holds one last memory of you in his mind, of the soft and filmy texture of your wings underneath his fingertips, of you laughing whole-heartedly at something silly he’d said, and he joins his hands together in the universal symbol of prayer even as they grow weaker, hoping and praying even to his cursed vampire ancestor that this won’t be the very last memory of you—

—

“Yes, he has...most certainly departed from this world.” 

An Association council member known as Belial announces this to the room of men after doing a thorough check of Lucas’s body. His voice is distant and saddened. The texture of it is almost tangible, dragging everyone down with it like a physical thing—akin to a rock being dropped into a thin sheet. “Such a fledgling, too. Truly tragic and strange circumstances.” Belial stands beside the bed, shaking his head and looking down at the still form of the younger man as if he might discover an answer if he stares for long enough. “Was there no indication…?”

“He was probably exposed to bad blood,” Ten replies, his voice tense and quiet. Though Kun is clan leader, he doesn’t say anything at all, leaving all the dirty work of explaining the lie to Ten.

Belial’s gaze turns to Ten. He shifts his head slightly to turn his ear towards him, as if he didn’t understand what the other man said. “Bad...blood? As in death by blood weakness?”

The room feels like it’s been sucked of air once these words are spoken, and the younger men shift uncomfortably. Sicheng never lifts his gaze to look at Belial, though Yangyang’s eyes keep darting between Belial and Lucas on the bed like he’s waiting for something to happen. Hendery is just as anxious beside Yangyang, both of them passing uneasy energy between each other. Xiaojun’s face is still fixed into the same permanent frown it had been in since Lucas first told them of the plan. His eyes remain downcast and fixed on Lucas, silently asking Why did you have to be the idiot this time?

“Yes, blood weakness. He hadn’t drank as much blood as usual in the last few days...maybe he seemed a little restless...but we didn’t think it was unusual. He...didn’t seem sick.”

“Where would he have gotten bad blood from? We vampires always take such care…” Belial’s tone turns condescending, as if he could expect no better from a young vampire—someone not even wise enough to tell bad blood from uninfected blood. How could one let themselves be taken out of this world by such a fundamental, basic mistake? Kun curls his fingers into a fist at his side, though he quickly remembers himself and tries to let them relax.

“The blood lounge,” Hendery blurts out. Every eye turns to him now, and Ten’s mouth thins into an agitated line. This isn’t what they agreed on. “M-maybe it was spoiled blood from the blood lounge. It had to be. He’s more careful than that…”

Belial’s eyes are whirling with so many emotions that it’s hard to pin any singular one down. “Serving bad blood, with or without knowledge of it, is an incredible offense within any vampire district. In that case, the establishment must be shut down—after an exhaustive investigation, of course.” This statement causes more discomfort among the gathered men, almost too much of it to be properly concealed.

“I think that won’t be necessary,” Kun interjects quietly. Belial looks at him with an expression that reeks of offense, and Kun returns the stare, glaring straight into the elder vampire’s eyes. “He died of blood weakness, most likely from drinking from some disease-ridden human. Even though he used the blood lounge and blood bags, he was in the habit of getting outside blood on occasion. It was a moment of poor judgment that cost him his life...and nothing more than that.”

A tense silence stretches over the room, and Belial’s eyes still don’t leave Kun’s. The other men remain statue-still, waiting to see what will happen—if it will work—until Belial says, “Yes. Of course. I’ll file his passing with the Keepers of the Registry, as protocol states.”

The other men stay quiet and motionless until Belial departs from their house.

“You used your compulsion on a council member,” says Yangyang, and even his voice is trembling when he speaks.

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Xiaojun notes, though his tone is more irritated than awed. “They’re all so much more advanced.”

That action obviously didn’t come for free, though, because Kun is holding his head like it hurts, turning away from the rest of them. “Such recklessness is not my style. Primitiva help us all. We’re all dead if we’re found out.”

“Why did you say that,” Sicheng deadpans, his words directed to Hendery. Even though Sicheng hasn’t said or done anything since stepping into the room, he looks thoroughly exhausted. “You almost gave us away.”

Hendery holds himself up on the bed as if he’ll collapse, his body bent with all the weight of their lies. He makes a motion like he might sit on the bed before remembering it’s where Lucas’s body is resting, and he straightens himself with some effort. “I...but he was thinking badly of Lucas. Like it was his fault.”

“It was,” Kun says faintly.

“You can’t let your emotions get the best of you right now. Just let me handle the talking.” Ten’s expression is stressed, and for a moment he starts to wonder if he should’ve ever said anything to Lucas at all.

Xiaojun shakes his head. “For now, there is a lot more we need to do than just talking.”

Vampire funerary procedures are much different from what many other supernatural races are used to—even blasphemous to some. Everything is handled at the home of the deceased instead of a funeral home or mortuary, in keeping with the tradition of honoring one’s vampire ancestors—and ultimately, the Primitiva Vampire. After the Primitiva’s gruesome death hundreds of years ago, all that had been left was her ashes once the fire burned out, but her followers still gave the remains a proper processing and burial.

The men dress Lucas in one of his nicest suits and perform all the necessary actions that would be involved at a funerary home, including preparing the casket. All of them help throughout this process as tradition dictates, though it is more difficult than any of them expected it to be. (No one even makes a dark joke about you’ll have to do this for me when I’m gone, which speaks to their inner turmoil.)

The viewing is equally challenging to get through, if not more.

Many of their vampire friends and acquaintances attend, including various members of the Association. Everyone seems to buy the blood weakness lie perfectly, which means Kun’s compulsion worked as it should have. That knowledge does very little to relax any of them in the grand scheme of things, though.

Though they know Lucas is not really gone, the sight of him lying there in that dark coffin with other vampires looking sadly down at his still face and dabbing their tears away is deeply frightening.

The night of the viewing goes by at a glacial pace, and every other night after that up until the funeral passes even more slowly, like time itself has dropped its speed to prolong the torment.

When the last few straggling visitors for the viewing are gone, the men go their separate ways to try to deal with the not-so-small trauma of the day’s events. Kun goes up to one of the manor’s several wide balconies, one that they’ve all used as a familiar hangout spot or simply a place to unwind over the years. The sun will not rise for another forty-five minutes or so, giving him enough time to sit and think before it becomes unsafe. He is not very surprised when he finds Ten already there, though he decides not to leave.

“You stopped smoking three decades ago,” Kun comments, waving his hand in a pitiful attempt to clear out the smell of smoke filling the air. There’s no hint of teasing or personality in his voice, only hollowness and exhaustion. He sits beside the other man in one of the chairs sat outside. “Where did you even get cigarettes from?”

“Don’t worry about me. This is just for the nerves.”

“Why would I worry, it’s not like you can—” Kun pauses before saying the word they both know, realizing it hits far too close to home right now. Silence falls between them until Kun asks, “Do you actually believe this will be worth it?”

“It will. We’ve worked too hard for it not to be.” Ten takes a drag from his cigarette. “We’re giving them a second chance. Isn’t that something to feel good about?”

“A second chance. How interesting.”

“Everyone deserves one.” Ten glances at Kun from the corners of his eyes and doesn’t say anything more, but Kun already knows what he’s vaguely implying.

“And yet everyone doesn’t get one.”

“All the more reason to take the opportunity when it becomes possible.”

Kun doesn’t reply to that. Ten places a hand on his shoulder, but the older man meets this with little regard as he rises from his seat and walks away at a sluggish pace.

You stand in the train station ready to buy a ticket, clutching documents falsifying your identity and feeling more terrified than you possibly ever have. Today marks the seventh day, and you don’t even know if Lucas is alive right now. It was too risky to have any of the other clan members contact you—not until you and Lucas meet up in the designated place. You know Aldriel is an excellent potion master, and if he says the spell will work as intended then it will, but there’s always that seed of doubt.

Your parting with Aldriel had been typical of your relationship with him—you crumbling before him and him pretending like he was fine, lending enough strength for the both of you to survive on, though you knew he was also bleeding from the heart.

“You better not forget about me,” you’d told him, smushing your face into the sleeve of his shirt to hide your tears, though there was no stopping the flow. It was staining his shirt sleeve right through.

He’d scoffed at you, though it was a watery sound. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” He’d held your head closer against his shoulder, the both of you glued together in whichever way seemed fit when you’d walked through his door one last time to say goodbye. “We’ll see each other again. Don’t worry.”

You’d lifted your head from his shoulder then, looking at him with an aggrieved expression. “You shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep.”

Aldriel put his hand on top of your head, petting you like a small puppy. It was a thing you’d disliked since you were both children, but which only made your heart hurt even more now. “Have more faith in me than that, dear sister. You’ll see.”

When it’s your turn to get a ticket, you step up to the counter and hand over your information, trying to keep the shaking in your hands to a minimum. The teller behind the counter is also a fairy, their wings tucked against the back of their uniform but peeking out at the sides. You childishly try to take some solace in that, hoping there will be some solidarity between you two. Maybe they’ll be less critical of your legitimacy than any other being might be.

The process is scarily easier than you’d thought it would be, though you are sweating the entire time. A fake name and birth date, and no one suspected anything. All of this would have to be your new identity now if you were to live with Lucas in Tianjin without being discovered.

Getting on the train when it comes is only part of the long journey ahead. It doesn’t provide you with much relief, but you are at least thankful to have one segment of that journey complete.

—

It takes another cab to get to your destination once you’re off the train, but you soon arrive at the house of one of Aldriel’s friends and his similar-name twin—Raziel. Raziel was Aldriel’s most trusted and oldest friend, their woven history extending back to childhood. The three of you had grown up together, and you’d even been quite familiar with Raziel until they left for Tianjin some years ago. Now, you’re back in front of each other again under circumstances that you never could’ve guessed.

“You’re here. Good.” Raziel welcomes you into their house with open arms, tugging you into a jittery hug that you anxiously return.

“Have...you heard anything?” you ask, though you know it’s futile. Raziel wouldn’t have gotten any more information than you have, not until Lucas was standing right on their doorstep. They shake their head and give you a sympathetic look, patting your hands.

“He’ll be alright. Everything will go well. I believe it.” Raziel guides you further into their house, presumably towards the room you’ll be staying in while you’re there. “It’s all so romantic, though—even if it doesn’t feel like it right now. I hope you know you’re doing a good thing, in the end.”

You force your facial muscles into a smile, though it is a ghostly and fleeting one. “Thank you.”

Either way, you will have to wait until nighttime to know if Raziel’s words come true or not; the sun is still high in the sky. It’s only midday. You’ve never before hated the sunlight, but right now you curse the sun’s rays that elongate the time between you and your lover.

—

“You all, give him some damn space,” Ten says, trying to pull the younger vampires away so they won’t crowd around the coffin. “He doesn’t need the scare of his life looking at all your faces when he wakes up.” Despite trying his best to be the voice of reason, Ten also has to refuse the urge to station himself beside the coffin and watch for the slightest movement of eyelids, the tiniest twitch of the lips. His hands shake from the frayed nerves of a week of nothing but death and gloom, and even though he doesn’t need to sleep, he thinks he will be out for at least two days after all of this is over.

There is no set time, no designated signal for when—or the dreaded if—Lucas will awaken. The waiting game feels longer than it really is, especially with the hours until the funeral commences steadily counting down. However, it is not very long before there’s a big sucking breath coming from the coffin, the sudden sound of lungs being filled after a week of complete stillness. Everyone rushes back to the bier when this happens, peering wildly inside the coffin.

Lucas’s eyelids flutter for an eternity before shooting open. He immediately seems distressed upon waking, sitting up out of the coffin so quick that it stutters on its stand, and the others have to steady it before it tips over.

“Xuxi...are you okay?” Sicheng asks, voice hushed with nervousness. Despite his unending anger and distress about the situation, Kun has also crowded in to witness Lucas’s awakening, and he visibly sags with relief to see the younger man is at last awake.

The look in Lucas’s eyes is wild. They are momentarily afraid that maybe something has gone wrong with the potion—maybe it has affected his mind somehow and he doesn’t remember any of them— but then he says,

“Y/N. Is Y/N okay?”

“We don’t know,” Sicheng replies. “I mean, hopefully. But it was safer to not have so much cross-communication going on—you’ll have to go to the meeting spot to find out…”

Though the reasons for this make sense, this does not provide consolation. Lucas fumbles his way out of the coffin with the men’s help. It’s clear he’s still disoriented, which makes them even more nervous, if that’s possible at this point.

“You should drink some blood before you leave,” Hendery suggests, and everyone else agrees. Lucas won’t argue that, so he downs one of the blood bags they have stored until he feels a little more like himself.

“You have to go soon, the funeral is set to start in another hour—we’ll have to leave—” Yangyang warns him, though the words fade at the end of his sentence. He doesn’t know how to continue his thought or how to even begin saying goodbye.

Lucas fills that gap by steeling himself and saying his farewells to each of them in turn, though his eyes are troubled and his chin crumples like he might cry at any moment.

“Don’t say I never helped you out with anything,” Ten says, a few tears slipping down his cheeks. Being separated is painful, but it’ll ultimately serve its purpose of giving Lucas a chance at having a love that none of them could. After seeing Kun suffer the way he did after losing Jingyi, Ten wants to spare another one of his mates from dealing with the same fate.

When Lucas gets to Kun, there is a slight awkward silence and a swift exchange of glances—Lucas’s soft gaze butting up against Kun’s more solid one, which is simultaneously pleading to him and rebuking him for his actions. Still, Kun embraces him tightly enough that their bodies could join together.

“Xuxi…” Kun starts, “I don’t…” And then his words break, leaving an unspoken thought between them.

“One day, you’ll forgive me for this,” Lucas whispers to the older man. Kun gives him an endlessly hurt look in return, silently asking him how he could even conceive those words. When they separate from each other, it’s with much reluctance. Lucas looks at them all and nods once, his mouth tight with grief.

“Right. Time to go, then.”

—

You awake in the middle of the night to cool fingers on the side of your face, which startles you completely out of your sleep. Opening your eyes to an unfamiliar room scares you even more, and it takes you a moment to remember why your surroundings have changed. The knowledge comes back to you quickly when a large palm slips against your own, long fingers twining with yours.

“Xuxi,” you whisper quietly, the sound of his name hanging in the air like a prayer. One of the last few times you’ll be able to freely call him that, except in private.

You can’t see his figure well with all the lights turned out, but he had no problem navigating through the dark to reach your bedside. Wanting desperately to see his face, you fumble around for the bedside lamp switch before turning it on.

“Y/N…” Lucas’s face is suddenly illuminated to you in all its golden glory, a myriad of emotions flickering over his features.

“I didn’t even hear you come in,” you say breathlessly. You’re somewhat sad and wish you could’ve met him at the door, embraced him after his long trip, but it doesn’t much matter anymore because he’s here now.

“Poor Y/N. My baby must’ve been so tired.” Lucas bumps his forehead against yours, his whole body drooping with relief as he practically sinks into you, and you giggle a little as you complain about having to hold his weight up. There is a tingle behind your eyes that threatens to turn into a sudden burst of tears, but you try to hold them at bay for a while longer.

“Are we safe?” he whispers, needing your confirmation. “Raziel said so. But...are we really safe?”

“That’s frightening to even think about,” you reply quietly. “We can’t stay here too long, but for now…I think we will be.” Lucas nods without a word, still holding your hand. His blood-scent is completely absent, as it usually is when he’s around you, and you know he’s used the blockers. Soon, with the ability to go out together and not be arrested or threatened for it, that will not be necessary to disguise his vampirism anymore. “It...won’t be easy.”

“No, but the things we want out of life usually aren’t.”

You squeeze his hand. “Raziel will help take care of things for us. It won’t all be trials and tribulations. I hope.” More hesitantly, you ask him, “What was it like? Being dead?” You know that vampires, being once human, still have souls and an afterlife to go to like most other living beings.

The look on his face is worrying. He doesn’t meet your eyes; he only shakes his head and stares at your joined hands. “It was cold without you.” His lips pull into a weak and chapped smile, if only to quiet your worrying, but that doesn’t work as intended. You decide to leave it for now, figuring there will be more time to talk about it when he feels ready.

Turning the light back off, you both press your bodies together as close as they can physically get, Lucas’s head on your chest and his long legs all jumbled together with yours. You fall asleep before he does, lulled away by his comforting and safe presence. He stays awake for a while longer, staring into the dark and the dark staring back into him, before everything else falls away.

[irisbleufic]

Hi! Just wanted to drop this real quick because I am but a simple lass who adores your powers of analysis.

I found this on Pinterest and what immediately struck me is that yeah, Jerome isn't the craziest version of himself here, but he's still highly dangerous, still decidedly not sane. Yet, his knife isn't even touching Bruce's neck, his hand is. Like a lover softly brushing their knuckles on a partner's throat. His left arm is wrapped around Bruce to keep him in place, but again, take the knife away and this is a tender embrace. And if I were being held tightly by someone holding a dagger to my neck, I'd be clawing at them. I'd be angry and scared, of course. And Bruce is afraid, very much so. Nonetheless, he's clutching at Jerome in a very peculiar way.

Nada, just thought you'd find this interesting. Hope all is going well and you're getting some sleep (writing And teaching, how do you do it?) !

Hi there, @shippinggirl2424!  The trick to this situation is just that: it’s a trick. At this point, Jerome is so eager to please Theo Galavan (and to be a star, which is what Galavan’s promising him via this holding-up of the televised gala) that he’s maintaining this as a measured, controlled performance. The audience and Bruce both need to believe Bruce is in danger, which he is to a degree—but it’s not immediate danger. At this stage, maybe after a year or slightly less of doing time in Arkham and then being freed by the Galavans, Jerome is willing to take directions since acting rashly on his own (i.e. killing his mother and getting caught) didn’t work out so well for him. He can’t hold onto Bruce too roughly and can’t risk letting the knife actually bite into his neck because he might actually kill him if he does that…but that’s not what Theo has told him to do, is it? All he’s really been asked to do is play the actions of menace in this context until Theo arrives to save the day. Jerome doesn’t know Theo is going to kill him; if he had known, Jerome’s actions in this context might have changed drastically. Casting an actor so physically intentional in this role was necessary. Those tiny, subtle distinctions need to be perceptible—and Monaghan delivers.

As for how Bruce carries himself in this scene, that’s not surprising, because Mazouz shares that capability with his co-star. Alfred has likely impressed upon Bruce that struggling in a situation like this carries no advantage unless you’re sure you have the upper hand. Bruce knows he does not; that’s the choice I see in how it’s acted. Keeping one hand over Jerome’s like that shows an unusual amount of poise under duress; he knows he can’t do anything to prompt Jerome to handle him more roughly, but he also knows he needs to have his hands in positions that could let him fight back at a moment’s notice. Like, jeez, they’re both just teenagers here (probably about 13 and 18, or 14 and 19, depending on how much time Jerome did in Arkham before the Galavans busted him and the Maniax out to cause all this trouble), and they’re both under the tight control of others around them. They both stand to lose their lives if they make one wrong move (and Jerome is going to lose his no matter what he does, but again, he believes if he does what he’s told, he’ll get what he wants).

This is all to say, there are absolute reasons why you perceive “gentleness” in the contact here. It’s not so much gentleness on either of their parts as it is restraint. They just each have completely different reasons for showing a measure of restraint. If you compare this encounter to the night of Jerome’s resurrection and the fun fair, which is another year or so beyond this incident, none of this restraint applies. Jerome wakes up thinking the desire to kill Bruce was conceived as his own notion, when really it was Galavan’s design, and Bruce by that point has lost many of his illusions and reservations surrounding his own use of violence. I always end up in a place, in my stories, where, out the other side of this hate that’s been set up for them, they realize they have a lot more in common than they’d admit—and it’s so interesting to make them cooperate in matters surrounding the fact they’ve fallen for each other’s “siblings” (Jeremiah doesn’t merit quotation marks, but Five does both due to the lack of specificity in canon surrounding his creation and to the manner of specificity I’ve built for my stories to fill those gaps in his origins).

Strip away the strings controlling Jerome and Bruce, or the remnants of strings, and they have the potential to end up in situations where they’re of more help to each other than hindrance (I mean, look at the diner scene in S4). They don’t have the same kind of complicating spark, by which I do mean a crush, that Bruce and Jeremiah form from the moment they first see each other. Get on the bad side of somebody you love or somebody you’re in love with and it’s far, far worse than getting on the bad side of somebody you’re just stuck with. Bruce and Jerome kind of just get stuck with each other, and after a while, every time they cross paths, it’s like, oh, right, you again. The first time you put Jeremiah in the mix with Jerome and Bruce is the one time it arguably ends worse for Jerome than it ever has before, and it’s at least partly because Jerome and Bruce each feel something far more complicated for Jeremiah than they feel for each other.

[hercleverboy]

for better or worse

spencer reid x reader 

summary ↠ spencer and the reader deal with the repercussions of infertility.

category ↠ angst/fluff

warnings/includes ↠ infertility, endometriosis, swearing, self-depreciating thoughts. this story includes mentions of infertility as a result of endometriosis. Please do not read this if that is triggering or upsetting

word count ↠ 3.3k

“If the hurt comes, so will the happiness.” — Rupi Kaur

Y/N had never thought much about having kids. She figured that if she met the right man and settled down with him, she’d love to have a family of her own. Though, if that didn’t happen, she wouldn’t feel incomplete if she never had children. She didn’t feel they were a necessity, like her life would be unsuccessful without them. Besides, she liked that she would always have the option. She didn’t have to have kids, but the option was there for her to choose the day she decided to wanted to.

So when she met Spencer, and fell in love with his beautiful brain and big heart, she knew that if she was going to have children with anyone, it would be him. She wanted to give him the family he so obviously desired. They discussed it, and Spencer admitted he was more than ready to be a dad, and Y/N told him she knew he’d be a phenomenal one, despite his fears. They agreed they’d start trying once their wedding was over, and they could be the family they’d always dreamed of.

At first it was exciting. Sex was fun and enjoyable as the couple anticipated creating a new life, a child for them to raise and protect.

 However, after 6 months of trying with no positive results, sex had become more of a chore. It was no longer about pleasure or done with excitement, but it was tired and half-assed, with only the goal of getting pregnant in sight. Y/N was worried something was wrong but she knew that unlike in the movies, getting pregnant does take time with some couples. She had faith they would get their baby soon.

Once they hit the one year mark, Y/N was terrified. It was odd, she thought. She always thought she’d been content, with or without kids. But when she looked at her husband, she was terrified she wouldn’t be able to give him the family he deserved, the children she wanted to raise with him by her side. She insisted they get fertility tests, and have doctors check them out to ensure that nothing was wrong with either or them. Spencer had rambled some statistics and facts, trying to explain that sometimes these things just take time, but once he saw the fearful tears in his wife’s eyes, he agreed and made them an appointment.

Y/N was silent and Spencer worried. She didn’t speak during the car ride to the doctors. Nor did she speak as they sat in the waiting room of the doctors, waiting for their results. Her leg bounced nervously, and he placed his hand on her thigh in an attempt to calm her down. Her leg stopped and she looked up at him, that same fear in her eyes. 

 “It’ll be okay, baby.” He promised. “Whatever happens, we will be okay.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead and she nodded. 

It was then that a nurse came toward them. “Dr and Mrs Reid?” She asked, and they nodded. “Come with me.” Spencer found himself profiling the nurse, looking for any indication as to what the news they were about to receive was, but he found none. Y/N gripped Spencer’s hand tightly as they stood and followed the nurse.

Y/N had always been one of those people, where if someone told her she couldn’t have something, she’d only want it 10 times more. 

And there’s a harsh difference between choosing not to have something and being told you can’t ever have it at all. 

Severe Endometriosis.

She had Severe Endometriosis. She knew what it meant. She’d always experienced painful periods, but she’d always been told by her mother and other female figures in her life that it was normal, that she was making a big deal over nothing. Never had she considered it was something so serious. 

She stared at the wall in a state of shock, her hand dropping from Spencer’s limply. 

The doctor’s face showed sympathy. “It’s rare we get cases of endometriosis where the patient doesn’t exhibit symptoms until stage four.” 

Spencer couldn’t seem to find his words. Finally, he managed to string together a coherent sentence. “What does this mean for us?” He managed to get out. It wasn’t like he didn’t already know exactly what it meant. He had read up on the topic before, and was disgruntled by the lack of research into what caused it. He thought maybe the doctor would tell him something he didn’t already know. 

“Whilst there are treatments, It is unlikely you will ever be able to conceive, and if you do, the chances of Mrs Reid carrying that baby to full term without miscarriage or other serious complications are slim.” 

The tears slipped from Y/N’s eyes then.

He wasn’t the problem. According to the doctor, Spencer was ‘incredibly fertile’. 

He wasn’t the problem. 

She was. 

“I’m incredibly sorry I don’t have better news for you. Would you like to discuss possible treatments? I have some leaflets-” the doctor continued but Y/N wasn’t listening. Instead she stared blankly at the wall, tears falling silently from her eyes as the angry and hateful thoughts consumed her. 

“I’ll give you two a minute.” With a sad smile on her lips, the doctor left the room, the door closing quietly behind her. 

After minutes of silence, Spencer was the first to speak. “Y/N, Sweetheart.” He tried, a gentle attempt to get her attention. 

No response.

 “Y/N-” He tried again, but she interrupted him with a choked sob and a loud sniffle. 

“Take me home, Spence. Please.” He nearly sobbed at her pleading, heartbroken tone. 

“Okay. Okay, baby.” He moved to kiss her forehead again but she pulled away from him, standing up and swiftly leaving the room. 

The same deathly silence filled the room and Spencer could practically hear his heart breaking. 

On the car ride home, Y/N stared out the window whilst Spencer gave her longing glances. His wife, the love of his life. 

He felt like he couldn’t fucking breathe. 

What was he supposed to say? 

How could he make this better? 

He couldn’t, he knew. He also knew the horrid, self-depreciative thoughts were filling Y/N’s head and he wished he could stop them but he just didn’t know how. 

So instead of words, he reached across the centre console, taking her hand in his. He was pleased when she didn’t pull away. He brought her hand up, pressing a kiss to their wedding ring that sat on her finger. It served as a silent reminder of the vows they made. 

For better or worse. 

Their house felt empty. 

It was much too big for the two of them. They’d moved in 2 weeks after their wedding, promising to fill the empty rooms with children. 

So much for that, Y/N couldn’t help but think. 

Spencer took Y/N’s coat, and watched as she numbly slid off her shoes. His heart ached at the sight of her, so broken, so angry at herself. He spoke quietly. 

“Let me make you some tea, sweetheart.” 

Y/N just wanted to scream, “Tea isn’t going to fix this!” 

But she knew her husband, she knew he was wracking his big genius brain for any idea on how to help her and coming up empty. and besides, shouting wouldn’t fix anything. She couldn’t push him away when they needed one another most. 

She just nodded gratefully and turned toward the living room, taking a seat on the couch. Spencer came over, setting the tea down on the coffee table in front of them before sitting down next to her. 

He reached out to her, but stopped before he touched her.

Did she want him to hold her? Could that possibly make this any better?

He was almost afraid to touch her, as though she’d break like porcelain beneath his trembling hands. 

After minutes of an uncomfortable silence, Spencer cleared his throat and spoke gently. 

“I know what you’re thinking.” He started. Y/N looked at him confused, so he elaborated. “I know you think this is somehow your fault, like you had any control over this, but I promise you it isn’t.” 

“Isn’t it?” She asked quietly, but her tone was cold. She didn’t want to sound harsh, but she was so angry, at herself, at the universe. “What did I do to deserve this, huh?” She asked, tears now cascading down her cheeks. 

“You did nothing to deserve this, Y/N- “ She cut him off again. 

“God I wanted to give you a family so badly, Spencer. But no, I can’t do the one thing a woman is supposed to be able to do!” She cried, her voice rising as she stood from the couch. It was clear that the anger wasn’t at all directed at Spencer, only at herself. 

and it was breaking spencer’s heart. 

“Please don’t say that, Y/N.” He begged. 

“It’s true! If I can’t give you a baby I’m useless to you!”

“Stop it!” Spencer was shouting now too, standing up as well. “You’re not useless, Y/N!” 

She scoffed through her tears. “You heard what the doctor said, Spence! I’m the problem! Not you, me! You’re gonna leave me so you can find someone who can give you what you want-” She regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. The look of hurt on Spencer’s face is something she had never seen before. Her insecurities were rearing their ugly heads and she couldn’t stop from confessing them. 

“Is that what you think?” He asked. He wasn’t angry, but he was so very hurt, and even mad at himself for ever letting her insecurities get so bad that she’d even think he’d consider that.  “That I’d leave you for someone else?”

Y/N nodded, ashamed. “I understand if you want to. You’ve always wanted your own kids Spencer, god knows what an amazing father you’d be.” She gave a dry, humourless chuckle. “I can’t give you that. but someone else can and-” She sobbed. “If it means you’d be happy, that you could have a family-” She broke down, harsh sobs wracking through her chest. Spencer was quick to bring her into his arms, and his own sobs hit him just as hard. 

After calming down a little he pulled back, using one hand to take her chin and make her face him. “Look at me baby.” He pleaded, and she did. “I never want to hear you say that shit again, okay?” His voice was stern, not angry. “I love you. I married you, for god’s sake.” He chuckled. “Us not being able to make a baby changes none of that. We don’t need a baby to be a family, Y/N. We’re already a family, me and you, and I am perfectly content I promise you. Just please-” His tone was begging. “Please don’t ever think I’m going anywhere, that I’d leave you like that. I love you, so much. and when we got married I promised you forever. I intend to keep that promise.” She nodded at his words, burying her head in his chest as he sighed, kissing her forehead gently. 

“I wanted to give you a baby.” She mumbled, and it shattered Spencer’s heart. Sure, he’d always pictured having children of his own, but as far as he was concerned, as long as he had Y/N, his life would be perfect. 

For her, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make.

“I know you did, sweetheart. but just because we can’t make a baby doesn’t mean we can’t have one. There are hundreds of children out there in the adoption system waiting for a family, waiting for a home that we could provide them with.” He reminded her gently, and she sniffed. She hadn’t really considered adopting, but now she could understand why it would be a good idea. “When you’re ready to look at other options, we’ll figure it out together, okay?” 

“Yeah, Okay. Thank you Spence. I love you.” 

It was a rough few months that followed. As a couple, they were stronger than they’d ever been, but Y/N still sometimes struggled with the burden that weighed her down. Whenever she saw Spencer entertaining JJ’s kids at events the team invited them to, she had to excuse herself to the bathroom for a minute to compose herself. It took a few months to wrap her head around the idea that even if their children weren’t theirs biologically, they’d be no different than if they were, still loved and cared for the same. 

In those months they also bought a dog. Well, Spencer bought one, a female golden retriever puppy that he brought home unannounced one day. He was afraid Y/N wouldn’t want one, but he figured that one way to help ease her upset would be to try and make their big home feel more lively- his solution was a puppy. 

Thankfully, Y/N fell in love with the puppy, who they later named Millie, and had nearly cried when Spencer explained why he bought the dog. 

“ I just wanted our house to feel a bit more like a home. and I thought she’d be a great addition to our little family.” 

It took 2 more months before Y/N decided she was ready. 

Y/N approached her husband as he sat reading on the sofa, Millie curled up next to him. “Hey baby. You got a minute?”

His brows creased in confusion, but he complied, marking his page and setting his book down. “Sure thing. What’s up?” 

She took a seat the other side of Millie, reaching out to stroke her soft fur. “I’ve been thinking, and I’ve had enough time to deal with and process everything that happened. I think I’d like us to look for some adoption agencies? I’d really love to give a home to a child who needs one.” She smiled and the grin on Spencer’s face was ecstatic as he jumped from the couch, scooping Y/N up in his arms and lifting her from the ground, the commotion causing Millie to bark. 

“Yes! Yes we can do that. I’d like nothing more.” He smiled and then pressed his lips to hers. 

They sat down together and filled out an application for a great looking adoption agency, and went through the numerous stages, including people coming to view their home to ensure it is a stable environment to raise a child in. Of course they were given the all clear, with Spencer’s more than stable income and Y/N only working part time, they were one step closer. 

One day they received a call from the agency saying they had a young pregnant lady who was around six months along but had decided she didn’t want to keep her child, instead, as soon as it was born, she wanted to give the baby to a family who couldn’t have their own. 

Y/N and Spencer met with the girl, Alicia, multiple times before Alicia decided she was more than happy for the baby to be adopted by the Reid family. 

Y/N and Spencer were ecstatic, spending all their free time shopping for baby items and decorating one of the upstairs bedrooms with little pink items, once they’d found out the baby was a girl. To say Y/N and Spencer were excited would be an understatement, and they were now just playing the waiting game, as Alicia was due to give birth any day.

Spencer was in the shower whilst Y/N worked on cooking dinner. She heard her phone ringing in the living room, and quickly washed her hands before walking to grab it, Millie trailing behind her. 

“Hello?” 

“Hi, is this Mrs Y/N Reid?” 

“This is she.” 

“Brilliant. I’m delighted to tell you that Alicia has gone into labour, so you’re gonna want to head over to the hospital now.” 

Y/N’s mouth went dry and happy tears sprang to her eyes.

“Mrs Reid?”

”Yes! Sorry! We’ll be right there, Thankyou!” She hung up the phone, standing in the same place as shock filled her. They were getting their baby. 

“Who was that?” Spencer walked down the stairs, hair still damp from his shower, dressed in a large shirt and jogging bottoms. 

“It was the hospital. Alicias in labour.” The words didn’t feel real as they left her lips. “We’re getting our baby.” 

Spencer’s mouth dropped open in momentary shock, before that beautiful grin broke out on his features. He pulled Y/N into him, laughing happily, happy tears welling in his eyes. “We’re getting our baby.” He repeated back to her in shock. 

They couple burst through the doors to the maternity ward, walking towards the front desk with a skip in their step.

“Hi! We’re having a baby!” Y/N spoke excitedly. 

The lady at the desk looked at Y/N and her obviously not pregnant belly. “That normally takes around nine months, honey.” 

“Right, yes uh- we’re adopting a baby who’s being born right now.” Y/N corrected herself, her hand reaching down to grab Spencer’s and squeeze it tightly. 

“Aw well, congratulations you two! Can I take the patient’s name?” 

“Alicia Ray.” Spencer spoke, the excitement evident in his voice too. 

“Alright, you’re gonna want to head down the hall and then take a right, she’s in room 206. You’ll have to wait outside but a doctor will greet you once your baby has been born, alright?” 

The pair nodded excitedly, and Spencer noted how she’d said “Your baby”, before turning quickly and speeding down the hall, Spencer nearly tripping in the process. 

12 hours later Y/N was at home holding a small pink bundle in her arms. She’d come into the world at 2:56 am, a healthy 7 pounds and 6 ounces, and they’d settled on naming her Alexandra Diana Reid, Alex for short. 

Y/N sat on the chair in the corner of the nursery, gazing down at her daughter, the child she would love as though she’d carried her for 9 months. Y/N could see now that it didn’t matter, Alex was their daughter in every way that mattered. Millie sauntered in, curling up by Y/N’s feet.  

Spencer entered the nursery, a smile on his lips as he walked over to his wife, watching as she slowly rocked their daughter, who slept peacefully for the moment. 

“Ah, there are my two favourite girls.” He joked, and a soft whimper came from  Millie. “Don’t worry, you’re my favourite too, Mills.” He laughed softly as he reached down to ruffle the dogs fur before perching on the arm rest of the chair, winding his arm around Y/N’s shoulders as he looked down at his daughter. 

“She’s perfect.” He croaked out, tears of pride filling his eyes. He reached down a finger, nudging her tiny hand with it, and nearly combusting with happiness when she wrapped her tiny fingers around his large one. 

Y/N let out a little scoff. “Look at that, she’s already a daddy’s girl. She’s barely a day old and she’s already got you wrapped around her finger.” 

Spencer chuckled softly. “She does. I’d do anything for her. I’d do anything for our family, you know that right?” He felt silly asking, but he needed to know she understood. That he would drop anything and everything for his beautiful little family. He’d quit the BAU tomorrow to protect them, they were his only priority. 

“I know, Spence. We’re so grateful.” She assured him, looking up at him with love-filled eyes. He leaned down gently, kissing her, the warmth and contentedness filling him. 

For better or worse

for as long as they both shall live. 

[khaleesiofalicante]

Ok imma be honest, this chapter moved me to tears and not the sad sobbing but the more inspiring kind. This chapter means the world.

She had told them her dreams were about ducks – since there were the only equally horrible thing she could think of.

Uncle Magnus had given her an odd look then, as if he knew she was bullshitting them. But he hadn’t said anything.

DUCKS AREN'T THAT BAD! HAVE Y'ALL EVER BEEN CHASED BY A GOAT?? I WAS CONVINCED I WAS GONNA DIE

Lexi would be royally pissed if this turned out to be some stupid pointless dream.

YUP

Even though she was only 7 minutes older than Lexi, Selena always acted like she was 7 years older.

That's so cute though

People looked at her pastel-coloured aesthetic immediately assumed she was the soft and sweet Fairchild twin. People saw Selena in her red leather jacket and thigh high boots and assumed she was in the infamous troublesome Herondale twin.

SMH THE DAMN STEREOTYPES

Why Selena hadn’t killed her in her sleep yet, Lexi doesn’t know.

BYE THAT'S EVERY SIBLING RELATIONSHIP EVER

The meals at the Academy were to die for – quite literally. Last week two students from the warlock fraction had almost killed each other over a blueberry muffin.

Oh how times change...they will never know the dreaded soup

NO ANJALI HAS BEEN GONE FOR OVER A YEAR???

IS JAIME OK?? PLEASE BE OK! HE CAN LIVE WITH TREATMENT SO I REALLY HOPE HE'S OK

Selena’s was Idris of course. She was kind of obsessed with it.

Max loved the shadow markets. Lexi thought they were very cool too.

Rafael loved his father’s office – which was weird. There was nothing to do in that room other than ponder about shadow world problems. Besides, the place still weirdly smelled like the tangerine perfume Anjali wore, even though the girl had left New York almost a year ago.

David loved the New York Institute – especially the library.

Gigi of course loved the dining halls.

Dining halls, kitchens, food trucks, vending machines - if a place had food with it, Gigi loved it.

It's so amazing how they all have their favorite places...(same David same)

“You’re supposed to pour the syrup on the pancakes not into your mouth,” Lexi chuckled as she sat down next to her.

“It ends up in my mouth anyway,” Gigi shrugged.

True enough.

AWW ROMAN MAKING GIGI PLAYLISTS!!

Someone make me a playlist.

“His parents fell in love in Rome when they were in Rome,” Gigi pointed out even though Lexi already knew. “I think it’s actually romantic.”

I had forgotten that-

Roman was nice. But not nice enough for Georgia. Lexi didn’t think there was anyone good enough for her parabatai – who was the most perfect person in the world.

Me @ anyone who tries to make a move at my best friend.

AWW GEORGIA LIKES HIM TOO!!

When's the wedding?

(you're telling me you didn't believe you were gonna marry your childhood crush? Liar)

“I like being his friend,” Georgia said. “I like spending time with him and all of that. But I don’t know if I like him…in that way. I feel like I need more time.”

Demiromantic??? YES GIVE US THE REP

Lexi sometimes thought life would be so much simpler if the world was full of women and everyone was a lesbian.

Ikr?? Life would be so much easier.

Lexi says Roman is too-nice-sus

Well well well

The kind of love that cheated death.

The kind of love that sustained memory spells put by princes of hell.

The kind of love that changed the world.

Trust me all of our standards are very high

Lexi successfully survived the class without falling asleep.

Me during English.

Ok who's the blond?

Lexi I thought we weren't gonna fall this soon-

Oh the girl's straight...sigh we've all been there.

which meant they had to hold hands. Kinda.

Lexi was a little scared of that.

Me.

Goddamnit, Alexandra. Get your gay together!

THAT'S SO RELATABLE LIKE?? YES

OH MY GOD IT'S EMMA AND JULIAN'S DAUGHTER GEIDIDHDOHDJSKSJSKGXJDHSODHKDGDDGDJHDJDGDJDGJDHD

Lexi knew Olivia liked boys. She hadn’t dated anyone officially of course. All the boys were kind of terrified of her father.

She could be bi or pan or omni. WE GOTTA HAVE HOPE

vegetable loaf... David I'm so sorry you had to go through this.

Lexi then decided not to do any of her homework over the weekend because she was not coming back to the academy. She was not going to survive the sleepover and whatever else Olivia had in mind.

Bestie...why is this me when I make eye contact with my crush.

“Good stuff?” Max snorted. “Rafe literally ran away from home cause shit got too intense.”

“I didn’t run away!” Rafael rolled his eyes. “Stop telling people that!”

“But you have rumours and shadowhunters getting thrown into silent city and cohort drama and all that exciting stuff!” Liv pointed out.

I-

Liv-

True though.

“Wasn’t there a serial killer when your parents were young?” David asked.

“And didn’t your uncle do necromancy?” Max said biting into a chicken wing.

True and true

“Sorry, Chouchou!” Lexi winced. “I, uh, sensed a mosquitoe on your leg.”

“Girl, your angel powers are weird as fuck,” Max laughed.

MAX LANGUAGE

“I don’t know,” the girl shrugged and threw her a wink. “I wouldn’t put anything past Lexi.”

Lexi looked at Gigi. She was one more compliment away from screaming.

But Gigi of course knew her struggle and therefore quickly stuffed a bread roll into Lexi’s mouth.

I need someone to stuff bread into my mouth when things get like this

There were rumours about David – and how Daddy had an affair. Lexi was yet to find those asshats and shove a witch light down their throats.

When you find them lemme know too.

“Or maybe it’s because you don’t need rumours be interesting,” David pointed out.

Max turned around, looking surprised at that. His cheeks turned purple. Lexi didn’t know why he was surprised. David only ever spoke fondly of Max.

JUST GET TOGETHER ALREADY OH MY GOD

“Oh. Oh! I did hear something a long time ago!” Gigi said suddenly. “Olly, is it true you were conceived at the beach?”

“Georgia, you can’t just ask people where they were conceived!” David sounded horrified.

That is very much possible.

“I heard you were conceived in hell?”

“Oh my god,” Selena looked horrified. “That’s not true! It must have been about Max!”

“Y’all I am adopted!” Max was shaking with laughter and then stopped. “Although our dads could have definitely had sex in hell. I wouldn’t put it past them.”

Oh yes. Both clace and malec.

Then they had of course continued to discuss that cursed topic until Rafael had threatened to tell the Consul about it.

LMAO

Lexi turned around and saw Liv waiting for her. Nope. She wasn’t going to talk a walk – a fucking stroll! – with Olivia all on her own.

“You are coming back to the institute with me or I will un-parabatai you.”

You know there being an un-parabatai ceremony would solve a lot of shit

What if their hands accidentally grazed or something? That shit was lethal.

RIGHT????

She is just trying to be nice. That’s what friends do. They are nice. And they give each other pretty dresses and say they would like to see them in it.

Honey that's gay.

EVERYONE ASKING HER OUT IM DEAD

Selena: Ugh boys

Selena: When I win back Idris, we are leaving all the men behind.

Lexi: Except Magnus? Lol.

Selena: Obviously.

Is that even a question Lexi? Duh.

ALEC LIGHTWOOD THOUGHT SHE WAS STRAIGHT? THE SHAME!

OH MY GOD IM CACKLING

Not everyone can kiss their partner in the Accords Hall. Some people didn’t have access to the Accords Hall.

And most important, some people didn’t have partners!

We're getting a lexi and Alec talk someone hold me

“I’m going to tell you something,” Uncle Alec said. “It might sound simple. It might sound ridiculous. But it’s the truth. So, you must believe me. Can you do that?”

Lexi gave him a small nod.

“It doesn’t matter what other people think,” Uncle Alec said. “Not when it comes to your future. Not when it comes to your identity. They don’t get to have a say in who you are and why you are the way you are.”

Lexi bit her lip.

“Alexandra, people will always tell what to do. But you shouldn’t let them. Never let anyone tell you what to do with your heart or your body. Neither belongs them. It only belongs to you.”

THIS RIGHT HERE MADE ME START CRYING BECAUSE DAMN YES!

“Yep,” she groaned and then hesitated for a moment. “Uncle Alec…Can I ask you something stupid?”

“Can I say no?”

“No.”

“Then go ahead.”

I love her so much

“I feel…I feel it’s something we have to bear, Alexandra. The fear of rejection. It’s something we have to accept as an inevitable part of our lives. Because no matter how much love we have around us, we will always be afraid of people not loving us – simply because of who we are.”

Yeah...

“Besides, they named you after me,” he pointed out. “I don’t know what else they expected.”

EXACTLY! Did they really expect a straight child after naming them after Alec?

“I do like shouting,” Lexi wondered out loud. “That’s good advice.”

“I didn’t mean it literally!” Uncle Alec looked alarmed.

“No, it makes total sense!” Lexi grinned. “Some of these people can be tone deaf. Gotta shout it out. Loud and clear. Awesome advice! Thanks, Uncle Alec!”

DO IT

“Hey, Lexi. I was wonderin-”

“MOVE, I’M GAY!” she yelled as she shoved him aside and kept on running.

ABSOLUTELY ICONIC

“I prefer she/her,” Lexi answered. "But sometimes I prefer she/they. But you can use she/her because some of y'all already shit at grammar."

That's exactly what I tell people when they ask for my pronouns. Istg people are shit at grammar.

alright girl im here to give you a lecture on how someone's dressing doesn't describe their sexuality

OH MY MY GOD THERE WAS A GENDER AND SEXUALITY CLASS IN THE ACADEMY ARE THEY RECRUITING???

One of the boys who had complimented cleared his throat. “So, uh, you don’t like boys?”

“That’s literally what I said,” Lexi rolled her eyes. “I’m gay. I’m very gay. I’m gayer than the Consul. Okay fine, that’s not true. No one gayer than the Consul. But I’m still pretty gay.”

Does the boy have hearing problems?

ALSO YES NO ONE'S GAYER THAN THE CONSUL

“Sexual orientation and gender expression are two different things,” she explained now, remember what Uncle Magnus had taught them. “Sexual orientation refers to who I am sexually and romantically attracted to. Gender expression is how I want to express my gender identity. Those two are not connected. Just because a woman wears feminine clothes it doesn’t mean she is straight. Just because a man embraces femininity, it doesn’t make him gay either. Does that make sense?”

“Ohhh,” the girl nodded. “Yes, it does. Thank you!”

“What I wear does not reflect who I like. It reflects who I am and what I like to wear,” Lexi explained. “And regardless of my sexuality, I like pretty things.”

Exactly.

“This doesn’t change anything. I hope you know that,” he told her. “I mean I have to change the pronouns in my shovel talk. But that’s not a big deal.”

Awwww

Also – my good friend Raziel told me that homophobia is a sin.”

“You mean homosexuality is a sin?” an older man asked.

“No, homophobia is a sin,” Lexi repeated. “That’s what Raziel said.”

“But that’s not-”

Someone cleared their throat. When he spoke, it was in the Consul Voice.

“Are you saying know better than Raziel?” the Consul asked.

Listen to Raziel you dumb shit

“Sure. Let me just call the Lesbian Alliance,” Lexi rolled her eyes.

Ugh I wish

OH NO NO NO NOT THE FAKE DATING. JUST CONFESS AND DATE FOR REAL

“Alexandra, I have a fucking undercut and I have pink highlights and I cuff my jeans and I literally walk around with a sword and I can quote Lady Gaga to perfection! Why would you ever think I was straight??”

Lexi your gaydar is broken bestie.

Don't do this omg this is gonna be a mess

Gigi: THIS IS A BAD IDEA. ABORT! ABORT!

Lexi: Relaaaax. It’s going to be fine!

Gigi: I’ve read enough fanfiction to know the fake dating trope never ends well!

Lexi: I’ve told you to include the ‘angst with happy ending’ tag!

LMAO

Also Gigi which fanfiction do you read?

Jace omg...

That's so him though.

“How about my peeps? It sounds very hip.”

“It does not,” Lexi replied. “Please don’t refer to us as your peeps under any circumstance."

IM SCREAMING ASHSKHSIDBSHSHDH

Her father chuckled at that. “Sweetheart, you’re a Herondale. Being problematic is what we do.”

EXACTLY

Daddy opened the notebook again. “I need names.”

Grabs flamethrower names

“Besides, the Lightwoods and Blackthorns have been hogging the gay genes for too long. Now it’s our turn. I say you gay it up.”

“Gay it up?” Lexi laughed.

“Yeah,” he grinned. “Go for the highest possible level of gay.”

DO IT

He blinked for a second and then it hit him. “OH MY GOD YES! DOES EMMA KNOW??”

Lexi laughed. Yeah, he can never find out it was a fake dating situation.

Hopefully he won't have to because it won't be fake :D

“To love is a privilege and to be loved is a blessing.”

THE GROWTH OH MY GOD

This chapter literally means so much to me. I don't even know what to say. I hope I too can one day have the courage to shout it in front of everyone and not be scared. See ya on Tuesday!

It means so much to me that this chapter meant a lot to you. I hope you find all the courage, strength and support you need. You are amazing.

And here. I made you a playlist.

You can find it here on YouTube. I hope you like it :)

[kingreywrites]

So Pardon The Dust

Fandom: Tangled

Word Count: 2493

Summary: When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years.

Note: this is bittersweet, but the idea couldn’t leave me alone, and i had to write it out! so yeah, edmund’s death is heavily talked about, be careful if that’s not your thing! I just love Destinies Collide, and love what-ifs, so this story was born from there asghdh

Read on ao3

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king has been dead for years. 

They don't know that. What they do know is that once their travel in a shaky gondola over an immense rift ends, everything seems too easy. The kingdom is dark, cold, smells of dust and rust permeating the air, and it makes it hard to imagine that anyone has ever lived in such a place. But Rapunzel's hair pushes her forward, and they don't spend any more time thinking about it. 

They enter the equally dark and cold castle, searching for the moonstone. 

Desperate for a flicker of warmth, Lance lights a fire in a lifeless living room with no windows. Eugene's gaze is drawn to a painting, throning above the fireplace and depicting a man and a woman he presumes to be the king and queen. 

He cannot explain the deep uneasiness he feels at the sight, or even why he can hardly tear his eyes away from the picture. His heart is racing, and he explains it by blaming it on his concern for Rapunzel. 

The queen's smile remains etched in his mind as he moves forward. 

The king has been dead for years. They don't know it, but Eugene finds a room filled with overhanging statues and, sitting in front of a gigantic door, is a tiny skeleton covered in too big clothes and dust. A dark crown still hangs grotesquely on its head, but the first thing Eugene sees is the purple gem necklace between the fingers of its single hand. The same as the queen's in the painting. 

Eugene has a bitter taste in his mouth. Rapunzel holds his hand, also upset, and he remembers that they are here for her, and for her destiny. He holds her fingers tighter between his, and they move toward the door. 

The ghosts are… certainly a surprise.

Death is not something new to Eugene, yet he can't help but feel nauseous when the king's ghost appears so close to his own skeleton, eyes full of a melancholy and anger that only he understands.

He doesn't seem to be capable of speech. He just groans and attacks, mindlessly guarding the stone that cost him his life. When Adira arrives to help them, she calls him Edmund, a soft grief in her voice, and Eugene keeps the name in a corner of his head. Edmund. Not a ghost, not a skeleton, but Edmund, who protected his kingdom until he died trapped within it.

Finally, Eugene is the one who destroys his statue. He cuts off its head, and tries to forget how a few seconds before, it was his own that could have been lost, if the king's axe had not struck beside it. Luck saved his life this time.

Adira asks Rapunzel to enter the moonstone chamber by herself. She says that it's her destiny, and hers alone. Eugene wants to protest, worry burning in his heart, but he doesn't even have the time - Rapunzel looks at Cassandra, and announces that the three of them will go inside. He should be relieved, but he can't help but take another look at the king's- Edmund's body. Many people have died for this stone, and the more time passes, the more terrified he is of what awaits them on the other side. He knows death, more than any other member of this group probably; he's been around it personally. He promised himself when he came back to life, that he would never let Rapunzel die the way he did, slowly and violently, when she has so much to live for.

He doesn't know where this promise will lead him. 

When they arrive in the Dark Kingdom, the king is dead. They enter easily, and though the ghosts of past rulers stand in their way, the path to the moonstone is far from the most difficult adventure he has ever experienced. Eugene is worried, of course he is - he's afraid of the conclusion of their journey, afraid of what he cannot predict. Rapunzel tells him she loves him, and he almost wants to throw up, because they're in the middle of a kingdom murdered by that exact stone Rapunzel intends to grab. I love you too, he thinks, but can't manage to say, because the words sound like a goodbye, and he's not ready for that. He'd die one thousand times for her, if she asked him to. He'd die for her against her will too, if necessary, but he knows he can't get in the way today. As desperate as he is to protect her, he knows how much she values being able to draw her own path.

He wants to grab the moonstone first because he loves her, and because he loves her, he stays back.

That's not the case for everyone. He notices too late Cass running for it, and Demanitus' warning echoes once again in his ears, mocking now that the only thing he can do is try to pull Rapunzel to safety as the world explodes in colours. The king is dead, and their friendship with Cassandra is too, the shadow of Gothel haunting Rapunzel once again despite how much she deserves to be free from it. Cassandra flees, Eugene hurts his arm when she pushes him away, and Rapunzel runs after her, desperate to salvage what can be.

It doesn't amount to much, in the end.

Things settle down, as much as they can while Rapunzel still sits listlessly near the broken bridge Cassandra left behind, and Eugene goes in the castle again, in search of bandages this time. His left arm hurts.

He doesn't expect to find Adira, standing silently in front of... Edmund. Her back is rigid, her mouth in a straight line, but when he calls her name, he sees a foreign melancholy in her eyes. He doesn't know her that well, but there's a lot Eugene can understand from looking into somebody's eyes.

Adira sighs, shoulders lowering, and he's sure she hears his unsaid question. "I shouldn't be surprised," she says, but it's clear that in a way, she is. "I… knew, that King Edmund was not well, when we left. I often considered that he might very well be…" she trails off, her eyes falling on his body again.

"It's different to be sure," Eugene responds softly, his voice loud in the silence of this immense room. Watching them - Adira, and this skeleton, barely hanging together enough to recognise a human shape - it was difficult to conceive that once upon a time, they had stood here together, alive and happy, perhaps. He can't imagine what it feels like to see an old friend this way, with no warning. "Adira…"

"It's okay, Fishskin," she smiles, and in her voice, he could hear the echoes of all the time Rapunzel told him she was fine, because she didn't know how to act when she was not.

He barely knows Adira. Both because he didn't ask, and because she didn't want him, or anyone, to know her. But he can guess easily that her life had never been one of peace, not even before leaving the Dark Kingdom, and losing contact with the other members of the Brotherhood. He doesn't think she's unhappy, per se, but he- he knows, they all know, especially now after everything that happened, that anger and fear and grief are not emotions that should be let to fester until they explode. Maybe it's his worry for Rapunzel speaking; maybe he's confusing everything, and Adira is simply dealing with the situation the way she wants to, but before he can think better of it, Eugene takes a step forward, and asks her if she wants to bury the king's body.

"To- To give him a better resting place," he explains awkwardly, her eyes piercing right through him. He's ready to say sorry and hope she doesn't kill him for overstepping her boundaries, but, to his surprise, she softens, a genuine if sad smile on her lips.

"Actually Fishskin, that's… a great idea."

And so they do it. Adira finds a bear hood that the King used to wear - Dabney, she says reverently - and they place his bones in it, carefully moving everything in tandem. They don't really talk while doing it. There's not much to be said. Eugene thinks of this king, who was so desperate to save his kingdom that he doomed it, and he thinks about death, too. About how lonely it is.

Adira leads them down a few corridors, and they emerge in a small, grey looking garden. They walk until they find an unmarked tombstone.

"The queen," Adira announces shortly, and Eugene wonders if she helped bury her too.

It's not the first time Eugene digs a grave for someone. He remembers starkly getting out of the tower with Rapunzel, both of them entirely different people than who they were before, and finding a cloak and ashes at the bottom of it. He remembers how quietly distraught Rapunzel had been, and how he had proposed to bury what was left of Gothel.

Shaking his head, he tries to think about something else, but it's hard given the situation. His arm aches at each of his movements. Surprisingly, Adira breaks the silence, and that's enough to distract him.

"I often disagreed with King Edmund," she says, without looking at him. "He was a good king, but his duty to the moonstone blinded him to the bigger picture, and I was afraid that it would lead him, and us, to lose everything. I was right, as I often am," she chuckles, but there's no mirth behind it. Simply grief. Something that can't be quite put into words.

"How did he lose his arm?" Eugene asks, voice low as they finally lower the bones into the ground. His eyes catch the sight of the necklace falling aside, and when they're done, he picks it up, thumb running over the smooth surface of the gem.

"The queen died," Adira whispers. She's looking at the necklace too, when he raises his head. "Edmund's grief led him to act on the anger he had been repressing for too long, but the moonstone was much more powerful than he imagined. Its retaliation costs him everything he held dear."

Gently, Adira takes the necklace from him, and Eugene can't explain the impulse that makes him want to hold onto it for a little while longer.

He's sentimental, he reasons. There's something deeply touching about this man dying while looking at the last thing connecting him to his late wife. These are good explanations, but neither of them addresses the unease and bitterness rising in Eugene's throat. He doesn't understand it himself.

Adira looks at the necklace for a long time, emotions he can't name in her expression. Memories she will not share make her frown, and Eugene feels more and more like he doesn't belong in this moment.

"Should we… bury that with him?" he asks awkwardly. Adira bites her lips, and finally shakes her head.

"This necklace was special for the queen. I know she intended to pass it down to her children."

A terrible voice in Eugene's mind reminds him that it's too late - they both died, and that necklace, that tradition, died with them too. He's hit by the tragedy of it all again, relentlessly reminded that the king passed away long before anyone could try to save him. And they would have, Rapunzel would have convinced him to let her through, she would have given him faith, Eugene is sure of that. He thinks that's why he's angry, too. The king has been dead for years, maybe, alone and desperate until his very last moments. And Eugene, Eugene wishes to go back in time, and give him another chance, get him the help he needed before it was too late.

He has never been good at accepting unhappy endings.

"When… When King Edmund banished us from the Dark Kingdom," Adira continues, "he also made another sacrifice. He sent his son away, when he was barely a baby, to be raised far from the moonstone and its dangers."

Son. A baby, sole survivor of the royal family, who probably doesn't know he is. A baby, who isn't one anymore now, but who is probably alive, and the thought is enough for Eugene to feel something new - he'd call this hope, but he's not sure that it fits. Closure, perhaps.

"You want to give their son the necklace," he smiles shakily.

"That's what needs to be done," Adira agrees, before putting away the necklace in her pocket. The gem catches the moonlight one last time, shining brighter than before, and it's easier for Eugene to let go, this time. "However, I did not keep track of the prince. I don't know what became of him, after we left, but I will keep searching until I find him."

"Hey," Eugene grins, wanting to lighten the atmosphere a little, "you searched for the mystical and maybe non-existent sundrop, and you found it, so I'm sure a prince will be no trouble. And if you need anything, we'll be happy to help," he adds, more earnest this time.

There's a newfound warmth in her eyes, and she inclines her head, acknowledging his words. The situation feels easier, somewhat. They finish replacing the dirt on top of the king's body, and Adira places a little stone to mark the emplacement.

The king is dead, and Cassandra is gone, but Eugene wants to believe that they all can find their own healing in time.

One wrong move reawakens the pain in his arm, and Adira gauges him when he flinches. She tells him that if there are any medical supplies around there, they're probably in the King's personal quarters.

With her instructions, it's not too hard to find them. The bedroom he finds is enormous, which only heightens how empty and dark it feels. Blindly, Eugene makes his way to a window, and pushes the heavy curtains away, letting the moonlight flood the room, and reveal the ambient dust like as many little stars in the night sky.

One side of the bed is unmade. Next to the other, there is an empty crib.

His heart is racing, and he can't explain it. He turns to the bedside table, and does find what appear to be bandages, next to a pile of papers, so close to the bed that it is easy to guess that the king often looked at them. 

Eugene approaches. He tells himself, without much conviction, that he should not look. That even in death the king deserves to keep his privacy. Whatever these papers are, they must have meant a lot to him, keeping him company in his darkest hours, and Eugene doesn't belong in this story.

It only takes him a step, and a second, to recognize his old wanted posters.

[qqueenofhades]

i noticed that you like to write a lot of heartrender husbands from fedyor’s side of things (which makes sense cause fedyor is fun!) but i have to ask in the modern au, what was ivan thinking the whole first two months 😂??

like was he carrying the joke the whole time? did his brain short circuit around fedyor?? was he worried about what fedyor was thinking or did he just think he was shy? Did he think the first date went well ☠️?

This was supposed to be lighthearted, but then there came Feels. So here is Ivan's backstory in Phantomverse. Content warning for mentions of an abusive relationship, familial homophobia, implied sexual manipulation, and dark themes. Nothing graphic, but duly noted.

Also on AO3.

Brighton Beach, 2015

It’s safe to say that Ivan Ivanovich Sakharov Kaminsky did not ever, not in a thousand years, not in a million, imagine himself ending up here. At one point, even Moscow would have been a stretch, and that was obviously still Russia. The fact that he would be walking down a sidewalk in Brooklyn, under the elevated tracks of the Q train that rattles and bangs overhead, on a cool spring morning to do his shopping at the Brighton Bazaar – in, should this somehow not be clear, America – and then returning to his apartment and his husband is, quite frankly, something out of an alternate-Ivan timeline. One from the Twilight Zone, or whatever they are calling that kind of thing these days. Sometimes when he thinks about it too much, he gets afraid that it is in fact a dream. That no matter how long it has gone on and how good it has been, it will suddenly and inevitably end. After all, he is Russian. Sunny optimism has never been accused of forming a notable facet of the national character, and Ivan himself would never be described as the hopeful type. But God, for this, he does.

He reaches the bazaar – a bustling blue-awninged international supermarket with three-quarters of its signs written in Cyrillic – and steps inside, grabbing a basket and pulling a scrap of paper from his pocket to double-check his list. He knows what he needs, but he likes the tidiness of writing it down, and he proceeds into the crammed aisles, passing customers speaking English, Russian, Ukrainian, Uzbek, Yiddish, and several other languages he can’t identify by ear. Brighton Bazaar stocks all the Russian products necessary to satisfy even a homesick expat like Ivan, and he enjoys being able to navigate the store with ease and read all the labels at first glance. He can get by in English, if he’s pressed, but it’s easier to leave it to Fedyor, who is fluent, and in here, he can conjure the illusion that he will walk out on the street and be back where he truly belongs. He likes Brighton Beach a great deal more than he ever expected to, but it’s no replacement for the real thing.

Ivan collects his purchases, along with a few special extras, and takes them to the counter. He is greeted in Russian by the checkout clerk, who knows him well for always turning up at the same time every Saturday morning with military precision. As Semyon Pavlovich Kuznetsov (who is called Syoma by his friends, but he has not clearly stated that Ivan can use the diminutive and therefore Ivan does not) scans his items, Ivan consents to exchange a few gruff words of small talk on the weather (nice) how the Mets did last night (badly) and the old guy who apparently died of a heart attack two days ago in the Russian bathhouse on Neck Road (making Ivan glad he did not choose said day to attend). It’s this weird Russian-American hybrid of things, since Semyon is the teenage grandson of a Red Army veteran who fought at Stalingrad, but he was born and raised in Brooklyn, loves American video games, and is fully fluent in American pop culture. It startles Ivan to realize that while this kid speaks Russian perfectly, he has probably never done so in Russia outside of a few visits back to the old country when his family can afford it. That is a very personal question to ask one’s grocery clerk, however, and he does not.

And then there’s that other thing, which he would definitely never be asked in Russia, especially not these days. Semyon hits the button to tally up Ivan’s bill, informs him that he owes $56.77, and then says cheerily, “How is Fedyor?”

Ivan concentrates on digging the exact amount out of his wallet in cash, since he never had a credit card when he lived in Russia and is still somewhat leery of them. “Fedyor is fine,” he says curtly, in the tone that makes it clear that he understands this question is an expected part of an American social interaction, but that is all the information he is willing to venture. “Here is the money.”

Semyon accepts it, counts it into the till, and rings the transaction through, handing Ivan his bags and his receipt. “Have a nice day, Mr. Kaminsky!”

“Thank you, Semyon Pavlovich.” Ivan accepts his purchases and leaves the store, taking a deep breath of the salty, sunny air and the wind whipping off the seafront. It’s still a little too early in the year for there to be many bathers on the beach, though there are always people strolling on the boardwalk. It’s only a few minutes to the apartment, which is just off Brighton Beach Avenue and overlooks the Atlantic Ocean. Ivan buzzes into the old brownstone, takes the stairs to the third floor, and as he unlocks his front door and lets himself in, wonders, yet again, at the sheer impossibility that his life has led him here.

Ivan is the third of five boys, but he was the one who was named after his father. It was not, of course, because they had some special hope for him to be the great inheritor of paternal pride, but a simple matter of logistics. His oldest brother, Roman, was named after their paternal grandfather. His second-oldest brother, Oleg, was named after their maternal grandfather. When Ivan arrived, only then was it proper to name him after Ivan Romanovich, Ivan Sakharov senior, since rushing too fast to glorify yourself as an individual, rather than your community and your ancestors, could be seen as running contrary to the collectivist ideals of the great Soviet Union. By the time his two younger brothers arrived, his parents were hard pressed for ideas; Yuri (for Gagarin) and Vladimir (originally for Lenin, though that has obviously acquired a different connotation those days) were clearly obtained by putting the names of national heroes into a hat and picking.

Five children was quite a lot for a Soviet-generation family, and Ivan doesn’t know anyone else his age with that number of siblings. After all, more children meant more time standing in line at Municipal Grocery Store #5 for food that has to be shared among more mouths, more worries about how to clothe and educate and accommodate them, more chances for one of them to go terminally astray and betray the family honor. Ivan wonders sometimes if his parents only really wanted Roman and Oleg, but decided to keep going as a matter of gaming the system, so much as it was able to be gamed.

By the early 1980s, the aging, decrepit, dying USSR, run by aging, decrepit, dying men, was in the grip of a demographic crisis so extreme that it was a contest between worrying about which one would end them faster: crazy President Reagan with his finger on the nuclear button, or the whole country just keeling over of old age. The idea of what a family even meant had been under constant challenge since the heady days of the Bolsheviks, who denounced marriage as a construct of bourgeoisie oppression and preached for free love and sexual liberation. Then it went hard back in the other direction during Stalin and the Great Patriotic War, holding up the traditional nuclear family as the highest ideal and offering rewards to mothers who had multiple children. Then it lurched away again. Abortion and contraception had been legal and freely available since the days of the revolution and most Soviet women made good use of them. Plus, of course, the obvious difficulties of maintaining a sizeable family when it was increasingly impossible to obtain even basic supplies and foodstuffs. It just made no sense.

Desperately trying to counter this slide toward self-inflicted obsolescence, the late-stage USSR came up with a number of incentives to boost the birth rate by any means necessary. They allowed mothers to refuse to list fathers on the birth certificate, to avoid social shame if he was married, foreign, a drunkard, or otherwise unsuitable, and beefed up programs to support single women with children. They also went back to the old-school plan of granting extra stipends, housing privileges, and state recognition to families that had more than two children, and Ivan himself was the third of his. It doesn’t take a genius to deduce that he was almost surely conceived for the tax benefits.

Not, that is, that it didn’t work. When Ivan was born in 1984, the family lived in a tiny apartment on the tenth floor of a building with no elevator (or rather it did have an elevator, but it was always broken), crowded in with three single young men who were at the very bottom of the list for being assigned housing. By the time his youngest brother, Vladimir, was born in 1987, they had been moved to a small house of their own on the outskirts of Krasnoyarsk, not far from the bus that his father took two hours a day out to the mine. The cynical old joke in the USSR was that the people pretended to work and the government pretended to pay them, though in Ivan Romanovich’s case, the work was backbreakingly real, even if the money wasn’t. He would come home exhausted and filthy after a sixteen-hour shift and yell at Galina Sakharova to feed him, bark at his sons, and then fall asleep in front of the television, only to get up the next morning and shuffle off again.

Ivan Ivanovich has spent a lot of time after he left home trying to understand what that kind of life would do to a man, mostly because he didn’t do it while he was there. Of course he didn’t. He was a child, and it was simply what he was used to, the only way the world could possibly be. On the night of December 26, 1991, as Mikhail Sergeyevich Gorbachev signed the United Soviet Socialist Republics out of existence with a single stroke of the pen, Ivan remembers his father crying and swearing and throwing things at the wall, the heavy yellow-glass ashtray that always seemed unbreakable, perched on the kitchen table to collect the detritus of his constant cigarettes, smashed to bits just like their country, their sense of self, their security. It wasn’t as if life in the USSR was so wonderful. It was just the only thing they knew. Beyond that, there was nothing but the terror of the utterly unknown.

At any rate, the world didn’t end. The oligarchs moved in and began snapping up Russia’s newly privatized economy. Ivan Ivanovich, of course, had no goddamn clue about this either, aside from overhearing his father curse about it some more. He trudged through secondary school and left at eighteen, without even trying to proceed onto university. Those weren’t for someone like him, he knew that. Instead he got a job at the ever-troubled Krasnoyarsk Aluminum Plant, and went straight to work on the factory floor.

It was around this time that the one disruption in his otherwise humdrum life, the one thing that stopped him from just settling into the same miserable existence as his father and going on like that forever, became too impossible to ignore. And that was the fact that no matter how much Ivan tried to squash it down, push it aside, or otherwise pretend it didn’t exist, he could no longer deny the fact that he was attracted to men, and only to men. He bought some of the cheap porn magazines from the tabak, tried to flip through them and get something out of the girls in heavy eyeliner and bleached-blonde hair, spilling out of their scanty lingerie, and just… didn’t. He wasn’t even interested enough to try a conversation with a real flesh-and-blood woman (not that Ivan had ever gotten through a conversation with another human being, especially a woman, without disaster) and see if it was different in the flesh. Nothing about the experience, even imagining it, appealed to him at all. But men…

He knew it wasn’t right, just because – well, you knew that sort of thing, you didn’t have to ask about it, you didn’t let on. But nonetheless, something, somehow, must have given him away, because one evening after the end of his shift, one of his coworkers cornered him in the back. His name was Konstantin and he was a few years older, big and bluff and constantly smelling like machine oil. He stood there, folded his arms, and said, “I will give you five hundred rubles if you suck my dick, Ivan Ivanovich.”

Ivan didn’t know how to answer. He had never spoken to Konstantin about anything aside from the job. He didn’t like him, he wasn’t attracted to him, and he didn’t want his filthy fucking rubles. He wanted to go home and take a shower.

And yet. He wanted to know. So when he went home, it was with five hundred rubles in his pocket, and a strange, indefinable feeling of something both excitement and shame. He looked it up later and found that it was barely seven American dollars, barely enough to buy a sandwich in this place he now lives. Then after that it became – not a relationship, not exactly. But he had done it once and Konstantin knew that he was at least theoretically willing, and there was no getting away from it now. Soon enough it became something of a regular thing, and then Konstantin wanted to try other stuff and not always pay, and if Ivan ever protested, Konstantin would threaten to get him fired from the factory or tell his family what they were doing. Ivan knew that he couldn’t let this happen, and besides, this was a relationship, or so he would tell himself. It was rough and it wasn’t very enjoyable and he didn’t like the way it made him feel, but it was probably the best he was going to get, here in this place, so he had no choice but to put up with it.

Until one night when his older brother came to pick him up from work, which he didn’t usually do. Something about it set off Ivan’s alarm bells, but he got into Roman’s battered old Zhiguli anyway. They didn’t head back toward the house. Instead they headed for the country, the narrow, crumbling road that led into the vast forests of Krasnoyarsk Krai. The city was often voted one of the most beautiful in Siberia, surviving even its long periods of grim industrialization with something of its soul intact. It wasn’t as cold as Yakutsk or Oymyakon, the places where it stayed at sixty below zero all winter long and boiling water froze when you tossed it out the window. Winters only got down to a few degrees below, and in Russia, that was par for the course. Ivan loved his hometown, and he was used to the outdoors. He was a sportsman, a natural athlete. He played hockey, bandy, football, rugby, and basketball (surprisingly popular in Russia). He swam and boxed. He was tall and tough and muscled and most people never bothered him. But when the car coasted to a halt in the middle of nowhere and Roman turned off the headlights, he was still terrified.

His brother said, “I hear you’re doing things, Vanya.”

Ivan didn’t answer.

“I hear you’re doing things with men.” Roman reached over and grabbed him violently by the shoulders, pinning him against the seat. “Disgusting things. I will not have one of those in the family, do you hear me? Do you hear me? If I find out that you have done it ever again, even once, I will make sure that you pay the price. Are you listening? Say that you understand.”

“Yes,” Ivan said. “I understand.”

What he really understood was that he was going to leave, when he had barely been out of Krasnoyarsk Krai in his life. Going as far as Novosibirsk for a shopping trip was unusual, and once, in school, he went to Georgia, which was the first time he had left the country (though of course, it used to be the country). But he knew that he could not stay here anymore, and in a moment of welcome serendipity, that was also when his conscription notice arrived. At the time, every Russian man over the age of eighteen had to serve two obligatory years in the armed forces (though it has since been lowered to one, of which Ivan does not necessarily approve), and his number had come up. So he quit his job, did not say goodbye to Konstantin or tell him where he was going, packed his few boxes of things, and moved four thousand kilometers and four time zones west to Moscow.

Ivan arrived in the capital trying not to present himself as a wet-behind-the-ears country boy, to act like he knew what he was doing, to show he was much tougher and meaner than any of these spoiled, pampered little children whining about how hard it was when they trudged into headquarters and presented their army notices. In that, he had a genuine advantage; he had worked hard for his whole life, he had already been through whatever could possibly endured with a father and four brothers, and he found the strict routines, harsh discipline, and predictable tasks of the army comforting. Everyone was scared of him, he didn’t need to try (though he did), and that was also gratifying. He worked hard and pleased his commanders, who tried to entice him to stay on as a full-time professional serviceman. There were many opportunities for a man of his talents, and more money than Ivan had ever dreamed of. As for his personal life, as long as he was scrupulously discreet and kept turning in good results, they would not trouble to enquire too closely. That was already better than from what he had expected with Konstantin. Once again, he thought it would be the best he got.

That was where, therefore, he met Aleksander Ilyich Morozov.

Morozov was his opposite in many ways – rich, well-spoken, well-educated, the son of a legendary KGB commander and the inheritor of comfort and privilege even in the lean last days of the USSR. He was about Ivan’s own age, but he had a self-possession and a gravitas that made him seem older. He had started training for a career in the Russian security services practically from childhood, and he had pegged Ivan as a particularly promising recruit. “You should come with me,” he said. “We would find an excellent career for you.”

Ivan was never sure how to respond when Morozov started talking like this. He admired the man and was admittedly attracted to him – not just the dark, elegant handsomeness, but the manifest air of being a person who mattered, who made the rest of the world sit up and take notice and play by his rules – and while he knew that Morozov was ruthless, he wasn’t bothered by that and was willing to do the same when it was called for. Ivan didn’t see the world as some nice candy fairy place where good deeds were always rewarded and violence was always wrong, not least since he knew full well that it didn’t work like that. He didn’t have time for these idiots who thought they would get out there and hold hands and change the world with the power of sunshine and kisses or whatever it was. He didn’t.

Then there was one night when Morozov was at Ivan’s apartment, and they had been drinking and making big plans for ruling the world behind the scenes, and Ivan forgot himself entirely and leaned over the table and kissed him. He tried to pull back almost at once, but Morozov didn’t resist. In fact, he leaned in and put a hand behind Ivan’s head and kept him there, and in that moment, Ivan knew that while this might not be personally objectionable for Sasha (his sexuality was undiscussed but evidently fluid), that wasn’t the reason he was going along with it. It was because he knew instinctively that it was a perfect way to control Ivan, to harness his attraction and his weakness and his willingness to go along with whatever Sasha wanted, and in that, despite all the big plans they had put together and the way Ivan had dreamed of his life changing, it was just Konstantin all over again, and Ivan was straight back at the factory on his knees, small and cornered and powerless. It was visceral and it was wrong and it wasn’t the best he would ever do and he wasn’t, he wasn’t taking that.

They pulled back and Sasha made an enquiring noise, like he wanted to know if Ivan was interested in sealing the deal, and instead Ivan ordered him to leave right now, get out. That was the end of their friendship; they never spoke to each other again, and when his third year in the army ran out, which he had already taken voluntarily, he left. He got a job at some Moscow industrial plant and it was there, through the friend of a friend, he met Nadia Zhabina. And it turned out that she was queer (the first time he had ever heard the word spoken in a good way, something he wanted to be, something he didn’t mind accepting, rather than as an attack), and it turned out after that that she had a friend she wanted him to meet, only it clearly meant that she thought they should go out. Like. On a date.

Ivan flatly shut her down. He did not date, he did not want to date, he did not think he would be good at dating, he did not want to meet some pansy city boy from Nizhny Novgorod who he would immediately dislike, and he was not going to do it, the end. Only Nadia really seemed disappointed, and maybe it was not the worst thing to try a little. This would backfire terribly, he would get over it, and move on with his life.

In Ivan’s opinion, the first date with Fedyor Mikhailovich Kaminsky was, at least on his own behalf, a modest success. He was unavoidably late, thanks to the bus running behind schedule, but he introduced himself, his hobbies, and made it clear what sort of person he was and what he was interested in. He even sent a polite follow-up text with an invitation to meet again. There. No questions, no confusion, everything very straightforward and clear. Nothing to complain about. That was how you did a date, yes?

It turned out, however, that Fedyor Mikhailovich was either very reticent, or perhaps confused, or maybe he did not even know that they had been on a date and Nadia had not clearly explained to him. Burned by his experiences at home, knowing how easily word could get out to the wrong people, Ivan did not want to bring up the subject explicitly, but he had to admit to a considerable confusion. Maybe Fedyor actually liked to just mince around Moscow city parks together, like something out of a Tolstoy novel, or to sit on his couch and watch bad American action movies together. (Later, Ivan learned that Die Hard is actually something of a cult classic, but it’s still slightly lost on him.) That wasn’t bad, because Ivan – to his great bafflement and wariness – liked spending time with him. Fedyor wasn’t like him at all, but they clicked nonetheless. He was the exact kind of idealistic activist that Ivan had long disdained, but it was different with him. When Fedya talked, he liked to listen, to dream about a world that really did work that way. It didn’t, but it felt closer.

Besides that, he was cute. He was well-put together. He was charming and vivacious and could talk to people that they met, while Ivan stood scowling with his hands in his pockets and wondered how long this was going to take. He really desperately wanted to kiss Fedya (and for that matter, do other things to him), and he found himself thinking about it a lot. But what if it was like with Sasha again, and it was either Ivan opportunistically taking it for himself, or Fedya selfishly trying to keep him there, to use him for his own purposes? Maybe Fedya was the idiot. He had to know they were together, right? Or were they together? Ivan suddenly wasn’t sure. Damn it! Why didn’t Fedyor subscribe to the school of just being clear about things? Ivan himself had nothing to do with the problem.

But then there came that night, and Fedya cooking dinner and stumbling through trying to ask him if they were maybe something, and in that moment, Ivan found it all so hilarious that the only thing he could do was sit there and let the whole thing play out. Then it turned out, of course, that they were together, and that Fedyor kissed him just as deliciously as Ivan had imagined, and maybe Nadia Zhabina was not so wrong after all.

Maybe she was not wrong in the least.

Ivan takes his supermarket bags to the sunny kitchen of the mostly-remodeled apartment and sets them down. Fedya has picked out all the colors and wallpapers and furniture and paint, and Ivan has done most of the work, since he is gainfully employed as a handyman and repair-person and he doesn’t want to pay some American to half-ass a job that he can do better. The apartment is really quite lovely now. The living room has been done in a pale, springy green, the white plaster moldings washed and repaired, all the junk of the previous owner finally cleared out except for one or two collectibles that they decided to keep. There’s a bookshelf and a desk filled with Fedya’s work things, a couch and a television and a coffee table and new curtains. The bedroom is big and airy, with a ceiling fan and new carpets. Framed pictures and art pieces hang on the wall. It looks like a place where real people live.

Ivan makes breakfast, cooking and stirring and brewing the coffee, and puts it all on a tray. It’s Saturday, so of course Fedya is still asleep, and Ivan pads through the apartment to the closed bedroom door, balancing the tray on his hip long enough to open it and cast a strip of light inside. It takes a moment, but Fedyor rolls over, groggy and tousled and very, very cute with his bed-headed dark hair and squinting eyes. “Vanya? What smells so good?”

“Happy birthday, my love.” Ivan sets the tray on the bedside table and leans down to kiss him, as Fedyor makes a happy humming sound and throws his arms around Ivan’s neck, cuddling against him like a barnacle. “I have made you breakfast.”

(His younger self was wrong, and he has never been so glad of it.)

(This was the best, this is the best, this was waiting for him, this kind of happiness could happen for him, and he is grateful beyond all words that he fought for it and believed it until it did.)

[girlmeetsliv3]

Lilies of the Valley X

A/B/O!BTS x Reader

Flowers can have different meanings depending on the flower shape, color, and method in which they are presented. Lilies are my favorite for such a simple flower can have so many distinct meanings.

 “Flower essences encourage gentleness and nurturing. And can also calm an overly aggressive person. However, some have the opposite effects.”

Release Date: 06/19/20 @  7 pm

previously ~ next

           YN couldn’t remember the last time she had a check-up. It must’ve been right before she presented when her physician had explained to her, that everything pointed to her sub-gender being an Omega and not a beta. Granted there had been little time for her to dwell on it with her parents outside the door, but it didn’t make for a favorable experience. Her suppressants hadn’t been handled by a doctor, but rather a nurse in a quick drive-thru clinic for which she had to pay $15 every month. Considering how reckless YN had been she went through the suppressants a lot quicker than she should, but no one ever asked any questions.

           The place she was at now was a lot nicer and even had some omegas as nurses which YN hadn’t seen much of. The nurse had asked Hoseok and Namjoon to stay outside for privacy reasons and the alphas had encouraged YN to contact them if she needed anything. Now all YN could do was wait. For what she wasn’t too sure, but a health check-up couldn’t hurt. Her phone served as a distractor, as did Rosé:

           Rosé: Long time no see…

           YN: Sorry I’ve been mia lately. I’ve missed you.

           Rosé: I’ve missed you too. Also, you’ve missed so much

           Rosé: I met someone!

           YN: Who??

           Rosé: He’s a beta. A nice beta. I just kinda ran into him one day and we started talking. Isn’t it amazing?!

           YN: Yeah, that’s great.

           YN locked her phone screen and glanced around the room. On the door, there were the typical pamphlets one would expect all ranging from various topics: sub-genders, presenting, mating, and starting a family. Maybe she should’ve felt something when she looked at them, but YN didn’t feel anything. Not anger or disgust. Not happiness or excitement. It was still far too early in their relationship to consider any of those things. Can it even be considered a relationship? The men were much more invested in it than she was, but then again that was to be expected. They shared a pack bond and YN had only recently started warming herself up to the idea of being with them. It wasn’t like she had much of a choice in the matter, but at least she was thankful the seven of them weren’t pressuring her into anything. Even if they were rushing a bit.

           The door opened to a nice-looking woman wearing a lab coat, on the pocket was embroidered: Dr. Jun. “Hello, nice to meet you. I’m Dr. Hyoseong Jun.” YN felt herself relax at the warm aura that seemed to surround the woman. “I’m YN. It’s nice to meet you too.” The doctor outstretched her hand and YN shook it. Jun motioned for YN to lay on the exam table and went through the procedural check-up before motioning YN to sit back up. Once YN was comfortable, the doctor took a seat in her chair, attention fully on YN.

           “So, what’s the reason for today’s visit?”

           Oh. YN didn’t exactly know, but she took her best guess. “I had a bad heat and wanted to see if I could change my suppressants.”

           Dr. Jun nodded, focusing her attention on the computer. “Have you ever had a bad heat before this?”

           YN swallowed, unsure of how to proceed. Rosé had warned her not to hide these things anymore, but YN was afraid of how people would react. Then, again this was a doctor and confidentiality did exist. “I haven’t had a heat since I presented.”

           “Oh?” This caught the doctor’s attention. “Is it something biological? Are you irregular in your heats?”

           “Um, no.” YN shook her head, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “I just took my suppressants so I wouldn’t have a heat.”

           If anything, the doctor seemed even more perplexed at YN’s explanation. “Does your mate know about this?”

           “No, I wasn’t with them. My mates have a pack bond and one of the alphas bit me during our first heat so-”

           “The lead alpha, correct?”

           YN felt time stop, her words dying on her tongue. “No. It was the youngest. We both presented at the same time and he accidentally bit me.”

           Dr. Jun nodded, “Yes, but did you share the heat with the other members?”

           YN scratched her head, the memories of her first heat were kind of muddled. YN did remember the other’s being there, but not participating in it. “They were there, but Jungkook is the one that bit me.” Seeing the doctor’s confused expression caused panic to swirl in the pit of YN’s stomach. “I was told that the bite of an alpha doesn’t heal.” Dr. Jun shook her head. “That’s only true if the mating bond is completed. Did you complete yours?” Dr. Jun had stood up at this point and was walking towards YN. Noticing her panicked expression and the slight shaking of her hands. “N-no.” A million thoughts were bouncing around in YN’s head as she tried to comprehend what exactly the doctor was implying.

           “Only a lead alpha’s bite can’t be healed. If that applied to regular alphas there would be a bunch of mated teenagers running around. I’m sorry, YN but I have no reason to lie to you.”

           No, that can’t be true. It couldn’t possibly be. If it were true then that would mean Namjoon bit her. It would mean Jungkook was innocent. It would mean…

           “It wasn’t an accident.”

           Kim Namjoon was an anomaly. Born to two alphas his birth had been a challenging one: his mother barely surviving it and Namjoon being born two weeks premature. It was a miracle his mother had even conceived, but with the help of hormonal treatments, they had just barely managed. Still, he was a strong child and exceptionally bright. The pros of having two parents of the dominant sub-gender or so he’d been told growing up. None of those things mattered to him though because Namjoon always felt incomplete. Like a part of him was missing and it haunted him. Nothing ever satisfied him because he had no one to share it with.

           His parents encouraged him to make friends and even develop crushes, but it was useless. No one was ever up to par with his expectations - no one felt genuine. Eventually, Namjoon learned the hard way that self-isolation at a young age could have devastating consequences and made him an easy target. Not just among his peers but family members as well. Many found Namjoon to be unnatural - alphas should not be together, much like omegas shouldn’t - his family looked for every reason to pick him apart and by extension his parents. Namjoon felt that was a ridiculous stance in general: sub-genders shouldn’t determine who you’re allowed to be with. However, these were unpopular opinions and not ones he could voice as a child without extreme repercussions.

           Namjoon kept his head down and avoided people, having few friends, and closing himself off until his eleventh birthday. That was the day Namjoon presented. Alphas didn’t typically present at such a young age, but he’d always been peculiar that day. It wasn’t until he was taken to the doctor and given suppressants that Namjoon finally understood why he was the way he was.

           "He must be a lead alpha. Only lead alphas present at such a young age." The doctor had spoken to his parents outside, unaware that Namjoon had his ear pressed to the door. "It means your son likely carries the pack bond. He'll have multiple mates and will be able to sense them." Namjoon had been so shocked at that statement, he merely fell when the door opened. The second he got home he researched everything he could on pack bonds and how they worked. It might not be the case, as it was extremely rare, but it didn't hurt to hope. That was the one prevalent emotion that filled Namjoon: hope. He didn't know why, but it just made sense to him. He wouldn't simply find a mate like everyone else - no they were destined.

          Being so rare there was limited information about it. Most of it is pure speculation as most individuals with a pack bond weren't open to sharing their experiences online or those that did claim provided little proof. It didn't really matter as it would be just two weeks later on the first day of school that Namjoon would feel it: the smell, pull, tug that innate feeling that drove him away from his parents and towards the center of the large crowd. Standing there with an old grey hoodie and scruffed converse was Min Yoongi. Namjoon's nose immediately picked up on the light scent of myrrh coming from him and a thought popped into his head. Beta? Though that was impossible as it looked like Yoongi hadn't presented yet, still, something inside Namjoon knew.

           It seemed Yoongi was on edge, but the second their eyes met the elder rushed towards Namjoon embracing him in a hug. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere.” It left both their lips simultaneously and both seemed shocked until Yoongi laughed it off. “I’m Min Yoongi. Nice to meet you, mate.” Namjoon had never felt happier.

           There was still an ache there, a craving, but Namjoon ignored it for the most part. Then, he felt it again. The pull. The need. Namjoon had stayed late after school working on a project when the soft thumps coming from the dance room caught his attention. Now had he been thinking logically, he might have noticed Namjoon was too far away from the dance room to possibly be able to hear music. But he did and so Namjoon followed the sound towards the room and towards Jung Hoseok. Who froze mid-step the second Namjoon threw the door open, there meeting was a bit different: instead of rushing to meet him Hoseok simply stood shocked. As seconds turned into minutes, the only words that escaped Hoseok where “the fuck.” Before rushing to meet Namjoon and nearly causing him to fall.

           The second they embraced Namjoon’s nose rubbed against Hoseok’s neck and he felt a strong citrus scent. Alpha. Was his immediate thought, but he didn’t share it with Hoseok too caught up in the moment.

            Slowly Namjoon began to meet his mates: Seokjin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Jungkook. All of them experiencing the same reaction upon meeting him and once they meet each other the connection only strengthened. The group stayed together for seven years and it was easy too considering the school they attended housed an elementary, middle, and high. Despite them knowing what they were to each other they simply remained close friends. Best friends. At least until Jungkook entered High school. By then most of them had presented and Namjoon's hunches had been correct. Still, something unnerved him and the others, though they would never directly mention it, they weren't complete.

           It was as if they had all spent years building an elaborate puzzle only for the final piece to be missing. It became increasingly frustrating and Namjoon felt the most guilty as no matter how hard he searched, nothing provided him with answers. It was two years of searching by him and the others, yet there had been nothing. No instantaneous connection. No pull or need. They were beyond content with each other but never satisfied. By then news had already spread that the group were mates and shared a pack bond, which didn't make their search any easier. It's a bit ironic how fate strikes. Or maybe it's cruel. Namjoon would argue it's both. For when the group stopped searching is when they found their missing piece.

          Namjoon was in his senior year, Seokjin and Yoongi had already graduated but since they all lived together it impacted their relationship very little.

          “Don’t overexert yourself.” Jimin stood in front of Jungkook, scolding him after the latter had practically collapsed once the relay was over.

          “But hyung we won. That’s what’s important.” The youngest pouted adorably and Namjoon had to resist every urge to tease him about it. It didn’t really matter because someone would always do it for him.

         “Aw. Jungkookie you’re so cute.” Taehyung spoke, ruffling Jungkooks hair. Soon enough the three of them began bickering between themselves.

         Namjoon looked over the crowd trying to find Hoseok, who had left to bring them all snacks before their next game. It was sports day and in Yeong-gwang that meant another way to prove their superiority among other schools. Namjoon, despite his build, was never the athletic type but most of his mates were so they were drafted by the school to compete. He wasn’t going to complain since it meant he got to skip the dreaded clean up since Namjoon was technically a volunteer. By technically, it meant he got special perks because 4/6 of his mates competed and their families were the school’s biggest beneficiaries.

        “Namjoon.” Taehyung stood in front of him, brows scrunched up. “I’ve been calling you for like ten minutes.”

        Namjoon shrugged apologetically. “Sorry, I was distracted.” He ignored the fact that Taehyung hadn’t used honorifics figuring he’d punish him for it later.

       “Please go find Hobi-hyung. We’re about to start soon.”

           Hoseok was likely in the refreshments section were there currently stood a large crowd of people from his school and those visiting. However, Namjoon didn't head over there preferring instead to take a long way and pass through the lily garden. It was the school's pride and joy, one of the largest privately-owned collections in the country. Most of the students didn't really care for it, but all of them respected it. Sometimes kids from other schools tried to sneak in and vandalize it, but it was only accessible through a key card or a code: one every student had. Namjoon didn't know what led him to the garden only that he had a strong urge to see it.  

           It was when he saw the gate unlocked and the door opened that he panicked a bit. Rushing inside to make sure no one had sneaked in - then he saw her. She wore the school’s uniform with a denim jacket on top. A red sash with the words ‘volunteer’ draped across her body. Namjoon’s heart began to race as his eyes began to water. Finally, he’d found her. The missing piece. His last mate. Slowly, she turned around facing Namjoon with a confused expression. There was a hint of recognition in her eyes and Namjoon expected that any moment now she would run and embrace him. Tell him how she had longed for him and the others the way they had for her.

           “Excuse me. Why did you lock the gate?”

           Namjoon was taken aback, struggling to get any words out. “What?” She marched towards him, but instead of running into his arms she sidestepped and went around him. Opening the gates back up and leaving. Namjoon stood still for a moment or two before he gave chase. He tried to be inconspicuous but knew it likely didn’t seem that way from an outside perspective.

           “YN! There you are.” A group of girls reached her before Namjoon could, embracing her and pulling her away. The slight action caused a hint of her scent to reach him, lilies consuming his senses as another thought prevailed. Omega.

           “Are you certain?”

           “I saw her, hyung.”

           “And she didn’t react?!”

           “No. She just walked past me.”

           “Did you at least get her name, hyungie.”

           “YN. She must be around Jungkook’s age.”

           Silence surrounded all of them back in their small apartment. Namjoon ran his hands through his hair, feeling frustrated. Seokjin felt conflicted at everything that was happening. Namjoon had never been wrong, but YN’s lack of reaction would imply that he was. Maybe she simply knew their mate or spent a long time around them and that is why Namjoon picked up the scent. Then again that seemed like too much of a stretch. Yoongi thought about everything, what were the odds that their mate would be right there in front of them the entire time. Then again, they had all been in the same place and it hadn’t been until Namjoon presented that they’d felt it. Still, Yoongi had felt the bond long before he presented.

           “What is she?”

           Namjoon turned to face Yoongi, “What do you mean?” He knew exactly what Yoongi meant, but wasn’t sure if he should share that kind of information.

           “What is her sub-gender?” Yoongi persisted, trying to grasp if that played a role in it. Maybe she was an alpha and just didn’t pick up Namjoon’s scent. Perhaps she’d recently presented -

           “She’s an omega,” Namjoon muttered seeing the way their expression shifted. No one they knew was an omega or at the very least no one in the school had yet to present as one. Given the difficulties, omegas often faced it would be difficult for someone from an omega family to be able to enter their school. Not to mention how difficult pure omegas were to come by. “She hasn’t presented yet.”

           Hoseok who had remained quiet thus far spoke out, fully aware that his words might only worsen the situation. “I’ve never heard of an omega in a pack bond.” At this Namjoon became frustrated, “Do you think I’m lying?!” Jimin rushed to comfort him. “No. That’s not it. We’re all just confused, maybe there’s someone who could provide us with answers.” Namjoon had someone in mind but wasn’t sure if they would help at all. Seokjin cleared his throat drawing all their attention, “That’s all fine and well but we should meet her first, no?”

           “Excuse me, YN!” YN turned around to see a much taller boy running to her at full speed. Once he reached her, he stopped and smiled. “Sorry. You’re YN, right? Kevin sent me to get you because you forgot to put your student id in the volunteer form so they can’t give you the hours.” YN’s weight shifted on her feet, “Oh. Um, how did you find me then?” The boy kept smiling, but there was a bit of an edge to it now. “You wrote down your fifth period and Kevin described you to me.” YN was still hesitant to give a random stranger her student id, even if he did look harmless enough and had an office pass.

           “Look, I know this looks sketchy and normally we’d just contact the teacher but Professor Wei isn’t answering his phone and their inputting the hours today.” YN sighed, that did sound like something Wei would do. “Alright, do you have somewhere for me to write it down?” The boy grinned and for a brief moment, YN thought about how adorable the smile was. Almost bunny-like.

           “It’s her.”

           “I told you so.”

           “I can’t believe we actually found her.”

           “We can finally be complete now.”

           “...but why didn’t she react with Kookie either?”

           “Maybe it has something to do with her being an omega? Maybe she’ll feel the bond once she presents.”

           “So we wait, then? That doesn’t feel right.”

           “No, we can still get close to her we just don’t announce our intentions outright.”

           Namjoon agreed, “Eventually she’ll feel the bond. She’ll come to us and everything will be made right.”

           Dr. Kang looked down at the seven men who had all crowded into his study. Kang had become a sort of confidant for Namjoon ever since he presented. Being a professor in sub-gender studies and specializing in mythology caused Namjoon’s parents to seek him out in an effort to aid their son. Though the nature of their relationship was meant to be purely transactional, Kang did eventually develop a soft spot for the boy. One not born out of mere scientific interest. Kang had been there when Namjoon had met all the others and though never directly meeting them, he knew of them. Knew enough. Enough to know that the pack bond couldn’t be completed as they had yet to find their last mate. Unfortunately, it seems it would never be completed.

           “I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but omegas can’t have a pack bond.” The look in all seven of their eyes, made Kang feel as if he had just plunged a spear through their heart. “But I felt it. We all did.” Namjoon insisted and Kang had to agree. “That may very well be true, but it is impossible for an omega to feel the bond. It isn’t biologically possible, at least not in any text that I’ve seen.” They all remained silent, letting the information sink in. Kang felt pity for them all, he truly did. Pack bonds were a rarity and beauty. To be left without a mate all the while knowing who they are must damage one’s soul. Not to mention psyche.

           “What do you mean it’s not biologically possible,” Jungkook questioned, his hands fisting the dark material of his jeans.

           “Well,” Kang cast a look around his office searching for the specific book he had in mind. “All omegas are pack omegas. Legends tell us this is from a time before alphas could breed with each other and beta pregnancies were risky. Male omegas were also high in abundance, so all omegas were forced to mate in order to ensure the survival of the pack.” In Kang’s opinion, it was little more than a glorified abuse tale, but it did help to explain the situation. “Due to this omegas didn’t typically mate. So, the pack bond didn’t truly apply to them.” Kang sighed, “Obviously, omegas can mate. It affects them the way it would any other sub-gender, but since there is no historical evidence of omegas experiencing the pack bond it’s best to assume it is impossible.”

           “So what then?” Taehyung asked, clearly agitated. “She won’t recognize us?! She won’t want to be with us?!”

           Dr. Kang shook his head, “Not unless it’s of her own merit. If you can convince her to be with you, then you all can mate and the pack bond will be complete.”

           “And if not?” Namjoon raised his head out of his hands. His voice deep and eyes hollowed. Kang was aware it wasn’t directed at him, but it was terrifying nonetheless.

           “Then she will present, meet, and mate with someone else. There’s nothing you can do about it. The law will only allow the breaking of a mating bond if it is consensual.”

           Dr. Jun reached over hesitantly and touched YN’s shaking hands. “Are you alright?” YN was unable to answer. Instead, she shook her head hoping the doctor would understand. “I see. Do you want me to go get your mates?” No! YN’s hands latched onto Jun’s not letting her go any farther. “I’m sorry if anything I said scared you, YN. That was not my intent. There are a few questions, I would like to ask you, however.” There was a knock on the door, an urgent one, and YN froze in fear. Tentatively June excused herself, heading towards the door. It was the omega nurse looking visibly anxious.

           “I’m sorry to bother, but your next patient is here and it’s an emergency. Something wrong with the baby.”

           Dr. Jun gasped, “Oh dear. Alright, I will be there soon.” The door closed and Jun turned to face YN. “I’m so sorry dear. I’m afraid I have to cut this a bit short.”

           “I understand. Thank you for your time.” The response just slipped out, YN not having put too much thought into it.

           “I’ll get you off suppressants and ask for your alphas to be put on rutters. Be sure to schedule an appointment if your heat is off again.”

           YN nodded, slipping off the exam table and walking towards the door. Her phone in her back pocket vibrated and YN slipped it out typing the message fast without thinking of the possible consequences. Then as she neared the exit, she deleted the message and turned her phone off. YN pushed open the door to see both Namjoon and Hoseok still sitting in the waiting room, smiles on both their faces.

           “Ready to go?”

           “Yup.”

           YN: Come to my place tomorrow at noon. Say it’s an emergency don’t give up until they let you in. If they refuse, call the cops and show them this message but don’t show the guys.

Hope you enjoyed ~~~

Tag List:

@hxsxxk-180294​ @saxpam24​ @trixsterbi @mel-gonzalez07​ @cstobitk​ @dionysus-png​ @taekimxx​ @moonlitehunter @joonie-grim​ @wonderlace19​ @sugashaye​ @rosey-roseu​ @mintaemark​ @ciderxi @soloikeadates​ @alex--awesome--22​ @ruth619​ @tinger-k​ @thenyousaidhello​ @missseoulite​ @justdidabadthing​ @ireallylikefoodandyoutube​ @letmebeyour-sun​ @lyoongx​ @kpopfictrash​ @purpuravm​ @unsureofwhathappens​ @blank-et-noir @thatchampagnebitch​ @nooooooooona​

[feysandfeels]

Sometimes I think of the trigger Lucien must have gotten when he saw Feyre die and Tamlin holding her crying. He probably made a parallel about what happened to him and Jesminda. I believe that's why he didn't help Feyre so hard in relation to Tamlin in the second book, because Tamlin got the opportunity he didn't get.

Of course there's every part of Tamlin being his High Lord and he owes him allegiance, but I believe his trauma has been addressed.

Of course, that's not an excuse, but I can't stop thinking about it.

Hiya Sugar, I know you asked me this like three weeks ago, sorry I'm just getting around to it.

So this mainly has two sides to understand first is what was happening to Lucien. Here we need to take into account his history of abuse at the hands of his family and Tamlin. The second is clearly how Feyre understood the situation from her own place of enunciation. Still I think this is one of those discussions in the fandom where you should tread lightly because I don't think either side is entirely wrong to feel what they felt and every argument has a well crafted response that is enlightening.

Lucien.

I think by this point denying that Lucien is a victim of abusive relationships that showcased their abuse not only physically but mentally and emotionally is just irresponsable and willful blindness. Lucien's family dynamic speaks of a toxic environment if I ever saw one. The Jesminda's death at the hands of his brothers and father is something that has left a scar as visible as the one across his eye. This is an experience that molds how he interacts with other people as friends, as romantic partners, and also how he understands romantic relationships that he is not involved in (Feyre and T*mlin).

From this angle, yes, UtM was extremely triggering for him because yet again he was placed in a situation where the loved one is killed and the other person "can't do much" about it (the quotation thingies are because T*mlin was being useless af here and he should have done more than just beg, Lucien's situation he was magically and physically restrained). He understands T*mlin's nightmares better than almost anyone, and as he told Feyre, T*mlin will never not hear the sound of her neck breaking. I do believe that if T*mlin had talked about this with Lucien, he might have dealt with the whole thing better.

We can't also ignore that Lucien carries a lot of guilt regarding Jesminda. He couldn't save her and seeing his friend die in a similar manner must have brought up his own traumas so its understandable that his full on attention might not have been spent towards understanding what Feyre was going through. We all are dealing with things and it's fair when you don't have the mental space to see what is happening to those around you, even when you are as observant as Lucien is. If your mind is not seeing, it doesn't matter if your golden eye sees it all. This guilt of not being there for the ones he loves (in any capacity) is also shown in WAR when he realizes better what happened to Feyre and he says something about being the villain in her story. As much of an Elucien fan that I am I do think that part of his reasoning for going to fetch the army was to make amends with Feyre. He felt guilty for not being there for her friend. (Yes he had a lot more to address on his plate, there's no doubt of that). In a way I do think he recognized that he could have done more.

On top of this we add that Lucien's relationship with T*mlin is based on a partly on the loyalty earned from saving him from his brothers. I think that it is not for nothing that in ACOSF Eris says that he's the one that sent word to T*mlin about what was happening to Lucien, which implies the existence of a friendship that predates the murder of Jesminda. This means that along with that loyalty there must be some old fashion good hearted feelings that nourish what we see as the friendship these two have. What I mean is that probably Lucien's vision of T*mlin is the friend he used to be way back when and the loyalty for offering a "home".

We don't know when exactly T*mlin started being abusive towards Lucien, but at least we can all agree that during ACOMAF he was. It wouldn't also be a stretch to think that in the pre-acotar days there might have been incidents of physical abuse, but so far we don't know for sure. There is a missing piece of information that we don't have yet because Lucien was more feisty during UtM when his life was at risk, than he was during MAF... this tells us a lot of how T*mlin was handling things with him.

There's also something to be said with how Lucien understood abuse. It's a heavy possibility that he perceived abuse like he saw it in the AC. He had a naturalized version of what abuse is, that for him w abuse looked like and felt like what he lived in the AC, so what he experienced with T*mlin pre-acotar did not seem to him as abuse (even when it was). And after Amarantha he began to understand the multiple faces of abuse and thus started to being afraid of T*mlin. Lucien could have also been dealing with the realization that a centuries old relationship had be tainted with abusive behaviors.

I do think that Lucien thought that he tried as hard as he could with the tools he had. But that does not mean that he shouldn't have done more. The problem is that Lucien didn't know he could. Like if he had fought with Tamlin for Feyre's sake where would he go then? Feyre had the option to go to the Night Court, Lucien did not. I like to believe that if he had known the truth about the NC before and had him and Feyre talked about it they would have said fuck you Tamlin, bye, black is the new spring. But he did not know. So he stayed on the comfortable zone of pushing but not jeopardizing his "home". You can hardly blame him for how he played the game when he did not know he was playing with one hand tied to his back.

I will not excuse though when he tried to grab her against her will during the woods. I understand that he was scared and desperate, but I still think that it was not right.

Feyre.

When I stand from a Feyre point of view there are two things that speak to me above all others. First she died for Tamlin and she bargained her life for his court -Lucien included- so I understand the she expected him to push and fight hard for her too. I know there's a quote about her recognizing that T*mlin had fought for her but that she had fought harder for him, and I think that can also suit her relationship with Lucien to an extend. I'm not saying that Lucien is like T*mlin, because no, not at all, not even in the least; but I do think she would have liked for her friend to fight for her well being like she fought for his during UtM.

Second it is hard to be see your friends still be friends with your abuser. Yes Feyre doesn't know all the variables that affect their relationship, the toxic loyalty that T*mlin saving Lucien created, the genuine friendship that was there before her and before Jesminda... but I understand the pain to see your friend not draw the lines for your sake.

This offers a beautiful arc for Lucien in the sense that only recently there has been a movement of "tell me if I'm friends with your abuser", and this awakening is a reality that a lot of people are facing. Is hard to untangle yourself from a person you have known for x amount of time, because you are trying to see the abusive person in the face you related to kindness or something not abusive. Again, we don't know how their relationship was pre-Feyre, perhaps Tamlin had been nothing but a sugary cupcake with Lucien and it's hard to associate that version of his friend to the version he is post Amarantha, the version that will physically abuse them; perhaps T*mlin had always been an ass but "the good outweighed those few instances of abusive behavior". What I'm trying to say is that sometimes it is hard to make a clean cut when the abuser turns out to be the person who saved you (from an even worse abuser but like you get what I mean).

I will not do him the disservice to say that he might not have connected the dots and thought that T*mlin's behavior was abusive towards Feyre. Even if he was just understanding how abuse can look like and even if he was reliving Jesminda's death I do think he could see that T*mlin's behavior was abusive towards Feyre (here I am making the distinction between reliving the trauma of having his love murdered and him recognizing abuse). Lucien is clever and intelligent. I think he did see what was happening, but that implied also a massive shift of reality for him that he was not prepared to see and did not have the tools to deal with, he was also struggling there.

Final thoughts.

I think Feyre is not wrong to feel a tad of distaste against Lucien through ACOMAF. Speaking from a personal experience it is quite sad and tough to see people who you conceived as friends not stand up to you when you are suffering at the hand of your S.O who happens to be their friend. It sucks a lot because you truly feel alone and you feel that at the end of the day they did not take care of you at the expense of taking care or helping or remaining on the good graces of your abuser.

But I think that simply condemning Lucien's actions during MAF without understanding the complicated history of abuse he has, is irresponsable. You are of course allowed to say that he is not fave and that it left a bad taste in your mouth, that's fair, but to condemn him the way I've seen this fandom do without an ounce of empathy or critical reading is just baffling (which to be quite frankly is also something I saw everybody after ACOSF with Rhysand, they condemned his actions without truly taking five second to understand the historical context of them).

Characters are allowed to make mistakes and are allowed to fall short in any given situation, because we as living creatures sometimes fall short in life. What's important to me is that Lucien is learning and when Feyre returned to the SC in WAR we could all see that he changed his approached towards the situation and was there for her. And also you will pry this off my hands but the fact that he is invited to their Solstice celebrations speaks of the state of their relationship right now, they are understanding of what the other is going through and I do think they are making amends and creating a friendship that acknowledges the mistakes they have both made towards the other one.

Yeah this was a long ramble.

Again, apologies it took me so long to answer

Long live Lucien and Feyre. I can't wait for them to grow closer.

[samofnazareth]

Want by sixtysixseals (me! read here on ao3!)

“For so long, since the beginning of time, my objectives were clear. Follow orders, receive revelation, pray to our father, look over my charge—” and here he spares a glance at Dean, who’s sitting across from him on one of Bobby’s rickety kitchen chairs, elbows on his knees, hands toying with his silver flask. His eyebrows are furrowed in concentration, perhaps, or consternation or concern—after a year in this body, Castiel still can’t decode the minutiae of human expression, even with Dean. Especially with Dean.

“—now all that is meaningless, moot. I don’t know why I should continue. Or how.”

“Well, buddy, I’m not very good at giving advice, and I’m even worse at following it,” Dean says, rubbing a hand over his cheek, “but it sounds like now you gotta make your own objectives. All your life, your fate has been decided for you by… different higher-ups. God. Archangels. Zachariah. Whatever. Now you got the chance to break free from all that. You can do whatever the hell you want.”

Castiel nods, but he still feels heavy, like a boulder at the bottom of a river.

“Let’s start here,” Dean says. “What do you need?”

This question is relatively simple. Castiel fights well in the arena of duty.

“I need to stop the Apocalypse. And to do that, I need to find my father.”

Even though Castiel knows every word in every human language, Castiel doesn’t know how to say: I’m scared shitless. Nor does he know how to say: even though I feel heavy as a stone, I also feel like an untethered raft in a storm. Nor does he know how to say: my entire existence I’ve flown towards this fate and I’m afraid I won’t know I’ve chased it off a cliff until I’m halfway to the ground.

“Well, then, we’ll help you,” Dean says, breaking his train of thought.

“What?”

“What, you thought we’d let you do this solo? You’re with the Winchesters, now, Cas. Can’t shake us easy.”

“Dean, no. I wouldn’t—I am not asking you and Sam to stray from your current obligations. This is something I can do alone.”

“Well, you’re not asking, but I’m telling. We’ll go with you.”

All at once, Castiel has been offered a reason to smile in the form of a man at his father’s kitchen table in the half-dark of dusk.

When Cas doesn’t respond, Dean continues. “Alright, we got duty out of the way. Now—what do you want, Castiel?”

And what a question that is, with Dean’s cheek muscles twitching against unfamiliar earnestness and the collar of his shirt rubbing at the juncture of his neck and his shoulder. What does Castiel want? What would an angel of the Lord ever want that he does not already have—the grace of God, the force to destroy evil, an all-encompassing and imperforate union with the Host? Castiel wanted those things before, even though he already had them. That want, too, was once a duty to fulfill. He still wants those things, but he also wants—God, he wants—

“I want a drink.”

Dean laughs, short and loud and slightly bitter. He passes the flask to Cas. “I hear ya, buddy.”

“Shit. What else do you want?” he asks once Castiel has emptied the flask. And what a question that still is, with Cas’s vessel going hot from the drink and Dean’s tan, freckled hands everywhere in his vision: around the neck of his silver flask, worrying his bottom lip, tapping out a soundless drum break on the table.

“I want to eat.”

“What else do you want?” Dean asks with his mouth full of the last bite of Cas’s sandwich. “What else do you want?” Dean grumbles after he’s tripped through a passage from one of Bobby’s few books in Enochian. “What else do you want?” Dean whispers as they lie close together on the hood of Dean’s car when the stars are bright in their thousands. Cas doesn’t answer this question, not directly; he merely allows his body to move to what it’s calling for.

“Wait—what the fuck?” Dean says against Cas’s lips after they’ve been pressed to his for a few seconds. He pushes Cas’s shoulders, hard, and scrambles off the car. “What the fuck?” he says again.

“Dean,” Castiel says, and the metal under his back feels cold, and the distance Dean’s put between their bodies feels like lightyears after Castiel’s aborted attempt at a kiss. Worse than Heaven’s torture chamber, this: a wild, merciless gaze punishing you for falling to the temptation of taking exactly what you want.

“Dean—”

“I’m just gonna forget that happened, okay, Cas?”

A second passes, and Castiel blinks out of the rust-lot behind Bobby’s with a rustle of feathers.

Once he’s gone, it takes all of Dean’s strength not to hurl on his car and instead fall to his knees to cough up the bile gathered in his throat. So that’s what Castiel’s wanted all along, he thinks: a quick piece of Dean’s human hide. Dean leans his back against the wheel of his car and grips his head in his hands, imagining he can rip thoughts out of his head from the roots of his hair. Why on God’s green earth would Dean ask Cas what he wants? He’s an angel, Dean, and you’ve forgotten what that means. It was only a kiss, Dean, and you didn’t even use tongue. You only wish you were disgusted, Dean. And finally, inevitably, a voice from his memories that slams through his skull like a foghorn: Think long and hard about what you really want, son.

Sammy had been at Bobby’s for the weekend. John had returned from a hunt earlier than expected. Dean had thought about what he really wanted, then, lying flushed with shame and deliriously awake on a hard motel bed. He’d thought about it the next day, when he’d spotted the trucker at the gas pump and driven out of there so fast John had joked about whiplash. He’d thought about it with Cassie and Lisa, with Ben Braeden and Adam. He’d thought about it when he met Jimmy Novak’s family. He thinks about it now.

In his desperation, he almost calls out to Castiel again. Because Dean knows exactly why he asked Cas what he did when Cas had turned his face towards his, when Dean’s heart had leapt up and his fingers had itched to touch: it’s because he’d hoped beyond conceivable hope that Cas wanted the same thing.

He breathes through another bout of nausea. By the height of the evening Dean feels steady enough to drag himself back to Bobby’s kitchen. Bobby is reading in his study—good thing, too, or else Dean might’ve yakked into the sink. Instead, he grabs a near-empty bottle of jack from under it.

“’Night, Bobby.”

“’Night, boy.” Dean is halfway up the stairs when Bobby adds, “Say, wasn’t that Castiel with you earlier? I’m usually great with Biblical Hebrew but this inscription’s giving me a headache. Guy must’a had too much Manichewitz…”

Dean falters on the steps, but only for a second.

“He left.”

And if that sounds as pathetic to Bobby’s ears as it does to Dean’s, Bobby doesn’t respond.

That Dean can make it upstairs to a real bed is a small miracle. Despite the now-empty bottle of jack at the foot of his bed, Dean still falls asleep thinking about exactly who he wants.