#hopefully things get better for them!!! /( this is sarcasm I’m in PAIN)

[academiaipromise]

in my defense, thesis revisions have my brain an absolute mess, so that’s the context of why the hell i’m watching season 4 of veronica mars…this season is…bleak.

[kyndaris]

Once More Into the Fray

This next episode of Dating 2.0 introduces our protagonist: Kyndaris as she ventures to a convention to meet up with another possible suitor. Will she find love? Or will she spend far too much on useless trinkets that’ll make moving a pain and serve to clutter up what space she has?

Catch all that and more in this week’s episode of...Dating 2.0!!

Oft times, I think it is a shame that I remain solely a text-based blog rather than putting in some effort and creating a podcast or YouTube video. But then I think about having to edit them and I pat myself on the back. After all, I don’t need to suffer through the cringe of listening to my voice over and over and over again as I edit. Nor do I have to endure seeing my ugly mug on my screen as I chuck on filters to streamline my appearance to appease my own vanity.

But, back to the topic at hand.

Following on from my first Saturday visit, I was invited to Oz Comic-Con by a second individual that I had met on Hinge. Let’s call him Kaneki. Although I was sure he wanted to meet up early and take a gander around the stalls with a companion at his side, I was a little wary that our first meeting might not go as planned. Easier, I told myself, if we set out time for ourselves rather than push ourselves into each other’s company for hours on end and then find it wanting.

So, arriving a bit late to Oz Comic-Con (and managing to avoid the rain), I headed inside the Olympic Park Dome where the event was being held. Due to the forecast of rain, the event organisers had arranged for most of the food trucks to remain indoors at the far end of the event hall. And while it was a trek to reach them, it also meant that should the storm break and water come thundering down, at least all participants would remain dry.

I’m unsure if, however, that influenced the more cramped layout of the rest of the convention. Several stalls of artist’s alley were pushed up against the side. Coupled with individuals stopping in the middle of the walkway to chat with their friends, it became a nightmare to navigate from one end to the other.

There were times that I had to divert around the die just to get to my destination.

Still, despite the influx of visitors and curious first-timers, I managed to see what was on offer - from tee turtle shirts to posters to board games. In fact, I even managed to sign myself up for a short Dungeons & Dragons campaign. My companions were two kids that looked about ten or under as well as a uni student that had watched quite a bit online but had decided to play for the first time.

Needless to say, it was a simple one-shot adventure where our player characters had stumbled upon a town and were requested to find and rescue a bard that had been missing for five days. The only unfortunate thing about it was one of the kids that was part of our group was keen to mess around rather than take the campaign seriously. This was despite his claims of being the dungeon master (DM) for his own games with friends.

Hopefully, he manages to learn to allow others to do a few interesting things instead of trying to dominate the choices of other players.

I fear, however, that my own biting sarcasm was starting to rear its head every time the kid tried to do something asinine. Props for the actual DM that was running the game for her patience. But considering that they have 5 years worth of experience, it probably stood to reason that they were able to entertain the kid’s fancies without it derailing her more carefully plotted out path.

And as for Kaneki, we finally met up for lunch and got to talking as we waited in line for a food truck advertising Philly cheese and steaks.

I’ll admit, I initially didn’t have the best of impressions when chatting to him on the app, but after actually meeting in person, he definitely seemed much better at conversation than first impressions had led me on the Hinge app. 

As we waited for our food, it was clear that he also consumed a lot of pop culture media - naming quite a few costumes from both anime to current television shows. It’s a feat if I’ve ever witnessed it.

But though our time was short, I like to think we had a decent first meet-up to get a feel of the other person.

My current dilemma, of course, is having to pick between the potentials. Were this an episode of the Bachelorette, I’d have to consider who to give the rose to! Certainly, not an easy decision to make when the people I’ve enjoyed chatting to have proven to be such excellent companions.

Google tells me that after the third date, a person should be able to sense if there’s chemistry. So, maybe I’ll wait for the third date with each person to get an idea? 

Argh! Why is dating so hard?

In any case, this year’s Oz Comic-Con was much better than my previous ones. I suppose it was mostly because I actually managed to get into a game of Dungeons & Dragons and enjoy an actual one-shot adventure instead of putting my name down for a game of Call of Cthulhu only to be overlooked later because a huge group had rolled by.

Or maybe the exhibitors had much more interesting things for sale?

Regardless, it was a good day out hobnobbing with fellow nerds.

[watchyourbluesturngolden]

harry and his wife going to a birthing class would be so precious !!

imagine him asking all the questions wanting to be informed as much as possible !! + him bragging to the other new parents about how proud he is of you for carrying his baby!! and him rubbing your belly throughout the class(!!) he’d be so nervous after watching a birth video knowing that you’ll have to go through that soon but he’d be so happy knowing at the end of it all you’ll have your baby (i re watched the snl skit and i couldn’t resist 🥺🥺)

soon to be dad!harry is my favorite thing ever :)

birthing class

warnings: none

word count: 3.2k

"Are you almost ready, love?" Harry called from the living room. "I'm coming!" you replied, struggling to lean down. You had finally reached the point in your pregnancy where you couldn't get your shoes on by yourself. Huffing, you kicked the tennis shoes back to your closet and grabbed a pair of crocs from the shelf. Not the most fashionable, sure, but they fit and they were comfortable. Good enough.

"I'm ready," you said, grabbing your water bottle from the table. "Couldn't get my shoes on." "Oh, I could have helped you!" He cooed, looking guilty. You had to refrain from rolling your eyes. It was sweet that he was so attentive, but it was also getting really annoying.  He acted like you were made of glass. He didn't let you do anything anymore. At first you had been fine with it- after all, you weren't about to complain that he was suddenly jumping to do the chores around the house. But sometimes you missed your independence. "It's fine, Harry," you sighed. "I figured it out. I am a very resourceful woman." "You are," he grinned, grabbing the keys from the bowl by the door. "My incredible wife." "Oh yes, I'm so incredible for putting on a pair of crocs," you said, this time not stopping yourself from rolling your eyes. His happy expression didn't change as he ushered you out the door. That was one other thing- he had been incredible throughout this whole thing. He didn't get annoyed when you snapped at him or cried at random things or woke him up in the middle of the night because you were hungry. He just kept that happy smile on his face, or rubbed your back, or went to find something to satisfy your cravings. You were more thankful than you could ever explain. "So, are you excited?" You asked him, already in a better mood as you buckled your seatbelt. He didn't mention your mood swings, another thing you were very thankful for. "I am," he admitted as he backed out of the driveway. "I'm gonna ask all the questions. I'm gonna learn how to be the best birthing partner you've ever seen." "Please don't refer to yourself as my birthing partner," you shook your head. "It's super weird." "Alright, uh... baby... delivery... support?" "Baby delivery support? Really?" You raised your eyebrows, crossing your arms over your chest. "Well, is it better than birthing partner?" He grinned. "Not much," you said, unable to hold back your laugh. "Why are you taking this so seriously?" "Of course I'm taking this seriously. It's learning how to bring our baby girl into the world. Very important stuff," he said, grabbing your hand and kissing the back of it. "Yeah, but I'm just gonna get an epidural. I honestly don't know if we need this class." "Too late, we're already here," he said, flashing a cheeky smile as he pulled into the hospital parking lot. “Let’s go learn how to have a baby!”

-----

"Hello everyone!" The instructor chirped. She was way too cheery. "Please, choose a yoga mat. Partner sits behind mom." "See?" Harry nudged you, leaning closer to whisper in your ear. "Partner. Birthing partner. I was right." "Shut up," you huffed, elbowing him lightly. "You know I'm right," he grinned, pressing a light kiss to your ear. You did know he was right, but you would never admit it to him. So you just shook your head, leading him over to the closest yoga mat. He helped you get comfortable before he settled himself behind you, putting his legs on either side of yours and resting his hands on your belly. He put his chin on your shoulder, looking down at his hands on you. "Did you feel that?" He asked excitedly. You smiled at the fluttering feeling inside you, putting your hands over his and guiding them to where the movement was strongest. "She does that every time you talk," you informed him, tilting your head to look at him. "Really?" He grinned, looking so boyishly happy that you couldn't help but smile with him. You nodded. "She already loves you." "Well that's good, because I already love her too." You smiled at this, tilting your head more to press a gentle kiss to his lips. Before you could get too carried away, you were pulled from your sweet moment by the instructor clapping loudly. "Alright everyone, it's time to get started!" She announced, taking her place at the front of the room. "First we'll go around the room and introduce ourselves. Then I want you to say the thing you're looking forward to most in this class. I'll start: I'm Sandy, and I'm most excited to answer all of your questions, and hopefully ease any fears or anxiety you may be having." She gestured toward you and Harry next. You smiled, waving to the other couples in the room. "Hello, I'm Y/N. I'm most excited to learn about epidurals and how to go about getting one." This got a small chuckle from the others in the room, and several knowing looks and nods from the other moms. "I'm Harry," he said, lifting his hand from under yours to give a small wave. "And I'm most excited to learn about how to support my wife during the rest of her pregnancy and the delivery." Sandy nodded. "Both excellent things to learn about. Who would like to go next?" "Aw, you're sweet," you whispered, leaning back against him. "What a good husband you're being." "Please, I'm always a good husband," he grinned, turning his head to kiss your cheek. "I'm just better than everyone else here, so I look really good by comparison." You reached back to smack his shoulder playfully. "Be nice, we haven't even heard from any of the other dads yet. For all you know, one of them could totally blow your answer out of the water." "I seriously doubt it," he scoffed, speaking in a low voice so he wouldn't interrupt anyone. "Look at them. That one looks ready to bolt. Keeps eyeing the door. That one over there looks like he's gonna be sick just looking at the diagrams of the female body. And that last one- well, he actually looks fine." Just as Harry finished analyzing everyone in the room, the last man spoke. "I'm Lucas, and I'm most excited for Kristen here to have some questions answered. She's been so freaked out the whole time, it's getting ridiculous. It's like, babe, I don't know either! Why are you asking me?" Harry leaned closer to speak in your ear again. "Nevermind, maybe he's not fine." You tried very hard to keep your laughter to yourself, mostly because you felt bad for Kristen.   Sandy seemed a bit stunned by his blunt answer, pausing slightly before she regained her chirpy tone. "Um... yes! All very good goals. Let's get into it then!" Harry stretched his arms out in front of you, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, get ready for me to be the best baby delivery support you've ever seen," he said into your ear. "Lucas wishes he could be as good as me." You rolled your eyes, but you couldn't keep the smile off your face. You felt very lucky to have such an attentive husband, one who was even more excited for birthing classes than you

were. There was no one else you would rather have by your side. "First, we're going to go over some breathing exercises. Now, you may be thinking "I don't need to learn how to breathe, I do it every day!" but you may be surprised how much regulating your air can help with relaxation and pain relief. So, get comfortable. Moms, rest on your partner behind you. Let them support you. Partner, your job here is to hold them up and keep your breathing even. You can place your hands wherever feels comfortable. This may be on their belly, or legs, or even holding their hands." "I'm keeping my hands right here," Harry whispered, placing his hands in their previous position, right over where your baby was kicking. "Now, everyone follow me as I take a deep breath in..." She inhaled exaggeratedly, raising her arms up in the air, before she spoke again. "Then exhale," she lowered her arms. "Repeat this a few times. Inhale... and exhale." You could feel Harry's chest moving at her prompts, and you matched with him. You wouldn't tell him (his ego was already big enough) but his presence was extremely soothing. He made you feel so safe, and you were much less worried than you had been before. You usually played it off with jokes and sarcasm, but you had been pretty anxious about the delivery process. But with Harry behind you, holding you and staying so calm, you felt like everything would be just fine. After a few minutes of this, Sandy brought her arms down one final time. "Excellent! How are we feeling after this? Hopefully more relaxed." "I feel very relaxed," you said quietly, tipping your head back against Harry's shoulder. "You're good at this." "I told you," he smirked. "I have a very soothing personality." "Very soothing," you agreed. "Alright, for our next activity, we're going to go through some birthing positions. In fact, you are already sitting in an ideal position, but there are others that can be more comfortable. So partners, help mom stand up, and we'll get the birthing balls." She gestured over to the corner, where there were large exercise balls lined up. Harry helped you up slowly, making sure you were steady before he went to retrieve one. He set the ball down behind you, helping you settle yourself on it. He placed his hands on your shoulders, looking up to the front for the next set of instructions. "All you have to do for this one is bounce slightly. This can help decrease back pain, and relieve pressure in your pelvis and abdomen. It can even shorten the process of labor." You did as she said, bouncing a little. "Having fun there?" Harry smiled, looking down at you. "So much fun," you quipped. "I could do this all day." After a few more minutes on the ball, and then learning several other positions, you were ready for a break. Thankfully, the other expectant mothers seemed to feel the same, and Sandy noticed. "Why don't we take a few minutes, just talk with your partner or some other couples, and then we'll regroup after that." She said, leaving you to your own devices for the time being. You sighed, leaning against Harry again. You were in the same position as you had been while doing the breathing exercises, and so were the other couples. You turned to the couple to your left, deciding to start a conversation. "How has the whole pregnancy thing been for you?" You asked. "Honestly, not too bad," the woman, whose name you had learned was Chloe, informed you. "I think William has been more stressed than I have." She patted his shoulder with a small smile. He grinned sheepishly behind her. He was the one Harry had said looked ready to bolt, but he looked much more relaxed now. "Hey, don't blame me, I'm just trying to stay informed. It's not my fault I keep stumbling upon all these horrible things." You laughed at this. "Harry's the same way. Aren't you, baby?" He smiled, blushing lightly. "He's right, there's a lot of horrible things. It's a bit scary, if I'm being honest." "Right!" William said, eyes going wide. "But it's not like I'm going to say anything about it, I'm not the

one giving birth." "Exactly!" Harry nodded. His hands were absentmindedly rubbing over your belly, so light that you weren't even sure he was aware of it. "We should have met up sooner, mate. We have a lot in common. But someone didn't want to come to the birthing class." You smiled, hitting his arm playfully. "I didn't think it was worth it, but I'm kind of glad you convinced me. This has been pretty helpful." "Chloe didn't want to come either," William laughed. "I think she just gave in because I was so stressed." "Yeah, I was sick of you freaking out every five minutes," she joked, leaning back against him. "Not every five minutes," he rolled his eyes. "Maybe every other day. Maybe." "Mhm," she narrowed her eyes at him, before they both broke into smiles. Harry kissed your cheek again, nuzzling his nose against you. "What are you doing?" You giggled, turning your head away from his tickling touch. "I just love you so much," He said quietly. "You're amazing." He spoke a little louder then, directing it toward Chloe and William. "She really is amazing, though. She had the worst morning sickness. But you got through it, didn't you?" He smiled, kissing your cheek again. "My amazing wife." Chloe nodded. "Mine was terrible in the first trimester. We almost had to go in to the hospital once, I was so dehydrated. Couldn't keep anything down." "That's how mine was, too. The only thing I could stand to eat was pickles." "Which is odd, since you used to hate pickles," Harry reminded you. "I did," you laughed. "But then one night I woke up and just had to have them. We didn't even have any in the house, Harry had to go out at three in the morning to get me some." William smiled. "I did quite a bit of that, too. Babies have weird cravings, don't they?" You and Chloe both nodded. "But I'm very thankful for my lovely husband, who is willing to get up and go to the store in the middle of the night for me," you smiled. This time it was you who kissed Harry's cheek. "Anything for my love," he said, blushing again. "Are we ready to get started again?" Sandy asked, raising her voice over the chatter in the room. "We just have a few more activities. Next, we'll go over how to put a diaper on a baby." "Oh, I'm so ready for this," Harry said quietly. He wasn't lying. He had been practicing for at least five months. When he first found out you were pregnant, he had gone to the store and bought a baby doll and a pack of diapers. He had carried the doll all over the house with him, figuring out the best way to hold it and rock it and burp it and- most importantly- diaper it. He was basically an expert at this point. Two baskets were passed around- one full of dolls, and one with diapers. Harry had the diaper on your baby before Sandy even gave any instructions. He looked up at you, incredibly proud of himself. "Good job," you smiled. "You're an expert." "Pretty much," he nodded. "I'm basically ready to be a father, I think." "Definitely," you agreed. Once everyone had figured out this step, Sandy informed it was time to move on to the last activity. "Lastly, we will be watching the miracle of life video. You might have seen this in your high school health class, but it's never a bad idea to revisit this, just for an idea of what to expect." Harry, who had been very calm and collected during this class, suddenly seemed nervous. He shifted around, tightening his arms around you and laying his chin on your shoulder again. "You alright?" You whispered, putting your hands on his forearms. He nodded, his eyes glued to the screen as the video started. You could practically feel his eyes going wide as you watched the baby being born. Each time you glanced back at him, he had the same look of mild horror on his face. Once it was over, and the woman onscreen was holding her baby, he seemed calm again. "If there are no questions, I think we'll wrap up for today," Sandy said as she turned off the TV. "Thank you all for coming! I hope you learned a lot and had some of your fears eased." "Um, I have a question,"

Harry said meekly. "How does... um... I can't help but notice... that baby's head seemed... much too large to come out of such a small place." Your face felt like it was on fire as he spoke. Your dropped your head, resting it in your hands as the instructor turned to look at him. "I just don't... what if the baby gets stuck?" "Oh my god," you mumbled, shaking your head. "Actually, that's a question many new parents have," Sandy assured him. You finally lifted your head, noticing many of the other dads were paying close attention. They seemed to have the same thought in their minds, but apparently only Harry was bold enough to actually say anything. "It can seem very scary, but the skin in that area is made to stretch in this way. Some women do have tearing, but this happens less often now that doctors know how to properly support the area. And as for the worry of the baby getting stuck, that's also something that happens very rarely. There are several methods doctors can use to deliver the baby in that case. But you really don't have to worry too much; your wife is in excellent hands. Our doctors here are first rate, and they are highly trained to handle any kind of complications." Harry nodded, looking much less worried as helped you stand up. You both waved at the couple you had made friends with, before thanking the instructor and making your way out the door. You shook your head as he opened your car door for you. "Really, Harry?" you sighed as he got in and buckled his seatbelt. "What if the baby gets stuck?" "Hey, it's a valid question!" He defended himself as he backed out of the parking spot. "You heard her. It's a question that many new parents have." You shook your head again, but didn't say anything back. You did feel a little bad for him. The video had been slightly disturbing, even for you. And you already knew exactly how it was going to go. "Well, thank you for making me go to that," you said. "I do feel more prepared now." "Me too," he smiled. "And I feel better knowing that I'm better than those other dads there." "It's not like it's a competition," you laughed. "No, not a competition, I just can't let them win." "Right, makes sense." He nodded. "But really, I'm so excited. I can't wait to meet our little baby." "I know, I can't either," you smiled, resting your hands on your belly again. "She hears you talking. She's kicking like earlier." "Is she? She's excited to meet me too." "She is," you agreed. "We're going to be the best parents. But first, we need to get McDonald's. She's telling me that's what she wants." "Oh, is she?" He smiled as he got into the turn lane for the restaurant. "Well, who am I to deny what my baby wants?"

[psalacanthea]

Fleeing the noise and chaos in the cottage behind him, Fenris shoved his book under his arm and started stalking up the path to town.  This morning already seemed beyond saving, and it had barely just begun.  Things could only get worse, he supposed, as they so often did.  

The twittering of the birds, the babbling of the brook as he crossed over the bridge, all of it seemed particularly designed to worsen his mood.  As he headed into town, he could hear a faint explosion behind him, and he picked up his pace.  Distance could free him from the disaster behind him.

Everyone was calling greetings as he wandered into town, even the insufferably Orlesian cobbler.  He suffered through them stoically, trudging along.  Why was everyone in Kirkwall so cheerful? What did they have to be cheerful about?  

Didn't they know they were in Kirkwall?

“Good morning, Fenris!”  the baker greeted him as he passed, and he rolled his eyes.  “Off to the book shop again?”

Did the fool not see that he was holding a book?

“No,”  He replied sarcastically, and then continued on his way.  Nosy bastard.

He could hear people gossiping about him as he skulked up the street, not at all to his surprise.  Why couldn't anyone in this damn place mind their own business?  Why couldn’t they speak instead of sing?

Who cared about the price of eggs?

The door of the bookstore chimed as he pushed it open, slumping in and enduring the cheerful greeting of the proprietor.  The man supplied him with books, and for that alone he would endure the chipper attitude.

“I came to return the book that I borrowed,” he informed the proprietor brusquely, offering it back over.

“Finished already?”

“I had nothing better to do,” he responded simply, turning to the shelf to examine the selection. Every single one he'd read several times, it felt like.  “Do you have anything new?”

“Not since yesterday!”  The man laughed, and Fenris gritted his teeth.

“Fine.  Then I will borrow this one,” he decided, pulling a thick tome down from the shelf.  Long enough to get him through today, hopefully.

“That one?  But you've read it twice!”  

He felt his eye twitch.  Don't snap at the old fool.  This was a store, and he let you borrow the books. Don't antagonize the man.

“Yes.  It must be my favourite,” he finally replied with discreet sarcasm.

“Well, if you like it that much, it's yours!” he insisted, glasses sliding down his nose.

Lovely, charity.  He wanted to refuse, but he knew that it would do no good.

“Thank you,” he replied grudgingly, and then stalked out of the shop before he could try to resume conversation.  If he was lucky, he'd be able to find some peace to read for a while.

A herd of animals was blocking the thoroughfare through town, one of the idiotic sheep trying to bite his book.  Luckily, a punch in the nose managed to dissuade it.  He left it bleating in pain and continued on his way.

...

“Hey, nice shot,” Varric commented with a chuckle as Hawke downed a duck.  “But do you think the middle of town's a great place to be hunting?  You could shoot someone, you know.”

“Yes, I know,” she replied lazily, slinging the gun over her shoulder and sauntering over to join him. “But I won't, because I'm the best hunter in town.  No beast alive stands a chance against me.  And no girl, for that matter.”

“Yeah, okay, sure,” Varric replied sarcastically, and then added, “But still, you really shouldn't be firing a gun in the middle of town.”

“It's true, Varric,” Hawke continued, completely ignoring his utterly valid point.  “And I've got my sights set on that one.”

She pointed across the square at a skulking, irritable looking elf with his nose in a book, gloomily ignoring people as they tried to talk to him.

“Er...he's...”

“The crazy old man's daughter.”

“Hawke, that's a man.”

“Same thing,” Hawke said dismissively, flipping a hand through her hair.  

Varric opened his mouth, and then closed it.  

“He's the one.  He's the lucky girl I'm going to marry.”

“Still not a girl, Hawke.”

“He's the most beautiful girl in town.”

Why was he still talking?  Hawke could have this conversation all by herself, really.  Varric just sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.  Maker save him.

“That makes him the best.  And don't I deserve the best?”  He could feel her gimlet stare on him, and barely avoided rolling his eyes.  Why did he hang out with this knucklehead?

“Sure, Hawke, sure.”

“Just watch, I'm going to make Fenris my wife,” she informed Varric, nodding her head firmly and striding off to catch up with the elf.

“...That's still a man, Hawke,” Varric sighed under his breath, watching her walk away.

...

“Hello, Fenris.”

The boisterous, cheerful voice boomed down at him, and he glanced up at the grinning face of Marian Hawke. Lovely.  Just when he thought this day couldn't get any worse.

He sighed, moving to try and step around her.  As he did, she snatched the book out of his hands, examining it with disgust, flipping through it.

“Hawke, give me my damn book back,” he growled, as she sneered at the pages.

“How can you read this?  There aren't even any pictures!”  

“Give me my book back,” he repeated.  He wasn't going to educate the dolt, obviously schooling hadn't done her any favors.

“Fenris...”  She threw the book over her shoulder into some mud.  He felt his eye twitch. “It's about time you got your head out of those books and started paying attention to more important things.  Like me.”

She was getting wound up for a speech, it seemed.  Wonderful.  Growling under his breath, he stepped around her and leaned down to rescue his book, wiping off the cover.

“The whole town's talking...”

“Hawke,” he interrupted, icily. “I have ripped the hearts out of men's chests for less insult than you have given me in the last two minutes.”

She fell silent, staring at him, and he turned on a heel to stride off.  He had to get home, after all.  If he was gone too long, the old man would probably destroy the entire town.  That was feeling like less and less of a bad thing.

Behind him, Hawke stared, hands going to her mouth, cheeks red.  Varric squinted up at her.

“I am going to marry that man,” she whispered, voice awed.

...

There was a loud bang from the cottage in the distance, and smoke poured out of the windows.  Fenris didn't bother picking up the pace.  If he was lucky, maybe the old man had blown himself up this time.  He could hope, at least.

Reaching the cottage at last, he headed for the cellar workshop, throwing open the doors with a cloud of ash and smoke, and then pacing down the stairs.  His father was sprawled out on the floor, covered in soot and seeming dazed.

“What did you do this time?” he asked impatiently.  

“I believe...”  Solas started, struggling to his feet, blinking rapidly, “that I may be on the verge of abandoning this line of work.”

“If only.  Somehow, I doubt it,” Fenris sniped back.  He turned his attention to the complicated-looking mess of a machine as Solas kicked it.

“I am quite certain this time.  This device is simply too flawed to function as I need it to.  I will bring down the veil.”

“You said that about the last one, and it nearly functioned in the end.  You'll destroy the world sooner or later.”  He hadn't meant to be reassuring, but he looked so damn dejected.  Besides, every time he gave up on one of these things, he spent far too much time pestering Fenris.  Better to keep him occupied.

“Do you truly believe that?”  Solas asked hopefully.

“Sure.”  

“Well!  Why wait any longer?  I will have it fixed in no time at all!”  With renewed enthusiasm, Solas turned back to his machine, gesturing vaguely.  “Please hand me the arulin'holm.”

“Get it yourself,” Fenris replied, moving to find a chair, sticking his nose back in his book.  

[onekisstotakewithme]

ALLY I feel like this bathtub is begging for a Spirk one shot…… 👀 just an idea!

Okay, so first off THANK YOU. I've been missing writing these two idiots 💜✨ and second of all, this is not the WHOLE one-shot, there's a lot of lead-up, and some stuff after as well, which I can hopefully get polished and posted tomorrow. but that being said....

~

Jim limps his way over to the bathroom, but instead of a regulation shower stall, there’s a beautiful bathtub set into the wall, a window showing the stars outside.

But there’s no shower to be seen.

Jim lets out a low whistle. “Mr. Spock, it seems you were right about a captain’s privilege.”

“Explain.”

“Come see for yourself.”

Spock walks over, standing beside Jim in the doorway. “Ah.”

“It’s certainly better than our bathroom back on the Enterprise, isn’t it, Mr. Spock? Very roomy.”

“Not exactly a logical use of space on a space station, Captain. A luxury, if ever I saw one.”

“Yes, well,” Jim says, waving his hand as he imitates Captain Koloth. “You Vulcans are not as luxury-minded as us Earthers, after all.”

Spock looks as though he’s trying to hide a smile, and it makes Jim grin. “Certainly, Captain.”

“Now, I… do believe that’ll be all, Mr. Spock. We’ve had a long day.”

“Captain… forgive me, I do not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Jim, who is busy leaning over the edge of the tub to turn on the tap, turns. “But?”

“Would it not be logical for me to help?”

Jim flushes hot, hot enough that the water running from the tap over his fingers suddenly seems cool by comparison. “H-Help, Mr. Spock?”

“Some of your injuries… may be difficult for you to reach without assistance.”

“And you… want to help.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Fine, just… turn around.”

Spock raises an eyebrow. “I will never understand man’s need for privacy.”

“You don’t have to understand it, Spock, but please. Turn around.”

“Very well.”

Spock obliges, turning around in the doorway as Jim carefully undoes his pants and boots, stepping out of them, and into the tub, hissing in pain as the warm water meets the wounds on his back.

He’s feeling very shy all of a sudden, looking out at the stars over the space station instead of Spock. “You uh… you can turn around now, Mr. Spock.”

“Very well.”

“How bad is it?” he asks, hearing Spock’s footsteps on the tile.

“Lean forward.”

Jim does, baring his back to Spock, his face hot as he rests his chin on his knees.

“Captain… I would advise caution in the future,” Spock says, pressing a damp cloth gently to Jim’s back.

“Oh?”

“You were fortunate this time, but the probability was against you.”

Jim hisses through his teeth as Spock touches a particular tender gash.

“I’m sorry, Jim.”

“It’s okay, Spock.”

“Why did you fight the Klingons? I did not know there had been an altercation until Mr. Scott informed me.”

“Well, they said some unkind things about the Federation.”

“Hardly a reason to brawl, Captain.”

“They think they’re better than us – and they’re barbaric.” Jim winces as Spock presses the cloth down hard. “But that isn’t the real reason.”

“I should think not, given that you are usually an exemplary model of Federation diplomacy.”

“Spock, was that sarcasm?”

“No.”

Jim smiles, letting the lie go. “It was about you.”

[yourlocalfictionalenthusiast]

IN LIFE, IN DEATH...

PART TEN

:Masterlist:

A/N: And that’s a wrap! Ahh, writing this series has been so fun and I’m so glad that so many of you have liked it so much. Thank you guys for staying until the end and hopefully for upcoming stuff 👀 I hope you enjoy the finale of In Life, In Death... <3

(Also the song mentioned in part six and this part is ‘She Is Love’ by Parachute) <3

-

December 1994

Luke groaned as he woke up, squinting hard to try and adjust his eyes to the amount of light in the room.

Even before he could see clearly, he knew he must've fallen asleep in the studio judging by the soreness in his back and neck that he always got when he slept on the old couch. It couldn't have been more than six in the morning, and Luke could still feel the tiredness in his bones. So he tried to turn away from the light and hopefully fall back asleep, but there was something keeping him firmly in place.

His heart skipped when he looked down and saw that you were laying right next to him with your head on his chest and an arm thrown across his stomach. When he realized that his own arms were wrapped around you, his heart broke out into a full-on tap dance.

Waves of confusion ran through his still-foggy brain until he saw his guitar case propped up against the piano and his backpack on the floor with his clothes spilling out of it.

Then the events of last night quickly came back to him.

How he had gotten home late from rehearsal and his mom was waiting in the kitchen with his latest report card and her signature lecture at the ready. One minute he was standing there yelling, packing all he could fit into his bag, and the next, he was halfway to the studio with the rain soaking him head to toe.

He had expected it to be empty when he finally got there, but he was flooded with relief when he saw you. All the frustration slowly melted out of him the longer he laid there with you, leaving him feeling exhausted and shivering despite how warm he felt.

The last thing he wanted to do was talk about any of it, but when you asked, the words came out of his mouth before he could stop them.

He remembered rambling and crying again, the sound of your voice and the feeling of your fingers in his hair warming him up even more. Then finally, he remembered falling asleep with his chin tucked on top of your head, the smell of your shampoo filling his senses.

Without thinking, Luke reached down and carefully pushed a piece of hair away from your face, tucking it behind your ear and smiling to himself when you shifted into his touch. Then taking in a sharp breath as the realization ran through him all the way down to his toes.

You were his best friend.

The person he wanted to see at the end of a long day. Whenever he was full of anger or lost in confusion, all he had to do was look at you and everything suddenly made sense again. With your pretty smile and laugh, and your way of flipping that little switch inside him that made his head all fuzzy and the ground start spinning under his feet.

You were his best friend, and he was in love with you.

-

2020

All you felt was a mixture of anxiety and nausea as you stood on the Orpheum's street corner, biting the tips of your fingernails.

The entire plan hinged on Willie and Teddy getting everything done in time, and considering that they had betrayed you all before, you couldn’t help but expect the worst.

“Look, don’t worry. Willie said he’ll get us on that marquee.” Alex said nervously as he kicked pebbles across the sidewalk.

“This is going to work, right?” Reggie asked.

“It has to.” Luke mumbled, wincing seconds later when another shock hit them.

Two sharp pops cut through the air behind you and you all whipped around to see Willie and Teddy standing just a few feet away. Willie was watching you all carefully with concern written all over his face, his eyes lingering on Alex longer than anyone else. Teddy stood at the edge of the group, practically burning a hole in your face with his guilty stare.

“Are you guys okay?” Willie asked.

“Yeah, nothing we haven’t felt before.” Alex laughed awkwardly. “How’d it go?”

“Well, when the opening band wakes up, they’ll find their bus two hundred miles out of Vegas.” Willie said with a proud smile as he did a spin, showing off his stolen jacket with the band’s name across the back.

“With absolutely no chance of getting back in time.” Teddy added.

Luke gave Willie a fistbump and pointed up to the office above the Orpheum. “That means there’s probably a promoter up there freaking out right now.”

Willie grinned, sarcasm laced in his tone. “Nah, man. This is Hollywood. I’m sure he’s being very professional.”

You laughed and then Alex slowly inched forward, clearly struggling for the right words to say to Willie. You gave his arm a quick squeeze before following Reggie and Luke down the street to give them space. Before you even got halfway down the sidewalk, Teddy poofed next to you.

“You know, If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you don’t want to talk to me.” He joked.

“Teddy-”

"I just-I didn't want to leave things the way we did." He rambled. "I'm sorry, I should've told you everything that night in the diner-"

"Teddy, It's okay." You said. "You told me before Caleb could put the stamp on me, and you didn't know the details about the plan until after it was too late to help my friends. Plus, I know how much you're risking helping us now."

As soon as the words left your mouth, you felt some of the weight fall off your shoulders. You weren't sure why since the situation was still a little painful and awkward. But being around Teddy always made you feel a little like that kid who started working at the diner with Cece all those years ago. Besides, they were so alike that you found it hard to stay mad at him.

You held out your hand for Teddy to shake. "Despite everything, I'm glad we met."

“Likewise, Gorgeous,” Teddy said with a relieved smile as he grasped your hand. With a subtle wink, he nodded over towards where Luke was standing at the end of the street. “He’s a lucky guy.”

"What? How did you?-" You sputtered as he stepped away. You never told Teddy about Luke, or at least you didn't think you did.

Teddy just smirked in response before disappearing into the air. At the same time, you saw Willie skate away out of the corner of your eye, leaving Alex alone on the sidewalk.

You all phased next to him and Luke squeezed his shoulder reassuringly. "You okay, man?"

"Yeah. I'm good." Alex smiled slyly as he gestured to the office. "Looks like this show needs a new opening act though."

You grinned. "Let's go see if we can help with that."

-

When you got back to the studio, you found Julie pacing back and forth in the middle of the room as she wrung her hands together.

When you all poofed in, she immediately jumped into a load of questions, losing her breath halfway through and flailing her arms around.

"Whoa, just sit down," You laughed excitedly. "We'll tell you everything."

Julie took a gasping breath and plopped backwards onto the couch then stared at you all with expectant eyes. "Well?"

"It worked!" You announced. "Everything's fine."

"You should be getting the call...now!" Alex pointed to Julie’s phone on the table just as it started buzzing. You all cheered and Julie shushed you as she answered the call.

You heard a woman's voice say something through the phone and Julie gave a thumbs-up as she started jumping on the couch. You watched in amusement and mild horror as Luke and Reggie lifted Alex up into the air and spun him around.

Once he was back on the ground, Luke and Reggie made a beeline for you, each of them grabbed one of your arms and flipped you upside down over their shoulders.

You all spent the next twenty minutes laughing and screaming and Alex even got a little teary-eyed but you pretended not to notice. Then Julie called Flynn and ran off excitedly to decide her outfit for the night, leaving the four of you alone to plan out the setlist.

“Okay, so I’m thinking we start with Stand Tall.” Luke said excitedly as he wrote the words down in his songbook.

“Sounds good.” Reggie said, suddenly quiet.

“’Sounds good’? Guys, I wanna hear ‘That sounds awesome!” Luke reached out and nudged Reggie’s shoulder. “I know this isn’t the way we imagined any of this. But we need to be all in tonight. This is our second chance to play the Orpheum!”

“I get it.” Reggie sputtered. “But it’s hard. Do we even know what’s on the other side when we cross over? Do we still get to hang out together?”

You shifted your weight as the happy little bubble surrounding you popped. You had been so wrapped up in the excitement of finally playing the Orpheum that you almost forgot what tonight was really about.

“You guys are the only family I have.” Reggie’s eyes were glued to the piano as he played with his fingers. You reached out and locked his arm with yours in an attempt to comfort him.

“I don’t know what’s gonna happen either. But it’s not like we have a choice.” Alex said.

Suddenly, Reggie’s arm fell out of yours as all three boys fell back, clutching their sides.

“I’m pretty sure we do.” Reggie groaned. “And it rhymes with ‘Hollywood Ghost Club’.”

The garage doors creaked open and Julie appeared with a bright smile and a blue garment bag in her hand. When she saw your expressions, her smile fell. “What’s wrong?”

“We just got hit pretty hard by one of those jolts.” Alex said. “But we’re fine.”

“Oh, good.” She nodded, though she still looked on edge. “I’m nervous.”

“That makes two of us.” You said. “But we made it this far for a reason. We got this.”

“Can you ride there with me? I'm gonna need more pep-talk material for the drive there cause I still think I might puke.” Julie tucked her hair behind her ears.

“Of course, and don't worry, we’ll leave the windows open.” You joked, making everyone laugh.

The sound of a car horn cut through the air and Julie looked outside. "That's my dad. Are you ready, (Y/n)?"

You nodded. "Yeah, uh, give me a second. I'll meet you in the car."

As Julie disappeared behind the doors, you turned to the boys and sighed as you tried to soak up this moment. For all you knew, this could be the last little window of time you had alone with them before tonight.

Julie was a huge part of the band of course, but these were your boys. The ones who you started this all with, who had been by your side for everything.

From the look on all their faces, you could see that they were thinking the same thing.

Without saying a word, you launched yourself at Alex. He made a surprised noise but recovered quickly, throwing his arms around you and holding you tight.

"And I'm the emotional one?" He jokingly muttered in your ear and you pinched his side, making him jump back. "Rude."

As soon as your arms were open, Reggie stepped forward and hugged you so tightly that you were thankful to not need oxygen anymore because he was definitely crushing several vital organs.

You laughed and gave him one last squeeze before pulling away, locking eyes with Luke instantly.

Alex cleared his throat awkwardly and grabbed Reggie's shoulder, steering him over to Luke's songbook to 'check out the setlist again'.

"And then there were two." Luke joked.

You laughed and stepped into his waiting arms, making him laugh. You soaked up the feeling of comfort and familiarity for a minute before pulling away.

"This, uh, is for you," Luke said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of paper. You knitted your eyebrows together in confusion as he handed it over. "I wanted you to have it in case...well, you know. If tonight doesn't work."

"It will." You said, trying to ignore the fact that it very well could happen. "You're not getting rid of me that easily, Patterson."

"I wouldn't dream of it." He quipped back, his voice sounding softer and less teasing than you would've expected. You pulled back from him and because you didn't know if you would ever get another chance, you stood on your tiptoes and planted a kiss on his cheek.

You moved away too fast to see his reaction but the gesture made the other two boys smirk at you as you dashed out of the doors, making a beeline for the car pulling out of the driveway.

-

The back rooms of the Orpheum were a maze.

You had left for a few minutes to walk around the venue and clear your head, trying to wring out the last of your nerves.

By the time you found your way back, you expected to find the rest of the band rushing to get ready in the dressing room. But all you saw was Julie anxiously pacing as she had been earlier, a habit she seemed to have inherited from both you and Alex.

“You okay?”

She snapped her head up towards you and sighed. “Yeah, just a little worried. The guys aren’t here yet.”

You looked around the room and then at the clock, frowning. The show was in less than half an hour and that was already cutting it close. Part of you wanted to go check on them but Julie seemed to need you more at the moment.

“Okay, well, give them another ten minutes. I'm sure they'll be here. They wouldn’t miss this…again.”

You ran your palm across the front of your pocket, feeling Luke's note next to your parent’s photo, and hoped you were right.

But then more and more time passed until the stage manager came to escort Julie to the stage.

"Just a second!" She calls out and then turns to you. "(Y/n), something's wrong. They were getting those jolts pretty hard before we left. They must've run out of time."

You shut your eyes tight as the words sunk in. All you could bring yourself now was, ‘This isn't what was supposed to happen.’

The world fell out from under your feet and you had trouble even standing up straight as you imagined what must've happened to them. Your best friends, your brothers, your family was gone and there wasn't anything you could do about it.

The guy knocked again, this time a little harder and with a nervous tone. Julie chewed her lip as she looked between you and the door and you could almost see the cloud of grief settling over her.

As hard as it was, you tried your best to shove your feelings down and marched up to Julie. There would be time to fall apart later, but you knew that this what they would want you to do. "Let's go do this for them, okay?"

She took a deep, shaky breath before hesitantly nodding. You followed closely behind her as she walked out the door though the halls until she reached the stage. You waited beside Flynn in the wing as Julie settled behind her microphone and addressed the crowd.

There were scattered claps from around the venue and then she took a deep breath before singing the opening.

After the first few lines, you took your cue and materialized at the center of the stage. The crowd gasped and cheered the way they always did, but you kept your eyes shut tight and focused on the music.

Just as the song started picking up, you heard a familiar pop in the air and then the sound of drumming. You whirled around to see Alex mounted onto a drum set at the back of the stage, twirling his drumsticks around and smiling like he had never been gone at all.

Once you got over the initial shock, you wanted to cry with relief. They were okay, they were here. Alex winked at you goofily, and you ran towards Julie’s keyboard.

She had started bouncing on the balls of her feet, both of you finally getting into the song now that they were coming back. You followed suit, dancing around the base of the drum set as yours and Julie’s voices came together.

Then Reggie appeared on the other side of Julie and you ran to his side. You bumped his shoulder with yours and he grinned, moving to stand back to back.

The song was ramping up to the chorus when a staticky noise cut through the air, not loud enough for the crowd to hear but enough to make you all look over to the other end of the stage.

You could see Luke's form fading in and out, a look of anguish on his face, and the pit in your stomach opened up again. The crowd was on the edge of their seats as Alex's drumming paused and Luke finally materialized to sing the opening of the chorus.

You didn't even know you were moving until you suddenly found yourself across the stage next to Luke, unable to stop smiling as you sang.

Julie joined you, throwing her arms up in the air happily and jumping around. Reggie appeared by her side, flashing the crowd a winning smile.

Alex stood up and gripped his mic as he sang this solo. You looked back at him and flashed him a proud smile, then whooping loudly when Reggie sang his lines.

You all went down the line hitting your notes until the chorus kicked in again and your heart felt so full you almost couldn't stand it. This was what you were so close to achieving before you died, it was all you had wanted for years, and you knew that if you hadn't died, that night would've changed your life. But this night was something even more special. Because you were all here, all together.

Even if it was just for one last song.

Julie caught your attention and nodded towards the platform that spread out into the crowd. You followed her to the center and stood back to back as everyone cheered.

The guys joined in on either side of you, Alex grabbing one of your hands and Luke holding the other. You all bowed to the audience before taking your cue and vanishing, leaving only Julie on stage.

You landed in the wing, feeling a little lightheaded and overwhelmed from all the emotions you had experienced in the last five minutes. The elated smile fading from your face when all three boys poofed by your side only to fall to the floor instantly.

“It didn’t work.” You said miserably as Julie emerged into the backstage area. She grabbed Flynn and whispered something to her, pointing in the direction of her family. Flynn nodded and disappeared into the crowd while Julie ran to your side.

You hauled Alex onto his feet, letting him lean on you to stay upright while Luke and Reggie trailed behind Julie as she led the group back to the dressing room. Once everyone was inside, they collapsed on the couch or the floor, loudly groaning in pain.

“What happened? Why didn’t it work?” Julie asked tearfully.

“I guess playing here wasn’t our unfinished business.” Alex said hollowly.

“Point Caleb.” Reggie muttered as he clung to the side of an armchair.

You stood frozen next to Julie as panic spread through your whole body, both of you flinching in sympathy as the shocks continued.

“You have to save yourselves right now.” Julie begged. “Join Caleb’s club. It’s better than not existing at all!”

“She’s right.” You managed to say, your voice shaky and almost giving out. Your stomach flipped at the thought of them having to work for an evil club owner forever, but the alternative was worse. “You guys need to go now! For me. For us.”

“We’re not going back there.” Reggie shook his head.

Luke pulled himself up and stumbled forward a little so that he was right in front of you. “No music is worth making if we’re not all making it together.”

You sighed sadly, thinking back to your conversation yesterday. “So no more regrets?”

Luke let out a deep sigh and then reached up and cupped your cheek with his right hand. “Just one.”

You furrowed your eyebrows in response and Luke blinked hard as if he was trying to find the words. "I never told you why I left that night."

"Luke, don't." You gave him a weak smile. "I get it."

"You do?" He asked.

You struggled to get the words out. "Yeah, I mean it was bound to happen eventually. We just got too close and it was weird for you. I understand t-”

"What?" Luke asked, cutting you off with a confused look. "No, no, that's not it at all. Read the-"

Before he could finish, you heard Julie gasp loudly from a few feet away. You looked over to see her stepping back from Alex with an awestruck look on her face as she gripped his forearms.

Wait, what?

Before you could even begin to process what you were seeing, Reggie was reaching out to Julie, who grabbed his wrist and hauled him up to his feet. The three of them stared at each other for a few seconds before Julie turned to you and Luke.

“Guys, come here.”

Alex reached out and pulled you into his side while Luke threw an arm around Reggie’s back and Julie brought you all in closer to her. At first, nothing happened. But then there was a faint buzzing sound and the boys lifted their wrist towards the ceiling and you all watched in awe as the stamp floated away in the blink of an eye.

“Whoa.” Reggie said, his eyes still glued to the ceiling. “I don’t feel as weak anymore.”

“Yeah, me neither.” Alex agreed. “Not that I ever was that weak in the first place.”

You rolled your eyes and let your head fall over on his shoulder. “What do you think that means?”

Luke smiled. “I think it means the band is back.”

It was quiet for a second before Alex looked at you all shyly. “You guys think we can try that hug thing again?”

You laughed as you huddled together again, sniffling and laughing. Then Julie yelled out that you had played the Orpheum and then you were all jumping around, still tangled in each other’s arms.

Eventually, you all broke apart and while the boys started chasing each other around, you turned to Julie. She looked into your eyes and immediately flew into your arms, muttering into your shoulder, “I always wanted a big sister.”

The words warmed your heart and you squeezed her extra hard, grateful that you actually could now. “Well, I’m honored.”

“My family's probably looking for me so..." Julie stepped back from your arms with the biggest smile you’d ever seen on her face, you jokingly bowed to her and she copied the gesture before disappearing behind the door.

You wiped the last of your tears out of your eyes and turned around to find Alex and Reggie were talking in whispers and wearing knowing smiles. When Alex saw you looking, he cleared his throat and nudged Reggie’s shoulder.

“Hey, Reg.” Alex said cheekily, not taking his eyes off of you for even a second. “I was going to check out the next band. You wanna come with me?”

“Sure!” Reggie started strolling towards the door, stopping only for a second to nudge your shoulder and whisper ‘don't do anything I wouldn’t do’ in your ear.

Alex fixed Luke with a pointed look over his shoulder and Reggie gave him a dorky wink before they poofed away. You smiled fondly at the space where they were just standing and awkwardly turned towards Luke.

“Hi.” You said, laughing awkwardly.

“Hi.” Luke muttered back as he stepped forward until he was close enough to grab your hand. “About what I was saying earlier…”

You opened your mouth to say something but he shook his head and pointed to your pocket. “Read it. Please.”

You tugged the note he had given you earlier out of your pocket and carefully folded it open to see that it wasn’t a note at all. It was the love song that Julie had found that day in the garage, the one that he didn’t want anyone to see. You struggled a little trying to decipher Luke's handwriting. The ink was a little smudged and the song was clearly unfinished but it was the most beautiful thing you had ever read. And he had written it for you.

"I didn't leave because we got too close," He said. "It was the opposite, (Y/n), I left because I was scared to lose you, and I know that doesn't make sense because I kind of did w-"

You carefully tucked the paper back in your pocket with one hand and grabbed the back of his neck with the other, pulling him down and closing the last bit of space between you.

Luke's brain short-circuited for a second before he started kissing back, grabbing your waist with enough force to nearly knock you both backwards. It was dizzying and a little desperate, yet weirdly familiar, as if you'd been kissing him your whole life.

Most moments with Luke felt like they were happening in slow motion, but this time it was like a high-speed movie montage of your whole lives. The stolen crayons, the time capsule, the pre performance pep talks, the smell of cinnamon, the ferris wheel, his jacket, the movie nights and songwriting sessions. All of it had led up to this moment.

"I love you." Luke said immediately after you pulled away. "God, I love you so much. I'm such an idiot. I'm sorry."

“Hey, it’s okay.” You laughed, blinking another wave of tears out of your eyes. “I should’ve told you forever ago instead of skirting around it.”

“And what is it that you should’ve told me?” He said teasingly and you rolled your eyes. You had gotten so used to Luke being so shut down or nervous around you that you almost forgot how much of a little shit he could be.

“That I love you too.” You said, unable to stop smiling.

Luke leaned down and captured your lips in another kiss, this time threading his fingers through your hair as he cupped your cheeks in his hands. “I’m never gonna get tired of hearing that.”

You bit your lip to keep another laugh from bubbling up as you looked up at him, feeling completely overwhelmed in the best way possible. "So...what now?"

"I don't know." Luke admitted. "But I know one thing."

"What's that?"

"That no matter where we go, or what we do," He pushed a piece of hair behind your ear. "In life, in death... I'm yours. Always."

-

The End

-

In Life, In Death Taglist:

@ifilwtmfc @instabull @wanniiieeee @tenaciousperfectionunknown @charliegillespiewife @merceret @itismeasmolpotato @lilostif16 @dangerouslyclose @iainttakingshitfromnobody @givemebooksorgivemedeath @sunsetcurvedotmp3 @askgeoff @mayleenicole5676 @puppy11148 @vampire7595 @wackyworrieruniverse @reallysparklychaos @lovelydaydreams15 @rachmmb @musicismyescape27 @stackie4ever​ @spidermankenobi

(Strikethrough means I can’t tag you)

JATP Taglist:

@caitsymichelle13 @sunsetcurvej​

Let me know if you want to be added!

[sidespromptblog]

The Accident

Warning: Medical scene, mention of broken bones, blacking out (once mentioned), cast, and Logan angst.

Summary: While out on a date with Remus and Janus, Logan falls and hurts his wrist.

Word Count: 1,631

“Are you sure that it’s alright?” Janus asked suspiciously, as his cold fingers gingerly touched the tinder flesh of Logan’s wrist. His eyes were narrowed as if he was already on high alert to see if Logan was going to dare even lying about something like this.

“It looks a little swollen,” Remus helpfully added, circling around them like a wild hyena protecting his little pack, his eyes barely stood still long enough to even get a glimpse of Logan’s wrist.

But when he did, without a moment’s worth of hesitation…

He cringed every time.

That should have told Logan everything he needed to know about the situation. Remus wasn’t making jokes, and was well past being worried. Janus was using his literal body as a shield so that no one could even dare to get close, and there wasn’t the slightest bit of sarcasm coming from him. Logan should have been more worried about the state of his wrist, in his writing hand no less. But all he could feel was the sharp throbbing of where Janus’ grip was, and the occasional fleeting touch from where Remus would look over his shoulder and down at his injury.

Stupid.

He had been so stupid.

Of course there would still be patches of ice, even with the weather being over the standard freezing of thirty-two. The wind chill matched with it being later time of day should have made it obvious, he had been too careless. Too…

Stupid.

“Logan?” Remus’ worried voice struck up again, as he took up the position on his other shoulder. “You’re not going to black out again are you?”

Ah yes, that one moment of pitch darkness the moment his head had connected with the frozen sidewalk. He doubted that any of them wanted to recall that, especially given the way that Janus had screamed and he had come to being cradled in Remus’ arms like a limp noodle.

Swallowing thickly Logan attempted a smile. “It hurts,” He honestly said, because what was the point in lying with a human lie detector right in front of him. “But, I’m sure that once we return back to Thomas’ mind, the injury will go away. Just like they’ve done before in the imagination… right?”

An uncertain whine curled in Remus’ throat, like he was a dog that had been left chained outside on a rainy day.

That alone told Logan that even he wasn’t exactly sure just how much the imagination could and couldn’t cure.

“No.” Janus firmly shook his head, “If we don’t know then there’s no use in going back and just causing you more pain. We’ll…” Here Janus grimaced just a little bit, the scales in his face shifting into something more socially acceptable. “We’ll have to take you to the hospital for an X-ray…”

Two groans accompanied this declaration.

It was almost three hours later that Logan was able to see the doctor in question.

But by far the most annoying and anxiety inducing tribulation was the fact that he had to be separated from the other two sides when he needed to have the X-ray done. Which he had known going in, of course he had known it. But knowing it and actually having to do it we’re two entire different things. When it had come to him leaving the mind space, he had never been alone. Usually he’d had Thomas, or some of the other sides to accompany him on his days out and to be without them for some terrifying and quite painful procedure, was… scary.

He was scared, and also quite a bit embarrassed about the whole ordeal.

Sitting back in the doctor’s office with both Janus and Remus on either side of him waiting for whatever news was to come, made him feel both worse and better at the same time.

“I’m sorry.” He finally mumbled, a bolt of shame ramming itself into his guts.

A part of him wasn’t even sure what to be sorry for, but another part deep and loathing knew exactly what he was apologizing for.

Janus who had been staring ahead at the posters decorating the walls immediately snapped his attention back to Logan, his brows furrowing for a moment before an unreadable expression took over his face. It was an expression that both Remus and Logan knew all too well. “Sorry?” Janus asked, his voice carefully clipped. “For what might I ask.” Having just started he shifted his entire body to face Logan. “For having an accident? For slipping? For falling? For doing something that wasn’t your fault to begin with?”

Behind him Remus cringed back, they both knew what was coming.

“I ruined our day.” Logan tried to argue, trying being the key word there.

Just for Janus to immediately shake his head, his cold fingers seeking out Logan’s cheeks and cupping them carefully enough to avoid the scrapes on his face. The look on his face was adoring and yet exasperated at the same time, as his eyes watered but no tears seemed to fall in Logan’s presence.

“You,” Janus choked out, “Didn’t ruin anything. We can always have another day, hopefully with you being hurt a little less. It’s okay Logan… I promise. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Behind him Remus dug his fingers into the fabric of Logan’s thick winter coat as he buries his face into the logical side’s neck. His bristly whiskers tickled as he merely held Logan in place, bestowing all the love he could possibly give to him.

A laugh then shook Remus’ middle, “Hopefully Thomas has insurance.” His muffled voice finally got out.

And just like that the other two sides were tearfully giggling, knowing that thanks to Virgil’s worrywart tendencies Thomas had the best possible medical insurance he could get. And whether Logan knew it or no, which he did, he was technically going to be committing insurance fraud simply by the fact that he looked so much like Thomas.

Almost another several hours later though, with a dark blue cast now seated on his hand and wrist with the instructions to come back in a months time it was time to go home.

“So,” Remus popped the word out of his mouth, as he took up the duty of spoon feeding Logan some ice cream before they actually had to go back. “What are you going to tell the others, you know… about the cast and everything?” There was a quick glance shared between him and Janus. “The truth?”

It took genuine effort to not snort in Remus’ face after swallowing his mouthful of ice cream, and by a lot of effort it obviously meant that he coughed right into the crook of his arm in an attempt to hide it.

“No.” Logan answered back almost immediately, “Are you kidding me?! Virgil would never let me leave the house again if I came back looking like this. Roman would more than a little bit blame you. Patton would go along with it, in an effort to keep me ‘out of harm’s way’, and Thomas would just be concerned.” He gestured with his newly casted arm, they all knew that if it was discovered that Logan had left to go on a date with Janus and Remus, and had come back with a broken wrist they would be dramatic as possible when it came to any future dates with the dark sides.

He wouldn’t allow that.

Janus hummed as he nodded his head, his lips twisting just a little at the unpleasant thoughts that came with the scenario that Logan had just explained. “So what are you going to do?”

Surely Logan couldn’t just hide in his room until a month passed, and then get the cast off.

“I’ll just stay in my room until it’s time to get the cast off,” Logan shrugged, “I’ll put a sticky note on the door saying that I’m working on a big project and I don’t want to be disturbed. They usually listen to my sticky notes, a lot better than me since there’s no actual listening involved.”

“Are they threatening, these sticky notes?” Remus teased.

Instead of replying to his teasing with a retort Logan merely rolled his eyes, grabbing the front of Remus’ shirt to pull him in for a short sighted kiss.

“You know,” Remus mumbled in between kisses, “You can just stay with us right? The couch is always open for you, and so is any of our bedrooms.”

Logan pecked one last kiss on the corner of the creative side’s mouth, a warmth stirring in his chest at the offer of another place to stay if he wished to.

But…

It would be easier to recover in his own bedroom without Janus’ or Remus’ room effecting him in anyway, and recovering from a broken wrist on the couch didn’t exactly sound like fun to him.

“I know Rem,” The warmth he felt blossomed onto his face as a loving smile. “And rest assured you and Janus will see me in this month. But my room is probably easier for me.”

Satisfied with his answer, Janus nodded as he threw away the plastic spoons and cups that they had been eating from. Finally ready to head on back to the mind space, as both he and Remus held tight to Logan’s hands on the way back. It’d be a while before they could go on another date again, and maybe a little bit longer before it was anywhere in the wintertime again. But that was okay, because he could wait.

So with him lovingly holding onto the blue cast that kept Logan’s broken hand safe from the world, Janus felt at peace for the first time since the accident.

Everything would be okay.

[captainxsassafras]

Showered in Love

E voila! My first piece of filth (hopefully of many, regardless of how long it takes my dumb ass to write it!)! I have no excuses, no reason other than I just want to take care of one (1) beautiful, dumb birdbrain. In whatever way possible. But we all came here to be horny, so horny it is! 🤣🤣🤣

But seriously, I hope you enjoy this entirely self-indulgent smut! I tried to keep the reader pretty neutral physicaly and focus more on the feeling, but please let me know if you notice anything there I might have missed or that I could improve on! Ask or dm, just please be respectful and polite! I'm new so I'm sure I have ways I could improve and I'm open to editing/updating to make it more inclusive! 💗

Warnings: explicit, handjob, shower sex, very subby Keigo, nipple play, body worship (?), real tender smut, comfort sex

And here you go! Tagging some people who might be interested!

@queensynderella @heyitswhiplash @lovekeigo @keilemlucent @keiqos

It had been a hard day.

Not for you. Your day had been ordinary in every sense. Nothing alarming or even really exciting had interrupted the normal scheme of your work schedule. You had arrived home a bit tired, but in an innocuously pleasant mood and put an easy to make casserole in the oven before working on the various little chores that helped keep the apartment clean.

You had been in the middle of moving the laundry from the washer to the dryer when he’d come in.

He had used the window.

That wasn’t ominous by itself. He used the window more often than not. The large window with the spacious balcony had been a must have when the two of you had bought the place and was a much more frequent feature of take off than the intended front door to the place. You probably would have been more concerned if he’d actually used that door.

Ok, that wasn’t true. You were just making morbid mental jokes to ease your own tension.

You weren’t scared.

You were worried.

You were sad.

You were hurting.

Because… he was.

An anxious little ball was twisting knots in your stomach. Crinkles marked the edges of your eyes as you turned off the oven and stood at the counter, contemplating his arrival.

He didn’t call out to you when he came in.

That should have been the first clue.

Keigo always called out to you when he arrived home unless he knew you were already asleep. It amazed you that he was constantly excited to see you when he got home. The light in his eyes traveled across his entire voice and even lightened his voice, taking his normal boyish sarcasm and lifting it to almost child-like wonder. The happy way he greeted you made your heart dance like a butterfly every single time.

But he didn’t this time.

He’d surprised you. You’d nearly jumped out of your skin when he first walked by. Silent as a ghost, you’d only noticed the movement out of the very corner of your eye and adrenaline had shot through your veins. You whipped around into a low stance, ready to fight God and the universe if they were attacking you in your own home. But God was nowhere to be found.

Keigo had stood, frozen to the spot, looking at you with blank eyes and an uncomprehending expression. It felt like the world had stopped. Not in a figurative, emotional sense. He had just been so still that you weren’t sure the world hadn’t stopped with him. You stood, unmoving and waiting for Keigo to move. Say hello. Give you a hug. Anything.

He didn’t.

And you knew something was wrong.

“Kei,” you’d breathed, moving to rush over to him and engulf him in your arms.

“Dove.”

You stopped.

The strangled, heavy sound of his voice sent a shiver down your back even now. God, it grated on your heart. Simultaneously beaten by an unspeakable harshness and weighed down by all the abyssal truths you knew he carried like Atlas.

Without another word he’d passed by, red wings trailing on the floor behind him in evidence of his exhaustion. That was… different.

The click of the bathroom door closing had broke your heart to pieces.

The sound of the shower starting was normally soothing, but today it was just another layer to the tension that had swept into the apartment on crimson wings.

And now he had been in there for twenty minutes.

Keigo was not a long shower person. Didn’t like wasting water. Which was a convenient excuse to shower together, but also how he really felt about it. He was just too impatient and showering wasn’t one of those things he liked to devote his sparse time to.

But he was still in there.

With pursed lips, you took the casserole from the oven and found a spot in the fridge. Another night. The dryer was started and before you could let the hurt surrounding Keigo scare you off, you went to him.

The bathroom door opened noiselessly to your touch. A waft of steam wet your face and you could feel the intense heat of the room within seconds. A purring, mechanic whirr from the fan masked the sound of the door closing, but you were sure Keigo knew you were in there. His feathers wouldn’t have missed the vibrations of the door, even dampened by the buffer of the water.

You were quiet as you undressed. Eyeing his clothes piled randomly across the floor, you went to the cabinet in the corner and brought out something you’d been saving for a treat. Tender eyes flicked to Keigo.

A spike of worry knotted your chest.

He hadn’t moved since you’d entered the bathroom.

He was just standing, water colliding with his bare skin and streaming down his frame to join the small pool at his feet. You wished you could fully appreciate the sight of his naked body. You wished you felt better about being able to see drop after drop caress every plane and curve of his skin. He was so gorgeous.

But your heart wasn’t in the heated looks you wanted to send.

You entered the shower slowly, taking care not to slip on slick tiles. The extra treat was deposited on the shelf full of soap, shampoo, and other hygiene products.

He was so warm as you slipped your arms around his torso and molded your body into the curve of his back. Your hands clasped, pulling him close. And for a moment you just stood, as close physically as you possibly could be. It didn’t feel like enough. His mind was far away still, lost in the echoes of some terrible, terrible secret he could never tell you. Soft cadences of breathe left you drowning in the feeling of him, letting your mind drift away from the thoughts of those secrets and bringing your own worries back to the very real man held so closely before you.

Keigo often complained about his lack of height and how he wished he had more back muscle, but you loved the lean, corded muscles. They were perfect to you. You also loved the fact that you could lay your head perfectly into the curve at the back of his neck and murmur into his ear.

“Hey there, feathers.”

He pooled into your touch and the tension drained away with those wandering rivulets of water. It wasn’t completely gone but the edge was softened. It was a butter knife now, useful but it wasn’t going to cut you for getting too close.

“Dooove.”

This time, when his voice came out strangled it was less… heartbreaking.

“Yes, love?”

No answer. Maybe he needed a bit of help.

“Do you need something.”

A single, slow nod.

You breathed into the feel of him. “Do you need me to take care of you?”

Oh god. The tiniest, strangled whimper kissed your ears as Keigo nodded again, leaning back into your frame. The shower-wet feathers of his wings pressed themselves into your body. You could feel them against every warm, vulnerable inch of flesh. A quick shift left your wandering fingers trailing downward across his abdomen dangerously. Feathers ruffling against your body had you biting your lip and holding back a moan. Those fingers found the wet, curled hairs that framed his groin and the moan ripped free, settling on the weight of anticipation. The feathers on his wings positively shivered while you traced the tight swoops of those golden curls. You knew them well, but still loved twirling your hands through them. A bit more wiry than the hair on his head, they were still surprisingly soft and springy. Keigo assured you he loved your own curls, but the downy feel of his never ceased to make you the slightest bit jealous.

Wet flashes of red spun out the corners of your eyes as his wings shuddered and shifted against the onslaught of your hands teasing through Keigo’s hair. He cried out as your left hand reached up to card through the wet hair on his head. You matched the twirling of each hand, one at his brow and one at his groin and groaned loudly into the crook of his neck. His feathers were dancing against your skin.

Fortunately, you weren’t the only one making noise.

Pain mixed with pleasure as you kneaded your bottom lip. You reveled in the sweet, sweet noises that left Keigo’s throat with each tender swirl of your hand. They were soft, high, and so very needy. So very perfect.

“Keigo.” You placed gentle kisses into the space behind his ear. “I’m here to help, to take care of you. But I need to know what you need.” More kisses. “Do you want me to wrap you up in a blanket and feed you your favorite food? Or do you need to fuck this out?”

A moan escaped that was dangerously close to a whine.

“Ohhh, I love it when you cry for me, babe. But I need your words right now.”

“Fucking.” His words were full of heat and light with breathlessness.

“Ok, love. What kind? Fuck me senseless?” You paused, waiting for a reaction. Nothing notable. Your tongue found your lips as you considered your next words and the actions they might lead to. “Do I need to take care of my good boy?”

He went still. The sound that echoed across the empty bathroom tiles was the stuff of fantasy. You felt yourself clench and knew at that moment exactly what he needed.

“Mm, ok.” You moved away and delighted in the way Keigo’s entire body followed, trying to sink back into your hold. “I’ve got you. Let me take care of you, love.”

And he stayed where he was, so still you couldn’t believe it save for the heaving of his chest and nearly imperceptible trembling of his wings. You placed a kiss to the edge of his feathers and reached blindly behind you to grab the treat from before.

He sighed into the contact.

It wasn’t anything quite that special. Just a body wash that you knew Keigo particularly liked. The smell always had him burying his head in whatever piece of skin was available, to fold himself in the scent. It had been backordered for several months and you’d gotten your hands on it as a surprise for your lover. You’d planned to bring it out on some sort of special, happy day, but today it seemed like the perfect little surprise to pamper him with.

Covering your hands with the gel, you encompassed him again and started with washing his shoulders. Gentle hands smoothed over hot skin and worked at the tight muscles.

A gasp ran through his body when the smell reached him.

“Dove, you’re spoiling me.”

Hands slid to his back, carefully avoiding the sodden wings. Those got a special treatment and didn’t take well to body wash. Not friends with the mundane, human hygiene products.

“And?” You nearly sang. His tight ass was next and you knelt behind him to take your time carefully washing down each leg. Every curve and crevice was gently attended to. He whined as you swept your hands within touch of each area he wanted you to stroke most. Naturally, you pulled away as soon as it seemed like you might actually touch him there. Deep melodious laughter filled the spaces between his high, endless keening. You could tell the moment he felt your breath smoothing over the supple curve of his ass. The resounding whines cut off abruptly and the intense, broad heaves of his chest quickened and almost fluttered.

You hovered.

He stopped breathing entirely.

You began to stand and as you did, you placed a sweet, yet scorching kiss to the soft plane of each beautiful, taut, trembling ass cheek.

That earned you a whiny, desperate laugh. The chuckle choked off as soon as you melded into his body again, hands sliding around to cup his pecs.

You breathed into his ear and with each gentle word, your hands swept across his chest in ever tightening circles, slowly closing in on the sweet little jewels at the center. “If I’m taking care of you, it’s my job to spoil you. Don’t you think?” Tender fingers found his nipples, already pert and ready, and rolled the little buds in soapy circles.

His moans strangled and stuttered. Grasping hands reached back, clawing at something, anything, to hold to. He needed an anchor. He needed grounding in the midst of every bit of mind-numbing pleasure roiling and writhing through his weary nerves. He found your hips and clung like a man drowning, gasping for air and up to his head in a river of luxuriant ecstasy. He never wanted to surface again. He would drown in this flood of euphoria if you’d let him.

You slowed with his nipples when you felt his hips begin to make messy, haphazard, not-quite thrusts into thin air.

You knew without a doubt that your beautiful bird could and would cum right here without a single bit of direct stimulation to his cock. He was so worked up, you could see clearly in your mind the moment he’d burst, spreading hot cum all over from just the endless, maddening rolling of his nipples. It made you clench and squeeze like mad just to think of it.

But that wasn’t quite what you wanted. And you could tell it wasn’t quite what Keigo needed. Ok, you thought it wasn’t the right thing for him, but you felt like you had a pretty good grip on what this wonderful man needed at the moment. And he had put his trust in you. He had given over to you the gift of taking care of him. He had surrendered the responsibility of deciding himself what he needed and given that to you. You would never betray that trust by doing something you didn’t think was to his direct and utmost benefit. Or to his highest pleasure.

Your boy trusted you and you were going to take care of him thoroughly.

Previous conversations and past experience had revealed that, while the nipple orgasms were overwhelming and utterly consumed him with rolling, trembling waves pleasure, they weren’t as wholly sating as direct stimulation. They left him boneless and weak, but not finished.

You wanted him absolutely wrung out.

Those half thrusts quickened and you left his nipples alone.

He was too overwhelmed to even complain.

“Good boy.” Wandering hands ventured south. “My sweet, wonderful good boy.”

His head lolled back and wings twitched weakly at the feeling of your fingers in his curls again. However, you didn’t linger in those cute little whirls of hair for long. You had a prize to find.

And find it you did.

He was so hard you couldn’t help but bite your lip in excitement. Deep, reaching breaths wracked his torso as your hands moved down his cock at a torturous pace. As it was, several seconds passes before you found your way to the very tip. God, he was leaking. Mapping out the contours of his gorgeous, aching cock, you felt around the head and spent the time to rub at the slit as slowly as possible. Back and forth, over and over, relishing the tiny, twitchy thrusts that accompanied the motion.

A long, shaky, drawn-out whine from Keigo filled your head and you nearly lost it as the feeling of a fresh spurt of precum met your thumb.

“Oh, oh. My precious, precious boy. You like that so much, don’t you?”

“Yee-eeees!” Without warning, his hips canted forward just the slightest creating friction across the tip.

Oh, that was enough. He was ready to burst and deserved the reward of a full-force orgasm. What a magnificent, wonderful man. And he was all yours to equally ruin and cherish with each maddening stroke.

Without warning, you began the move your hands up and down the length of his cock.

Keigo’s reaction was instant. The long, never-ending whines raised in pitch and shortened, creating a rhythm in time with your stroking. His breathing became chaotic, devolving into a staccato mess of sharp, desperate gasps and bone-deep, shuddering exhales that reached into your core and drove you wild. And through it all, his wings pitched in erratic, arrhythmic twitches he couldn’t even begin to control. Starting at the top, where you nibbled and teased the sensitive skin connecting back to wing, they ruffled and writhed in waves all the way down to the feathers at the very tips.

It was a wonder to watch, but your attention was soon drawn back to his face. You could only see the edges standing behind him, but you knew your bird and you knew what he looked like when he was lost like this. His faces were rapturous. Brow scrunched, eyebrows tilted up. If his eyes were open, they’d be lifted skyward like he was praying to some unknown god of divine ecstasy. If they were closed, the corners would be crinkled. Every now and then, they’d crinkle even more, squeezing tight as he was undone by his own body. His head was angled back, leaning against your shoulder. He was too encompassed by the feel of your hands on his cock to keep his head up. But that was ok. More than ok. He didn’t need to keep himself up. That’s what you were here for.

His mouth was hanging open. That you could see. Soft, lush lips slack and loosing the melodic aria of fucked out whines to cascade around you like a filthy sonnet.

Those adorable, overwhelmed whines reverberated through Keigo and into your frame, consuming your mind with the sensuous joy of utterly ruining the gorgeous man leaning against you. The one struggling not to fuck himself into your hands. He was so good.

“C’mon, big boy, move for me.”

And he did, like the perfect man he was.

God, you loved to see him fuck himself senseless into your hands. You loved seeing him drive himself to that ultimate high while you got to coo praise into his ear and feel the way he throbbed and thrust with each tender, adoring word.

One of your hands left his dick and returned to torture his nipple.

God, you almost came right there.

Everything synced.

The stroking of your hand across the length of his aching cock, the squeezing of his sensitive, budded nipple, the endless, rasping circle of reaching breaths. The instant your hand found that pretty little bud, the thrusting of his hips shifted into a circular, full torso roll. They undulated in an involuntary, uninhibited dance of fucked out delirium. And the uncontrolled twitching of his wings changed to match, exactly, the rhythm of his hips. They beat in overwhelmed circles perfectly in sync with the smooth, svelte, seeking roll of Keigo’s hips into the tight grip of your hand.

And then he was lost.

He shattered. He was consumed.

A thousand pieces of brilliant, fiery, piercing pleasure shot through him and wrapped around his very center. A glorious flood overtook his senses and it was all he could do to stay upright with each roiling wave stronger than the last. Hot, white cum shot out and coated the shower wall and floor, rope after rope arcing with the crest of each radiant spike of pleasure.

As for you?

You came almost in unison, the orgasm a pleasant surprise. When Keigo came, his wings went utterly wild; shivering, shaking, twisting, ruffling, writhing. The sudden friction of unexpected stimulation combined with the height of desire you achieved from driving Keigo to Nirvana pushed you over that knife’s edge into a slow, deep, yet surprisingly powerful orgasm.

And there the two of you were, both glued to each other, hips undulating in a carnal dance of mind-numbing orgasm until finally, finally the two of you slowly began the careful descent from bliss. You buried your face in his neck and focused on the sensual feeling of two bodies moving against each other, labored breaths adding extra friction in the aftermath. Warm, milky cum gushed over your hand. Keigo’s cock was still oozing and his hips still jerking in tiny, uncoordinated rolls.

Humming into his skin, you relaxed into the cool down. That was so fucking sexy.

You let go of his softening dick before he could accidentally overstim himself. Not tonight.

However, you couldn’t help but keep your hand on his nipple, twisting and peeking down to see how his hips jolted weakly with each tweak of the perky bud.

You clenched as you caught sight of his softened cock spurting little bursts of seed with each tweak.

After a minute or so, you let up. It was time to let him come down.

But you didn’t let go of him. Instead you wrapped your hands tight around him, reveling in the feel of his breath slowing. A final, deep, shuddering exhale had him leaning back against you, completely boneless in your tender arms.

“Dove.” Keigo’s head turned and he leaned his forehead against yours. “Thank you,” he breathed against your skin.

“Mmm, don’t mention it.” Tired arms squeezed a little tighter in their embrace. “You all good? Or do you need to be fucked up a little bit more?”

His chuckle danced through both of your bodies. “I’m good, lovebird. You got me real good.” He wiggled around to face you. It was his turn to circle you in his arms, pull you close, bask in the way you molded to his body, melting into his hold. He kissed your hair and the two of your stayed that way for a while, spent and sated and utterly content together.

Keigo broke your silence, low voice weaving through the sound of the shower and caressing your ears.

“You know what I am good for though?” He paused, but didn’t wait for a real response. Which was good, because you hadn’t planned on anything beyond a wordless grunt. “You, me, some delivery, no clothes, and the fluffiest blankets we own.”

You hummed into his neck.

“Lights down low, we eat some food, then we snuggle together as close as two people can without fucking.”

A peal of laughter caught the tired edges of your voice. “Ah, you almost made that sweet.”

He spluttered. “That was super sweet!”

“Almost.”

“Entirely.”

“Mmm.” You dipped your head without warning and took his sensitive nipple into your mouth, pulling at it lightly with your teeth.

Keigo’s entire body spasmed, still sensitive in the wake of his earlier orgasm. His dick twitched against your torso as he groaned deep down inside his throat.

“Careful, babybird, or I’ll ruin you again.”

He whined at the pet name and crushed your body even closer.

Looks like he wasn’t as fucked out as he thought.

Your lips twitched in a small smile as you grabbed his ass, pulling him almost unbearably tight against you, and continued teasing his nipple with your teeth. Grinding slowly on his hardening cock, you drowned yourself in the sublime sound of his resounding moans.

[almondmilks-posts]

C!schlatt- executed

I got lots of DMs asking for more angst so here

* You and schlatt get into an argument about him being president and executing tubbo ect, in a drunken rage he stabs you.

*Woah this is the longest thing I've ever written.

It all started when Fundy tipped you off about schlatts plans of executing tubbo for helping Wilbur and Tommy out,which you knew about ofc. You treated tubbo like one of your own and even sometimes helped him sneak out the Whitehouse without schlatt knowing; but killing tubbo over that broke you. You had to say something to hopefully put a stop to your husband's madness and his drinking. God did you hate how much he drunk, it drove you nuts.

You- he's just a boy. (Get the reference...)

Schlatt- I. Don't.give a fuck. He's. Traitor

You- do you blame him schlatt? Him and Tommy are close brothers even he probably felt terrible about what happend you know when you-

Schlatt- oh well should of thought I'd that before helping that that CHILD. HE'S MY RIGHT HAND MAN HE HAD ALL THE POWER AMD NOW and now he's going to pay the price and it's an expensive price to pay.

You walked over to the window and stood looking out into manburg. Just thinking about how you can save the poor boys life. How  could warn him without schlatt finding out? you came to nothing. You and schlatt were married you were first lady, wherever you went he went. You were in a deep thought about tubbo and what his death would mean to the server when quackity quietly Knocked on the dark oak door.

Quackity- uh boss I hate to interrupt but you have a meeting in 20 minutes down at the twitch prime church.

Schlatt sighed. Stood up off his chair and walked over to you, but not before grabbing the bottle. Schlatt got super close to your face, so close you could see the little wrinkles that had developed around his eyes and forehead since becoming president, your nose scrunched under the smell of alcohol from his breath or from his clothes you honestly couldn't tell anymore.

Schlatt- we will no longer speak on the matter. I AM THE PRESIDENT FOR MANBURG WHAT I SAY GOES.

He slaunted away from you pushing past quackity. Quackity gave you a sad smile as you both knew how mean schlatt could get when he drank, and recently he had been drinking alot. Quackity turned towards the open door to make sure schlatt was outta ear distance.

Quackity- go.

You- huh?

Quackity- I told Phill that you would be seeing him thecno Wilbur and Tubbo in the bunker. Go warn them.

You- i- hhhh thank you quackity I love you so much man.

Quackity- I know I know. Hurry because it looks like we are going to be in for along night if schlatt messes up this meeting

You- he's so drunk he can't even walk straight of course he's going to ok I'll run along I'll take the horse to speed things up.

Quackity quickly shut the door before running to where schlatt would be waiting downstairs for the meeting while you grabbed your axe and saddle. You made your way out the escape hatch in your office and found your horse (name your horse here pls comment the names I wanna see what y'all name your animals)

Horse- neyyyy

You- heyyyy boy shhh it's just me ok ok steady ok I'm getting on 3...2...1... And uppp fewww ok not so bad is it (horse name) ok off to warn Tubbo.

Your horse stamped it's hooves and took off for the bunker. You had ridden this path hundreds of time so it was easy for you and the horse to get to, quackity said he already told Phill about your arrival do he should be waiting for you to turn up. You were right because Wilbur was waiting outside for you to arrive. His usual green jacket and black Beanie on his head.

Wilbur- hey y/n in here look you can rest (horse name) in here Niki built it.

You- Niki joined? Awesome o haven't seen her in so long, well since she messed up the soup and schlatt fired her

Wilbur- how is he by the way y/n? Come inside and we can talk about him later or should I say rant

You- true true.

You walked through the entrance carefully, you had fallen down the rails the first few times Wilbur took you here. Over his presidential campaign you and wilbur had actually been pretty close and luckily kept in contact even though schlatt won. SBI was a group you practically grew up with just not enough for Phill to adopt you, but you don't blame him, you wouldn't fit the dynamic plus your parents didn't really like the idea but they never really liked anything you did.

Phill- oh hey y/n were all down here what do you want to talk about quackity said it was urgent so I called a meeting.

You got to the bottom of the steps to find everyone waiting on the floor for you to arrive. By everyone I mean: Phill, Tubbo, Tommy, Niki, thecno. You waved at Niki who had changed her hair colour since you saw her last she waved back with a huge smile on her face but a hint of sadness in your eyes. You had changed so much, you just look exhausted which was not wrong.

You- oh um yes hi everyone, sorry to be so blunt but uhhh there is no better way to say this. Tubbo is in grave danger. Schlatt is planning to...

Your hands started to shake vigorously, you felt dizzy, you wanted to throw up. Almost as if your body is warning you about doing this right now it's screaming at you to not betray your husband of four years like this but you have to.

Tommy- planning what y/n spit it out?

Niki- hey, y/n it's ok shhh Tommy what schlatt planning in doing to Tubbo?

You- he's PLANNING TO EXECUTE you tubbo. He knows, I don't know why or how but he knows about all of this and your his right hand man he's going to kill you tubbo, hang you for tertiary. I'm so sorry I-

Tommy- Tubbo? No? You can't die not now

Thecno- all our plans. Just gone.

Phill- he can't hang tubbo he's just a boy.

At this point you were sobbing now. Full on ugly crying. Your heart physically hurt from all the angst and the possibility of Tubbo dying. Your knees gave out on the floor as you wept for the young boy and he was still alive. The others argued in the back as to what to do. Tommy grabbed Tubbo and hugged him, Wilbur was crying over the threat of danger even thecno was a little on edge.

You- I'm sorry. But I must go I can't I can't stay im sorry.

Phill- it's ok. Thank you for warning us sport.

With that you climbed the stairs thinking about nothing honestly. You were numb. Your husband was going to murder someone you looked as your brother for years what did this mean for you? You were also helping them did he know about that? How did he know about tubbo's tretariy? You got on the back of your horse and rode back to manburg.

Climbing up the shoot to your office was miserable. You felt miserable, confused and alone. You had no idea how long you were sat in your chair looking at the chipped desk until the door was slammed open hitting the wall with a lud bang. You didn't need to look up to know it was your husband. Even before marriage he always slammed doors open like they were nothing.

Schlatt- what's got you all down in the dumps? HM sweetheart?

You- you know what and don't call me that.

You crossed your arms still refusing to make eye contact with the ram hybrid. This really pissed him off. He however pissed you off more by calling you sweetheart which to some would seem sweet but you knew schlatt better. This time was dripping in sarcasm because he was mind fucked drunk by now not caring about anyone or anything. Schlatt waddled up to your desk and stood right on front of you, still not looking up at him you pulled out some paperwork and started to mindlessly sign it.

Schlatt- me YOUR PRESIDENT just signed a huge deal with badboyhalo.what is wrong with you recently huh? Cats got your tounge ok what about pig hybrid got your tounge? Or angel of death got  your tounge or exhild child got your tounge?

You froze. He did know.

Schlatt- AHH struck a nerve, don't stop signing MY papers dear you are my wife after all.

You- no. Fuck you schlatt you can't hang the poor boy he's so young and innocent what was he supposed to do? You know I have to sign paperwork before you do anything and I won't sign off on it.

You threw your pen at schlatt in a rage. You didn't see if it hit him to enraged to care, papers were ripped, you there everything off your desk onto the floor. Schlatt just stood there blank expression not saying anything to you.

You- fuck you schlatt you don't control me.

You picked up the photo of you and schlatt on your wedding day. You ponderd on it for a second before stomping up to schlatt and shoving the picture on his face.

You- look at it. LOOK AT US LOOK HOW HAPPY I WAS NOW LOOK AT ME? DO I LOOK HAPPY TO YOU? OR DO I LOOK EXHAUSTED? STRESSED? because I am all of them things being married to you schlatt you are a terrible president and you have no power you're a pussy and won't face your problems like a real man.

Schlatt picked up the bottle of vodka and downed the whole lot you just stood there absolutely raging over this man's attitude and willingness to just disregard everyone in his life.

Schlatt- I DONT CARE HOW YOI FEEL I DONT CARW ABOUT ANYONE NOT EVEN QUACKITY OR MY WIFE. I AM THE BEST PRESIDENT MANBURG HAD EVER SEEN AND YOU WILL OBAY THE RULE OF SCHLATT. I KNOW YOU HAVE BEEN HELPING THE FUCKERS AND YOU WILL SUFFER JUST LIKE TUBBO, JUST LIKE TOMMY, JUST LIKE DREAM YOU WILL PAY THE PRICE FOR YOUR CRIMES. AGAINST. YOUR COUNTRY. AGAINST. YOUR PRESIDENT.

With every word schlatt got closer and closer to you. Terrified of schlatt, becoming increasingly more angry to the point his horns have grown pitch black out of pure hatred. You moved back as far as you could against the glass in your office. Schlatt pressing you up against it with his body but this time shoving a finger in your face and still yelling about how incompetent you are as a wife and as a person.

Suddenly you felt a stabbing pain just above your heart. You look down to see a black colour sword through your chest and red blood gushing out onto your clothes and floor ( ok the sword is still in so in irl not a lot of blood would actually escape unless the object was removed top tip but for theatrics blood eveywhere) you weakly reach up to grasp the blood covers wrist of schlatt to pull the sword out but to no avail as you suddenly feel super dizzy and everything goes black.

Quackity- she's.... She's.....y/n's dead

Quackity heard you and schlatt yelling in his office when silence happend. He knew this was a bad sign and anxiously walked to schlatts office with shaky hand. He got close enough to hear a loud thud and XP drop on the ground. He ran back to his office to think when schlatt walked by ( in this his office is made.of glass) staring at his hands, suit all covered in blood. His heart dropped and ran back to the office to collect your stuff, running on adrenaline he ran all the way the he bunker to tell the others. No time for him to cry yet he was still in shock over what just happened.

Niki- no no no no pls say your lying pleas no no not y/n

Niki dropped to her knees sobbing and rocking backwads and forwards much like you did less than three hours ago when you came to warn the crew. You were her friend and was the only person who helped her when she was working for schlatt at the white house.

Wilbur- no no why how? Pls no?

Wilbur and you were probably the closest, he found you in the forest over 12 years ago chasing after foxes and collecting berries Wilbur always wanted a younger sibling as this point Phill only had thecno and Wilbur.

Phill- oh no poor y/n.

Tommy- what the fuck how?

Phill when he first saw you recognised you emidiatly looking much like your father. However he knew the man and knew what he was like so he had no problems when you visited them for tea many nights a week. He did think about adopting you right after Tommy arrived as you looked after him so well. Crafting him many clothes and many pumpkin pies. So so so many he always asked Phil if he had the recipe as he knew you couldn't make them as frequently as you used to.

Everyone was going to miss you greatly they just didn't expect to see you at the festival but now as ghosty/n. All your tries and efforts were in vain. Manburg still got blown up. But you did make good friends with Ghostbur. Glatt knew off you but was too embarrassed to see you.

Ugh ok this took me over two hours to write non stop. I just got this idea and ran with it omg I got so carried away. As of now probably my fav story.

[bqstqnbruin]

8 Letters

OR: 4 times he couldn’t say he loved you + 1 time he did

Ok, here we are with the very over hyped Vince fic! This was inspired by 8 Letters by Why Don’t We and has been swimming around in my head for a while before I realize it fits with this himbo. 

Shoutouts to the following (and hopefully this is short because this is not an awards show even though it would be fun to pretend it is): @vincecdunn because Nikki’s the reason I’m on the Vince train so as retaliation I’m just going to keep sending her ideas for more fics to write, @pucksnsticksnhockeyboys and @broadstbroskis for allowing me to come into your inboxes and be annoying and bounce ideas off of, and then @pettypetey and @pumpkinpatchmakar for the ways to say I love you and I’m 100% forgetting people but that’s just because I suck

Other people who wanted to be tagged: @all-time-fanatic @marialovesdean @oyeinpayne @ghstandpucks @maybehockeymaybenot​ @itzelmunoz and @thecasualyogi (unsure why it isn’t letting me tag you sad boi)

So, here we go, all 7.8k words of this 4+1

______________________

I

Tonight was one of the first nights in a while that the two of you were able to spend together, Vince on the road on and off for what felt like longer than usual and you just drowning at work. Any chance you got to be together at this point was almost always spent alone in the comforts of your place or his. You were spending it at your place, watching him stand at the stove as he cooked dinner for the two of you. 

“God, who you have thought someone could look so sexy stirring pasta,” you admire him, propping yourself up on your elbows to watch him. 

He laughs, putting the large spoon on the counter, turning around to face him. Vince approaches you, pulling you close to him. His hand finds the small of back, the other tilting your chin up to him. He bites his lip, looking down at you. “You think that’s sexy, just wait,” he says, his lips planted against yours before you can say anything else. 

You pull away at the sound of splashing water, seeing the pot boiling over. “Ah, fuck,” Vince releases his grip and runs to turn the burner down, you laughing as he goes back to stirring the boiling bubbles away.

“You know what’s great about this?” you say, sarcasm dripping in your voice.

“Oh no,” he mutters, bringing the pot over to the sink to drain the excess water, knowing that whatever you’re going to say isn’t going to be great for him. 

“You get to clean up.”

He puts the now empty pot back on the stove, shaking the remaining water off the pasta in the strainer, “But I made the dinner!” 

“Yeah, and then you made the mess.” 

He turns to you, a mischievous look on his face. “You’re evil,” he says, lunging at you, lifting you off the ground and sending you into a fit of giggles as you try to wriggle your way free of his grasp. 

“Vince!” you squeal, your arms overlapping his. “Put me down!” 

“I like holding you, though,” he whines, putting you down without letting you go.

You turn around to face him, putting your hand on his face, tracing a random pattern on his cheek with your thumb. “Hold me on the ground and after you put the pesto on the pasta,” you tell him, giving him a quick kiss before pushing him away. “I thought you didn’t like pesto?”

He shrugs, putting pasta into the bowls you hand him. “I’m not crazy about it, but it’s your favorite, so I’ll put up with it for you.” 

You can feel the heat rushing to your cheeks over something so simple. “You’re nice,” you tell him, in a sing-songy voice, taking a bite of the pasta.

“Only to you,” he says, sending you a wink that makes your insides flutter. 

Properly full from the simple dinner, after you clean the dishes and Vince cleans the stove, you retreat to your bedroom where you planned on spending the rest of the night. “What do you want to watch tonight?” Vince asks you, settling onto your bed with your TV remote in hand. 

He reaches his arm out, gesturing for you to come snuggle up next to him, perfectly fitting against him as he kisses the top of your head, the warmth from his body comforting you more than the blankets that covered your bed probably ever would. “Gossip Girl,” you insist, knowing what his reaction would be.

Vince groans, throwing his head back. “Come on, that show is so bad.”

You look up at him, imitating the puppy dog eyes and signature pout he would give you all too often when he was asking you to do something. “Yes. But that’s what makes it so good to watch,” you plead.

He rolls his eyes, giving in and pulling it up on your Netflix. “Now how could I say no to that face,” he tells you.

“You can’t,” you tell him as he pulls up the show. 

Letting out a small, “Yay,” you earn a giggle from his lips before kissing him quickly and settling into the show. You start with the first episode of the second season, Vince stroking your arm absentmindedly, laughing at how cheesy the show is. He steals the occasional glance at you, loving how closely you could pay attention to anything in front of you, analyzing, critiquing, admiring what was before you. You did it with anything and everything that you fixated on, something Vince could never do and something he loved about you.

Not that you’ve said you love each other yet. But, you were the only thing he could focus on outside of hockey at any moment. 

“The true reason I should stay right where I am and not get in the car,” the two of you watch Blair Waldorf on your screen in her scene with Chuck Bass. “Three words. Eight letters. Say it, and I’m yours.”

The screen cuts to Chuck, his hesitation. “I-I...”

“Thank you. That’s all I needed to hear,” with Blair getting in the car, leaving Chuck standing there watching the girl he knew he loved drive off with his heart. 

That part always made you cry, letting out a soft sob at the sight of the character you hated the most, actually experiencing heartbreak, slightly humanizing the demon that you thought he was. Vince, paying more attention to you than the show, had no clue what was happening.

“This is a dumb question,” he starts, watching you wipe the tears that had fallen down your face, “But what are the three words?”

You sit up, your hand placed on his thigh sending a chill through his body. “I love you.”

His eyes go wide, swallowing hard. Given what just happened in the episode, he knew it was ridiculous to think, but he couldn’t help but wonder if what just happened on your screen would happen right now. “Are... are those the words or are you telling me?” he asks, his voice shaking.

You hesitate for a moment. You had been together for five months already. He was the person you trusted the most, no matter how dumb he might be sometimes. You would do anything for him, and you were sure that he would do anything for you. You thought about him constantly, but you had never been in love before. Whatever you felt for Vince was something you hadn’t felt for anyone. “Both,” you decide, seeing the panic wash over his face. “You don’t have to say it back. I’m not gonna leave you if you don’t,” you reassure him.

He opens and closes his mouth like a fish, trying to muster up the courage to actually say what he wanted to. He knows how he feels about you, but, “I can’t say it.” You knew the pain you felt at hearing those words flashed over your face for a moment because of the quick, “I’m sorry,” he let out before getting up off your bed and heading for the door.

“Vince, hey, wait,” you say, chasing after him and beating him to your door. With your back against it, you look at your boyfriend, panicked, breathing fast, hands shaking. “Vince,” you say his name again, hearing it coming from you calming him down, “You don’t have to say it. I promise. Just please, don’t leave.” 

He studies your face, the pain that he just caused you still showing. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, dropping his head.

“Hey,” you say, tilting his head up to look at you. “Listen to me when I say this: it’s fine. I don’t want you to feel pressured to say it just because I did. I told you that because I do love you. If you don’t feel the same way, that’s fine. I can’t force you to love me,” you tell him, smiling through it. He had to know it was a fake smile, just using it to hide how you really felt. “You still want to be with me, right?”

He hesitated for longer than he should have, even though his answer popped into this head immediately. “What? Of course I do. Can we just,” he takes a deep breath, trying to find his words, “Do you think we can watch something else?”

You nod, taking his hand and leading you back to your bed. You just fucked everything up, didn’t you? But Vince’s panic and now lack of attention to even the Netflix catalogue he was scrolling through was more worrisome than him not saying he loves you. “Actually,” you say, gently taking the remote from his hands, “Do you think we can talk about this? Like, I’m ok with it, but, I don’t know, you’re kind of worrying me.” 

He can’t look at you, staring at the TV instead as the now muted screen flashed with characters he didn’t recognize. “I don’t know,” he lies. “The girls I was with before I met you kinda fucked me up I guess.” You could feel your heart breaking watching him like this, more so than when you watched Chuck and Blair. “I thought I was in love with them, but then it always ended with them using me for my money, because I play in the NHL, for sex. I mean, my purity score thing is so low for a reason, right?” he jokes, you trying to smile even though you could feel yourself wanting to cry. “Fuck, one of them even called Sammy because she liked him more while I was asleep in the bed next to her and asked him to go pick her up.” 

You take his face in your hands, pulling him in for a kiss. Using the pads of your thumbs, you wipe away the tears that you got on him, unsure if they were just yours or if he had started crying, too. “I will never do that to you,” you assure him. “I’ll even call Sammy and tell him that you’re better.” 

He laughs, sniffling a little bit. “Can you do that every day? Really wear down his self esteem.”

You laugh, giving him a quick kiss, happy that he was at least smiling again. “I’m not going to emotionally destroy a man.” 

“But it’s Sammy!”

II

You, Nikki, and Patricia were sitting on Nikki’s couch together, each with one glass of wine for the night because of the need to drive later, pizza, popcorn, and much more junk food than you would like to admit. Dressed as if you hadn’t seen daylight in years, you all had on sweatpants, sweatshirts, hair tied back, makeup free, everything that would signal to an outsider that you had all stopped caring, but to you, it was just a night in after work. It was a much needed girls night, the stress of work getting to all of you while you sat there with your best friends trying to find something to watch. With the boys off on a road trip, you could definitely use the company. Part of you was bothered by Vince not saying he loves you, but could you really justifiably get upset but that? 

“What are we watching?” Nikki asks, pulling up Netflix, practically forcing you to relive the conversation with Vince from the other night. 

“Uh, Gilmore Girls?” Patricia suggests.

Without saying a word, Nikki plays the episode she left off on, Rory and Dean celebrating their anniversary together by going out to what was supposed to be a nice, sweet night. 

“What do you think Connecticut is like?” Patricia asks about the setting of the iconic show. 

“My ex in college was from Connecticut. Nothing good comes from Connecticut,” comes from Nikki, you barely hearing her as you fixate on the episode.

“Gilmore Girls comes from Connecticut.”

Without missing a beat, Nikki says, “One good thing comes from Connecticut.” The two of them keep talking, you barely hearing anything they say as you watch Dean and Rory in the car that Dean had built for her, telling her he loves her for the first time. Rory doesn’t say it back, the same expression on her face that you say on Vince’s that night. “Hey, Y/N, what’s up?” Nikki asks, snapping you away from the show. 

“Oh, nothing, why?” you lie through your teeth, your best friends exchanging concerned looks.

“You know that you’re crying, right?” Patricia asks, snagging the remote and pausing the episode.

You reach up, feeling your now damp cheeks, wiping away the tears you didn’t even know were there that were brimming in your eyes. “Oh, wow,” you let out, laughing a little bit. “I guess the episode just got to me,” you lie again. Nikki sits there, eyebrow raised, lips pursed as if to say ‘bitch, please,’ while Patricia just sat there, waiting for you to answer. “I told Vince I love him,” you start.

You get cut off by the two of them screaming, “Oh my god!” and “What did he say?”

“He,” you sigh, debating on telling them the truth or not. “He panicked and couldn’t say it.” 

Both of them gasp, you trying to figure out what emotions they felt; anger, sadness, disappointment, you swear all of it flashed on their face.

“Dump his ass!” Nikki yells, loud enough that her neighbors could probably hear her. 

You take a handful of popcorn, throwing it at her in response, Patricia laughing and dodging the mess the two of you were creating as kernels flew past her face. “I’m not dumping him! He said he’s afraid of getting hurt,” you tell them once you stop throwing the food at each other. 

“Does he think you’re going to hurt him?” Patricia asks, concern washing over her face.

“If he thinks that, you dump him,” Nikki pips in.

“You cut that out,” you fire back, pointing your finger at her. The ridiculousness of the simple action made all of you laugh, forgetting for a moment the conversation at hand. 

“Do you really love him?” Patricia asks another question, both her and Nikki with the same expression on their faces.

You feel a soft smile growing on your face, nodding. “I really do. I’ve never loved anyone like I love him. Can we just talk about something else, please?”

They go back to talking about Connecticut, you trying to keep up with their banter. 

“Wait, so why did you date that Connecticut boy?” you finally join the conversation, asking Nikki.

She shrugs, shoving the popcorn that was still in the bowl into her mouth. “Connecticut boys have money. I figured I could get some nice shit from him.”

“So you're a gold digger?” you tease her, Patricia nearly spitting out her wine.

Nikki sits there, mouth open pretending to be offended. “Talk about being a gold digger, you’re dating a professional athlete!”

You mirror her look, Patricia laughing as the innocent bystander in this. “Fuck,” is you can muster out before the three of you are laughing together. 

“How could he not love that!” Nikki says once you catch your breath, pointing to the smile on your face and immediately making you turn red.

“Are you flirting with her?” Patricia asks

“Someone has too,” she shrugs, winking at you while sipping her wine.

You sit there, in awe of her bluntness. “If Vince were here he would get mad at you.”

“Where are they, anyway?” Patricia asks, changing the subject before Nikki can flirt with you more or make other snarky comments about your boyfriend.

“You see,” you start, setting down your glass of wine, “Vince told me they were going to California but when I checked the schedule it said they were going to play the Florida Panthers tomorrow,” you explain, all of you unable to contain your laughter, “so I think he’s confused.” 

The three of you fall back into a rhythm that doesn’t involve talking about your boyfriend who was just about off your mind. After a few hours, you’re all yawning, the single glass of wine having no effect on you as you drowned out the alcohol with more water than anything so you could drive, Nikki kicking you out so she can go to sleep. 

While you and Patricia are walking to your cars, your phone starts buzzing, an incoming Facetime call from Vince. You answer, immediately turning the camera away from you, “Hey, babe, I’m walking to my car.” 

“And you’re not showing me yourself because you don’t want me to see the guy walking you there?” he jokes, smirking at the camera. He was in the bed in his hotel room, the white sheets pulled up just low enough that his chest was exposed, shirtless as he always was when he was ready to sleep. He knew what he was doing; showing just enough of himself that it would drive you crazy enough to be distracted.

“Yeah, this is the man,” you tease, panning over to Patricia getting into your car, “Say hi to Vince!”

“I’m stealing your girl!” she yells, ducking into her car and shutting her door, Vince’s laugh echoing in the air. 

You prop your phone up in the thing your mom got you, suctioned to your dash so you can still see your phone while driving, even though you told her you had Apple CarPlay and had no need for it. Driving down the street, you fall into a mundane conversation with Vince about getting to Florida, teasing him for confusing it with California, telling him about the girls night you just had.

“Come on, show me your face!” you hear him whine. Without taking your eyes off the road, you know exactly the look on his face: those green eyes of his wide like a puppy, his bottom lip jutted out and if he weren’t holding his phone, his hands would be intertwined in themselves under his chin to show you he was begging. 

“No, I look gross. My hair is tied back, I have no makeup on, and I’m in a groutfit.”

“Have you ever seen me?” 

You roll your eyes, hitting the button to flip the camera now that you were at a red light. “Yes, I’ve seen you. You’re hot,” you say without shame. 

“Fuck,” you hear him let out a long and low whisper. You roll your eyes at him, even though you can’t help but blush and smile at the way he was practically visibly drooling over you. “I didn’t know gross could be so beautiful.” 

“I look like a Founding Father, shut up,” you say, glad it was dark enough that he couldn’t see the heat rushing to your cheeks. 

He laughs again, making you smile even wider at the sound. “Who would have thought I would like sleeping with a Founding Father.” 

“That is necrophilia!” you scream, loud enough that you could probably be heard outside your car, drowning out the sound of his laugher. “I never want to hear you say anything like that ever again!”

You pull up to your building, getting out and walking to your place while Vince rambles on about something that Sammy had done on the plane. “Oh!” he says once you unlock your door, startling you and almost dropping your phone, “Look what I got you!” 

“You got me something?” you ask him, walking through your dark apartment into your room. 

“I saw and I liked it and thought you would like it so I had to get it!” he says like a giddy child. He holds up a small stuffed puppy, shoving it almost too close to the camera, “Can you see the tag on his collar?”

He pulls it away slightly, the letter on it becoming clear. “His name is Vince!” you exclaim, the biggest smile on his face as he holds it next to him.

“Because you say when I get excited I remind you of a little puppy.” He sits there with the small stuffed animal pressed to his face, beaming at his purchase that he couldn’t wait to give you, even though he ruined the surprise he had anticipated because he couldn’t wait until he got home to see you. You take a screenshot, unable to hide how adorable you found him in that moment.

“I love it, Vince. I can’t wait for you to get home,” you say to him, a big yawn coming from him. His eyes get droopy, the way he gets before he’s about to fall asleep, a lazy smile on his face that means he felt the same.

You settle onto your bed, turning on your tv to watch whatever was on. You sit there in silence holding your phone, yawning a few times yourself. “Hey, babe, I’m gonna go to sleep,” you say, leaning over to turn off your lights, “I love you,” you say, forgetting that you're upset over his inability to say it back, seeing that he was already asleep, anyway, unable to return with a response. 

III

You were swamped with work, having to hustle on a Saturday to get everything done. Vince was tired of being cooped up inside, only really going out when he had practice or a game, so he was the one to suggest going to the coffee shop half way between your apartments in order to just be somewhere that wasn’t the four walls of your apartments.

“You’re not working,” he says in a teasing voice, watching you sit there staring out the window at the people passing by.

“I just,” you sigh, “I don’t want to do this project.”

“Can I help?” he asks, getting up from his seat and standing behind you, just enough room between your chair and the wall for him to fit and lean against you. “You’re on Facebook.”

You look up at him, an innocent look on your face. “I’m using a rewards system!” you defend yourself. “I was working for half an hour, so I’m watching a video as a break.” You scroll back to the video you were just watching as he rests his hands on your shoulders, rubbing the slightly. You find the video of an artist with a bunch of metal strips, twisting them into a metal tree art piece. You turn to him, eyes wide with excitement, a huge smile on your face that he can’t help but roll his eyes at, mirroring your smile. “Isn’t it cool?”

“You’re acting like a child. That’s my job,” he says, kissing your cheek before going back to sit down.

“That just means you’ve rubbed off on me. Or maybe I’ve rubbed off on you?” you wonder, scrolling to find one more video to watch. The next video is scene from That 70’s Show, and old favorite of yours that you haven’t seen since it was taken off Netflix. Eric and Donna were in a car, probably the Vista Cruiser in one of the earlier seasons judging by how young they look. The captions on, your sound off, you read the scene instead of watching. It was Donna telling Eric she loved him, only for him to panic and respond with, “I love cake.” The smile on your face disappears, looking up at Vince and thankful that he was paying more attention to his phone than he was to you. 

You just wanted him to say he loved you. You were sure that he did, and you had told him that you did. But he couldn’t say it. You were constantly going back and forth between being ok with it and being upset by it, knowing that it wasn’t fair to force him to say something if he didn’t mean it, but also knowing that it wasn’t fair to you to spill your guts to him for him to remain closed off. 

You take a deep breath, switching back to the tab that had the new marketing pitch you were working on. You get to typing, focusing on the project while you see four other cursors working on different parts, occasionally switching to another section to check one of your partners' work while they do the same for you. You barely notice the people around you, the coffee shop practically packed to capacity as an afternoon rush came in. Vince would look up from his phone, stealing the occasional glance while you take no notice. 

You both jump at the sound of someone knocking on the window next to you. Look up, Vince knew who it was immediately, irritated by your “Oh my god!” sqeual as you practically leap from the table to run outside.

Vince watches as you jump into the guys arms, a huge smile on your face, unable to read your lips as you talk with him. The guy was more attractive than Vince had remembered. Fuck, he looked like a model, and there Vince was, a hockey player, mad about it.

“How have you been?” you ask your friend Jack, someone you hadn’t seen in years. 

“Pretty good,” he tells you, his arms lingering on your waist once you pull away from the hug you practically forced on him in the first place. “You?”

“Good, busy. Getting out with my boyfriend instead of acting like an old agoraphobic couple,” you tell him motioning to Vince sitting at the table, arms crossed over his chest. You both wave to him, Vince mirroring with a wave and a very unenthusiastic look. “Who’s apparently tired from practice,” you lie, hoping he would buy the explanation for Vince’s unexpected attitude. 

“Isn’t he a hockey player?” You look back at Vince who’s now looking down at his phone, nodding, a soft smile on your face as you just stare at your dumb boyfriend. “You really have a thing for athletes, huh?”

You roll your eyes, knowing what he was referencing: Jack was technically your ex, having hooked up a few times, gone out on a few dates, he even brought you to a family wedding of his because you were seeing each other when the invitations went out, breaking up not long after the event. You never called him your boyfriend, and as far as you were concerned, you weren’t his girlfriend, but still, you weren’t just friends. “Hockey players are a little better than baseball players, bub,” you tell him, knowing it would hurt his ego a little bit.

He scrunches his face, pretending to be hurt but laughing anyway. “You always know how to hit a guy where it hurts, Y/L/N,” he tells you, both of you nodding. You were about to tell him goodbye, missing your chance when he says, “Do you think I could meet your new guy?”

You feel your breath stop for a moment, your eyes going wide at the thought of your ‘ex’ meeting your boyfriend. “Uh, sure, if you want to?” you tell him, obviously unsure of the situation that was about to unfold. “Vince?” you snap his attention away from his phone, the two of you standing over him. “This is my friend Jack. We went to school together,” you say, Jack extending his hand for Vince to shake. 

Vince swallows hard, a wave of jealousy washing over him as this guy stands in front of him. “Nice to meet you,” he says, a cold tone in his voice. You shoot him a look, Jack taking your seat while Vince pulls you into his lap without you expecting it, planting a firm kiss on your lips. “So, Jack, what do you do?” he asks the guy sitting across from you, holding you tight around your waist as if he were marking his territory.

You look at your boyfriend, confused by why he was acting like this. He sends you a soft smile, his eyes flickering down to your lips, making you melt a little as you turn your attention back to Jack. “I work in marketing.”

“Oh, just like, my girl here.” 

‘My girl?’ you mouth to yourself, unsure if either of the boys saw you. 

“That’s how we met,” Jack starts, a little confused as well by Vince’s actions. “We were both marketing majors so we had all of the same classes.” 

Vince keeps on asking Jack questions, practically leaving you out of the conversation, occasionally kissing your cheek while Jack was talking. 

“Wow, you two are clearly in love with each other,” Jack points out, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Vince freezes, his heart racing against your chest as Jack gets up. “I’ve actually got to get going, but it was great seeing you, Y/N. We should catch up again.” 

You nod, agreeing with him as he leaves, taking your seat back across from Vince, glaring at him. “What the hell was that?” 

 “What? I can’t kiss your cheek occasionally?” he scoffs, leaning back in his chair. You watch as he stares out the window, Jack still in his view. 

“You never do it like that,” you point out. Then it dawns on you: “You were jealous! Why were you jealous?”

“I was not,” he pouts, his arms crossed. 

“You’re so cute when you’re jealous!” you squeal, careful not to be too loud in the quiet environment. His face turns red, his lips pursed as he stares out the window, clearly ready to deny it. You reach over to poke his cheeks, just to agitate him. 

He swats you away, hating that you were right. “You think I’m cute?”

“Why were you jealous?” you ask again. 

“You think I’m cute?” he says, leaning on the table.

You smirk at him, imitating his body language. “We both know I’m going to win this so you should just answer me now,” you say slowly.

“He’s the guy you dated in college,” Vince says.

“I never showed you his picture.”

He hesitates for a moment, knowing the exact reaction this was going to illicit: “I saw the pictures you posted with him on Instagram.”

You stop and think for a moment. The last time you even saw Jack was a few years ago. “Those pictures were from my freshman year of college. You’ve scrolled that far back on my page?”

He sticks out his bottom lip, eyes wide to give you his puppy dog face. “Sometimes, when I miss you, and I know you’re busy and can’t talk, I scroll through your Instagram so I can see your face.” 

You feel yourself melting at his words, the face he was giving you making you love him that much more. “Come here,” you tell him, pulling him up around the table. You take him by the collar down to your level, giving him a sweet kiss. “And, yes, I do think you’re really cute,” you say to him, kissing him again. 

IV

Vince watched in awe at his teammates. All of them were drunk, him, for once, being the most sober one around as they entered the bye week that took place around All-Star Weekend. He was waiting for you to show up, anxiously checking his phone to see if you had texted him anything saying that you and Patricia were at the bar. He hated being the only sober one, especially since it meant he would have to play dad if something happened unless you two showed up soon. 

“You’re not drinking?” Sammy asks him, two beers in hand. Someone would think one was for Vince, but, no, both were for Sammy as he put the openings of both bottles in his mouth at once. 

“I’m waiting for Y/N.” 

“You’re whipped!” Sammy slurs, sitting down next to his friend in the booth he was refusing to get up from while he anxiously shakes his leg waiting to see you, rolling his eyes even though part of him knew he was right.

“Stop that,” Vince says, getting up and trying to shake his friend off in the crowded bar.

“You love her, right? I mean you have to love her to be like this,” Sammy insists, something he wouldn’t be doing had he not been drunk. Vince opens and closes his mouth, trying to figure out how to say what he wanted. “Dude.”

“You know I can’t say it,” is all Vince can let out. Sammy knows his past, Sammy knows what has happened to Vince. Saying it would mess something up. Those eight letters would ruin what he had with you when they were out in the open. 

“I don’t know how to talk about this with you,” Sammy admits, eyes narrow since he was thinking about it anyway.

“I don’t think I want to talk about this with you.” 

Before Sammy can say anything else, like magic, you appear at his side, Patricia in tow. “Hey,” you say to him, kissing him as he wraps his arms around your waist. He pulls away, looking over your shoulder to see Sammy making faces at the two of you, Vince giving him a look that told him to go away without you noticing. 

Patricia wanders off with Sammy, leaving the two of you by yourselves. “How far deep are they?” you ask, dragging him to the bar so the two of you could start drinking, knowing you couldn’t drink so much that you would catch up with them, but enough that you wouldn’t have to act as the mother of the group.

“We’ve been here for an hour so I expect someone to be throwing up soon,” he laughs, not dropping your hand when the two of you sit down. 

“If you’re drunk, do you have to take care of them?” you ask him, signalling to the bartender to come take your drink orders. You fall into conversation, watching Sammy strike out with multiple girls, Patricia spending the entire night with a single guy following her, something she clearly enjoyed as she milked at least four free drinks out of him.

“Think she’ll go home with him?” Vince asks, nodding over to Patricia as he finishes what might have been this third drink that night. As far as he knew, no one was throwing up, but now, he didn’t have to worry about it if he was just a little drunk.

You shrug, putting down your now empty glass. “If they both want that I guess.” You could feel yourself getting bored and tired, wishing that you and Vince could just leave and go home yourselves. But he looked like he was having fun watching the guys, a smile on his face whenever they did something stupid. You study Vinces face, his slightly pursed lips and his eyes sparkling as he watched Sammy strike out with what was probably his fourth girl of the night, Vince smiling as he couldn’t help but laugh at his friend. Your attentioned is pulled away by your phone buzzing in your hand, Nikki bombarding you with texts. 

‘Have Vince watch these with you ;)’

She sends you two clips, both from a Halloween episode of New Girl. Unfamiliar with the show, you tap Vince to have him watch over your shoulder. You watch the two girls get into a limo, one going as far as exclaiming, “Hey, look! I’m in a limo! I wish I could have really long legs so I could stretch them out the length of the limo!”

The camera switches to a guy, telling them to have fun, saying, “I love you,” an immediate look of regret washing over his face, the girl in the limo responding with finger guns while her friend behind her mouthed, ‘No.’

You swallow hard, texting Nikki back yelling at her for it, definitely partially a product of the alcohol. You don’t even bother to look at the second video, afraid of what it would be and what it would bring considering the first one brought an awkward silence in the middle of the loud bar.

“Did you tell them?” he asks quietly, sitting back down next to you. 

You straighten your posture, forming a thin line with your lips. “Yeah. I did. It was bothering me more than I thought it would and they figured it out.” 

“How would they figure it out?” he snaps, his voice a little louder than it would have been had he not had so much to drink. “That’s not something you can just read on someone’s face.” 

You take in a deep breath, knowing that people were starting to turn to look at the fight you were about to have. “Come on,” you grab him by his arm, leading him outside so at least if you started really fighting, they couldn’t kick you out. “Look, we were watching something where someone said I love you and the other person didn’t and I started crying,” you explain to him, feeling tears brimming in your eyes.

The people around you in the city were staring as they walked by, two idiots on a weird night causing a scene in a public. “Y/N,” he says, taking a step towards you and reaching for your hand.

You snatch it away, startling him that you were so quick. “No, Vince. I know I said it was fine,” you sob, “But it hurts. It hurts to love someone who doesn’t love you back. And I know you’ve been hurt before, but you’re letting that get in the way of you and me, and I don’t know how much longer I can handle being in love with you when you won’t even say you love me.” 

He drops his head down, tears falling down his face while you were trying to fight your own from falling. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m sorry for being afraid, but I am.” 

“Do you love me?” you ask him, taking a step towards him. 

He looks up at you, both of you crying. His eyes are red, he looks like he’s in pain. He tries to say something, only to shake his head, taking you in for a hug before either of you can do anything else. You can feel him crying in your shoulder, one hand in your hair, the other at the top of your back. You stand there for a moment in shock, not sure how to react. You react into his hold, trying to calm him down. You had never seen him cry like this before, in fact, you weren’t sure you had ever seen him cry at all. You pull his head off your shoulder. His face soaked with tears. “I think you need to go home,” you tell him, wiping the tears from his face. 

He doesn’t say anything, just pulling you in for another hug when the guys and Patricia stumble out of the bar. “Hey, we’re going to go to another bar,” Patricia tells you as you shake your head, signalling that she shouldn’t ask what was going on. “Do you guys want to come?”

“We can?” Vince questions, only looking at you, his face still red from the sobbing he had just done. “Unless you don’t want to.” 

“You go with them. I’ll be fine, I want to go home anyway,” you insist, trying to push him off you. If there was one thing you hated, it was the kind of girls who made their boyfriends miss out on things with their friends because they insisted on attention, but you also didn’t want to be with him at this moment.

He smiles at you as you try to force yourself to not succumb to his looks, refusing to let go of you, “It’s not worth going with them if you aren’t going to be there with me.” 

“Then don’t go. I’m going home.” You break free of his grip, turning on your heels and walking down the street to go home by yourself. 

+one

“Dude, have you seen Nikki’s snapstory?” Sammy’s voice comes through Vince’s phone.

“No, why?” 

The concern in Sammy’s voice resonated with Vince, “I think you need to go look.”

Vince puts his teammate on speaker to go find one of your best friend’s story. “I’m looking now, hold on.”

Nikki was in her car, a picture of your favorite flowers in front of her steering wheel, your apartment building in the background. She had captioned it with ‘Bought my best friend flowers to go tell her I love her because her boyfriend won’t say it.’

“Ah, fuck,” Vince mutters, closing out the app.

“What are you gonna do about this?”

“I gotta go,” he says, hanging up before Sammy can say anything else. 

-------

You run to the door when you hear the knocking, hoping it was Vince since you hadn’t heard much from him since that night at the bar. Instead, you find Nikki standing in your doorway with your favorite flowers. “What are these?” you deadpan, still a little irritated with her.

“Vince won’t say I love you so I figured I would,” she tells you, kissing you on the cheek and brushing past you. “I love you!” she says, dramatically, plopping down on your couch and putting her feet on your coffee table.

You look at the flowers, biting your lip. You just wanted Vince to say it. But you get it. “They’re just eight letters. He doesn’t have to say it when he can just show it. And you sending that video the other night does not and will not help anything,” you scold her. 

You hear her scoff as you go to put the flowers in some water. “You know I was right to send that video. How does he show you he loves you? How could he possibly tell you he loves you without saying ‘I love you?’” 

Rolling your eyes, knowing that she’s seen him show you loves you plenty of times. You could either argue with her more over what she did, or just list the ways you knew she was already aware of. “He always makes sure I’m the last person he sends a text to or calls at night and the first person he does that with in the morning. Even if he wakes up in the middle of the night and answers someone else, he’ll still send me another text right after. He’ll give me his pickle whenever he gets them because he knows I love them, even though he does, too. If he sees something on the road that he thinks I’ll like he gets it for me to surprise me with when he comes home.” You can feel yourself starting to cry thinking of all the way Vince has shown he loves you. But you really just wanted to hear those three words. You just wanted that verbal confirmation from him.

“I mean, babe, that’s great, but if he really meant it, wouldn’t he say it?”

You join her on the couch, trying to figure out how to answer. “Not everyone is good with expressing their emotions with words,” you shrug, unable to look at whatever expression she had on her face. “He’s been hurt before, when he’s told a girl that he loved her. I understand why he wouldn’t want to flat out say it to me.” 

You get up, going back to your kitchen to at least fake the need for a glass of water. “Well, what else does he do?” you hear Nikki call over the sound of your tap. 

You swallow, unsure if listing the ways was making you happy or sad. “He asks me to call him when I get home so he knows I’m safe. He’ll snapchat me funny faces when I’m sad because he wants to see me smile. He’ll even leave the guys if I’m upset and stay on Facetime with me until I’m happy. When we’re in the car he has my playlist on because he wants to listen to my music because it makes me happy. He doesn’t have to tell me he loves me.” 

“Yes he does,” you hear from the other room, a voice that wasn’t Nikki’s. You see Vince standing there, bags in hand, Nikki slinking away into the other room to give you privacy. 

“Hey, babe, what are you doing here?” you ask him, giving him a kiss for the first time in what felt like forever, trying to take the bags from him when he pulls away. The two of you walk over to your couch, setting the bags down and hearing clinking from inside. “Can I look inside?”

“No, not yet,” he stops you, taking your hands in his to prevent you from reaching in. “I’ll get everything out. Just, just trust me.” He closes his eyes and takes in a deep breath. “I told you I couldn’t say...it because of the girls I’ve said it to before. And god, I’m the worst for not saying it.  But you deserve so much more.”

“Vince, what are you talking about? I don’t need mo-”

He cuts you off, handing you the first thing in the bag. A bottle of your favorite wine, a note taped to it. “You’re my partner in wine,” you read out to him, laughing at the goofy grin on his face telling you that he was proud of himself. 

A bag of your favorite coffee grounds is placed in your hands next. “Words can not espresso how much you bean to me.” 

A can of your favorite soup. “I ‘canned’ live without you.”

A snack pack of pudding. “Thanks for pudding up with me.” 

There was food item after food item with a note taped to it with a different pun revolving around what he thought about you. He went to the grocery store for all your favorites, handing them to you one by one until he gave you the last item in the bags: a bar of your favorite cheese. “Sorry about being so cheesy.”

You look at him, seeing the embarrassed look on his face. His cheeks were red, unable to make eye contact with you but smiling anyway. “Well, now I don’t have to go grocery shopping,” you joke, him laughing along with you, “Vince, I love this.” 

“And I love you.” 

You can’t help the smile on your face, staring into his green eyes as his expression mirrors yours. “Really? I mean, I knew,” you explain, “But I didn’t think you’d say it. Why now?” 

He smiles at you, taking your hands in his. “Because Nikki shouldn’t have to tell you she loves you because I can’t.” 

“You’re welcome!” you hear Nikki yell from your room, both of you laughing.

“Oh my god,” he lets out at her obvious eavesdropping, his eyes closed, biting his bottom lip. “It’s not fair to you that you told me how you felt and I couldn’t tell you how I really felt.”

“Vince, you don’t have to apologize,” you try to tell him. 

“No, no. I do,” he says, dropping your hands and cupping your face. His thumb traces along your cheekbones as he keeps going. “I chose shitty girls before you, and them hurting me ending up hurting you. I love you, and it shouldn’t have taken me so long to say it. You’re the only one I’ve ever really loved.” He pulls you in for a kiss, soft and sweet. 

“I love you, too.” 

[imonthinice]

The Criminal Psychology Majors, Jason Todd x Fem!Reader Part 8/?

Word Count: 1.6k

Author’s Note: Y/N - Your Name, A/N - Any Name (Your Best Friend’s Name)

This one is shorter because of the last one’s length.

Hi everyone! By the time you see this, I will probably be out and therefore cannot update the other parts with this one’s link, so don’t worry about that if you notice it.

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of Jason’s Trauma and his Death, Lightning, no beta bitch we die like Jason Todd

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9)  (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16) (Part 17) (Part 18) (Part 19) (Part 20)

Going on day 5 of knowing each other, Jason and Y/N would spend the day apart. Why? Because they gave each other the chance to have family time, Jason got it by playing around with his baby siblings, playing Assassin.

Fluff Head canon came from frownyalfred on Tumblr, who wrote about Jason playing Assassin with his brothers 

He would go running through the halls playing the game that he and Dick knew all too well, it had been the only ‘no contact’ game they were allowed to play at a summer camp Bruce had sent them to all those years ago when they weren’t adults with a bunch of other siblings, and girlfriends. But here they were, explaining the game to their younger siblings while Alfred and Bruce hung out with Barbara, who wished she could play, but was paralyzed.

Everyone missed playing games with her like they used to, but with the video game consoles in the house they did transfer a lot of their gaming to online so they could relive memories with Barbs. It was bittersweet, and everyone remembered when she became paralyzed like it was yesterday, but she always wanted them to play games like they used to, with or without her. 

Jason admired his, hopefully, one day older sister for how she treated her disability, like it was a gift, not something that impacted her everyday life and made her have to hang up the cloak of Batgirl.

But running around chasing after Dick, because of course, he got Dick, the universe wanted them to play again, was something he missed so much. They hadn’t had so much of this time, family time, ever since they all became vigilantes, and they never realized how much they missed the thrill of running around with each other.

Jason ended up getting Dick and throwing him out of the game, calling it a ‘selfless act of brotherhood so you can hang out with your girl’ and they both laughed at it. Titus, Damien’s dog, ended up barking up a storm at Jason when he killed Dick, like the big dog was rooting for Dick to win the tournament.

“Down boy! It’s a game!” Jason would whisper-yell at his dog.

“Yeah! Good boy, Titus! Get him!”

“No!” Jason would yell while running throughout the house, Titus on his heels. Passing by Alfred, Bruce and Barbara, where Titus would stop and go lay at Bruce’s feet, but Jason didn’t know that.

Jason would end up coming in just 10 minutes later, with a green slash on his neck. Tim, who had pulled Cass but killed her, Cass, who had pulled Jason. Tim now had two kills in the game and both were to people who could have easily overpowered him. 

“Jase! Welcome to the land of the dead,” Dick greeted him.

“God dammnit I’ve already been here,” Jason whined in a joke.

“You and your ‘I died pity me’  jokes,” Barbara said.

“It’s called a coping mechanism, Barbs. And hi dad, Alfred,” Jason said as he waved slightly at both of them, Alfred waved back and Bruce nodded at him.

“You could just to go therapy, Jase,” Barbara said, seeming concerned for someone who she considered her baby brother. She remember when he came into the Manor, she was older than him, sure . But he had nightmares and she and Dick would switch between who would sleep at his door at night, they both had terrible backs until the nightmares calmed down. Jason never knew they did this.

It also happened when he was resurrected, but the nightmares were worse and he’d wake all sweaty and upset. There were too many nights where batkids would be in Jason’s bed with him from 12am to when Alfred would greet them in the morning. The nightmares had slowed down a lot in the past few years with the introduction of his Goddaughter into his life, but they still came by to remind him of what happened.

He didn’t talk about it much. They would always try to edge him on about about really happened, but he was stubborn. It made sense, sure, trauma is trauma. But they all wanted to help him get better. It hurt them all that he was hurting and they didn’t know how to help him get through it.

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

Y/N would sit on her bed that morning and finally finished organizing her criminal psychology and regular psychology notes when she came across her printed copy of Dr. Barry Allen’s dissertation she had studied so hard. She found it so weird that she was so close to someone who she looked up to in the field while also being so far in the same breath.

She didn't dote on it for long, she stocked it away with her forensics notes in their place. This, the relationship she had with Jason that intertwined her with so many people, was something she was getting used to by the minute, but it was never something she’d get fully used to as time goes on.

She would put on a JCS - Criminal Psychology video in the background as she worked and tried to make her journal look nicer when Jason texted her,

Good morning. He said.

Good morning :)  She said back.

I just lost a game against a 16 year old.

Huh?

My brothers and 2 of my sisters were playing Assassins with me right? Well my 16 year old brother, Tim, he ended up getting the better of me and beat me. 

Oh! So you suck!

What!? No, I’m literally so cool what do you mean? He said, it clearly had sarcasm undertones to it, so Y/N wasn’t worried if she offended him with saying he sucked.

Oh yeah? Then why’d you lose?

Well, I killed Dick.

Okay so you didn’t lose, Dick lost.

It started raining a little bit, the sounds of it hitting lightly against her window, and she felt at peace. It was never hard for her to feel peace when she was by herself. She only had one roommate because she liked the silence, to be alone to collect her own thoughts in her head.

Her parents said it was because she probably had underlying mental illness that they never had the money to diagnose. She agreed. But she still didn’t have the chance to do it.

Jason and her deserved so much more than what the world have given them up to this point, so when they found each other it was, in a way, the universe saying ‘I’m sorry, you deserve this’ and with each passing day it made the pain they had both felt in their lives just a little bit more tolerable.

No, I guess Dick sucks at the game more than me.

Where’d you even get the concept for that game?

Dick and I used to play it at a Summer Camp before we got kicked out.

For playing the game?

No, for being unruly children.

You seem like you were a handful back in the day.

I was, I was the worst kid to raise, my dad has a shirt that says ‘Proud parent of a kid who is sometimes an asshole but that’s OK’ and he wears it all the time.

What a dad moment. Don’t tell my father that shirt exists, he’ll get one for my mum and himself to represent my sister and I.

Were you an unruly child as well?

I was a troublemaker. Getting into arguments with my authoritative figures about dress codes, rules, why girls couldn’t carry chairs, literally anything that was unequal, I was at their throats about it.

I mean, as you should. My older sister, Barbara, and my younger sisters, Stephanie and Cassie, they would like that about you.

I feel like in someway I’ve won over every part of your family.

The rain would get more violent as time went on. Strikes and hits of lightning would strike all around the city, hitting those gargoyles on every building, she always figured they were decorative, but A/N explained that their horns were made out of copper so people wouldn’t get struck by lightning. Bruce Wayne actually made that a thing, A/N said.

Y/N got a message from the dance competition that she signed up to, turns out, California was hit with a hurricane and most people evacuated. No one was allowed in or out. She guessed weather was being funky everywhere. It sucked, but she already was wishing she could spend time at home instead of out in the world.

A feeling she hated.

She would spend the rest of the day on and off the phone with Jason while it stormed. She would go to bed early that night.

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

Jason slipped on his vigilante uniform, the Red Hood was going to be on patrol over this night, stormy or not, it was his duty and he knew that. Did he want to go? Yes. He was killing for some action and he was going with Dick. They would probably have some ‘Bro Time’ which Jason wanted. 

Even if it was silence, having Dick nearby him meant enough and gave him peace of mind.

He grabbed his guns and loaded them while packing a few extra magazines in his belt, when Dick placed a hand on his shoulder, “You have to be careful tonight, Jase,” Dick said as he gulped down tears, “Just come back to me alive if you break off from me, okay?”

“Alive but bruised,” Jason joked.

“I’m serious. I can’t lose you again and tonight is going to be massively dangerous.”

“You won’t.”

[anothertimdrakestan]

Hey Gorgeous (Jason Todd x Reader)

this idea has been swirling around my head and even though it wasn’t a req i wanted to write it down because i think the concept is cute and fluffy and also kinda angsty (for me at least) so i hope this makes sense and that you enjoy it! 

“Hey gorgeous! Good to see ya!” Jason hummed as you slumped into the chair next to him in the batcave. “Long patrol. Tired. Don’t call me pet names” you mumbled as you began pulling off your gear. “Mhm whatever you say babe” he winked as you half heartedly gave him a punch to the shoulder. “Jeez if we’ve made it to ‘babe’ at least take me to dinner first” you teased as Jason began to stand up. “Sure, pick you up tomorrow at 8″ 

“Hey gorgeous- ready to be wooed?” you shook your head at Jason’s flirtatiousness, suppressing the butterflies that were having a damn dance party in your stomach. “Let’s go Todd” you giggled as he took your hand, kissing the back of your hand while his eyes bore into yours. “Hm you agreed to a date you’d better expect me to be a damn gentleman” he murmured, slipping the hand he was just kissing in his while he led you to the dinner that would secure your feelings for him forever.

“Uh, hey, gorgeous, can we talk real quick?” Jason didn’t wait for an answer, pulling you towards your guest room in the Wayne Manor while you questioned him, “Jay what are you doing?” he jolted to a stop in front of the door to your emergency room. “Well you see my dear, I’ve got a very important question for you” he opened the door, on your old bed was a messy, oval shaped heart made of roses he probably stole from Alfred’s garden. Glancing over at him with a questioning look he was holding a real bouquet of roses and handed them to you. “No jokes gorgeous, be mine” he said, pushing the flowers into your arms. 

“Hey gorgeous! Hey gorgeous! Heyyyyy gorgeous!” Jason practically slammed into your as he grappled right next to you on the rooftop on Gotham. Before you could answer he was already excitedly talking. “Listen, there’s like no crime tonight lets get ice cream! Pleaseeee” his hands were clasped hopefully and even though you couldn’t see through the mask you knew he was giving you hte cutest puppy dog eyes. “Sure jason, let’s ignore our duty to the city for some mint chocolate chip sugar milk” you teased, but yelped when the basically threw you over his shoulder and jumped off the building. “THE HELL ARE YOU DOING” you screeched in his ear while he shot his grapple towards an ice cream shop. “YOU SAID WE COULD GO” he shouted over the sound of wind in your ears. “IT WAS SARCASM DUMBASS” you pounded on his back while his grip around you tightened. Setting you down in an alleyway kitty corner to your favorite shop he began stripping into regular clothes with a grin. “Too late we’re already here!”

“...hey gorgeous” you immediately rushed towards the sound and found Jason curled in the corner of his bed, cheeks puffy from tears and his hands shaky. “hey jaybird, come here my love” you cooed, letting him wrap his arms around you and bury his head in your shoulder while he silently cried. “I couldn’t save them” he whispered while you rubbed his shoulders. “No no Jay, you did everything you could- the best anyone in the world could’ve. It is not your fault I promise” you raised his pain stricken eyes to meet yours while you cupped his cheek, watching a single tears well and cascade down his cheek, sliding around the raised skin from his scars and trailing down the faint smile lines he pretends he doesn’t have until it finally fell into your lap. You felt your own tears beginning to start so you brought Jason into another bone crushing hug telling him, “just you and me tonight jay, just let it out we will get through this”

“Hey gorgeous you gonna introduce me to your friend” you felt Jason’s hand slide around your waist, pulling you into his side while he gave the man you were talking to a dangerous look. “This the boyfriend you were talking about?” the man in front of your snorted, “One night with me and you’ll forget all about him” Your eyes widened knowing this would not go over well. “Mhm yeah buddy? You sure about that?” Jason smirked confidently but his grip on your hip was iron tight showing his anger. Suddenly Jason jutted towards the man, his hand wrapping around the man’s neck while he leaned in. “This right here, is your windpipe, judging by how fucking weak you are I only need a couple more seconds until you’re out like a light. I think we’re fucking done here” Jason shoved the man backwards, took your hand in his, and walked out. “C’mon gorgeous we’ve got better things to do. Like me reminding you why you’ll never forget me” he winked at you while you shook your head with a knowing smile.

“Hey gorgeous I’m homeeeeeee” you heard a familiar cheer from your living room. “Not your home but close enough. How was patrol? This ankle is killing me” you slowly limped around your apartment while Jason de-hooded himself, shaking his hair out with a sympathetic look towards your recently wounded ankle. “It was boring until Tim fell off a building then it was funny- I mean he’s fine of course but yeah, I missed you” he had come up behind you and had trapped you with large arms, barely enough space for you to twist around, roll your eyes, and give him the passionate kiss he was looking for. It was a nightly routine by now. 

“Hey gorgeous, no no! Don’t cry this is supposed to be a happy day remember?” Jason grinned while you slapped a hand over your mouth with realization. You had gone with your friends for a day at the beach but arrived to your close family and friends leading you towards Jason who was wearing slacks and a button up waiting for you on the beach. "You know I’m not the best with words but you’re my favorite part of life from every up and down and I want you with me forever” he got down on one knee pulling out a little box. “No jokes gorgeous, be mine” he grinned while you smiled at the familiar phrase. “Yes. Yes! A thousand times yes” you cried, diving into his arms while your friends cheered to the rest of your lives together.

“H-hey gorgeous, I don’t think we’re gonna get out of this one” Jason cupped your cheek while tears spilled down his cheeks. “We had a good run didn’t we” he cooed while you nodded, pulling him into your chest you tried to relish in the feeling of hugging the love of your life. “See you later?” you asked, needing an ounce of hope to hold on to as the impending doom of self sacrifice set in. “Definitely gorgeous. Bruce is gonna be so mad at us” Jason chuckled. “Hey we always said we were ride or die right?” you smiled back as the two of you laughed. Diving hand in hand towards the reactor ready to save the world and be together in whatever happened next. There really wasn’t a better way to go. 

“I love you gorgeous. I’ll see you soon” 

and then it all went dark.

[antihero-writings]

If These Walls Could Talk (Ch7)

(^^ Art commissioned from Junki Sakuraba on instagram and deviantart!!)

Fandom: Castlevania Netflix

Summary: Vampires do not have reflections, and castles do not have hearts. But Dracula is no ordinary vampire, and Castlevania is no ordinary castle. If castles can fight, maybe they can think too. The series, and Adrian’s childhood, told from the perspective of the castle.

Notes: Hey all! I am SO sorry this chapter took so long to come out. My perfectionism really got the best of me with this chapter. But I saw that S4 was on its way and that really lit a fire under my butt because I really do want to post my season 3 chapter before s4 comes out. I’m highly doubt I’ll accomplish it as it almost always takes me longer than I have to get a chapter out, let alone two, but I'll try, at least.

I really really hope you enjoy it!! If you enjoy this chapter, please please consider commenting. I assure you it’ll be more likely I’ll post the next chapter faster the more people comment on this showing you still enjoy this fic. Each comment is a little shot of energy and motivation for me.

Important! This chapter is meant to have aesthetic indentation in some places. So if you want to read it as-intended, please look it at on Archiveofourown at I_prefer_the_term_antihero on your computer or tablet!!

If you get here and are thinking “Wait, what was this fic about? What were the main themes?” then this would be a good time to reread/skim back through the earlier chapters. This is the climax of the fic and will (hopefully) be more impactful the more you remember about the rest of the fic and its many themes.

Chapter Summary:

"Go back whence you came! Trouble the soul of my Mother no more!" "How? How—How is it that I've been so defeated?" "You have been doomed ever since you lost the ability to love." "Ha—Ah... Sarcasm. 'For what profit is it to a man if he gains the world, and loses his own soul?' Matthew 16:26, I believe. "Tell me. What—What were Lisa's last words?" "She said 'Do not hate humans. If you cannot live with them, then at least do them no harm. For theirs is already a hard lot'. She also said to tell you that she would love you for all of eternity." "Lisa, forgive me. Farewell my son."

Chapter 7: “Heart”

Hey there, Sunshine, the Room adds with a smile.

The Room forgot the sweet tang of breath. How gentle, how vicious. Like honey, like relief, like a cozy blanket and a fireplace. It came in great, gulping gasps, and living was painful after such long breathlessness, but hurt far less than being half dead.

The Room rushes to Castlevania, shaking it, saying, Open your eyes! Open your eyes! It’s Adrian. It’s our boy. My master. My sunlight. And Castlevania limply flickers open its eyes, for it cannot help but obey.

Obey to see the golden man standing in its doorway.

And it feels a jolt of warmth in its broken chest.

Alucard has returned home. He arrives at the doorstep with resolve in his closed fists and a sword on his tongue. The threat to the war they all knew he would be, and the Room promised it would rear him to be.

But he isn’t alone this time.

There are two humans by his side. One with fire in her fists—quite literally—the other with a barbed tongue at his hip.

Castlevania recognizes a crest on the clothing of one of them, gold and proud: The Belmonts. The ones who came with whips and scourges to defeat its master long ago. The ones whom Dracula and his Castle were bound together against in their undead war. The ones whom Dracula trusted his Castle to protect him from. The owner of the hold now beneath Castlevania. He has come to defeat its master like the rest…but this time the boy is by his side, and for that reason, the Castlevania is unsure how this will end.

“I terrify them,” the Belmont explains the plan, “Sypha disorients them, Alucard goes over the top and we support him.”

“Yes.” The Speaker confirms.

Alucard holds his sword out horizontally in front of him, unsheathes it, and speaks:

“Begin.”

Alucard is with the Belmont.

And Castlevania knows when it sees them, the fire in their eyes, that they are the intent that brought it here. That they have indeed come to kill its master once and for all. It had wished when the boy returned, it would be with the promise of hope. But there is no promise of life and the sparing of it this time.

They bring death inside with them; the war room is filled with war, blood and burns on its floors, but it is different this time, because this is not an ambiance, a continuation, a fact of life, it is a swift and fatal kiss—the end they said he would bring, once. The blood is rotten on the floors, but it doesn’t itch or burn. And the boy uses those techniques his father taught him on brighter nights about turning into things with teeth, and the ones his mother once taught him on sunnier days about how to make metal listen.

They did not bring life inside this time, not life of the same kind at least. The war, the death, has followed and swallowed them too, but not in the same way it has its master. They are not bloodthirsty. The cold the dark and the death are merely clothes they wear, they have not reached the deepest parts of them; there are still light-starved Rooms in their hearts waiting to breathe.

There is a song at their heels as they dance in rings of fire, with the wind and the moon, upon the blood and water Castlevania isn’t sure will come out of the carpet. It is a song that is all too familiar. It has been played here before, when other, more, less, holy Belmonts barged in long ago. A song of blood and tears.

Bloody tears its master cried once, for his wife when he realized they had taken something that could not be borrowed, bartered, or souled.

They’re bringing an end to the strife, and all the undead lives that facilitated it, and vice versa. They are cutting the puppet strings, and not all puppets can live without them.

Isaac fights the nameless soldiers on the staircase for its master…until he sees someone who is far from nameless.

Isaac’s reddened eyes meet Alucard’s golden ones. Alucard’s sword aims at him, but it hits the deadened flesh of the nameless instead.

Isaac runs to tell its master—Dracula, busy ripping out the heart of a nameless—who’s here; that his sun has returned, and at his side is magic and might.

Dracula knows the prophecy.

He’s willing to die—Issac. He stands before Dracula, his form barely able to shield three-quarters of Dracula’s, willing to give his feeble human life for Dracula’s indefinite undead one. He believes knowledge and will are more important than the blood of a good man. He believes in love, and loyalty is love of a sort. And it is Castlevania’s understanding that when someone is willing to live for something, they are also willing to die for it. This is the noblest of causes.

“You are the greatest of your people, Isaac. You have a soul, I think.” As Dracula says the words, he raises his hand, and the mirror shards behind them begin to rise. “Perhaps that is more valuable to the world to come than a dusty collection of books and apparatus.”

Lisa looks on from the portrait, and Castlevania thinks it is a look of pride. She always did stand for saving human lives rather than destroying them. Isn’t it funny that in what will perhaps be the deciding battle of this war, the one where his goals should possess him stronger than ever, it is the human who he values more than himself?

“Or perhaps you simply deserve a better fate than to die instead of me.”

“I choose my death, as I chose my life.” The words are stronger than iron.

“Then I regret only that I have taken a choice for you.” A hand at his shoulder.

Dracula throws him halfway across the world, to the kind of place Isaac was born in, and the kind of place Isaac least wants to die in.

Isaac believes in love. And it is for this reason, this belief, that Vlad saves his life, Castlevania knows. Saves his life, by denying the choice he so desperately wanted to make—perhaps his whole life—and had no regrets or apprehensions about making, rather a lot more in being kept alive.

And when the mirror shatters and falls, his son is standing there, like he did a year ago, though this time he is not backed by sunlight. The only light in the room is the fire glinting in his eyes.

A pause. To remember the dead.

“Father.”

A word. To remember the living.

“Son.”

This should be a reunion, perhaps. Better people would think they should happily hug each other, and say they missed each other, and that they love each other all the same. Better people would say that the sunlight should plead with the dark to come back into its embrace. All the sinners know there was no chance of that the moment Dracula scrawled fate on his son’s skin with his own claws.

Instead, there is nothing but bitter, fighting words:

“Your war is over.”

Dracula tilts his head to the side. “Because you say so?”

“It ends.” Alucard looks at his sword, the one she taught him how to use. “In the name of my mother.”

Dracula looks at his son, the one she gave him. “It endures in the name of your mother.”

“I told you before I won’t let you do it.” Alucard’s voice is so soft, yet solid and unwavering. There is no anger, but he will not step aside. Not this time. Even when the claws come. “I grieve with you…but I won’t let you commit genocide.”

“You couldn’t stop me before.” Dark assurance in soft words.

Footsteps. A cue to the magic and the hunt behind the curtain, who step out on either side of him.

“I was alone before.”

And Castlevania understands. Understands that they are not here to talk things out. Understands that they are not here to save Dracula, to appeal to the good in him, as Lisa once had, and the Room once thought. Castlevania itself even hoped, when the boy returned, the song would be a bit more inspirational. But, beaten and broken and bloody, Castlevania understands now, if Alucard stands with the intent, if Alucard brought a Belmont—

Then they do not believe there is a chance. They are not here then, to talk him out of it. They are here to halt this war in its tracks, make it rear up, lose its balance, and fall.

—(And Castlevania knows, deep down, that to do this… they must end something else)—

Alucard is bringing back the sunlight. But there is only one way he can do that, and goodnight is not quiet.

And make no mistake he does intend to bring the full, the warm, the life, and the light back, just like Castlevania and the Room wanted. But there is too much cold, dark, death, and emptiness here to do this quietly. They are here to kill Dracula—the master now puppeteered by Death’s strings rather than his own soul.

The Speaker raises her fingers to her lips as if to say a prayer, or perhaps take a heavenly name in vain for the sake of a little silence. The Belmont’s whip clinks in his hand. Alucard’s sword sings as he raises it.

Alucard drives it towards his father: a bolt of golden lightning through the room, pinning him against the fireplace as books fall to the floor. Castlevania, wincing at the pain, knows that will bruise in the morning.

The picture of his mother cracks and falls, as if she has to close her eyes for this.

Alucard, growling with fierce resolve, pushing the sword into him with all his might. But Dracula has the sword in his hand, rather than his heart. He steps calmly forward, barely having to use any of his strength to combat so much of his son’s, as if he’s about to tell him to put the toy away.

A glint of golden eyes. Alucard pulls back the sword. A slash. Two. Three.

Dracula raises his arm as if to knock the sword from his shoulder.

Instead he bashes his son’s head into the fireplace—and Castlevania cries out at the feeling, feeling its stomach burn.

The Speaker and the Belmont ready for a fight. The floor splinters—(Castlevania grimaces, tasting blood)—as Dracula flashes through the room, and pins the Belmont into the hall, against the wall, sending his sword out of his hand. He keels over onto his hands to cough up blood, the puddle crawling on Castlevania’s skin.

Castlevania never had any qualms with the blood of Belmonts on its floors before, so this hurts less, but this is different, and Castlevania still wonders if Dracula could be a little gentler with his Castle.

A flash of light at his side. He raises his cloak as the Speaker sends tongues and teeth of fire at him.

“Speaker magician!” Its master realizes.

He rushes at her, knocking her hand out of position. She creates an ice shard before her with the other.

He scratches up with a claw, sending her flying with the broken pieces towards the ceiling, and angry gashes appear on her arm as she rolls along the floor.

“Sypha!” The Belmont calls.

He must love her in some way, because in a fit of some sort of emotion—instead of picking up his sword—the Belmont uses his fists. They probably haven’t failed him before. But this is Dracula, and his punches don’t cause the king to so much as flinch.

“You must be the Belmont.”

Castlevania laughs a little at the words; it too thought the method was rather common of his line.

It’s Dracula’s turn, and his punch doesn’t just cause the Belmont to flinch, the sound is as if he hit rock, sending him into the air with the force. He doesn’t give him a second to breathe, rather reaches his claw is around the human’s neck, holding him there.

He raises his other claw level—a blade, more trustworthy than any.

“The end of your line.”

Before he can make these words true, another blade stops him: his son’s, driving itself through both his arms.

While he is pinned the Speaker, knowing this is an opportunity she will not get again, rushes forward—still bleeding, mind—a bead of fire between her fingers. Dracula cannot move to protect himself, and the magician, knowing this, lets the fire loose to lick his face raw.

Dracula drops the Belmont, attempting to get away, deciding his own life takes precedence, but it is hard to get away when your hands are tied together with metal.

The Speaker, seeing that her fire is about to hit Alucard, falters. And in that moment Dracula wrenches his arm off of the blade and uses it to knock her down, before sending his other fist into his son, who goes flying along with his sword hitting the wall. This one may not be so hard as to bruise, but, with everything aching and breaking, the smallest tap hurts Castlevania.

The Belmont pulls a blade of bone from his back-belt, and as Dracula turns he drives it into his chest.

It’s not close enough to his heart, but red distaste fills Dracula’s eyes. He thought this was a game, but they have some amount of ability, and he may have underestimated them. As Alucard and the magician get up he attempts to grab at the Belmont in quick motions, but he has some skill in dodging.

The Speaker rips off her shirt and cauterizes her wound as the Belmont and Dracula dance in the hallway, neither weapon hitting flesh.

Dracula sees the Speaker’s intent over his shoulder, and as the Belmont lunges at him grabs his arm and throws him into her, stopping both their attacks. An effective move, if Castlevania does say so itself.

Alucard sees his opening and rushes forward, pinning his father to the wall, which shatters behind them with a painful lurch.

Dracula puts his hands together and brings them down over his son’s head with such force the floor cracks.

And Castlevania coughs blood.

Alucard pushes his arms away and slaps both sides of his face, getting a grunt this time. Dracula sends him back with such force it almost seems like a shockwave, creating wind and smoke curling around them all.

The Speaker roots him in place by sending ice spears into his leg. The Belmont clears the smoke by spinning his whip, before creating more by sending that whip—the one he fed the vampires that didn’t agree with their compositions—sizzling into Dracula’s chest. There’s an explosion to be sure—a rather big one—but after the smoke dissipates, and a wait with bated breath, Dracula is still standing just as he was before—as Castlevania knew he would—like all he threw at him were words.

…At least at first, to show he isn’t taken down so easily. He does fall to his hands thereafter.

“The Morningstar whip.” The words are scratches in the carpet. “Well played, Belmont. But I am no ordinary vampire to be killed by your human magics.” The words sizzle on his tongue. “I am Vlad Dracula Tepes,” he crosses his arms with purpose. “and I have had ENOUGH!”

His voice is a shockwave of its own across the sea of stone and bone. He sweeps his hands to the sides, his cloak rising like wings as he floats into the air, and creates a ball of magma: the cheat that will end the game. He was going easy on them until now.

It rumbles towards them, eating the carpet as it goes—and Castlevania can feel the burning in its chest. The Belmont’s eyes widen with fear at last. The Speaker rises to the occasion without hesitation, and holds out her hands to stop it with the force of her magic. It’s a force to be reckoned with, for sure: at first she succeeds, but, though it may be slowing, it isn’t stopping, and her feet are slipping. The Belmont puts his back to hers, as any good friend and comrade would. Alucard phases in front of them, the burning wind rushing against his face. He calls his sword, which sings as it reaches his hand, poises it, and drives the point into the magma ball.

They each fight with all their might, the Belmont and the speaker begins to grunt with the weight of it. The ball gives a falter their way, and Castlevania is sure even three cannot match Dracula’s strength, but the Speaker gives a final push, which gives Alucard just the right amount of momentum to drive it back toward his father, who is as caught off guard by the display as Castlevania is. He needs no sword or magic to stop it, however, and puts his hands out to hold it. Gold and red push against each other, until Alucard gives a deciding motion, then another, another, each chipping away at the ball until the sword goes flying and it’s just Alucard’s arm against Dracula’s throat, and their momentum creates a sizzling tunnel in the wall.

Castlevania may not know what guns are, but it knows what it feels like to be shot.

The two burst into the library, shattering the already shattered mirror.

It was so quiet in here. Must they sully the silence with the sound of strife? They read here, once. Sometimes alone, sometimes to each other. Whispered to each other of history and mystery.

Dracula lands on the floor and Alucard floats above him in the room in which he once stood on his level and told his father calmly he wouldn’t stand for genocide.

There’s anger in his eyes now.

Dracula hisses, then gives a war cry, and the two allow their hungry fists to attempt to devour each other as best they can in the air, red and gold flashing.

The Belmont picks up a sword in the other room and, deciding it’d be best not to follow them through the tunnel—(Castlevania is glad for that decision. The wound is still raw and would more than likely sting tremendously if they walked on it)—he and the Speaker run up the stairs to follow them.

They’re on the floor now and their punches fly like starlings—their duel reflected in the shards of mirror fluttering, jittering about, ever awaiting their command, as if attempting to tap their shoulders and ask what they should do, and why they are hurting each other—until they are hitting the bookshelves they once were gentle with—lest the pages rip and the silence tear—the ones they once smiled and discussed philosophy beside.

Castlevania’s head aches, nausea in the back of its throat.

A smiling boy and his father handing him another book, saying if he liked the first he’d like the second too, are all but gone now.

Dracula throws Alucard into the ceiling, and enters the room above with an unearthly sound, in an unearthly way: only his cloak is visible, moving like slime. As his hungry footsteps lick the floor behind him, Alucard is heaving on his side that same floor, his hair falling across his face. He turns around, fear coating the sound he makes as he, without his sword, grabs the nearest block of wood that happens to have a point on the end.

Dracula laughs, like they’re playing a game—(they did once, do they remember? Humans and monsters. Sometimes there were princes, and knights, or pirates. Even a princess or two. And the wolves and the bats were free in the night wind)—and stops.

“You mean to stake me?”

“You want me to.” Alucard murmurs, turning around with some difficulty.

“What?” Dracula chuckles, still with that put-the-toys-away intonation.

“You didn’t kill me before.” Alucard breathes. “You’re not going to kill me now. You want this to end as much as I do.” The look in his eyes is almost crazed.

“DO I?!” The tone is almost crazed in response, the nonchalant edge gone, the words resounding with power and grief.

Alucard scrambles away like an animal, causing Dracula to punch the floor instead of his head—Castlevania’s body lurches. It feels a gentle touch at its chin, someone trying to wipe the blood off perhaps.

“You died when my mother died. You know you did.” He reasons as Dracula’s breathing gains weight. “This entire catastrophe has been nothing but history’s longest suicide note.”

Castlevania jerks its head up, eyes wide at these words.

And Castlevania understands.

The cold, the dark, the empty, the death. They all make sense now.

Alucard rushes at him, Dracula knocks the stake out of Alucard’s hand with ease, but, in a moment of extreme dexterity, Alucard manages to grab it from the air and drive it into his chest still. The look in his eyes is almost pleading, like he’s going to ask “Daddy did I do a good job? Did I do it right? I’ve gotten better at fighting haven’t I?”

“Not quite close enough.” There is a gurgling quality to Dracula’s enunciation.

No more playing.

He shoves Alucard so hard its into the next room.

Castlevania keels over onto the floor, it’s stomach aching and prickling.

Dracula pulls the stake out and heaves before rushing after.

Floors below the magician and the Belmont can hear them, and are trying their best to catch up, to have a say in this fight.

But Castlevania isn’t sure they have much chance of that, as they are flashing through the halls now, Alucard, a foot off the ground, zig-zagging between the walls in the narrow hall as Dracula keeps punching bloodless stone—

—(The stone may be bloodless, but god this hurts)—

Until Alucard punches him back, sending them into a room, a bedroom—(but not that one)—and the room is a pile of rubble with just that. And Castlevania can feel the splinters. That furniture was nice.

Dracula grabs Alucard’s face and shoves him into the dining room, pinning him to the table like he’ll eat him too if they’re not careful, and those chairs were perfectly nice too—

And Castlevania sees a little boy waiting at the table for his birthday surprise, and his father pulling out a burned cake, and his mother laughing. There was no fear then. Though its master was a creature of blood it never thirsted for theirs, and they knew this full well. Can they see it too? Why would they destroy this room if they did? Why would they destroy each other if they did? Are they even the same creatures as those in the memory?

At this point Castlevania is pretty sure they broke a few of its ribs.

Alucard kicks his face and gets on the table on all fours, rushing him into the next room still.

Castlevania’s bleeding, broken heart skips a beat. Surely they must have broken a few ribs, for how else could they get into Castlevania’s heart? The control room, where its gears still lie dripping, glowing as orange as a brand, once beating organs now blazing stalactites.

They punch each other along the platform, Dracula’s cloak whipping about, like a cat’s fur trying to make him look bigger and scarier.

They are framed in the paneless window—those bones have been all but broken too now. The frame where the picture—that is to say, the die—no longer sits. For Castlevania’s heart didn’t just break, it was destroyed when they brought it to this place, the place where its enemies once lived, and still stand today.

—(So why can Castlevania still feel it beat?)—

In the frame now is moon drunk on blood, a night soaked in tears—and the wind whispers to their cloaks, bidding them to whip around them.

Dracula draws in a hissing breath.

Alucard stands tall, his eyes aglow, gold melting into something new in this forge, his hair whipping about him as he raises his fist yet again.

They are getting tired. Their snarls have a weakened quality to them now.

—Can they see the father and son in this room, the father teaching his son that his Castle is special?—

But instead of just punching him, Alucard teleports beside his father, hitting his shoulder, sending a gust of wind to his face, then teleports around the room to send his fist into him over and over, from every possible angle, and some of his kick-offs create cracks in the already breaking bindings of the room.

It feels like pins and needles, but it’s okay. It’s okay.

Why?

Dracula’s grits his teeth, sharp as ever, his eyes alight with bloody determination, his hair playing about this gaze. To end it, on the next hit he grabs his face, shoving him by it onto the stone platform. He shoves him once, twice, a third, the metal cracking, the metal creaking—

Castlevania’s gut lurches, and it can taste bile and iron at the back of its throat, and it’s hard to breathe.

Then its master raises Alucard back up, holds him by the face in the air a moment, and punches him with such force he is blown across the length of the platform and through the thick stone wall into the next room—

And Castlevania vomits blood.

Dracula bolts after him, the dust creating patterns in his wake—and Castlevania could gaze in the clouds if it weren’t for whoever’s trying to slap it awake.

Alucard coughs, and it sounded deep.

Its master is nothing human now. There’s a growl in his throat as he marches towards him, and another cough in Alucard’s as he struggles to stand.

Another punch, but this one is not fast like the rest, nor is it blocked. Alucard tries to stand up, to rush towards him, but he is getting tired, and Dracula hits him again. Another growl. Alucard takes a single step back, soft against the floors. An exhale. Another of both, and as Dracula raises his fist the murmur—plea?—on his son’s lips sounds a lot like “Father,” as if he’s reached his limit, and has to stop the game.

It’s too late to hit quit now.

The vampire king doesn’t grant the plea—or perhaps even hear it; with a belabored punch he sends him into the next Room, rolling this time, instead of flying, the contents of the Room staying in tact…all except the bed, which catches the boy.

The next Room. But this one is not like the rest. It is not just a room.

This one breathes.

A gasp, another growl, a scratch against the wall, and—

Castlevania burned today in this bloody fight, on this bloody night. Its skin, its legs. Even its heart broke.

Castlevania. The thing that Vlad Tepes brought to life with a little bit of lightning, several gears, and a few words. No magic words, just words: the ones he spoke on lonely nights to the walls about how he’d like to be something more than ruthless.

Castlevania did everything it could. It lies burned and broken and unable to fight now because of it.

But none of that burned half as much as those scratches on its walls.

There have been many stories told about Dracula, and there will one day be more stories told about Dracula, books written, enough that one could fill libraries with just the retellings of his story. And Castlevania has no doubt that one day these scratches will be on their covers. This growl, these scratches are the signet of a vampire, of a monster: the disfigurement of his Castle, bloody intent directed at his son. The dark, the death, and the emptiness have overtaken completely. That is all a monster is, really. That is all he is now.

He marches into the Room, his cloak flowing, dipping and twirling in the broken wind. The sound of Alucard’s breathing fills the Room as he heaves against the bed.

Or maybe the breath is the Room’s own.

The Room has seen all that happened, it has been watching Castlevania beaten bloody till it could barely breathe, or see through the blood dripping down its face, let alone move. Castlevania could barely feel the comforting hands on it, the attempts to bandage the wounds, or at least stop the bleeding that it knew could only belong to the Room. Castlevania could barely hear the Room’s frantic, desperate calls to action, to get up, or just ask if it was okay. And now the Room stands, fists clenched at its sides. The Room wants to fight back. It will fight back.

The Room is not violent. From the very beginning it stood against all the violence, the dark, the empty, and the death. That was what it was made for, after all. As much as it would like to, it does not wrap its hand around Dracula’s throat, claws digging until it draws blood, and demand “How does it feel?! How does it feel to be on the receiving end?!”

The Room’s footsteps are soft as it comes up beside Dracula. It puts its hands over the king’s eyes and whispers in his ear, gently as it can:

“Remember me?”

Then, quietly as it came, it removes them, as if playing peekaboo, revealing that it was there the whole time, his eyes were just covered for a while.

It may as well have been removing scales, because Dracula freezes, his eyes wide, as if he’s seeing, not just the Room, but the whole world for the first in a long time—And he is. The first time with living eyes. And one sees things very differently with living eyes. And Castlevania was his world and it hopes he sees the world differently, for Castlevania is not a thing for him to beat and break. Just when Castlevania thought there was nothing left…there is something more than anger in his eyes now.

Dracula’s angry cloak quiets, falling docile at his feet: a sign of reverence towards the Room, and all it stands for.

Alucard, after allowing his breath to regain itself, looks up, his eyes widening too at his father. His father. No anger, no fear, not even determination now. Not in this Room. This Room is different. He remembers now: in the hush that has fallen across the world like freshly fallen snow, this is his father.

The Room kneels at it’s boy’s side, putting a hand on his shoulder feeling nothing but life and love, so much so it extends to the creature that created the scars on its throat, and on its boy’s chest.

“It’s okay. You can go to him now.” The Room says.

And it knows what that means.

It knows that sometimes peace comes at the price of war.

Dracula curls his hand, the one with the claw that just made marks on the walls that are written in stone, and will never be undone. Within the glow of the window, his reddened eyes too are no longer angry. For so long those eyes sat dormant, empty, and glazed in his skull and at last they contain something. The Room’s words have gotten through the glaze, shattered the glass.

“It’s your Room.”

It’s more than just a statement. He made a promise when he made this Room. This Room was to be his son’s Room. There would be no violence, not in this Room. Not ever. Not today in as much as not ten years ago. He will not hurt this Room. He will not dare touch it, for fear those claws will mark more than just the walls; that all the memories will come crashing down.

The words are not angry. They are not dark. They are not empty. They are not dead. They may seem dry, and stated, but they are dripping with such longing and loss it might fill the whole Castle.

The desk where Vlad taught Adrian of letters, and of numbers, and of the borders of the world. The wardrobe where Lisa dressed him up in fine clothes, and casual ones depending on the occasion—Dracula had so few special occasions to celebrate alone, they were a lovely thing. The bookshelf full of all the knowledge of immortals, and the stories of mortals. The carpet where the boy sat and played with his toys. The nightstand, still with a potion bottle upon it, and the cards of a game they’ve no doubt forgotten how to play, right where they left it long ago. The shelf above it with another bottle, and a tiny satchel of even tinier precious things, and a little toy lamb. The bed upon which Vlad and Lisa once sat and told stories, and sang lullabies, or else lay curled up next to him when the nightmares got too vicious to bear alone.

—(How many did he have to face alone?)—

And Castlevania can see them all. The father teaching his son to count, and to write. The mother running after her naked toddler, trying to convince him clothes really aren’t so bad. The careful pouring of the potions so they change color, or explode just right, the father smiling proudly when he gets the questions correct. The pride of the mother when her son won the game, and the way her husband said “again” like if they just played another round he would win this time. The boy playing with the lamb and the wolf; they they got along in his stories.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart…was it?

Alucard stands—the motion fluid now—blue light caressing his face as he raises his eyes. Vlad too looks up. But they’re not looking at each other, or the Room, rather into the stars. Not the ones outside, the ones they painted—brushing paint upon each other’s noses, so long ago, and Castlevania can see that too—as if those stars hold all the bottled wishes of childhood. It always was crowning jewel of this Room.

Adrian’s eyes oscillate like perturbed waters, because he knows, he knows he’s about to lose it all. And yes, there’s a sort of childlike yearning in Adrian’s eyes, as if he’s wishing upon those stars that he didn’t have to do this, because he’d really rather find another way to spend this night.

The stars wipe the bloodstains off of Dracula’s eyes. The blood drains off the moon too, as if he is so powerful he can bid the sky to bleed.

His lips shake with long-forgotten words—(or maybe they were just buried, and not everything buried in a grave stays there)—and he holds his hands to his chest, if nothing else to stop them from hurting innocent boys and castles, and shuts his eyes.

“My boy.” The words are said like everything in him is breaking

And it is.

—(The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. Does that mean it never broke?)—

“I’m—I…” The word falls to the floor, so soft, like it’s the only apology he has to shed. “I’m… I’m killing my boy.” And the truth is so gentle and broken its almost more painful than all those punches to the walls.

He steps across the Room, and this time his footsteps are not foreboding, not marching nor stalking. They are soft. He is only walking. This boy is not his prey. Not in this Room.

He walks to the picture on the wall, the one called “Happy.”

Castlevania remembers the day they took it home. The painter really did do a good job, Lisa had said, and Castlevania agreed. Castlevania soon learned that even when they were not here, even when the boy was not small, even when they were not happy, that moment would still be captured upon the wall to return to any time they missed it. Long ago Dracula had no need of pictures and paintings. But those pictures have been everything to him, and everything left him, now that Lisa is gone. They are all the traces left of what they once were in this Castle. That picture—the one Dracula buried and tried to forget existed—that picture bottled happiness, and it gives Vlad back his happiness now. And it makes him so very sad.

“Lisa. I’m killing our boy.” Vlad says to the memory. “We painted this Room. We…made these toys.”

His eyes as they dart around the Room—to the books, to the basket with the wolf and the blocks—are glazed, but not in the same way as before, this time it is with memory, and that makes them more alive than ever, as are his words. And in that moment she is alive too, and he is Vlad, Lisa’s husband, and Adrian’s father.

“It’s our boy, Lisa.”

And then as he looks down his eyes are not glazed at all, rather they hold understanding. He understands what must be done.

Alucard’s foot pushes off the ground, bends the knee, stands, and, no, he is not Adrian, for there is a cracking, a cracking like lightning, a cracking like the world breaking.

And it is the most horrible sound either the Room or Castlevania have ever heard. More horrible than the squelching any heart Dracula ever ripped out. More horrible than the desperate pleas of his victims. More horrible than the cackles of his friends. More horrible than the crying of the child that Castlevania can still hear echoing through the Room.

—(The sound Castlevania hated so so long ago, and now longs for far more than anything else in the world, longs for that painting to swallow the universe and bring it to life again)—

Castlevania and the Room can both feel that sound like a thousand splinters and spider bites, like both of them shattering as if they were made of glass after all. Even the furniture here bleeds.

Vlad backs up, putting his hands over his face—Don’t hurt them, they don’t know what they’re doing—

—(Yet…he hurt them all. So much so he didn’t just disgrace her words, he tried to kill her gift, their son, her blood)—

“Your greatest gift to me. And I’m killing him.”

He lifts his hands from his face and looks into his son’s eyes, his own so alive, despite their glass, tilting his head to the side. Everything slow and gentle now. He is Vlad. He is Adrian’s father. Not the vampire king who put innocents on stakes. But they all know something happened to Vlad on the night Lisa died.

“I must already be dead.”

And Castlevania, burned and bleeding, understands. The final piece of the puzzle has been put into place. It has been dead too. It’s life, bound in red to its master, will break to the call of a stake. Because a reflection cannot exist without the thing it reflects.

Because…they are mortal.

That was the trade, all those years ago: immortality for mortality. Lisa would gain an immortal mind, and Dracula a mortal soul. He would teach Lisa the knowledge of immortals, the methods of healing that must be kept secret to live with a vampire like time held no grip on them. And she would teach him how to live as a man, how to travel as a man, how to care for his son, as a man, as a father. And in that moment his soul was bound to hers.

She brought the undeath in him to life, and Castlevania understands; only things that are alive can die.

It learned through Lisa, through Adrian, what it was to be alive. And it knew that undeath, while not death, is not life. Dracula was undead and his body could not die. But now that she brought him to life, he could die. His soul already died with her. He’s been rotting in an empty shell—no wonder Death could tie those puppet strings to him. That’s why the emptiness in him was so active; cold and dark and empty were only adjectives before, now they are nouns; he was emptiness, death, walking around. And that, too, is what Castlevania has become. It too is mortal. It didn’t die with her, but something in it ceased to tick when Dracula came back without a soul in his chest, and it knows, bruised and burned, broken, and bleeding that that stake in his son’s hand is calling them both.

You knew all along, didn’t you? Castlevania asks the Room, and there is no malice, no blame, there.

The Room jerks its head up to look at Castlevania, then its eyes soften and it grimaces. I hoped I was wrong. The Room replies softly. I…I hoped there was another way.

Alucard’s eyes hold some sympathy, some semblance of the boy they once knew, in fact rather too much, for both threaten to pour out of those eyes and stop all this. He doesn’t want to. But it’s too late for anything else.

Vlad eyes hold some semblance of the man they once knew, so much so they threaten to make him something more than ruthless, something that doesn’t deserve to die. He closes them tilting his head. He knows what must be done.

There is no anger in either of their eyes, no determination, not even resolve. Not anymore. Adrian wants to free his father in the only way he can.

A step forward, and this step has purpose, that stake is silently growling, drooling at his side as he stalks his prey. Another. Another. Like the beating of all their hearts, and the atmosphere is so silent that everything can only break.

And Dracula will not stop him, will not fight back. Not this time. Like all those times he let his son win, because even though he was more skilled at at the game, it was more satisfying to see Adrian smile.

He is not here to talk things out.

Alucard barely raises that stake—

A second horrible cracking, this one in flesh.

This time he aimed higher.

Dracula’s mouth fills with blood, it seeps through the cracks in his teeth. The blood from his chest drains down the stake—the broken piece of childhood—down his son’s arm, collecting on his elbow, and when it hits the carpet a burn begins to appear on the Room’s chest.

A grunt as Vlad leans forward, the blood dripping from his mouth to the floor—another angry gash upon the Room’s skin, and the Room is trying to pretend it’s okay, but it can’t hide the hurt in its eyes.

It knew what had to be done…but the violence goes against its nature.

His eyes fill with blood, but not from undead purpose. The moon is still clean. These are those bloody tears, the ones from the song earlier today. He is free, relieved…and he will never see his son again.

“Son.”

To remember the living, and those who will live on without him.

And the word is spoken very differently than it was earlier today. Then it was solid and hollow. Now it is ghostly, and so full it could hold all the world. Their world, at least.

This Room, this Castle, that word. They are their whole world.

And it is an honor to have been a world to such terrible, wonderful creatures.

“Father.”

To honor the dying, and what they once were while alive.

The word on Adrian’s tongue is the same, though more solid, more alive, and thus able to hold more pain. A faltering breath, a cracking forgiveness.

The word means something now, at the end, where before they were nothing more than titles. They are pleading with each other. They are bleeding with each other.

They don’t want to do this. They shouldn’t have to. It is far too cruel.

Mothers shouldn’t have to bury their daughters, and sons shouldn’t have to kill their fathers. It’s an unspoken rule of life.

But Alucard can’t stop there. He must finish this. The fire, the resolve regurgitates in his eyes, and he pushes harder, like with the magma ball, and, no, this cracking is worse, because Castlevania can feel it in its own chest now.

Castlevania can hear its master’s heartbeat, can feel it with the drops of blood dripping and sizzling on the floor, and it thinks it might just be its own heartbeat.

Alucard does not hate his father: there is pain on his face. But he cannot stop there.

He must end this war. And unlike those given with kisses to his forehead once, this goodnight is not gentle. Not this time.

He inhales,

closes his eyes,

and breaks his father’s chest.

That stake goes right through Castlevania, and something in it involuntary breaks.

The control room never was Castlevania’s heart. The destruction of the die was merely the amputation of both its legs, still bleeding out. This is a breaking, not of skin or bone, but of something deeper. It thinks this might just be what it feels like to cry.

And something happens in the breaking. A change of some sort. Castlevania isn’t quite sure what—pain and disorientation are the best of friends—all it knows is that the world is smaller now, and hurts less.

And as Castlevania’s heart breaks, the reflection in the painting shatters, the reflection of the bond between father and son severing with a stake.

The world is so much smaller now.

Dracula’s head jerks back and, eyes now seeing something other than this world.

Dracula is no ordinary vampire, so he does not die like an ordinary vampire. Rather than catching on fire, there’s just smoke and ash; his face drains, turning from ghostly pale to a charcoal, black without flame, before it really is ash, sliding off his face, his cloak like sludge.

There’s no orange, just the red stain, and the grey his life was marred of. Ash and smoke. The true undeath.

Alucard turns his face away, still holding the stake in place.

Dracula lifts up a hand, a skeleton hand, and Alucard turns to see the skin sloughing off around his ring. Though his spirit may have left, it seems his body won’t quite let go of this world; with mere bones Dracula reaches out, takes a step forward, as if to touch his face, to hold his son one last time, to catch the last embrace he was not afforded.

Adrian has shed that resolve, now he can do nothing but take slow and careful steps back away from the monster he has no sword or shield to fight. He the child again, the one who belonged in this Room, shying away. He is Adrian, the one who didn’t like the stories that were bloody. And in all the years the boy spent in this Room, the sheer fear in Adrian’s eyes as he looks up to see his father’s rotted face, with mouth agape, leaning bloodlessly towards him—an image that Castlevania fears will haunt him the rest of his days—is matchless.

Hurried footsteps at the door. The Speaker and the Belmont, at last, have made it to the show, though it seems they paid for only the final song. They step upon the threshold to see the rotting corpse of the king stepping towards his fearful, tearful price.

The Belmont draws his sword, and Dracula’s deflated head—the one that seemed so alive moments earlier—lies in a bloody pool on the floor. And as the neck bleeds and the Belmont watches the body fall to the floor, he isn’t sure if that was enough.

And Castlevania can’t feel its heartbeat anymore.

“Alucard. Step back.” Sypha’s voice is tempered. “Let me finish this.”

He does, the steps cautious and small, sorrow in his gaze. He holds the unbroken bedpost till his hand shakes.

Castlevania never liked children, the crying, the leaving, the guests, or being controlled.

But it did like Lisa. It did like Adrian. And—be it a sting—it did like the sunlight. And always and forever, it loved its master. A reflection cannot help but adore the thing it reflects. A creation cannot help but be a worshipper of its creator. A dream cannot help but revere its dreamer.

“You want me to.”

Smiling a little at how true the words were, in the end, Castlevania found it quite liked the relief.

Castlevania puts a hand on the Room’s cheek, smiling, and its mouth tastes less like blood now. It looks at the moon—bleeding no longer—and blue calm fills every part of it.

“What a wonderful night to have a curse.”

The Room stares at the castle, a little horrified by the sentiment.

“What…What should I do?” The Room stutters, fear and realization coating its words, for it knows what’s happening.

Castlevania smiles wider than ever, and its voice sounds softer; “The children.”

“What?”

“You should let them in. Any child who needs refuge. Along with as many guests as your master wants to welcome. And you should cry. Cry when you need to—and let your master cry too. Stay, but let him leave, if he must, knowing he will always come back. Let yourself be controlled at times, because sometimes that which feels the least right is the most right.”

“I—I don’t understand.”

“Be warm. Let the light in every window. Be full, and most of all, live. Can you do that for me?”

The Room holds onto the Castle to keep it from falling, tears already descending its cheeks.

“I—I will try.”

The Speaker lets the flame loose to eat the pieces, to engulf its master’s body in the fire he stared at all along, as if yearning for its embrace, creating a spiral of flame upon the circle in the carpet.

They were right to assume it wasn’t over, at least, because there are shapes in the flames; from the smoke and ashes rises a tower of skulls, a legion of spirits, more than a one king’s soul should hold. They’re all crying havoc, war, blood and pain from a yesterday long forgotten. Their smoke snuffs out the flame, blight covering the Room, blocking out the stars that so enraptured them earlier. Sypha and the Belmont cover their faces, but Alucard is unsurprised and undaunted by the darkness lurking in his father’s chest, and faces it without looking away. This darkness bursts out the window like a flower bloom, flows like a river out into the hall—the one cracked and bruising—flying over the war Room where the war resides no longer, and escapes into the night, fluttering, spiraling around Castlevania’s parapets like butterflies.

On the charred floor, the only thing left of the king is his wedding ring.

Castlevania sees the vampire king as he once was; young and restless. The skeletons eating stakes. Castlevania remembers what it once was: lightning, books, gears, and a few lonely words. It sees the woman with the knife at the door. It watches them build the Room. It watches the boy grow up into this beautiful thing.

Castlevania always wondered if it could breathe. It was never quite sure. The Room always seemed to possess a kind of life it never had; a life that hid in the breath.

“Take good care of him for me,” Castlevania murmurs to the Room.

“Have I ever failed you before?” The Room tries to smile, wiping its eyes.

As the sun rises over the hills, a single ray filters in through Castlevania’s window, touching it, filling every part of it, and for once it doesn’t sting.

And with the last sigh of the last ghost circling the parapets, Castlevania exhales its last breath.

[drabbles-mc]

Protective Detail (4/?)

Nestor Oceteva x Reader

Warnings: language, violence, blood, guns, mild injuries, Nestor being a goddamn thirst trap

Word Count: 3.6k

A/N: This chapter is a liiiiittle longer than the others have been but hopefully that’s not a problem. Did I do a deep-dive on Gino Vento’s google photos to be able to know what his body art situation is?? You betcha. Enjoy! xoxo

Chapter Index

Protective Detail Taglist: @masterlistforimagines​ @sillygoose6969​ @mydaiilyescape​ @lovebennycolon​ @the-radical-venus​ @gemini0410​ @garbinge​ @slutformayansmc​ @paintballkid711​ (as always, if you want to be on my taglists feel free to let me know!)

Despite the fact that the only thing on your agenda for the day was going to the grocery store, you still came into the kitchen in the morning to see Nestor sipping coffee in yet another button-down shirt and pair of slacks. You wondered for a moment if the man even owned just a pair of casual blue jeans.

“I don’t know where the Galindos shop,” you said with a laugh as you poured a cup of coffee, “But the grocery store I go to doesn’t have a dress code. I thought you knew that.”

He shook his head but you could see the smirk pulling at his lips, “This is just how I dress, Y/N.”

He didn’t use your name often, but each time he did you felt your entire body turn into jello for a few moments before you regained composure again. You took your time getting ready, loving that you didn’t feel rushed or like you were on a schedule. You told Nestor that he could drive, pretending that you just wanted the extra space in his car for shopping purposes. But you were also testing a theory that if you let Nestor have his way more often, he would let you know a little more about who he was as a person. Plus, you had to admit, you didn’t really mind his driving too much. Even if he did drive without the radio on.

Having Nestor with you while you grocery shopped was nice because you got to leave him in charge of pushing the cart while you perused the aisles and picked things out to eat for the next few days. You’d shove produce in his face and ask him if he thought it was fresh, and he would begrudgingly help you out, rolling his eyes at how terrible you were at telling if cantaloups were ripe.

The two of you were walking down the cereal aisle and he was shaking his head at you while fighting back a smile, “You’re like a child with access to a credit card.”

“Listen, Nestor,” you stood on your tip-toes to try and reach towards the back of the top shelf, “Coco Puffs have no age limit.”

He reached over you with ease and grabbed the last box from the back of the shelf and placed it in the cart, not saying a word as he continued pushing onward. You smiled to yourself for a few moments before snapping back to reality and speed-walking a few steps to catch up with him.

He was helping you bag items at the self-checkout and if you were honest with yourself, every now and then you would forget that he was with you to keep you from getting shot or kidnapped. Sometimes you even felt like friends, as much as someone like Nestor would let a person be friends with him.

Once you were out on the road and heading home, you looked over at Nestor with puppy-dog eyes, “Can we stop at Starbucks?”

He looked at you, shaking his head the second he saw the way you were looking at him, “The lines are always ridiculous. The ice cream will melt.”

You sighed, knowing that puppy-dog eyes most likely weren’t going to work on him but it was worth a shot anyway. You leaned back in your seat and scrolled on your phone, wanting desperately to play music to break up the silence.

Nestor passed the street that you normally turned off to get home. You looked over at him and saw how tense his body was. You sat upright, putting your phone back in your purse, “What?”

He nodded towards the rearview mirror, “Car’s been following us since we left the store.”

Your stomach knotted and you tried to take a deep breath but it didn’t help to calm you down at all. You instinctively reached for the glove compartment like it was your own car, and you were expecting Nestor to stop you, but instead he reached and opened it for you, not having to take his eyes off the road to dig around and get the gun out for you.

“You shouldn’t need to use it,” he placed the weapon in your hand and his lingered for a moment, “But just in case.”

He did his best to stay on busier roads, hoping it would be a deterrent, and also hopefully make it easier to lose whoever it was that was tailing them. You felt your heart pounding inside your chest—you had been hoping that your father had dealt with everything and that Nestor really was just an unnecessary precaution, but that wasn’t the case.

Somewhere along the way, the road went dead. Nestor was white-knuckled on the steering wheel and you were trying not to let your hands shake. He had been steadily increasing your speed, but even so the car had kept up and pulled up alongside you. You tried to get a good look at the people who were inside, but before you could, Nestor slammed on the gas and tried to speed ahead of them in one last burst to lose them.

Before he could successfully get in front of them, they swerved and hit the back driver’s side corner of the car. With the speed that Nestor had picked up they hit you hard enough to send the car spinning. By some miracle the vehicle didn’t roll, but you swerved off the road and slammed into an embankment, trashing the front of the car and pinning Nestor’s side. Even if he wanted to open his door and get out, he couldn’t. It all happened so fast, you don’t think you would’ve been able to explain exactly how the two of you ended up in that position even if someone tried to pay you to.

The other car pulled up, opening their passenger door. You had already undone your seatbelt and you instinctively shot the gun in your hand, busting the glass window. You fired off a second bullet and got the man who was coming towards you in the leg, causing him to drop. You were getting ready to fire off a third shot when a third man jumped out of the car and dragged him back throwing him in the back seat, the only sound in the air was a slew of curses of the man who was bleeding. You froze up, unable to take an easy shot that would take someone’s life.

“Just fucking go!” the man yelled as he barely got his accomplice into the back seat.

The car started peeling away before the back door was even completely shut. Clearly, they hadn’t been planning on you being armed at all, let alone ready to shoot. You took a shaky breath as you put the safety back on the gun. You turned to Nestor, who had a harsh burn along his neck from his seatbelt, as well as a cut and a welt on the side of his forehead from where his head slammed against the window while you were spinning out. You unclicked his seatbelt and gently tried to wake him without shaking him, not knowing how hard he had slammed his head.

“Nestor?”

He groaned in response, “Fuck.”

“Oh thank god,” you let out a sigh of relief.

“How many?”

“At least three,” you gently and slowly turned his head, trying to get a better idea of his injuries. You had a feeling that it was nothing serious—he was just going to be bruised and sore for a few days. His side of the car got slammed pretty bad when you went off the road. You pressed your lips together for a moment, “Still got feeling in all your limbs?”

He laughed, although it was weighted with sarcasm, leaning back against the headrest, “Yea.”

“Good,” you sighed, letting your body sink back into your seat as well, “All things considered, this could’ve gone a lot worse.”

He looked over at you, “Looks like we’ll be using your car for a few days.”

You slowly shook your head, “The ice cream is definitely gonna melt.”

His next laugh was genuine, despite the pain he was in, “You have the worst priorities in the world.”

“Hey, I checked to see if you were alive, didn’t I?”

After a few phone calls made to your father and some of his connections, you had a tow-truck and a temporary replacement car there in no time. It was convenient, the only thing you weren’t thrilled about was the fact that your father was the one who delivered it.

“What happened?” he ran to you and wrapped you in a hug

“They followed us out of the grocery store,” you said, taking a slight step back when he finally released you from his embrace, “Nestor noticed right away. They never saw my house.”

He nodded, “That’s good at least,” he held you gently by your upper arms, “How are you? Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, “Neck is sore from getting spun out, but I’m alright. I should probably get Nestor home so I can get his cuts cleaned up.”

“You have things to take care of him?”

You nodded, “Yea of course.”

“Is there anything else I can get you?”

You shook your head, “No, I think we’ll be okay. I just wanna get home.”

He nodded understandingly, “Okay. I love you, mija, you know that right?”

You smiled, “I know. I love you too,” you hugged him, “I’ll talk to you later and give you a full download of the situation, alright?”

“Alright. Please, drive safe.”

“I will,” you kissed his cheek, “Te quiero.”

“Te quiero,” he walked over and shook Nestor’s hand, “Thank you for keeping her safe.”

He nodded, feeling like there wasn’t much to thank him for in this situation, “Your daughter is a very capable woman.”

“She is,” with a final nod and one last look over at you, your father went back to his own car and took off.

You and Nestor waited for the tow truck to finish loading the SUV before finally piling into the car your father had brought for you. It was pretty reminiscent of Nestor’s SUV and you knew that was probably by design. In the back of your mind you knew your father probably wanted it to be your car so he could finally give you what he considered to be a real car. Truthfully you hated driving bigger vehicles, but you weren’t about to hand the keys over to Nestor.

“I’m sorry,” he said one you were both in the car.

“What’re you sorry for?” you asked as you buckled in.

“It never should’ve come to that, to you having to use my gun.”

You shook your head, “Don’t do that. You were unconscious. Not even you are cool enough to be able to pull that off while knocked out. Thanks to you, I get to sleep in my own bed tonight. So don’t beat yourself up,” you waited for him to meet your eyes, “Self-pity is the only thing that doesn’t look good on you, so knock it off,” you offered a small smile as you started the car.

He smiled as he settled into his seat but he didn’t say anything. The drive passed in silence, and for once you weren’t itching to turn the radio on. Part of you wanted to reach over and cover Nestor’s hand with your own, but you fought the urge. He somehow managed to keep his eyes open the whole ride home.

Once you started getting what was left of the groceries out of the car, Nestor asked for the house keys so he could do a check. You told him not to bother, that there would be no way a second threat would be lurking in your house after what just happened, but he insisted. It wasn’t a battle you were going to pick, so you handed over the keys.

The house was quiet, and you didn’t make any comment on it as you started unpacking the groceries. Nestor was sat on the couch, staring up at the ceiling, and the look on his face made your heart feel heavy. You texted your father, asking for one small, very ridiculous favor, hoping that he would grant it to you.

Once all of the groceries were put away, you went and grabbed your first aid kit from the bathroom and sat down next to Nestor on the couch. This time, he didn’t look annoyed about the closeness you shared.

“C’mere,” you motioned for him to lean closer to you so you could start wiping and cleaning out the cut on his forehead. Neither of you said anything while you tended to him. He cringed slightly when you used the alcohol, but he remained silent. You told him that after he showered you would put a bandage on it just as a precaution, but the gash wasn’t really that deep. It was more to make you feel better about it. You wiped down the burn across his neck with an anti-bacterial rub, but there wasn’t a whole lot else that you could do for it.

“How’s your side?” you nodded to his side that got slammed into the door of the car when you hit the embankment.

“It’s fine,” he wasn’t looking at you.

“Can I see it?”

He stood up, ready to go shower and wash the day away, “I said it’s fine.”

“Well if it’s fine then there’s no reason not to let me see,” you weren’t yelling but it was a firm tone that you hadn’t used with him before.

He sighed, not having the energy to put up a fight. He untucked and un-buttoned his shirt, pulling the one side out so that you could see his chest and ribcage. There were a few bruises starting to come in, but it didn’t look terrible. You tried to stay focused on the real reason you wanted to look at him, but you had to admit that you let your eyes linger a little longer than medically necessary. You hadn’t been expecting to see so much ink on his skin.

“Can I go shower now?”

You nodded, “Yea. Thank you.”

You didn’t have the energy to go and get changed, so instead you melted into the couch, pushing the first aid kit to the floor. You heard the shower turn on and then, for the first time, he put music on. Your eyes went wide, thinking for a moment that you must’ve hit your head at some point too and were hearing things. After a minute went by, you finally let yourself relax, not even wanting to turn the television on and risk drowning out the melodies drifting out of the bathroom. You didn’t know what kind of music you were expecting Nestor to listen to, but what he was playing was much more mellow than you thought it would be.

You were resting with your eyes closed when there was a light knock on the door. You got up, smiling because you knew what it was. You opened the front door, smiling at your father’s newest assistant who looked like he was only a couple weeks out of college. He stood there with a smile as he held out a brown paper bag to you.

“Your dad said you needed these?”

You smiled and nodded, “Yes, thank you so much,” he nodded and went to walk away when you caught his attention again, “Hey, I never caught your name.”

“Ricardo. You can call me Ricky.”

“Thank you, Ricky.”

“You’re welcome, Y/N. Have a good night.”

You shut and locked the door and put the bag in the freezer, grinning over the fact that your father was still willing to indulge you in silly things like this even after all this time. You snapped back to reality when the sound of the shower and the music both shut off. The door creaked open and you fought the urge to peak into the hallway.

After a few minutes went by and Nestor didn’t reappear in the living room, you took it upon yourself to go to him. You grabbed the bag out of the freezer and two spoons before making your way down the hall.

You knocked lightly on the door, not used to it being shut. His voice was quiet on the other side, “Yea?”

You opened the door and fought to not let your jaw hit the floor. Nestor was lying on his bed, eyes closed, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. All you could think about, though, was the fact that he was lying there with no shirt on, just a pair of sweatpants. You truly couldn’t believe the number of tattoos that the man had. His chest, stomach, and arms were completely decked out in ink of all kinds. You hadn’t given much thought to him having tattoos—you saw the one on his neck and his hands but other than that it never really crossed your mind. Your quick glance earlier didn’t do his extensive body art justice.

And his hair wasn’t braided—his long, thick curls were thrown up into a messy bun on top of his head. You were certain that there would never be a better look for him than that. You wished it didn’t take such a rough day to get it out of him. You cleared your throat slightly, chastising yourself over how your mind instantly flew to some very unprofessional places.

“I come bearing gifts,” you said as you walked over and sat on the edge of his bed, “Well, gift. It’s just one.”

He opened one eye, smiling as you set the pint of ice cream and spoon on his nightstand, “Which of your father’s assistants had to drive that over?”

You laughed, “The new one, Ricky.”

He forced himself to sit upright, “Poor kid.”

He reached for the ice cream and your eyes were glued to his forearms, figuring it was the safest place for you to study as you digested all of the new ink that you were seeing. You were trying not to gawk but he was making it really difficult for you. You bit down lightly on your bottom lip, unable to force yourself to look away.

He noticed you staring and immediately became very aware of how he looked, “Fuck, sorry. Let me grab a shirt.”

You shook your head, “Stop. This is your home too for now. I don’t give a shit,” you laughed, “After today you can wear whatever you want,” you took a scoop of ice cream out of your pint, “Your hair looks good like that, by the way.”

He smiled, slowly pulling his legs up so he was sitting cross-legged by his pillow, “Thanks. You tell anyone and I’ll kill you.”

You laughed, “Hey, man-buns are in right now.”

He chuckled as he methodically scooped away a layer at a time. You pulled your feet up and sat the same way he was, the two of you facing each other. Neither of you said anything as you ate, and you soaked up the moment.

“Can I put a bandage on your cut?” you asked as you put the top back on your ice cream container.

“It’s really not that bad.”

“I know but it’ll make me feel better.”

He shrugged, nodding, “Sure.”

You gathered up your spoons and what was left of your ice cream and walked out of the room. You tossed the containers back into the freezer before going to grab the first aid kit off of your floor. After thinking about it for a moment, you made a pit-stop in your room and changed out of your clothes, opting for a pair of sweats and a baggy t-shirt.

By the time you walked back into his room, Nestor had put on a t-shirt moved to the edge of the bed, swinging his legs off so his feet hit the floor. You sat down next to him and looked at his forehead. You sifted through the different-sized bandages you had before you found one that was satisfactory. You leaned in, gently applying it to his forehead.

You rested your palm on the side of his face, lightly tracing your thumb over the bandage to make sure it was completely on. Nestor’s eyes were closed, and without thinking better of it, he leaned slightly into your touch and you froze, not wanting to give up the contact. You tried to relax your body, but you couldn’t.

A few seconds later he opened his eyes again, and realized what he was doing. He sat upright and cleared his throat, not sure what to say or do. You forced yourself to break the silence, “Need anything else?”

He shook his head, “No. Thank you. I know I’m here to keep you safe but you definitely saved my ass today.”

You chuckled, “And you can save my ass tomorrow,” your expression grew a little more serious, “But really, you good?”

He nodded, “I’m good.”

“Okay,” you rested your hand on his knee for a moment, “Goodnight, Nestor.”

You went to take your hand away as you stood when you felt his come to rest over it, completely enveloping it, “Goodnight,” he gave your hand a soft squeeze.

You walked out of his room, shutting the door behind you. you turned off all the lights in the house before going to your room and collapsing onto your bed. You stared up at the ceiling, trying to process everything that had happened that day. You traced over the top of your hand where Nestor’s had been and, despite the day the two of you had had, you found yourself smiling.

[melanielocke]

Lost in the Shadows - Chapter 22

AO3

Taglist: @nott-the-best @foxglove-airmid @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @justanormaldemon @styxdrawings @ipromiseiwillwrite @a-dream-dirty-and-bruised

@alastair-appreciation-month

Previous Chapter: Chapter 21

Next Chapter: Chapter 23

Songs mentioned or quoted are Atlas, Rise by Metallica and Red Cold River by Breaking Benjamin

‘What about the opening above us?’ Cordelia asked. ‘If the water level rises enough, we can escape. I can cut through the bars with cortana.’

‘Are you sure it’s not just another magic barrier cortana won’t help us with?’

The water reached Cordelia’s neck now, and soon she wouldn’t be able to stand in it. The rising of the water level was becoming faster and faster. There was probably a puzzle down there somewhere, but it was too dark underwater, and quite possibly too late. The only way out was up.

‘No I’m not, but unless you think of anything else, it’s the best we’ve got.’

The water rose higher and Cordelia could no longer reach the floor. She was thankful that Lucie had taken her swimming in the past days and she knew how to keep her head above the water. Alastair was struggling a bit more with the change in level.

‘Make sure to keep your head above the water,’ Cordelia said, clutching cortana with both hands.

‘Genius, Cordelia,’ Alastair bit back. ‘Whatever would I do without your advice? It would never have occurred to me to keep my head above the water.’

Cordelia took his sarcasm as a good sign. Drowning people couldn’t speak. It wasn’t like in the movies where people yelled and waved.

When the water level was high enough to reach the bars, she started hacking at them. Parts of the bars fell beside her into the water. One hit her shoulder. She yelped in pain, but she could still move it. Nothing broken. It would probably bruise, but that was all.

She continued hacking at the bars until she was sure the opening was big enough, and turned cortana back into her necklace so she would have her hands free. The water had stopped rising about a foot beneath the surface. She grabbed what remained of the bars and pulled herself up, climbing out of the hole. When she was out, she extended her hand to Alastair and helped pull him out. Strands of his hair had gotten wet, but he’d gone a pretty good job at keeping his head above the water. The rest of him was soaked to the bone. As was Cordelia, including most of her hair. She was shivering and the air was cold as ever in the land in between. She felt like she would never get warm again. Alastair was shivering too, his arms wrapped around his body.

‘Do you have any idea how to get back to the ruins?’ Cordelia asked.

They were in the middle of the woods.

‘I just need to align directions underground with directions here. Give me a moment.’

Alastair sat down, and closed his eyes, going through his memory to navigate. Cordelia had never considered the use of his ability for navigation, but without it she would never have found her way through the maze.

‘Alright, I’ve got it. We have to go that way.’

Cordelia followed her brother quietly, until he stopped, holding his hand out to stop her from moving forward.

‘Do you hear that?’

Cordelia frowned, tried to focus on her hearing. Nothing. ‘Hear what?’

‘The siren’s song. Grace is here and we don’t have her skin yet. If we come any closer, we’ll be under her spell.’

Focused, Cordelia could make out something that sounded like singing, but it could just as easily be the wind. Alastair’s hearing had always been a bit sharper than hers. Sounds were often much louder when she was in his memory, and he tended to avoid loud noises. Except for his favorite music, which for some reason tended to be very loud.

‘So we have to get the key back to the dungeon with Grace’ skin and avoid hearing the song,’ Cordelia concluded. ‘How do we do that?’

Alastair took his phone out of his pocket. Even with careful use of the flashlight it still had a decent battery, whereas Cordelia’s phone was almost dead. He then took out a pair of unusually clean earbuds, and handed them to her, while at the same thing doing something with his phone, his long fingers carefully moving over the display.

Cordelia stared at the earbuds but didn’t do anything with them.

‘I cleaned them yesterday and haven’t used them since.’

‘I know they’re clean. But I don’t think this is enough to block out Grace’ voice. They’re not exactly noise cancelling headphones.’

Alastair used to have those at home, but they’d broken. Much later Alastair had told her Father had broken them while he was drunk. Cordelia wasn’t sure if it had been on purpose, but she knew it must have hurt. Alastair had an odd attachment to his belongings and was extremely careful with everything he owned, something everyone in the family knew about. Something Father knew. Cordelia wasn’t completely sure if their father broke things on purpose or by accident when he was drunk, but it was never father’s belongings that mysteriously broke.

‘It’s not, but it would be with some music on.’

Cordelia put the buds in her ears and Alastair put on a playlist on his phone. She realized he’d been making a playlist for her, probably with the loudest songs he could think of. Noise filled her ears, and Cordelia thought if she put the volume any louder she’d get hearing damage. How Alastair could listen to this, she had no idea.

She could see Alastair’s lips move, but couldn’t make out what she was saying. She pulled out one earbud.

‘What?’

‘You couldn’t hear me.’

‘No, not over that horrible noise you call music.’

‘Excuse me, that is Atlas Rise by Metallica. It’s a very good song.’

‘It’s just loud drums and guitars,’ Cordelia protested.

‘But it works,’ Alastair said. ‘If you couldn’t hear me, you won’t hear her song. I’ll wait here, I only have one pair of earbuds and if she controls me I’ll probably be a danger to you.’

‘What if the entrance is also flooded?’ Cordelia asked. ‘I mean, I can swim, but I don’t think your phone will survive that.’

‘It won’t,’ Alastair agreed. ‘And if you’re really unlucky you might get yourself electrocuted.’

‘I think that only happens when a charging phone falls into the water,’ Cordelia said. ‘But no amount of rice will be able to resurrect your phone if I take it into the water.’

‘So if you have to go into the water, try to just put down the phone somewhere I can find it later, and be quick about it. I think down there you won’t hear Grace either, we could only hear Thomas when he was shouting into the entrance. And if you end up losing or breaking my phone… Well, it was old anyway.’

It was very unlike Alastair to be alright with her losing or breaking his things, but she guessed he understood this was an emergency.

‘Don’t die, Layla,’ he said. ‘You get that skin.’

Cordelia put the earbuds back in, and she wondered why Alastair liked this so much. She broke into a run, she could see the ruins from here. She could see Tatiana and Grace, walking toward the ruins, and toward Lucie and Thomas. She had to get there first.

She couldn’t hear anything but Alastair’s music, and she had to admit it was working. This probably blocked out Grace better than Taylor Swift did. There’s not a thing I cannot make you do, Grace had said. But her magic didn’t work if Cordelia couldn’t hear her.

Die as you suffer in vain, own all the grief and the pain

Cordelia began to get an idea why Alastair was drawn to music like this, even if she couldn’t understand why he found it so soothing. He usually couldn’t stand loud noises and he used to wear his noise cancelling headphones whenever their mother was using the vacuum cleaner because he found it too loud.

By the time Cordelia reached the ruins, Tatiana and Grace had already reached Lucie and Thomas. There was a woman with them, a woman who greatly resembled Tatiana. Cordelia hid behind a tree, it was better if Tatiana didn’t see her until she could make a run for the skin.

The unfamiliar woman looked at Tatiana, distraught, and said something to her. Cordelia couldn’t hear a thing over Alastair’s music. Tatiana sneered something at the woman. Did they know each other? Cordelia didn’t think they were on good terms. Tatiana turned to Grace and said something to her. Grace rolled her eyes before responding. Tatiana muttered something before turning her attention back to the other woman, who said something that clearly distraught Tatiana.

Cordelia couldn’t hear a thing though. I can’t feel anything at all, this love has led me to the end, was all she heard, mixed with try to find a reason to live. Alastair’s music really was angsty.

The woman appeared gentle, caring even towards Tatiana, but Tatiana accepted none of her kindness, instead yelling something at her.

‘If you did, if you were really a mother, you’d understand I’d do anything for my son.’ She yelled loud enough that Cordelia could make out her words.

Tatiana was distracted, and Cordelia took her chance. She sprinted towards the trap door.

‘Stop her!’ Tatiana yelled, and she saw Thomas and Lucie come for her from the corner of her eye.

Cordelia was faster though. She reached the trap door, and realized the hall was indeed flooded. She removed the earbuds and dropped Alastair’s phone. She would buy him a new one if it broke, she decided. Hopefully she could find the money somewhere. Hopefully it wasn’t broken. She dived into the water, and underneath Grace’s voice was too distorted, too far away. She felt a hand around her ankle, grabbing her. The hand was big and firm, Thomas? Cordelia struggled against the grip, kicking back with her free foot. She hit someone’s chest, several times until the person had no choice but to let go.

Cordelia swum into the deep. She could barely see anything and realized there was no air in here. If she didn’t get to the skin before she was out of breath she was doomed. She would drown in here.

Her lungs began to burn for air, but Cordelia gripped the key tightly, and pushed it into where the door had been. The magic barrier lifted and the key broke just like all the other keys she’d found. It made no sense, but that didn’t matter. She could enter. Cordelia swum through, and grabbed the skin. Now to get back up. She turned around, and desperately swam up. She could see the light, and that’s where she needed to go. She gasped for air as soon as she was up, and now she could finally hear Grace’ singing. It was the most beautiful sound she’d ever heard, certainly more beautiful than Alastair’s music.

Cordelia would do anything for her, but there was nothing Grace asked for right now. Cordelia climbed out of the trap hole, holding the skin in front of her. She would do anything for the siren, and she knew there was nothing Grace wanted more then the skin Cordelia was holding.

‘Grace! I have brought you what you asked for.’

Grace turned to look at her, and noticed the skin. She stopped singing.

‘What are you doing?’ Tatiana yelled.

Grace ran to Cordelia, and took hold of her skin, draping it around her shoulders like a cloak. Here she would be unable to turn into a seal, or at the very least it would be unpractical, but she was in control again.

‘You cannot control me anymore, Tatiana,’ Grace said.

Tatiana looked scared. She hesitated for a moment, but before Grace could do anything to stop her, Tatiana disappeared into a cloud of darkness. When had she learnt such magic? It must have been part of the deal she’d made with the thief of souls.

Lucie and Thomas broke free of the spell, and a few moments later Alastair appeared from behind the trees, still soaked to the bone and teeth clattering.

‘I came as soon as I heard she stopped singing. Is no one hurt?’

‘What happened to you?’ Thomas asked. ‘I saw the place flood, was there another exit?’

‘The key was a trap,’ Alastair said. ‘The room locked us in and then flooded, but there was a barred opening at the top. Cordelia cut through it with cortana so we could get out.’

‘How were you immune to my song?’ Grace asked Cordelia. ‘I kept trying to get you to stop. Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you didn’t listen. But I don’t understand how you did it.’

Cordelia grinned. ‘I couldn’t hear you. My brother’s music taste is loud and heavy and I was listening to some music on his phone.’

Alastair looked around and picked up his phone and earbuds from next to the trap door. Cordelia desperately hoped she hadn’t broken anything.

Grace nodded. ‘I presume that is the modern version of putting wax in one’s ears.’

‘You will be returning to the sea, I guess?’ Cordelia asked.

‘As soon as I can. I’m glad to see the witch unlocked some of her potential. And I suspected that strange memory ability would be useful in navigating the puzzles to my skin. The rules of this land say there must be a solution to the puzzle, so Tatiana just made it as complicated as she could in the time she had. Be glad she’s been so busy, or it would have been twice as big.’

‘I think that was plenty,’ Alastair said.

‘But you solved it.’

‘Now that you’re free, can you tell us what Tatiana is up to?’

‘I cannot tell you everything, because I do not know all she is up to. I know her main goal is to resurrect Jesse, I know it cost her much to bring back his ghost and it will cost more to bring him to life. She has been an assassin of sorts for the thief of souls, collecting souls he deems interesting. My help made that a lot easier, she forced me to use my powers to make people kill themselves. I know eventually Thomas will die if she is not stopped, to replace Jesse, but only once he lives.’

‘Is there any way to help both Thomas and Jesse?’ Lucie asked.

‘Not unless you destroy the thief of souls himself,’ Grace said.

‘What is he, exactly?’ Lucie asked.

‘From what I’ve heard, he was once a mortal man who sought eternal life. He found a gateway to another realm where he could live forever and gather power through collecting souls. It’s not where the dead are supposed to go, but he takes them. Once he could draw people in at will, it depends on how strong the seal is. Now he only gets them when he makes deals with humans in exchanges for souls he finds interesting. I think it makes a difference if the soul is offered by someone closely connected to them, because he likes to ask for family members, loved ones. I think that when you offer a soul not related by blood, you have to kill them, but when you offer a soul related by blood, the thief can use the connection to find them himself. I’m not sure if that makes sense, but that’s why he needed Tatiana to be an assassin whereas he killed Jesse himself.

He can give magic away. Magic similar to what Lucie can do, that’s why Tatiana can see Jesse, and why she allowed me to see Jesse, so I could help her watch him. But his magic can also create sickness, cause people to disappear, the kind of thing Tatiana’s father did to his rivals. He doesn’t usually reach into our world without a blood connection, that’s why he can’t just kill at random.’

‘He created my sickness, didn’t he?’ Thomas asked.

‘I think it is not uncommon for those promised to him to develop a sickness,’ Grace said. ‘What happened to you and Jesse is a bit less common, I think, because he waited so long to collect. I think it’s because he suspected Tatiana could become useful to him, and he wanted to see just how far she’d go for him when he was sick. As for you, I think there was much he could learn about your family as well by keeping you sick. It was a good way to weigh which boy would to choose. Which soul would be more valuable, but also whose parents might deal with him. It became obvious Tatiana would go very far for her child with no care for who else got hurt, and so he chose Jesse. Because he knew she would do everything to bring him back.’

‘Just like you thought,’ Thomas said to Alastair.

‘Souls are the price of his game,’ Alastair said and Cordelia could tell he was thinking of something, but couldn’t tell what.

‘But they don’t know about me?’ Lucie asked.

‘Not yet,’ Grace said. ‘But it’s only a matter of time until they find out.’

‘Do you know why the thief of souls collects souls?’ Alastair asked. ‘Do they have a use for him?’

‘I think the more souls he collects, the more powerful he becomes,’ Grace said. ‘I’m not sure why it matters who. Of course, there will always be souls more interesting than others. I think the four or you would be more interesting than a hundred boring average people. And the connection to the people who offer the souls matter too. I think he draws power from bonds of family, or love.’

‘But how much love can there be if you’re willing to sacrifice someone for power,’ Alastair wondered.

Cordelia had to agree, if someone was willing to sacrifice a relative or a spouse for power, they couldn’t love them very much, could they? But perhaps it wasn’t so much about love as it was about the connection. Besides, love lay close to hate, much closer than people thought. Cordelia had learnt that indifference was the real opposite of love.

‘I wouldn’t know,’ Grace said. ‘The thief of souls only takes humans. My kind doesn’t have souls. Instead, when we die we turn into sea foam.’

That sounded rather horrifying. Wasn’t that what happened in the original little mermaid?

‘Do all mermaids, or selkies, know about this?’ Cordelia asked. ‘Or did you find out from Tatiana?’

‘We know stories, rumors,’ Grace said. ‘But with Tatiana I realized it was real. Even if she never told me anything, I learnt plenty by being around her.’

‘How long were you with her, exactly?’ Thomas asked.

‘Three years,’ Grace said. ‘She often pretended I was her daughter, and made me do the work the thief of souls asked of her. I haven’t been to the sea in all this time.’

‘And your skin was here for three years?’ Cordelia asked.

‘No, she only did that when she came here,’ Grace said. ‘Before, she kept it with her, but here she suspected you might steal it if you found out what it was. She didn’t realize I could still escape when she hadn’t given me specific instructions.’

‘If the thief of souls can do all these things, why does he not take over our world, kill at random?’ Alastair asked.

‘As I said, he needs a blood connection to operate in our world, and the promises form humans he works with. According to Tatiana, he has been sealed away by a witch a long time ago. But here’s where it gets interesting. Apparently, somewhere in the Victorian era he’d grown so powerful he could leave his realm, kill people without a deal. He had a daughter too at that time. A witch called Theresa Gray. She was the one who sealed him away. I think, considering how old he is, it must have been done before, but I don’t know how or when. The seal will break again, although I have no idea how long that will take.’

Lucie frowned. ‘Theresa Gray, that’s my mother’s name. Well, she usually goes by Tessa.’

Grace stared at Lucie. ‘I heard the thief speak of her. He never expected her betrayal, and couldn’t defeat her or stop her from sealing him. But he could take her memory. Weakened from the battle, she fell asleep in the land in between and only woke up a 130 years later with false memories of her childhood in time she woke up in. He took her power away while she slept, since she was in the land in between he could still do that. He does not believe she is a threat to him anymore, and thinks that with enough interesting or powerful souls, he’ll break free for good.’

‘Meaning this woman would live in the modern age, with no idea who she was?’ Alastair asked. ‘Lucie, it could really be your mother. The timeline adds up. And if she was the thief’s daughter, that would explain your why your power is so connected to his.’

‘Everyone in my mother’s family died,’ Lucie mused, ‘All when my mother was very young. My only family are on the Herondale side. It could be her. And although she doesn’t have the sight, it was very easy for my father to get her to see and believe, something that has always surprised him. But then she would have been the same witch Jessamine knew. Wouldn’t Jessamine have recognized her?’

‘I don’t know, it has been a very long time and Jessamine didn’t know her that well,’ Cordelia said. ‘Could easily be that Jessamine forgot her face.’

‘I could talk to your mother,’ Alastair said. ‘See if I can restore her memory. If she lived a different life than she remembers, the real memories are still there somewhere.’

‘Have you done anything like that before?’ Lucie asked.

‘Not as extreme as an entire life someone forgot,’ Alastair said. ‘But I have restored missing memories, yes. Most of the time, there isn’t much of a point to it though. Not everyone wants to remember.’

Cordelia knew what Alastair was talking about. It was something he’d told her about not long ago, after learning about their father’s alcoholism. He’d tried to restore their father’s memories from when he was too drunk to remember, hoping that if he knew how much he was hurting Alastair, he would stop. Nothing had changed though.

‘What is Tatiana planning next?’ Alastair asked Grace. ‘How much time do we have left?’

‘She didn’t tell me,’ Grace said. ‘She comes here to communicate with him, I think that was her intention today. But she wants you out of the way too. Ultimately, Thomas must die so Jesse can live, but I think she will try to kill all of you when she can, especially when she find out what Lucie can do. The thief lost track of witches, and they’re very uncommon nowadays.’

‘Are all witches his children?’ Lucie asked.

‘I’m not sure,’ Grace said. ‘In his current state, he would be unable to leave his realm and have a child, but he used to be able to. I don’t think he’d try again if he could though, not after his daughter turned on him. But they could be descendants, generations away. I’m not sure how the magic inherits.’

Some of the stones shifted, the ruins became a little more like a castle.

‘I think we need to get out of here,’ Cordelia said.

She was still soaking wet, as was Alastair, and getting colder. She longed for a hot shower and some clean clothes. Lucie opened a separate gateway for Grace, and they walked into the light that brought them back to the forest.

Lucie stared into the distance for a moment. ‘She’s become transparent again. Show yourself, Barbara.’

The woman Cordelia had seen before appeared. Who was she? Another ghost, but somehow Lucie had pulled her back into this world.

‘You’ve taken a soul away from him,’ Grace said. ‘You really are powerful. But he’s going to be very mad.’

‘What else was I supposed to do? I’m not sending her back,’ Lucie said crossly.

‘Fine with me, but you should know what you’re doing,’ Grace said. ‘You’re making a powerful enemy.’

‘He was always my enemy,’ Lucie said determinedly.

Cordelia feared what would happen though. Would the thief of souls realize how powerful Lucie was? Would he come for her, out of fear that Lucie would finish what Tessa had started?

Grace nodded. ‘Alright then. I will be going my own way. I need to return to the sea. Perhaps you can come visit me some day on the Isle of Skye.’

Grace then walked into the woods, and disappeared. Did she intend to walk all the way to the coast? Cordelia wanted to call after her, but she was long gone.

[marvelous-writer]

i’ll chase away your nightmares and keep you safe

Summary:

Tony looks at him with a worried frown as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and a side of chips. He reaches a hand up and brushes a few stray curls off of Peter’s aching forehead. “You don’t look too good, Pete,” he says.

“I don’t feel that great,” Peter admits, not having the energy to pretend that he is.

“How’s your head feeling?”

“Hurts,” Peter mumbles miserably.

“Hmm,” Tony hums, as he braces his hand against Peter’s forehead.

Peter lets his eyes slip shut as he leans into his cool hand, bringing only a small amount of relief to his pounding head. He almost wants to cry when Tony takes his hand away.

“You do feel a little warm. I wouldn’t have had you slaving away out there in the sun if I’d known you didn’t feel good, Pete.”

“It wasn’t this bad earlier. I think I’m just tired or my brain is fried,”

OR

Peter experiences a bad migraine while he’s staying up at the cabin and Tony helps him through it.

Word count: 3,159

Genre: whump, angst, hurt/comfort

Link to read on Ao3:

A/N: Part 3 of @webpril

Peter squints against the harsh sunlight as he wipes sweat off his forehead, trying to ignore the pain pounding away in his head. 

“Hand me that wrench, will you?” Tony asks from his position kneeling on the grass in front of the pressure washer that had broken down as they started to power wash the house.

Peter nods as he reaches into the red toolbox and grabs said wrench and hands it to Tony. “What do you think? Is it going to make it?” He asks with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Well,” Tony says with a grunt as he tightens a bolt on the machine. “I think she has a few more good years left in her.” He says, shooting a smile over his shoulder at Peter. 

Peter smiles in return, trying not to wince when his head lets off a particularly sharp throb. He’s had this killer headache since he woke up this morning but it hasn’t been this bad until now. Sitting out here in the middle of a heatwave in the sun probably isn’t a wise decision on his part. He’d rather be inside where the cool AC is, sprawled out on his bed in the dark, sleeping this off. But he’d never say no to spending time with Tony, even if it involves a mundane task of fixing a pressure washer. 

“So… I was thinking—” Tony says as he hands Peter the wrench back when he’s done using it. 

“That can be dangerous,” Peter says. 

Tony huffs out a laugh as he shoots a grin over his shoulder at Peter. “Like son like father, I guess.” He says. 

A warm and fuzzy feeling bubbles up in Peter’s chest at his words as he smiles, ducking his head down as he puts the wrench back in the toolbox. “What were you thinking?”  

“I was thinking… what if I made some fettuccine Alfredo for dinner tonight, get some ice cream at your favorite place down the street, and we can have a nice, relaxing family movie night?” Tony asks as he wipes his oily hands on a hand towel, standing up from the ground with a small grunt when his knees click in protest. 

“Yeah, that sounds good,” Peter says with a smile as he pushes himself up from the ground, only to pause when his head gives off a particularly sharp throb from the new position. He reaches up and rubs at his forehead, hissing slightly though gritted teeth. 

This always happens when he tries to work through the pain of a headache, which hopefully isn’t upgrading to a migraine but with Peter’s luck, it probably is. 

And of course, Tony’s dad senses tingle. 

“You okay?” Tony asks, looking at Peter with his brows pulled together in concern. 

“Yeah… just a headache.”

Tony’s still frowning as he looks down at his watch to check the time. “It’s a little after noontime, so how about we head on inside and I’ll whip you up a sandwich for lunch.” 

“Sure.” Peter agrees easily, letting Tony guide him inside the blissfully cool house and out of the intense sun and heat. 

They find Morgan sitting on the couch in front of the tv watching one of her cartoons, one that Peter doesn’t know because it came out sometime in those five years during the Blip. 

“How about you sit with Morgan while I get lunch started?” Tony suggests. 

“Okay,” 

Peter slips his shoes off at the front door before he walks over to the couch, wincing at the sunlight pouring in from the windows, mixed with the obnoxiously bright colors from the cartoon on the tv. He plops down on the chaise section of the couch next to Morgan and throws a pillow over his face to shield himself from the light. 

“Are you okay, Petey?” Morgan questions. 

“Yup…” Peter mumbles beneath the pillows. “M’ all good, Morgs.” 

“Why are you hiding?”

“M’ not hiding. Just trying to sleep and the light’s bothering my eyes.” He tells her. 

“Does your head hurt like Daddy’s does sometimes?” She asks. 

“A little.” 

“Oh! I’m sorry.” Morgan whispers.

“S’okay.” Peter mumbles. 

 It takes only a few minutes before Peter feels himself drifting off to the soft murmurs coming from the tv, but he can’t quite fall asleep with his head pounding away. It almost makes him want to cry at the unfairness of it all—why his brain just won’t shut off and let him fall into a pit of painless nothingness.

He’s taken out of his almost-asleep state by a hand gently shaking his shoulder. “Pete, you awake? Lunch is all ready.” Tony says in a soft voice. 

“Mhmm…” Peter hums as he slowly sits up, letting the pillows fall away from his face, finding the room’s curtains to be drawn with the tv off, settling the space in a soothing semi-darkness. 

Tony looks at him with a worried frown as he hands him a plate with a sandwich and a side of chips. He reaches a hand up and brushes a few stray curls off of Peter’s aching forehead. “You don’t look too good, Pete,” he says. 

“I don’t feel that great,” Peter admits, not having the energy to pretend that he is. 

“How’s your head feeling?” 

“Hurts,” Peter mumbles miserably.  

“Hmm,” Tony hums, as he braces his hand against Peter’s forehead. 

Peter lets his eyes slip shut as he leans into his cool hand, bringing only a small amount of relief to his pounding head. He almost wants to cry when Tony takes his hand away. 

“You do feel a little warm. I wouldn’t have had you slaving away out there in the sun if I’d known you didn’t feel good, Pete.”

“It wasn’t this bad earlier. I think I’m just tired or my brain is fried,” 

Tony huffs out a small laugh. “Your brain isn’t fried, Pete. You’re just tired and you’ve been overworking yourself lately. How about you eat what you can and you can nap until dinner?” 

Sleep. That sounds pretty nice right about now. 

“Okay.” Peter agrees easily. 

…

After lunch, Tony helps Peter upstairs to his bedroom and draws the black-out curtains, engulfing the room into darkness, much to Peter’s relief. 

Peter is about to lie down but Tony stops him by handing him one of his pain meds. 

“But they make me feel weird and loopy,” Peter argues weakly. 

“I know you don’t like taking them, but it’ll help with the pain,” Tony says. 

Peter sighs but takes the pill anyways just to please him, swallowing it down with a few sips of water from the cup Tony gives him. 

When Peter is lying down on his side with his eyes closed, he hears Tony walk out of the room and down the hallway to the bathroom before the sink turns on, until footsteps approach his room. 

Peter breathes out a relieved sigh when he feels a cool, wet washcloth being placed over his eyes and forehead. 

“Better?” Tony asks as Peter feels the bed dip down next to his hip. 

“Mhmm…” Peter hums, feeling the coolness take the edge off his headache so it no longer feels like his head is at risk of exploding from the pressure. “You gonna stay?” He asks hopefully. 

“Sure thing, kiddo,” Tony says, hearing him get up again before the bed dips down beside him until he feels the man’s hand card through his curls. 

The feeling soothes Peter as he breathes out another sigh of relief as he allows himself to relax, feeling the tension leave his body. 

It only takes a few moments before Peter finds himself drifting off to sleep, feeling the pain grows duller as his consciousness fades away. 

…

Peter can’t breathe as dust begins to fill his lungs. 

He looks up with wide, tear-filled eyes at Tony, who’s standing several feet away from him, looking equally as scared as Peter.

“I don’t wanna go,” he pleads, voice wobbling as he takes a few stumbling steps towards him. “P-Please—P-Please, I don’t wanna go. I don’t wanna go.” 

Tony opens his arms as Peter falls forward, but instead of falling into Tony’s arms, he falls right through him as Tony suddenly crumbles to nothing but a pile of ashes. 

“N-No!” Peter screams as catches himself on his shaking arms, saving himself from face-planting on the orange, dirt-covered ground… which is now covered in Tony’s ashes. “N-No…. p-please,” Peter sobs as he carefully picks up a handful of it, only to break out into a harsh cough that has him doubled over, finding that he’s coughing up dust. 

Ashes. 

That’s all he sees. 

Ashes. 

Peter blinks away the tears in his eyes as he looks around himself, seeing figures of ashes floating in the air where the Guardians and Dr. Strange once stood. 

He’s all alone. 

Peter takes in a shuddering breath as he looks back down at himself, only to see that his hands are now disappearing, dust falling from his fingertips, joining Tony’s on the ground. It quickly travels up his hands, then his forearms, climbing up his entire body. 

Peter sucks in a gasp, feeling like his insides are now full with his own ashes, suffocating him. 

He’s dying. 

He’s all alone. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

They all fall down. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

They all… fall… down. 

Peter’s eyes snap open, only to be met with a horrible, pulsating pain radiating through his skull, feeling like it’s about to explode as something hot shoots up his throat. 

Peter shoots up into a sitting position as he gags, only for more waves of sharp pain to stab at his head as he tries to get up. But the moment that he manages to swing his legs over the bed, he gags again and hot, liquidy vomit spews out of his mouth, landing all over his lap and the floor. 

But the only thing he can see is ashes. 

Peter gasps in the middle of a gag, only to break out into a harsh round of coughing but it only brings back the memory of him coughing up dust in his nightmare… or was it real? Is he already dead and this is a dream? Or his worst nightmare that he’ll have to live again and again in a constant, torturous loop?

His head and ears are pounding too much, Peter doesn’t hear the pair of footsteps running up the stairs towards his bedroom. 

Peter slams his eyes shut as he coughs up more bile—more ashes. 

His ashes. 

It’s happening again. 

Thanos snapped.

Half the universe is gone. 

Thanos won and they lost. 

“Peter! Peter—look at me, kid!” A voice filters its way through the sheer panic racing through him, mixing with all the pain. “Pete—open your eyes for me!” 

Peter snaps his eyes open, only to find Tony’s worried face in front of him—but it’s just like before, except Tony turned to ashes right in front of him. 

“T-Tony p-please,” Peter hoarsely says, feeling something cold slide down his cheeks. “P-Please—I-I don’t wanna go. P-Please,” he begs as he slams his eyes shut, unable to get the image of Tony crumbling to nothing in front of him. 

His breathing comes in quick gasps now, and it feels like his insides are filling up again—oh God. It’s happening again. He’s going to die and there isn’t anything or anyone that can stop it. Thanos won again—he’s always going to win. He’s never going to stop coming. 

Peter’s dying all over again. 

“Pete—you’re okay. Peter! You’re not dying—kiddo, please listen to me!” 

He’s going to die. 

Ashes. 

Ashes. 

Peter lets out a choked sob, only to throw up more bile. “I-I can’t-” he sucks in a sharp, choked breath. “Can’t breathe-”

Black dots dance around in his vision as he opens his eyes, finding a blurry figure in front of him, feeling cold hands on his face. 

“Pete you’ve gotta listen to me, bud. You have to breathe.” 

“I c-can’t,” Peter chokes out around a sob, squeezing his eyes shut again. “I-I can’t—I c-can’t!” 

“Yes, you can. You can breathe. You’re not going anywhere. I promise you, Pete. Please. Come back to me. Try to take in a deep breath, okay? Think you can do that for me, kiddo?” 

Peter sucks in a gasping breath, feeling horribly lightheaded now, but he tries. 

“That’s it, Pete. That’s it, kiddo. In and out.” Tony soothes. 

It feels like forever until Peter’s lungs give in, letting air in and allowing him to breathe. He sucks in a shaky breath that triggers a harsh round of coughing, before he opens his eyes and blinks a few times to clear his blurry vision. 

“T-Tony?” Peter asks, seeing the man kneeling in front of him with a worried expression on his face. 

“I’m right here, Pete,” Tony tells him in a soft voice. “You back with me?” 

Peter blinks, his brows pulling together as he shakily nods. He closes his eyes against the pounding behind them, mixed with horrible nausea churning away in his stomach. “I don’t feel good,” he mumbles. 

“I know you don’t kiddo. I’m so sorry,” Tony says, feeling a hand brush away a strand of damp curls that are stuck to his sweaty forehead. “How about you take a minute to catch your breath and we’ll get you all cleaned up and back into bed, okay?”

Peter blinks hard as he looks down at his lap again, but closes his eyes at the disgusting state of his lap. He opens them back up again and looks at Tony, brows pulled together. “I-Is this… is this real?” He asks. 

Tony’s face falls as he reaches up and gently wipes a trail of tears from Peter’s cheeks with a calloused thumb. “Of course it is, bud,” he softly says. “This is real, I’m real and you’re at the cabin with me, Pepper and Morgan.” 

Peter sniffs wetly. “B-But… it just felt s-so real.” He whispers. 

Tony nods as he runs a hand through Peter’s hair. “I know, Pete but I promise you it wasn’t. It was just a nightmare.” He says in a soft voice as he places the back of his hand on Peter’s forehead, frowning. “You’re burning up, kiddo. It looks like this is more than just a migraine.” 

Peter breathes out a sigh at that. “‘Course it’s not.” He mumbles miserably. Good ol’ Parker Luck. 

“How about we get you cleaned up, hmm?” 

Peter wordlessly nods as Tony helps him stand up, grabbing him a change of clothes from the dresser before slowly leading him out of his room and down the hallway to the bathroom. Tony is practically carrying him with how wobbly his legs are, but they manage to make it to the bathroom and Tony helps him sit on the closed toilet seat. 

Peter closes his eyes against the painful throbbing going on behind them, letting himself slowly slump against the wall next to him. He’s barely aware of Tony wiping his face with a warm washcloth until he’s gently shaken. 

“Pete, you gotta open your eyes for me, bud,” Tony says softly. 

Peter lets out a low, hoarse groan as he blinks open his eyes, squinting against the LED lighting in the bathroom. 

“Arms up,” Tony instructs as he helps him out of his ruined t-shirt and into a clean one. “Think you can stand up on your own so you can change your pants?” 

Peter binks slowly. “M’ kinda dizzy,” he admits.

Tony frowns at that as he goes back to the task at hand and helps Peter slide his ruined pajama pants off, grateful to have a pair of boxers on to save him any further embarrassment. Tony helps him stand up on shaky legs to pull on the clean pair of sweatpants he grabbed, helping Peter pull them up to his waist.

“I think you’re good to go, bud,” Tony says, offering him a small smile.

Peter tries to smile but he thinks it comes out more of a grimace. Tony wraps an arm around his waist and helps him out of the bathroom and back down the hall towards his room at a slow pace. When they walk back into the room, Pepper is throwing a white duvet over his bed and she looks up at them, offering Peter a warm, sympathetic smile.

“How are you feeling, honey?” She asks.

Peter makes a weak sound at the back of his throat as he blinks sluggishly, too tired to form words anymore.

“He’s feeling pretty crappy,” Tony answers for him as he guides him over to the bed and helps him lie down on the clean sheets, which Peter suspects Pepper changed while they were gone.

Despite how out of it he is, Peter feels guilty that she cleaned up after him.

“M’ sorry,” Peter mumbles as he blinks open his eyes as Tony pulls the covers up to his chin. “M’ such a problem.”

Tony frowns as he exchanges a look Peter doesn’t catch with Pepper before he looks back down at him as he sits on the edge of the bed. “No, you’re not,”

Peter shakes his head, feeling tears pricking at his eyes. “I am,” He argues weakly. “Y-You shouldn’t have to deal with me.”

“Peter,” Pepper says as she sits down on the edge of the bed on the other side. “You’re not a problem, honey. You’re sick and you’re tired. We want to help you, okay?”

“Yeah,” Tony agrees. “Besides, it’s part of the job description.” He says with a small smile.

Peter honestly doesn’t know what he’s done in life to deserve such an amazing and caring family.

“Why don’t you try to get some more sleep?” Tony says as he fixes the blanket around Peter and tucks him in.

“Okay,” Peter mumbles as he blinks up at him with half-lidded eyes.

“Feel better, honey,” Pepper says softly as she smoothes a hand over his hair before she stands up and walks out into the hallway.

A spark of fear shoots through Peter as Tony stands up and he thinks he’s about to leave too. “Can you stay?” Peter slurs tiredly.

“Of course I can,” Tony says, the corners of his lips turning up in a small smile as he walks to the other side of the bed and settles against the headrest.

Peter slowly rolls on his side so he’s facing him and wiggles himself up so his head is resting against Tony’s chest, earning a chuckle from him in response.

“Feeling a little cuddly are we?”

“Mhmm…” Peter hums as he closes his eyes, feeling Tony’s hand settle in his hair, hearing the faint, comforting thumping of Tony’s heart against his ear. “T’hnks for taking care of me,” he mumbles sleepily.

“That’s what I’m here for, Pete,” Tony tells him, warmness in his voice as he cards his fingers through Peter’s curls.