#i am every year but now that he had that sort of reassurance during his hangouts that the winery will always be there for him

[torgawl]

i'm too mentally unwell for this (people shoving ragbros angst in my face at 10 am)

[regency-monster-love]

Monstertober day 26: full moon

Male werewolf x female human | Regency era | NSFW: oral, piv, rough, knotting, breeding, biting

The werewolf thought it best to send himself away from the estate for his first full moon since his marriage, but his new bride insisted he stay.

“I knew I was marrying a werewolf, and I've seen you, once, in that form.” Granted, it had not been during a full moon, but she had seen it. “Besides, you can’t just leave home once a month, year after year, for decades.”

She had a point there—she’d have to experience a full moon with him eventually. He hadn't thought this through enough before proposing to a human woman, but he had just been too desperately in love to worry about such details.

Now, he was worrying.

“You don't understand what you're asking for,” he told her. “I cannot stop myself from shifting that night, no matter what.”

“I know—”

“And I cannot stop myself from mating with you that night. As the wolf.”

“Oh.” She paused. “But you won't be an actual wolf. Surely the, ah, mating can't be that different.”

“It will be completely different,” he stated firmly.

“Oh,” she repeated in a faint voice.

They'd only been married about a fortnight, and so far she’d found the marital act…acceptable. Her husband was not demanding or rough, simply did his duty under the covers and her nightgown, in the dark, quietly, and then he kissed her and left. The act was sometimes mildly pleasurable to her, but she felt a strange sort of disappointment after it was over and she was alone in her bedroom again.

She wondered whether the difference he spoke of would make sex worse or better.

“I am not afraid,” she told him steadfastly.

“I am,” he replied.

~🐺~

In the end, he did not leave for the full moon, though he certainly could have defied his wife to do so. Perhaps he disliked saying no to her, or perhaps—though he would not admit this to himself—his desire to take her as the wolf outweighed his fear of how she would react to it.

The night of the full moon, he let his wife remain in the room with him to witness his transformation, and as soon as it was complete, before she could say a word, he leapt at her and snatched her up. His mind was already clouded over with the instincts and urges of the wolf, his prick already swelling and pushing free of his sheath. Already he could not recall why he'd wanted to separate them this night—she was his mate, made just for this, for him to breed.

She gasped as his long claws ripped her nightgown off her body, and instinctively tried to cover herself with her hands—they'd always had sex with nightshirts on—but he snarled and pinned her hands to the bed. “No! I want to see what's mine.”

She shivered at how much deeper and rougher his voice sounded now; when he had shown her his wolf form once before, his voice had been lower in pitch, but nothing like this. Yet she could still recognize this growling rumble as her husband's voice, and it reassured her that she was still safe with this wild creature.

The werewolf released her hands to grab her hips and hoist them into the air, close to his face. “Wh-what are you doing?” she exclaimed.

“I want to taste what's mine, too,” he rasped out, and thrust his muzzle against her cunt.

She cried out at the rough, fast lapping of his tongue against her most intimate place. Never before had he used his mouth on her there, and it was overwhelming both at how new it was and how glorious it felt. Pleasure swept through her like a hot summer storm at every swipe and plunge and flick of his long tongue.

The werewolf found it glorious as well. He had never tasted anything as intoxicating as his mate! He'd craved tasting her for so long, but that wasn't how a gentleman would make love to his wife, so he had refrained. But there would be no refraining from any of his desires tonight. He was not a gentleman, he was a wolf, and he intended to show her exactly what that meant.

He knew by her scent that it frightened her a bit, at first, but arousal was there too, and the sour undercurrent of fear soon faded entirely against the much stronger spicy-sweet scent. Never before had he smelled such potent arousal from her, and it made him preen inside, happy and proud to be bringing his mate such pleasure.

She moaned and writhed in his grip, overcome by an ecstasy that somehow was still building. Surely she could take no more, and yet she was; it continued to build, and build, and then all her muscles went taut as the pleasure erupted and utterly, blissfully consumed her entire being.

The werewolf shuddered at the feel of her cunt pulsing around his tongue. This too was new, and now that he’d felt it on his tongue, he needed to feel it on his cock—right now, and then every day hereafter.

He withdrew his tongue and flipped her over onto her belly—the position another first—then hoisted her hips up to meet his. His cock brushed against her dripping folds as he did so, and he rocked his hips to do it again, coating his length with her slick to ready himself. She looked back over her shoulder at him. “What—”

“This is how wolves breed their good little mates,” he growled, and drove into her. A shocked cry left her lips, and he grabbed her hair to keep her head turned back toward him. He leaned closer to her face, baring his teeth in a grin. “And good little mates take it.”

He was already driving his hips against her fast, unable to temper himself when the full moon was compelling him to surrender to his basest, most animalistic qualities. And he didn’t regret his surrender. Her cunt felt heavenly, and just like home, enveloping his cock in its tight, warm embrace. This was where he was meant to be, inside her, and she was meant to take him.

He leaned even farther forward, pressing his furry belly to her sweat-slicked back so he could lick her neck. “You are so sweet for me, little lamb, taking my cock so well, just like a good mate should,” he rumbled.

She whimpered, enjoying his praise but too bombarded with sensation to form any coherent response. It felt as though she was being split open with every one of his savage thrusts, and yet she adored the exhilaration of it and the satisfying fullness of her cunt on each forward slide.

“Good mates get bred with pups,” he panted as his knot knocked against her entrance again and again. “I’m going to give you my knot, my seed, breed you with my pups.”

He could smell her arousal flare at his words, and the biting scent made his frenzy for her all the greater. He rose onto his feet, still fucking her, but crouching further over her back so he could drill his cock down into her with even greater force. The edge of his knot began to breach her, and he snarled at how close he was now. Never before had he knotted her, but tonight he’d have her locked on his knot over and over again, bloated with his seed all night long.

The full moon demanded it.

She felt herself stretching farther and farther each time he pounded that bump at the base of his cock against her. It seemed impossibly big, and yet she knew, somehow, that her body could take it. And she wanted to take it. She wanted to be a good mate, like he had said. She wanted him to give her his seed and swell her with his babies. She wanted it all.

“Bite me!” she cried out. He’d told her before what it would do, connecting them indelibly as mates, a bond even stronger than the marriage vows they’d said before God. It was why he hadn’t done it yet, though he’d told her that she was his mate. He had wanted her to be sure. But oh! she was sure. She loved him, and she wanted them to be as connected as it was possible for two souls to be.

He didn’t hesitate. How could he, with the power of the full moon coursing through him and his mate’s pretty plea ringing in his ears and her delicious scent filling his snout? He just obeyed, opening his jaws and clamping down on her shoulder.

Her screams rang in his sharp ears as the taste of her blood burst on his tongue and the feel of their mating bond pierced into the marrow of his bones, and with one last wild thrust he’d shoved his entire knot into her cunt. It clamped down around him, clenching in waves just like it had done before on his tongue, and he knew he was locked within her. He snapped his hips even farther forward and his seed erupted from his cock, his knot throbbing with each glorious spurt he shot into his mate’s womb. He lifted his mouth from her shoulder and howled in triumph as his cock kept pouring his seed into her.

The heat and fullness of it felt incredible to her. He’d spent inside her before, of course, but never had it felt like this, with his knot locking everything inside, allowing her to revel in the sensation of wholeness it gave her.

He soothed over the bite on her shoulder with his tongue. She felt its sting, but even that pain was somehow pleasurable to her, and she sighed happily.

“Are you well, little lamb?” he asked quietly.

“Yes, my love.”

Carefully he tilted them over onto their sides, curling his big furry body around her small smooth one. His giant clawed hand stroked over her soft belly. He couldn’t wait for it to grow round with his pup.

“You were right: it was very different,” she murmured.

“An agreeable difference, or a bad one?”

“The best one.”

“I’m gratified to hear that.” He gently rocked his hips against her, nudging his knot around inside the channel where it was still locked tight, making her breath hitch. “Because as soon as this goes down, we’re doing it again.”

~ 😈🎩 ~

Read all of my Regency monster ficlets and snippets at the tag “my writing.”

[sugruzt]

❝ message in a bottle ; 마크이

𖥻 pairing: college!mark lee x female reader

𖥻 contains: college!au, fluff, slight angst, second chance romance

𖥻 warnings: swearing, marijuana & alcohol consumption / english is not my first language and this is my first work ever on tumblr so i am sorry if there are any grammar mistakes or misspellings

word count — 4.06k

synopsis — you and mark were in a situationship for a few months before things ended poorly when you got too scared of your feelings and he had to leave the country for an exchange program in london. now, six months later, you were at a party with your friends and discovered mark was back in town.

🎀

AND just like that, your whole world stopped spinning for a long and torturous minute. in the blink of an eye, you went from being over-the-moon excited — and slightly intoxicated — with the idea of partying with your friends during the first summer night before heading to your hometown in the next couple of days to being paralyzed, feeling all your blood get drained far away from where it should be in your body. in the blink of an eye, you went from being a happy girl with the arrival of the last member of your friend group to someone terrified with the sight of a ghost from the past. a quick glance, unintended by all means, in mark’s direction was all it took for the memories from that previous year to come flooding back to hit you like a lost train.

“hey, princess,” he said. his cheeks burning in a shade of shameful red, but something stronger than him was preventing his stare from going anywhere else other than your eyes. there was a blunt hanging between his teeth. “how you doing?”

“that’s it, guys; i’m done with this. i’m just gonna change my major or something like that! everything’s going terribly wrong, and i can’t keep torturing myself by studying this shit.”

you dropped your head and rested your forehead on your arm that lay on top of the desk in front of you right as the confession slipped from your lips like a dangerous poison that you should not have taken. it was the first time you’d ever said it out loud to someone else to hear — other than the mischievous voice inside your head — how you truly felt about the english major you were pursuing. the fear of judgment and of being too hasty about this decision was corroding every last bit of your emotional health, and because of it, you could sense that a storm was coming. what if you did change majors and ended up not adapting? how would you find a job, or better yet: how would you support living all by yourself if you couldn’t even pick an undergraduate academic path? time was running out, and the unbearable clock inside your mind wouldn’t give you a break. the tick-tacking of the goddamn thing was going to drive you to insanity at any point soon.

“hey, chill for once, okay? it’s normal to feel like that and to want something new. hell, i know i had to change my major twice before finding out what i actually wanted to do. jae did the same thing. you’re not alone.” jeno offered you a small yet reassuring smile of someone who didn’t quite know what to say but still wanted to see his friend more relaxed.

“exactly! take a deep breath and think things through with an easy heart. if you need help, we’re here to help

you." swallowing the last bite of the sandwich he had bought earlier, renjun tapped the notebook in front of him. “how’s that linguistics project going?”

as you raised your head, you shook your head in a negative sign. “i mean, it’s good. too good, actually… and that’s sort of the problem. like, the dude i’m working with is super sweet and really fucking good at this class and so he’s kind of doing the whole thing by himself and dragging me along with him ever since we started. i feel terrible, even if he says it’s all good and stuff, but it is what it is, i guess.”

before either of the guys could express any opinion about what was just said, a guy with freshly cut black hair — it was even possible to see the drawing of a spiderweb on the left side of his undercut —, earphones in and a large yankees shirt approached the desk, more specifically you, and offered you a genuine smile that wasn’t common to see between two colleagues who were only working on a school project together. the unknown man squatted so he could be at your height and unlocked his ipad’s screen to the word document the two of you were using to write notes together, or at least that was the initial idea because the reality was that mark was doing all of it alone, proudly.

“oh, hi, y/n, you good? just wanted to ask you a quick question… have you taken a look at this topic right here? i know we’re only supposed to work on it in two weeks but i was wondering if maybe you’ve come up with the same conclusion as me.”

feeling a thousand times more embarrassed than if a professor asked you to present a thirty-minute seminar alone in front of the whole class, you felt the tip of your fingers getting cold and a thin droplet of sweat rolling down your temple. “uhm, hey, mark. yeah, about that… look, i didn’t really have a chance to look at that yet, i’m sorry. i can barely manage this week’s assignments, let alone two weeks from now. i- i’ll text you when i read it, okay?”

you didn’t know it at the time — or if you did, you had an enviable ability of discretion — but every single time mark heard his name escape from your heavenly drawn lips, his heart would skip a beat or two and he felt like he was about to combust at any second. it was the first time in his whole life that he had ever felt that way about someone and dealing with feelings of that magnitude was both weird and extraordinary, which meant that the ravenette wasn’t completely aware of how to process them. mark’s solution for his overwhelming thoughts whenever you were around was to take charge of everything he could in that project, to make you feel relaxed about that one particular class. the canadian was terrible at linguistics, for his skills were much more reliable during literature classes: he could interpret and internalize poetry from the eighteenth century like it was nothing, and plays written in latin during the roman empire were of natural understanding for him; and yet, ever since the first day of that semester in which it was requested that both of you joined efforts to build the complicated assignment, it was impossible for mark to not pull all-nighters reading texts and more texts, watching one video class after another that broke down the subject of that class just so he could give his absolute best when the time came to work alongside you and you didn’t find him an idiot, as most people in that university usually did after meeting him for the first time.

mark just wanted to impress you and the last thing he could be worried about was doing all that alone, as long as it meant that he could still have the minimum interaction with you.

“yeah, sure, that’s cool. if you need anything let me know, alright?”

you were still in a state of complete shock. no words would come out of your mouth, making it impossible to answer properly the question directed at you by the boy that a year before was the reason for many sleepless nights and therapy sessions, through no fault of his, which was even worse, because mark was perfect and you hated yourself for how everything ended.

a cold breeze, too cold for a summer night, hit the both of you with enough strength to make you shiver and it was only then that you realized that none of your friends were around anymore. you were alone again with mark for what had felt like a lifetime since he left the country for an exchange program in london and with enough unspoken words to make the whole situation a million times more uncomfortable than it needed to be. what were you supposed to say right now? “oh, hi, mark, long time no see! listen, i’m really sorry for being horrible to you last year, i’ve spent the last six months torturing myself because i only woke up to the fact that i had let the perfect guy for me get away too late to try and fix everything”? you ran your fingers through your hair, knowing that there were no words of your knowledge that could make it easier, that could put together again the pieces of what had once been something magical that the two of them were building.

you couldn’t care less about all those times your therapist tried to be kinder to your heart than you had ever been, or how your friends always tried to distract your mind from the constant haunt of self-collection and, to be honest, didn’t really mind that yes, after all the effort and studying, you had managed to change your major to something you actually enjoyed if the price for it was to drop the perfect crystal piece that was mark’s precious heart. there were no words that could take that back, and going against every piece of advice that was given to you, you had imagined more times than you’d like to admit how this encounter would play out: what you would do, what you would say or not say, how it’d feel… but none of those scenarios inside your mind was anywhere near to the real sensation of being in front of him again.

mark looked taller — or maybe it was just the feeling of missing him crushing your soul and clouding your judgment —, the slim body now gave way to the body of a man who went to the gym and tried to truly take care of his health, his hair that previously used to be as dark as the t-shirts he used to enjoy wearing was now covered in a shade of red so bright that it reminded you of his favorite superhero’s suit. even still, the one thing that caught your attention the most were his eyes. before mark left, before the whole chaos, they were always big and full of life, like those of a curious cub and you could always feel a cozy warmth travel across your body when mark looked at you with such brightness; however, it seemed that ever since the canadian got back in town, they were opaque, closed off to the outer world as if his eyes were now carrying some kind of intense melancholy behind them. the familiar redness in his sclerae, months ago, used to always be accompanied by an excited and smiling version of mark lee, but that night the only thing apparent to you was that lee was holding on to weed like some kind of way to numb the break-up pain.

the redhead had lived a thousand different lives during his exchange: saw and learned things that he knew he would never have achieved if he hadn't accepted the opportunity to go to england and yet, his mind couldn’t recall any of those experiences with the genuine happiness he should’ve felt like any other normal and grateful person would if they were on his shoes; to mark, ever since you left him all alone, he had turned into nothing but an empty shell of what should’ve been the real mark lee. what were his experiences, his learnings, his funny stories if, at any moment, he was allowed to at least call the person he loved and share all of that with her?

“yeah, i guess i’m okay.” you answered, holding back a cry that was stuck in your throat before looking away. “you?”

a shiver went down the english student as he waited for his project partner to arrive at the coffee shop you two had agreed to meet at to finish for good the agonizing linguistics document. it didn’t even seem real that you were finally concluding the most stressful and endless project of your university career until that moment and despite the sweet taste of reaching the finish line, mark had on his lips a bitter one, because he knew that the very instant you pressed “send” on the body of that e-mail to your professor, all of his excuses to talk to you would come to an end. it was only the beginning of november, you should spend at least a few more weeks studying together if said professor were to follow a normal academic calendar like the rest of his fellow colleagues of the department.

mark would only have one last chance of making this work out and that chance was right there and then. anxiety and fear were destroying the boy with more strength than he himself was biting through his nails waiting for you to arrive.

“gosh, mark, i’m so sorry!” you said in a panting tone when you finally managed to get to the coffee shop and met the guy that, by that point, had already become your friend. “the bus took forever to get to the stop i needed and then the subway was also chaotic… anyways, i’m sorry that i’m late.”

the both of you stayed a long time in that coffee shop, not only finishing the assignment but also laughing together and watching a few episodes of modern family on his computer as a way to relax after all the constant flow of negative emotions the both of you were facing during that semester due to not only that particular class but also all the other ones with their enormous reading load. by the time you had indeed finished what you were supposed to do, you were feeling so comfortable in mark’s presence that you didn’t even notice when you heart started to race faster and faster before the mundane things the lee did: the way he smiled from ear to ear, or how kind he was to everyone around him. you were starting to fall in love with how mark explained all the different concepts he used to build his arguments across the paper like someone would explain the most basic things to a child, and you thought it was sweet the way he would say “dude” and “no way” every couple of sentences that fell from his lips. but, above all, unconsciously, the way mark seemed to glow every time he looked at you was ethereal to your eyes.

as soon as you sent the hated file, it started to rain on the outside of the coffee shop, but contrary to the ideal scenario, you couldn’t stay in there just waiting until the climate conditions became more favorable because the two of you had places to be at, on opposite directions. there would be no other alternative but to run to the nearest subway station, or in the brunette’s case, the bus stop.

mark immediately took off his hoodie to shield you as best as he could from the rain, in exchange for you protecting his backpack that contained his computer as if your life depended on it, the moment you two stepped outside the establishment and something of a thunderstorm was taking over the avenue. mark couldn’t help it and ended up laughing at the situation you two had found yourselves in, thinking about how he wished he was a little less broke and had a car to take the girl of his dreams back to her place without having to worry about the rain, or how he wished he was stronger to pick you up and carry you to the subway station and, with that, spare your shoes from coming in contact with the soaked surface of the sidewalk. before you could notice, you were right in front of the stairs that led to the station.

“bye, i think.” you said, giggling along with him while you tried to fix your hair that, despite mark’s hoodie’s protection, still got wet from the rain.

the lee was going to answer you like a decent and proper person, he really was, but in that very moment, a raindrop fell from the marquee above you and somehow managed to hit you right on the forehead, which made you close your eyes, but mark kept his wide open. with an automatic reaction of his body, almost like an involuntary movement that he was incapable of controlling — such as the beats of his accelerated heart — his left hand traveled to your neck while his right thumb was busy drying the solitary raindrop slowly, to give his mind time to analyze every little inch of your face so close to his. mark tried to respond with words to your farewell, but his impulse to kiss you was far stronger than any cohesive phrase that his brain could formulate in that moment.

the literature student, now in his final semester, nodded as he bit his lower lip and those opaque eyes fell to the floor beneath his feet after stepping on the remaining of his blunt. mark didn’t even know why he started that conversation in the first place, it was obvious that it was impossible for him to stand close to you without it affecting some part of him — whether for good or for bad — and even still, there he was, not managing to say a single word to you, nor being able to get closer, just feeding that giant gray and terrifying cloud that grew over both of your heads due to the impasse of what this was and what it should have been.

unlike his mind, that was only able to repeat tirelessly the day he finally built the confidence to kiss you, yours was in a hurricane of terrible memories that involved the brief, yet intense, relationship you two shared — or whatever the hell one could call it. how was it even possible that something that lasted only four months could leave such deep scars?

if mark was trying to hold back a smile remembering how it felt to have your lips on top of his, you were only torturing yourself with the replayed image of mark being crushed in front of you, by no fault other than your own. it was your fault that fear was allowed to consume every single good thing that the lee had ever given you; it was your fault that you’d thought that whole thing was a sick and sadistic joke from the universe and that, in reality, there was no way someone like him could've ever fallen in love with you. in the deepest, darkest, cruelest part of your soul, you were convinced that everything was your fault and not your mind trying to destroy you before something so pure and happy.

you were a sinking ship, navigating towards a port with not a single sight of a lighthouse’s spark to help you, not knowing how to reach the treasure that awaited your arrival because other people had already destroyed the lighthouse. the ability to grope around, trying to find yourself in the darkness you’d placed yourself, was stripped away from you the second you gave in to the bruises that were caused by third parties, and mark knew it wasn't your fault, although it was still difficult to try and be the guide to someone that wouldn't allow them to have access to the heat and light from the fire he tried to offer.

without even realizing it, the silenced cry stuck in your throat for months on end started to escape, not giving you any power to control it. you felt anger, sadness, frustration and you were missing mark… all at the very same time, in an endless swirl triggered by the mere vision of having mark back into your reality.

just like the first time you kissed, the unconscious answer of mark lee’s body to the sound of you crying after such a long time being away from you was to wrap his arms around your body without allowing himself to give too much thought to the action that just took place. if it was even possible, noticing you needing him in any way, shape or form was a true calling for him and it didn't matter how much time could've gone by, the lee couldn't ignore it. to love you and protect you was just as natural as breathing.

between the supplications for your tears to stop and hair strokes, mark then began to feel something that he thought was dead coming back to life inside the hollow box that was his chest. for months now, the redhead just knew that his heart was no longer there. instead, it must've been put inside a bottle and thrown away into the ocean that separated his emotions from his rational mind, as if he wasn't even the owner of his own feelings.

“please, princess, don't cry. i’m begging you.”

the cruelty of your mind wouldn't give you a break for not even a single second ever since the last time you've heart mark’s melodious voice so close to your ear, and the fact that it carried the same heavy tone of request didn't help with your genuine desire to stop your sobbings as your face was pressed against his chest. in that moment, the last thing on your mind were the looks that other people could be directing at the two of you; you could only see the desperation all over the face of the only man you've ever truly loved. he was in such pain that day — the day you told him you didn't want to see him anymore. soon, though, that image was replaced with the memory of the gut-wrenching feeling of chronic emptiness that filled your chest the following week and you came to your senses that you had make a mistake, but that it was also too late: mark was in another country, it was far too late to ask for forgiveness.

“i know you probably hate me right now. i shouldn't have done that, i shouldn't have said that, i was such an idiot, stupid… i'm sorry, mark, i don't know what was going on in my mind to treat like that, i-”

that sobbing wouldn't allow you to form coherent sentences properly and the way you were crying so helplessly was becoming melancholic instead of just sad to the man holding you. if only mark could get into your merciless head just how he would never be able to hate you, not in a million years, not when there was so much love, desire and adoration intrinsic to the image he had of you, then maybe that big gray cloud would disappear forever and the two of you could just live like he hoped for. all mark wanted was to have the privilege of loving you again.

“y/n, look at me” mark held the red and tear wet face of his beloved girl with kindness while his tone of voice was filled with all the firmness the moment could ask for. “for christ’s sake, y/n, i love you. i could never hate you. dude, really, for once just keep your head out of this and focus on what i’m telling you right now. i love you and this whole time i was thinking of you. only you.”

even if he knew you wouldn't answer anything for a few seconds, or maybe even minutes, mark just allowed a sweet smile to appear on his lips while he delighted himself with the feeling of being allowed to hold your face once again, to stroke your cheeks and to place small, delicate kisses all over your beautiful face — which he knew would force your breathing to slow down, giving you the chance to calm down again. the canadian was smelling like the combination of weed and beer, but somehow, your body knew how to identify the familiar and characteristic smell of his cologne; the same smell your searched for and ached for during the coldest nights, when missing him was too overwhelming it almost felt like a hole was being digged up in your chest. that familiarity was the reason for the shy smile that took over your lips, that opened a breach for light and happiness after all those tears while mark traced your lips with his thumb, admiring you like you were some kind of artwork created just for him.

“i was made to stay just like this with you, princess. and i’m not leaving this time.”

[hiemaldesirae]

The Hazbin Graduate's Guide to Homicide [4]

ENCLOSED IS AN EXCERPT FROM THE JOURNAL OF ALASTOR HARTFELT. IF YOU ARE NOT THE INTENDED RECIPIENT, DISPOSE OF THIS LETTER IMMEDIATELY LEST YOU BEFALL SEVERE CONSEQUENCES INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO, LOSS OF FINGERS, LIMBS, AND LIFE. THANK YOU FOR YOUR DISCRETION. SIGNED, DEAN LUCIFER MORNINGSTAR.

To my generous patron X, I'm still not quite sure how I feel about this... impromptu academic journey. Though I thank you dearly (and cannot ever fully repay you) for giving me the opportunity to study such unique and diverse methods of... disposal, shall we say, it is a double edged sword of sorts. I have made a few friends- two of whom I would consider close, though I doubt I have much experience in the lane of 'close' friends- and yet more enemies, one of which is particularly aggravated by me for reasons I simply cannot fathom. I'm choosing to believe right now that it is because she is immune to any form of good comedy (a politer way of saying that the girl simply has no sense of humor whatsoever and should possibly schedule an appointment with Professor Beelzebub to see if there's something to be done in regards to her vehement refusal to let any joy in life into her heart). In any case, X, I will take this chance to reassure you that I am learning more than I ever thought I would have in the hands-on and rigorous academic processes of Hazbin Institute, and that the people I have met during my stay all total to a very enjoyable stay thus far. I will, of course, keep you updated on the various comings-and-goings of my studies and how my thesis is being planned out, as well as the various roadblocks I have no doubt I'll be facing. Once more, thank you for your thoughtful sponsorship. I do hope that my results are to your liking.

Yours sincerely, A.H.

P.S. A note to all the lovely readers, I've made a few updates in the previous installments of this series. Alastor is now rooming with Charlie and throwaway lines have been corrected to not mention the names of plot-relevant characters. Also, as a content warning, there is some slightly transphobic rhetoric used (I tried to limit it as much as I could but there really wasn't a way for me to word it properly while trying to express the idea.) If you don't want to see that, then feel free to skip to the end of Vox and Alastor's conversation in the Jade Forest. Please enjoy this new upload of the Hazbin Institute for Homicide Practitioners!

[ 1 ] / [ 2 ] / [ 3 ] <- more murder academy radiostatic

Though it may come as a surprise to those who knew him in a broader sense, Alastor wouldn't consider himself particularly well versed in the art of cooking (though he knew several people who would immediately jump to say otherwise). In his mind, cooking had always been more of a pasttime for him: a hobby to spend time bonding with his mother during and hide from his father's harsh words and harsher actions.

That was why Alastor's impromptu (not actually impromptu, he simply referred to it as such because he hadn't spent days agonizing over it like he would on other choices) decision to take up work in the Institution's kitchen was so out of character for him.

However- however out of character it seemed on the surface, Alastor was also quite the frugal spender. Though the funds entrusted to him by his sponsor were more than enough to supply him with everything he needed through the academic year and then some, Alastor was a man who had lived his childhood and early pre-teenaged years through the desolation of the Great Depression and the Dust Bowl, barely managing to scrape by thanks to his mother's innovation and resilience.

This upbringing, in turn, translated to a refusal to spend more than what was needed for a modest life, and a need to save every last penny that came his way. Plus, given the current path his thesis looked to be taking, Alastor had decided some weeks ago that it was much better to have excess funds left over than to have to struggle his way through the bayou once more.

Besides, this way, he got to learn more recipes to show to his Maman once he got back home.

The main chef of the kitchen was named Vortex, and from the interactions Alastor had witnessed while coming in and out of the back kitchen, he was involved with Professor Beelzebub in some sort of way. Whether they were courting or married or perhaps engaging in some sort of extra-marital affairs was a question completely beyond him, but either way, they both seemed happy and Alastor didn't quite care enough to ask further.

This was not to say that didn't mean he didn't speak to Vortex at all, of course- in fact, when he found out that the man spoke French (though it wasn't Creole French, he'd take it), the two had started talking on and off during shifts.

He'd also started to play piano at the local on-campus bar, a place that was surprisingly affordable given their one-drink only rule (a precaution to make sure that the undergraduates of Hazbin's didn't turn to alcohol to cope with whatever poor decisions they had made to land themselves here, no doubt).

This was a decision that had led to him making friendly small talk with the bartender, Husk (another student working odd jobs around campus to make up for the money that wasn't going into tuition) and adding another acquaintance to the motley crew of fellows he'd gotten to know in his weeks spent at Hazbin's.

There was his roommate, Charlie- who he'd never actually seen, save for hearing the occasional quiet sobbing from the bathroom at ungodly hours in the night while he was trying to concentrate on studying- a short young woman who introduced herself as Niffty and proudly proclaimed that her major was 'Murdering Your Spouse!', Husk, Rosie; the woman that Vox had told him about, and-

Well. Vox himself, obviously.

When Alastor had figured out why it was that Vox had sounded so familiar, he'd spent days agonizing over how to confront the man.

There was no way in any of Dante's infernos that he would be going straight up to Vox and saying something along the lines of 'I know your true identity and how you're dressing as a man when you were born as a woman' because if Alastor had learnt nothing from his father at all he had at least been engrained with a sense of subtlety and chivlary. And if his intuition served him right, he had a feeling that Vox wouldn't quite appreciate being referred to as a woman anyhow, given how he'd gone to such painstaking lengths to conceal his identity.

In the end, he hadn't even had to broach the topic himself. Vox had brought it up one day, completely out of nowhere while they were sitting under the shade of bamboo stalks in the Jade Forest, a place on campus grounds meant to imitate the serenity of real Chinese bamboo forests. "You know you're not the best at hiding your feelings, right?"

Alastor had immediately shot back with an offended, "And you are?"

This had come after a night spent at the bar, where Vox had somehow managed to get himself drunk after exactly three quarters of a glass of whiskey and ended the night sobbing into Husk's hat. He realized only after the words came out of the mouth that he was doing nothing but proving Vox right, but to the other man's credit, the only reaction he showed was the small upwards tilt of his mouth, a smile that said, I got you.

"Have you seen any of my movies before, or was it something else that gave me away?" Vox asks casually.

So casually, in fact, that the almost flies over Alastor's head, and he has to do a double take at the other man, who throws his head back and laughs, long and hard, howling like a hyena.

When he finally calms down, Alastor is staring at him unimpressed, which just sets him off again.

"Oh- oh my God, your face- oh, dear God, that's the best. If I knew that wasn't genuine I'd try and have you nominated for an award. Jesus, Al, I'm not an idiot, you were looking at me like I'd grown two heads in that one seminar from Professor Beelzebub when I said I had personal experience with chopping off someone's breasts." Vox finally got out, wiping a tear from his eye as he gasped for breath. It was oddly endearing as much as it was absolutely exasperating.

"Can you really blame me?" Alastor frowned. "I mean, even past... your own proclivities- or, I mean, your- ah-"

"Taking matters into my own hands?"

"Right. That. Even past that, it feels like a bit of an odd comment to make in the middle of a lecture."

"She was asking for examples. What was I supposed to do, not say anything?" Vox rolled his eyes, then flopped back onto the picnic blanket he'd brought out.

Neither of them had actually brought out any foods that day- it was clam chowder soup day in the dining hall, and Alastor had simply elected to skip out and bake a loave of bread for himself later, whereas Vox... honestly, given what he knew about the man, probably didn't eat anything at all. It was almost concerning how skinny the other was, considering between the two of them it had been Alastor who'd lived through the worst economic decline of the century.

In any case, the picnic blanket had mostly been decoration, but Vox had also cited not wanting to get his uniform dirty when he laid down.

Now, looking at the other man lying down on the picnic blanket, Alastor was reminded of a motion picture that Mimzy had dragged him to after several hours of painstaking bargaining- one that had featured Vox (well, the name he'd went by outside of Hazbin, anyway. Alastor still had no idea which of the names Vox considered his 'real' name and he frankly had no intentions of asking) in the same position, but in a great deal less clothes (thankfully, not none or else he wagers he would've picked up a rock and started bashing his skull in), and he looked away once more, willing himself to stop the flush spreading over his face.

"So..." Vox spoke again, breaking the relative peace of their silence. "Have you wrapped your head around the whole thing?"

Alastor paused, then nodded, still resolutely not looking in Vox's direction. "I assume this is... who you would rather be?"

"Well, obviously," Vox confirmed, though not without a bit of snark that Alastor had come to know was standard for the man over the weeks they'd spent together. "Being Vox Vanhal is... a great deal better than being Aussen Vesper, I'll tell you that much."

"Okay," Alastor said. And then, "That's quite the relief, then, because I was not prepared to start treating you like a lady."

Thankfully, despite Alastor's un-characteristic slip of the tongue, Vox only barked out another hyena-like laugh at that comment, and they spent the rest of the day trading murder tactics.

So that was one of Alastor's problems resolved. Another one, though, happened to lie with another one of his housemates in Pride House, a woman who had been there for a year or so by the time of his arrival. For whatever reason, Vaggie Mariposa had taken it upon herself to try and upstage Alastor in every class they'd shared together- which was a lot, considering they were both undertaking the same major of Murder Your Enemies.

It wasn't as though she was succeeding very well, though, besides a prank she had pulled on his radio that had- embarrassingly- caught him off guard and ended up earning him a demerit. Of course, not even a week later, he'd gotten her back with much the same setup, and earned her that same demerit. So in all, it wasn't as much a concern to him as it was a very petty move done by a woman who really should know better, considering she was taking a course to murder her enemies.

(Of course, there was also the times he'd caught her waiting outside the hallway to his room, but that was of as much concern as a stray mouse would be to an eagle.)

In truth, the only real thing that actually concerned him was the girl he shared a room with. He had confided in the matter with Rosie, who, as Vox had told him before, was really quite the counselor when it came to giving advice. He was glad to have met her here- the woman, of course, being a student taking the major of 'Murder Your Spouse' had nothing but an endless patience for Alastor's troubles, the same way he imagined that she had had to have cultivated for dealing with the absolutely useless man she was married to.

"...anyway, I don't understand there is to do about her. She's weeping every night and keeping me up, but it's not as if I can breach the topic with her when she's someone I hardly know," Alastor shrugged. "I'm no good with weepy overgrown children. Whatever it is she's discovered about herself, I wish she'd simply keep it to herself."

"Alastor," Rosie chided him. "That's no way to speak about your roommate. She's likely under a lot of pressure, poor girl- some students are on the verge of flunking out, you know, and as I'm sure the Dean has told you, there are very severe rules for failing at Hazbin's. At least show her some sympathy. Talk to the girl, lecture her if you must, but don't disparage her."

Vox had said much the same thing when Alastor had gone to him to complain instead, so, in the end, he'd given in. The next time he'd found himself poring over one of the large textbooks Professor Mammon had insisted on them buying and heard the stifled sobbing coming from the bathroom, Alastor sucked in a sigh and left his seat.

He knocked on the door hesitantly. "Hello? Are you alright in there, dear?"

The sobbing stopped near instantly, though Alastor could still hear quiet sniffling. "I'll need an answer, if you don't mind. I'd rather not have it on my conscience for causing you to hit your head on the bathtub edge and drown- though I suppose that may earn me a few more points."

"I'm fine," came the firm but quiet response on the other side. "I just- I need a bit."

"I'll be here, then, if you wish to talk," Alastor said. With that hand of invitation extended, Alastor went back to sit down at his desk, feeling a little prouder of himself for managing a show of compassion instead of harming the girl's esteem further.

What he didn't expect, though, was for that hand to be taken- weeks later, during a pre-Track warmup.

"Is... Is this a good time?"

Charlie Magne, the girl who Alastor had been roomed with stares at him with eyes so wide she looks like a caricature more than a person, and when Vox and Rosie let out twin gasps, Alastor feels a part of him shrivel up inside, knowing both of them will make him talk to her.

"I... I'm sorry, but I think... I might need your help."

[cobragardens]

Another Post About Crowley's Terrible Handwriting

Actually his handwriting here isn't terrible, it's just, like Anathema's spelling, 300 years too late.

So first, I posit that we can be reasonably confident this is Crowley's handwriting because he is very likely the only celestial being besides Aziraphale who can spell devourer correctly.

Crowley has taken more care than usual with his penmanship today because this is a Fancy Presentation, and there are some delightful things to note about it:

--The beautiful serifs on each letter and variation in width of the strokes (the lowercase r's especially)

--Enthusiastic but intermittent capitalization of nouns

--The L that ends "Hail" is a small capital like the ones used in the Bible to spell LORD; the l in Worlds is lower-case

--The lozenge shape of the letter o

--Both s-es are oversized and dip below the writing line

--The kerning is terrible, the script wanders off the writing line at several points, and the location of the writing line is not imagined consistently

I am not an expert in the history of handwriting, but every single point of this suggests to me that Crowley learned to write in English in the late 16th or early 17th century, between say 1570 and 1620, and he learned to do it by copying printed material, not somebody else's handwriting. And it looks like late 16th-century writing. Or rather, like somebody learned to write by copying late 16th-century print and hasn't practiced enough for his style to change significantly in the last 400-500 years.

This means Crowley would have learned using a quill pen, poor devil, and if that's true no wonder he doesn't do it more often. (I wonder if this is why he now owns a pen that looks like it can break the sound barrier; if the Bentley is a permanent replacement for the loathsome, buttocks-abusing horse, maybe he keeps the expensive pen as self-reassurance that he'll never have to write with a quill again.) Quill pens would explain the lozenge-shaped o's: quills can only make a downstroke, so writers who used them shape o's as lozenges made of four downstrokes. Someone who learned writing with a quill would shape his o's like a calligrapher.

16th/early 17th century is the earliest I think Crowley would have learned to write in English because before that there was no block print; there was no print at all, only handwritten scripts of varying legibility, none of which look remotely like Crowley's handwriting does.

Here's what print looked like in Germany in 1471 (printing does not arrive in England for another 5 years after this):

The printing press showed up in England in 1476. Between 1500 and 1600, England got its shit sorted out wrt fonts and typesetting and started turning out what we would recognize today as readable material.

Here's what English printing looked like in 1623, c. 150 years after the German one above:

Not bad, right? I've received Xerox copies less legible than this in classes I paid for. I think it is likely based on his handwriting that Crowley learned to write from printed material a decade or two older than this. The adornments Crowley puts on his letters are serifs, not ligatures: these are not letters that were ever meant to join up in cursive, but letters that were copied from typeset.

From the 16th through the mid-19th century, variations in how a handwriter capitalized letters were very common, and two of these variations show up in Crowley's writing as well.

First, English inherited from German the capitalization of all its nouns. You can see it in Titus Andronicus, above (1623). Due to variations in education and taste, this quickly shifted to capitalization of whichever nouns the writer (or publisher, or printer) felt were important to capitalize, as you can see in Paradise Lost from 1688, below. Hail the Great Beast, devourer of Worlds.

Second, It was also very common during this time to capitalize terminal letters of words, either as a sign to the reader that previous letters had been omitted or because writers using quill pens wanted to be sure readers knew what letter they were looking at through the smudges and weird spacing and general wretchedness of the reading experience imposed by quill writing. I think this latter reason may be why Crowley writes "HaiL" when his other letter L, in "Worlds," is both lowercase and carefully printed with a pretty serif.

Handwriters in English between 1500 and 1800 also had a major hard-on for abusing the letter s, which was shaped like a lowercase f (to contemporary eyes) or a loose S, either of which drop below the writing line. Here's an example in print from 1688:

Use of the long S in print fell out of favor and disappeared abruptly in the UK after 1800.

Crowley's S-es could be a holdover from this: they both drop below the writing line, and they're both oversized.

What I think we can say for sure is that he's not very good at writing s-es, so they always turn out bigger than he intends. The S in "Beast" is noticeably different at the left curve than the S in "Worlds," which I would expect for someone who hasn't written thousands of s-es yet, and the S in "Worlds" looks very much like someone has faithfully rendered a shape they have seen rather than written a letter. Since he can write a letter r elegantly but can't do a curved s, it suggests to me that he hasn't had as much practice doing the curved s yet as he has the other letters, which fits with someone used to writing a long s 75% of the time.

Even the kerning speaks to me of someone who learned to write with a quill: leaving (comparatively) large spaces between letters gives the ink somewhere to drip and smudge without rendering the letter illegible.

There's one other reason I think Crowley probably learned to write in English in the 16th century: He's lazy, and he probably wouldn't have needed to know before then.

The movable-type press arrived in England in 1476. The Protestant Reformation kicked off in England c. 60 years later in 1534 when Henry VIII declared himself head of the English Church. Prior to the surge in literacy among the wealthy and merchant classes in the 16th century, thanks to this intersection of printing press and Protestants (who believe it's important that each person read the Bible for themselves), almost no one knew how to read, including most of the gentry and nobility, and still fewer knew how to write. If you had a message, you sent a guy or you showed up yourself. If you had something you wanted recorded, you summoned a scribe. If you needed to know something, you found somebody who knew and you asked them.

By the time of Queen Elizabeth's accession in 1558, 82 years after William Caxton began operating England's first movable-type printing press, a fully literate royal court were passing each other and their spies and their assassins gossipy notes like everybody was a 12yo in math class. Elizabeth wrote letters and poems. Among the gentry gentlewomen replaced monks as the medical caregivers for their communities (bc Henry shut down all the monasteries), and they wrote and shared and copied multi-generational "receipt books" and herbals of medical and cosmetic treatments. In the space of a single generation, literacy--the ability to write, not just to read--became a prerequisite for functioning in the upper echelons of society.

So if he didn't already know by then, Crowley would have needed to learn to write in English in the mid-16th century. And he would have had to learn it with a quill. (Wearing black probably came in handy for all the ink he spilled or dripped on himself.)

Last to consider is the W in "Worlds," which has no serifs and is not written with any particular attempt at straightness or symmetry. To me this suggests that Crowley learned to write w's from a modern reference, not his original reference. And this makes perfect sense: w was very much in use in the 16th century in English, but nobody agreed on how to write or print it, so there were crossed v's, two capital U's, and this weird gothic lowercase n with extra tentacles. W, Crowley would have learned, always needs to be checked up on before you commit.

Crowley's spelling here is modern, which is frankly a huge achievement for someone who was present for the formation and transformation of all 3 English languages. The contemporary Modern English we use today was a going concern for over 2 centuries before anyone wrote an English dictionary, and it was three centuries before dictionaries became authorities on how to spell correctly and people started giving a shit about that. (Before that as long as people could read the word and understand what you meant by it in context, you'd spelt it correctly.)

Taken together, the W and the modern spelling suggest that although Crowley almost never writes by hand, he reads regularly. This matches with two Words of God I've seen from Neil Gaiman (which I am too lazy to find and link) in which he mentions that Crowley likes to read but won't admit to doing so or to liking books.

Aziraphale should get him a book about ducks for Valentine's Day.

[lemmilemura]

Alright so I've had this idea for like over a month but only now am writing it!!! Somehow the Simon well hasn't completely dried out yet :D Also I know nothing about the american school system, so I'm either 1. assuming or 2. basing it off answers american friends have given

Based on the show All kept gender neutral but reader has a female reproductive system

Life started going by so fast. Your last week of classes, prom, graduation, and before you knew it, it was the last night you had with your boyfriend before he was leaving for college. You and the rest of your friendgroup was staying behind on Bayview for atleast another year, he was the only one leaving. Of course he was going far away, even with a timezone adjustment.

Neither of you could fall asleep, laying there in his now emptier bedroom. It was already close to 2am, but you were still awake. So much was going to change. Your entire daily lives. You spent almost every moment together, and now, he would be thousands of miles away.

"I can't believe I'm about to say this..." Simon suddenly started after you've both been silent for over an hour. "But I think I'm really gonna miss those two crazy lesbians." You chuckles. Maeve and Janae were both already a little off the rocker alone, but together they were fully unhinged. It was entertaining seeing their evolution, their awkward phases. You and Simon sort of felt like proud parents. You couldn't imagine how sad he must be to have to leave you all behind.

"I'm sure they're gonna miss you too." You wanted to reassure him the best you could, looking up at him and smiling. He smiled back. "You know what I'm gonna miss most?" He asked. You tilted your head. "You....r moms food oh my god it's good! Better than any restaurant I've ever been at that's for sure."

This jerk. This loveable, ridiculous jerk.

"C'mon Si! You're such a jerk." You jokingly swatted his arm and he started laughing. "I'm kidding sweetheart, I'm kidding. Of course I?m going to miss you the most..." he eached out and tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "Don't know how I'll make to without you for a year."

And truth be told, that was the last time you saw him for an antire year. All 4 of you knew this, but none of you were ready. Sure he was only one of 4 people, but him being gone still changed so much about the friendgroup. Noone to make mean sarcastic comments, noone to be a sugar daddy... noone to tell you were having his baby.

You had all mutually decided to, atleast for the first year, have as little contact as necessary. It really was a random decision. One of a couple scribbled ideas on a piece of papaer thrown into a hat and pulled from. Why you actually went with it you didn't know. You could have had daily facetimes, you could have had monthly game nights, but no. All 4 of you agreed to no contact. If only you'd known.

It was about 2 or 3 weeks after he left that you started feeling weird, sick, tired. One doctors appointment later and there you found yourself, pregnant and the father gone for atleast a year. You knew this was crazy, life altering. Yet you didn't tell him, even with Janae and Maeve saying you should. "He probably has so muc hgoing on! I don't want to throw a wrench into his plans..." you said. "It's not a wrench, it's a baby! His baby!"

You weren't fully sure why you kept it. It would have been way easier if you hadn't. Afterall, you still had your entire life ahead of you. you never imagined having a kid this young, if at all. You think it might have been the dream you had. The dream where you were in a house, a beautiful one, during a summer golden hour. You could see the sun coming in through the windows, you could hear the birds and laughter outside.

And outside, in the perfect house's perfect garden, was Simon, and a child. Your child. The child you just found out you were having. The sight was one that made you happy. So, so happy. You spent the next hour after waking up crying. Because it wasn't real? Because it could be? You didn't know, and you still don't.

So you kept it. You went through all of those months, right until the end. You had Janae and Maeve by your side, and even before it was born they were already amazing aunts, they bought it toys and clothes and even that one "Get the fuck to sleep" book. Without them, you proably wouldn't have made it. That can be said about a lot of things and situations. they were your lifeline, your anchor.

You'll never forget the moment you first saw her, your daughter. After hours and hours of pain and agony she was there. The moment you held her and saw her tiny, wrinkled face, you were sold. She was, in almost every way, a carbon copy of her father. It almost scared you. Not that you considered it, but it was then that you knew you were never giving her up to anyone. It was impossible. Your little Lucy.

Maeve and Janae basically lived with you, they helped you take care of Lucy so you weren't alone. Maeve got the hang of it a little faster than Janae but can you blame her? The amount of babies she's interacted with in her lifetime is 1, that 1 being Lucy.

~~~~~~~~~~

It's a warm, summer day when Simon finally returns home. A year since he last saw his friends, his family. He dropped his things off at home in a matter of minutes and then went straight to your house. He couldn't wait to see you again, to hug you and to tell you how much he missed you. He wonderef if you'd changed, and if how so? Did you change your appearance? Your lifestyle? Did you move on and find someone new?

He had started speed walking, almost jogging, before he realized it. He just couldn't wait anymore. He ran up the steps of your porch and rang the doorbell, waiting for it to open. Through the glass he could see Maeve, still the same as ever. She was the one who opened the door for him. "Wait, Simon? What are you doing here?" She pretty much jumped at him with glee. "Well, I wanted to come visit my 3 favorite girls." "Never ever say that again." Maeve threatened, and Simon put his hands up in defense. "J! It's Si! Can you go get (Y/N)?" Maeve yelled in teh direction of the livingroom, from which came a "Riger roger", followed by Janae walking up the stairs, cradling something in her arms.

"So how's college?" Maeve asked to make some small talk. She cared, she really did, but she moreso wanted to make time go by faster for him to see you, and to see Lucy. "C'mon, it's easy. Fuh-ck." Janae said from the stairs. He heard your laugh, that laugh he had been missing for an agonizing year. He turned and saw you, as beautiful/handsome/appealing as the day he last saw you. "Janae if you actually manage to make her first word fuck I'll give you 50 bucks."

He now saw the small thing clearly. A baby? Why was there a baby in your house? Surely you were just babysitting, right? Yea, totally. You didn't move on, you're just babysitting. Simon hardly had the time to fall into a spiral of thoughts before you pretty much launched yourself at him. He managed to steady himself so you two didn't fall over from the force. You stood there in eachothers arms for a while. "God I missed you, so, so much." You whuspered. "Missed you too, sweetheart" he responded.

When you pulled away you just looked at eachother, taking in your features. Your eyes quickly shot over to Janae, now sitting down, but still holding Lucy. Simon noticed. You noticed that he noticed. Now was the moment. Nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. Time to face the past year head-on. Maeve and Janae got the memo and gave Lucy back to you, leaving the two of you alone.

You sat down and didn't say anything for a while. You didn't know where to start. "Who are you babysitting for?" he asked. Good, you didn't have to start. But how to respond? "Oh I'm... I'm not babysitting..." you trailed off. He raised an eyebrow. "This..." you started, slightly turning her around so he could see her better. "is Lucy. She's... my daughter."

That moment destroyed him. You did move on, and not only did you move on, you had a child with them aswell. He was crushed. There went the one good thing he had. Goodbye future with you, goodbye happiness. He felt like everything was starting to blur and slip away, until you took his hand and looked at him. He looked at you. "She's... our daughter."

He had to do a mental double-take. Him? A father? There was no way that would go well. "Ours? When... when did this happen?" He kept looking from her to you and back again. "The night before you left, I guess. I was shocked, too."

"Why didn't you tell me... that I'm..." "A dad? I just... didn't want to tear you away from college, I guess. I mean, you're finally out of Bayview and you're immediately called back?" You explained. "Sweetheart this is different! You really should have told me!" "Oh, come on, you have your whole life infront of you, Simon! I wasn't going anywhere anyway." You tried to explain. "No, no, you really should have told me! I..." he stopped for a bit and took a breath, the look in his face changing, becoming somewhat softer. "I missed so much..."

"I wasn't here to help you. I missed her birth I..." He took another breath and wiped tears you didn't even realize were in his eyes. He grabbed your hand. "I'm a dad. You're a mom/dad/parent. We're parents. We have a daughter. I have missed way more that I ever should have. I don't care how you interject, I am switching to online classes and I'm moving back here."

"Simon-" he cut you off. "I'm serious, (Y/N). I'm not going anywhere. I don't care about college. I care about you. I care about our family." That made the wall break, the tears you had been holding back breaking free as you started crying. He pulled you in for a hug and you swore you could hear him sniffling too. "We're gonna do this. We've got eachother, and Maeve and Janae."

"IIf she does acrually teach her fuck as her first word I'll also give her 50 bucks." He joked. You pulled away and he looked at little Lucy in your arms. "Can I hold her?" "Of course" Anyone could tell he wasn't used to handling infants, but he'd be damned if he wasn't prepared to do his best.

You watched as he held her, looking over her with love in his eyes. "Hey Lucy. It's me, your dad. I know I missed a lot, but I'm not going anywhere anymore." You laid your head on his shoulder. "We really have a Lucy now..." "We do indeed" you responded.

Any time the two of you played a game where you could have children, be it Sims, Minecraft comes alive or otherwise, the fist one was always, even if you had to cheat, a little girl named Lucy. Neither of you knew exactly why Lucy, but it stuck. And now here she was.

Your litte Lucy.

ALRIGHT HERE YOU ARE I HOPE THIS WAS GOOD this ended up at 1927 words which is really great, I'm so happy that I'm still managing to write stuff!! SIMIN IS A GIRL DAD AND NOONE CAN MAKE ME THINK OTHERWISE THANK YOU AND GOODNIGHT

~Taglist~ @pine-ferret

[dangerously-human]

Bible study bestie asked me when I saw her on Friday for her husband's birthday dinner if I was feeling Some Type Of Way about this summer ending my time with the young adults group. And I said no, it feels a little strange but I know I'm ready to join a new group, and she expressed relief and added that some people had been saying things like "are you really going to kick Rachel out just because she's turning 31" and heavily implying that I was unhappy about it. To which I replied, "You are the person I am closest to; if I was upset about something, you'd be the person I'd come to about it anyway, but even more so if I was somehow upset with you for enforcing this rule - I think we're pretty good at addressing things directly." Which, like, I guess maybe, if I were a petty person, I could consider it being on her - before she and her husband took over, the group never really had a stop point, it was just assumed to be thirty-something, and I happen to be the first person officially aging out. But that's a completely reasonable expectation, and she and I have been talking about it all year, planning for the future, and we're going to join the next group together (while she keeps running this one), so it doesn't especially feel like a big deal. I think she feels a tiny bit guilty, because usually when people have moved on, it's because of getting married/having kids, but there are plenty of single women in the women's group, I'm not worried about that.

She was relieved, anyway, and it kicked off a good conversation for us; but I guarantee you the worry attributed to me was coming from the young whippersnapper, who's been kind of freaking out about losing me lately, I think. Well, I know, actually, because part of his confession letter was this whole thing about how he panics a little whenever I talk about moving after I graduate and starts thinking maybe he should just come with me. (Oof.) I know he's operating from a schema of friend abandonment, and I've been trying to reassure him he's solidly stuck with me - while also putting some temporary distance in place to give him space to move past his crush, so on review, maybe it kind of seems like I don't mean it. As always, I'm a little frustrated by the unearned possessiveness while sympathetic to where it's coming from. Oddly, though, BSB seemed to imply this was coming from more than one person, which seems strange to me, because the only other people I'm close with in the group don't really come anymore, so I'd be surprised if they voiced concern about me not being there. Sort of the opposite, even: I've thought for a while that my "graduation" might end up being the final kick for the adventurer to stop coming, not exactly because of me specifically, but it's kind of far since he moved, and we've been the older pair for quite some time now - teased fairly often as "Mom and Dad" - so without me there, he might feel less like he belongs. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Idk, the whole thing is weird - not bad, just strange. It's a transition, and I have to be intentional about making time to see these friends when we won't automatically cross paths every Wednesday, and I should make it clear to them that I do plan to do that so it doesn't look like I've outgrown them. And I don't really love that my only real Bible study options from here are sex-segregated, but that's not really a requirement, it's just that the only other combined ones are during the workday, so mostly for retirees. I do think that's a weird pattern in churches, though. This post is getting so long and I'm not even sure I'll actually post it after all, I'm just having lots of thoughts and August is the time to be thinking about endings and beginnings and the melancholy in between, isn't it?

[nehswritesstuffs]

HEART PIRATES WEEK 2024 - Part 4 of 9

I told myself last year that I was going to participate in Heart Pirates Week this year, and by thunder I'm going to participate in Heart Pirates Week!

Day Four: Ikkaku - Night

669 words; this is me pouring one out to the times I worked late shifts, especially the midnights; this one is very safe for work, actually, but does reference potentially disordered eating out of one (1) individual, so that’s a thing to watch for I guess; again: what is proofreading lol

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Shift assignments were honestly not the worst thing in the world, but honestly… most of them had experienced much worse. Three sets of mandatory shifts, eight hours each; that would last for a month before everything was reassigned, four shifts of six hours. The months would cycle as such, with people getting shuffled back and forth with little care as to where they ended up. Things were always new and different that way. Besides, most people still hung out with one another even when they weren’t on their mandatory shift, making things somewhat different from the traditional sailing vessels.

Then again, when one rides in a submarine in a world of sail and paddle boats, everything is a little different, isn’t it?

The only thing that wasn’t different, Ikkaku knew, was the overnight shift. It was her sixth month in a row working the overnight detail and she was beginning to wonder if the goobers that drew the lots every month had it out for her. Uni had tagged her out of the boiler room for a break, allowing her the chance to head to the top deck and enjoy the breeze that they were afforded thanks to giving the engines a break and unfurling their own sail.

It was quiet, peaceful even, as she listened to the soft sound of the waves against the metal hull of the ship. They had already passed into the climate zone of an Autumn Island, the gentle currents guiding them the rest of the way to their destination. It was the sort of silence that was reassuring and calming for some and yet restless and loud for another. A thought of the Captain crossed her mind; he was likely pacing around his tiny cabin with no sleep, no dinner, and no plans to rectify either. She sighed heavily; might as well check.

Trying to not make too much noise, Ikkaku went back below deck to the mess hall, where she found the log where everyone who watched the Captain eat something. It was last updated by Bepo that morning (dry breakfast cereal, coffee, banana); the math wasn’t difficult. When she couldn’t find whichever idiot was supposed to be on kitchen duty, she scraped together what she could find (an apple, some carrots with salad dressing, a tin of herring) and brought it along with the herbal tea that Bepo instructed everyone how to make. She went to the Captain’s quarters with the tray in-hand and knocked on the door. Sure enough, Law opened it much faster than if he had been sleeping, and the stack of books and papers on his desk wasn’t helping any.

“What’s this?” He eyed the contents of the tray and scowled, realization slowly creeping onto his face. “I’m not hungry.”

“You haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

“How do you know?”

“A birdie told me. Now are you going to eat or am I going to have a snack while I clean out the boilers?”

The Captain thought about that for half a second before taking the tray and closing the door behind him. Ikkaku stood there and waited for his brain to catch up, then his manners. In moments he was opening the door again with a cowed expression on his face.

“Thank you,” he mumbled. “I know you’re not my mom, or my maid. Mechanics have better things to do than watch over me.”

“That’s right,” she replied. “I will beat your ass if I catch you not eating on my shift when you’re up during it. You understand?”

“Yeah.” He didn’t make eye contact as they stood there, the doorway suddenly feeling rather small. “Can I go now?”

Ikkaku patted the Captain atop his head and smirked. “Yeah.” He then retreated quickly, which allowed her to head back to the mess hall and write down in the log that food was at least accepted before she got back to Uni and the boiler room.

At least she knew the rest of her sift would be quiet.

[thestoriesthatweweave]

Omgg so glad you’re doing the wip ask game too! It’s hard to choose but I’m way too curious abt ”uncles of the year award” 👀😅 but if that was done already ”A Bridge of Ink” also sounds alluring~

Thank you!! I look forward to seeing your snippets :D I did "uncles of the year award" here already, but have an additional snippet:

Ouyang came into the room after the Third Prince had left. He looked at the soiled bathwater with an expression like he had smelled something foul, and said, "Aren't you ashamed of yourself?" "Why," Baoxiang asked, "are you jealous? He does look a great deal like-" he broke himself off. The fragile peace their lives were built on rested on never mentioning Esen. He felt unmoored. He was never going to accept the drugs again, no matter how bad the pain got. The Third Prince's words kept echoing in his ears, and looking at Ouyang, Baoxiang thought, this will destroy him. The idea should have filled him with pleasurable, vicious anticipation, but all he felt instead was a sick dread.

A Bridge of Ink is the epilogue to the time travel AU. The title comes from the fact that I'm keeping a landmarks theme for the titles in this AU and from it being epistolary, and is also bit of a reference (if you squint) to the magpie bridge of Chinese mythology, which Esen also mentions in one of his letters:

We have been here for three months now. It is the double seventh festival today, and I find myself melancholic. How I wish for a magpie bridge to cross the divide between us!  In case you miss me too, I'll confess to a measure of foolishness you might find flattering, or at least amusing. There is only one man in this garrison worth a damn, a unit captain surnamed Jiang. He's clever, hard-working and has demonstrated impeccable taste by expressing admiration of your military victories during the founding of the Great Ming. Despite that, I have found he sets my teeth on edge, because he is precisely the sort of man you like: handsome, well-built and competent (I flatter myself with this last one). In short, I am terribly jealous of a man you've never met and will probably never meet. Just because he might get one appreciative glance of yours! But who can blame me, when I am so undeserving of you and when your appreciative glances are so precious? Every day I live in fear of you realizing how poor a bargain you have made in tying yourself to me.  (I can imagine your glare quite clearly! Don't worry, darling, I am quite secure in your love - or at least in your terrible taste. But feel free to reassure me at length of your continued and enduring affection! I'll be waiting.) 

WIP game here!

[slutforsfender]

hey! just read your photo booth one shot and loved it so much!!! i just saw sam at trnsmt and it was his first time headlining anything, so i was wondering if you could write something about sams gf being scottish and going with him and the boys to the festival and just being so proud of him. no pressure at all and feel free to change any details as you’d like💙💙

TRNSMT (Request)

Sam Fender x Reader

Today was one of your favourite weekends of the whole year, this year is even more special. TRNSMT. You truly were proud to be Scottish during this festival and every year you were always in love with this weekend. However this year was so much more special as your boyfriend, Sam, headlined the Saturday.

You were currently getting ready to go meet Sam in his dressing room at Glasgow Green. You were buzzing around with excitement as you got your things ready and got into your car.

During your car ride, you couldn't help but replay his past years performing and bursting with pride over him headlining. You truly saw how much he glowed on a Scottish stage, being surprised at the reaction he got from the crowd.

You walked into the dressing room and were engulfed by boyish screams as they were over the top with excitement for their show.

"Hey darlin', you alright?" Sam asked as he pulled you into his chest, your happy place.

"Of course I am, I'm so excited for you and proud. How are you?" You replied, kissing his cheek after.

"Nervous of course being the headliner and all but better now you're here," He said, kissing your forehead and making you smile.

"Sam come on, Scottish crowds love you and I can tell you that with no ounce of a lie as a true Scotsman" You reassure him.

"I just wanna get out there," He said, basically bouncing all over the place.

The rest of your day until his set was spent stood by his side reassuring him of how much your country adored him, how much you loved him, and how proud you were.

They all made their way onto the stage with their final words and hugs. Sam gave you a wink as he pulled the guitar over his shoulder as you said "Scots love you Sam, go smash it".

The familiar tune of Will We Talk played as they walked out, one of your favourites. Soon as Sam grabbed the mic and started singing, you started screaming next to the stage and lived your best life.

You admired the way he played the guitar and sang with everything he had. You were so proud of how far he had come from playing on a small stage to headlining and everything else he had achieved this year so far.

You teared up as you watched him stare in shock at the crowd just before playing Spice which you knew was one of his favourites because he loved watching the crowd go wild, especially to his songs.

You couldn't help but burst out laughing as the crowd shouted with their lungs, "FUCK THE TORIES". Sam of course edged them on which made you laugh your heart out but also joined in with your Scottish accent being as evident as ever.

Soon enough The Dying Light started playing which made Sam give you a little look as he knew how much it meant to you, even getting it tattooed onto your skin. You screamed the lyrics with pride as happy tears streamed down your face watching him.

All you could think was that is your boyfriend on that stage. Your heart had that tingling swelled feeling and you wouldn't change it for the world. This was your happy place, watching him live his dreams with you side stage bursting with pride.

It came towards the end of the set with just Hypersonic Missiles left and you knew a Sam speech was coming, so you had your tissue ready to sort your mascara.

"It's fucking mental to be here. It's just really the most bizarre experience headlining anything. I have imposter syndrome to the max right now like. Stood up here going what the fuck is going on. We fucking grew up with them two Kasabian albums, them first two like. It's just fucking bizarre. I kept just going around today going what's going on. It's fucking bizarre, it's fucking stupid. Thank you so much, you're legends. We'll be back soon. Ganna try to not have a major fucking panic attack. Let's play the song that got us into this mess. Glasgow goodnight!" You watched your boyfriend speak into the mic.

The oh's soon followed as Sam played the guitar and looked at you with shock. You mouthed 'I love you' before he started singing with the Scottish crowd and his Geordie best mates.

You watched your fellow Scots jump and scream to his songs with all their power, accents radiating all over the place. And you knew at that moment Sam had become a beloved artist within your culture.

He soon walked off stage, making a b-line towards you, picking you up, and spinning you. You wiped the small tears that had fallen from his eyes as he looked into your tearful eyes.

"That was fucking mental like" He spoke as you kissed his cheek.

"I think you're an honoree Scotsman now can't lie like" You laughed as he made a face of disgust in reference to your constant battle of Geordie and Scotland.

"Do you reckon your family will love me now?" He said in reference to your dad's constant joke of him headlining TRNSMT.

"They always have Sam," You say.

He just nods and kisses you.

"I'm so proud of you Sam, I can't even put it into words. From supporting Springsteen to St James and now this. I'm so happy to be your girlfriend and I'm so proud of you Sam Fender" You speak to him.

He didn't have to reply, he just hugged you and muttered 'I love you' as he teared up with shock and happiness.

----

I just want to stay this one of my favourite requests of all time. I know that sounds stupid but if you don't know a lot of my family is scottish and I even have a weird scottish twist on my accent. So Sam headlining TRNSMT means so much to me because it's a big thing to me, I watch it every year and yeah I just loved writing this. i cried a lot writing this. a new favourite anon. sorry for getting soppy, love you all and enjoy - ash x

[ask-richard-jackdaw]

I never understood all the fuss surrounding the choice of a House by some magical talking hat, so let me tell you this: I'm keeping my House a secret ;) It is more fun that way, I enjoy people interpreting my words, actions, hobbies, and aspirations! I think I could've been sorted anywhere, really. I've met plenty of people that didn't seem to fit in with the typical traits. 

There's been a long discussion concerning this topic among some students, maybe you know Elizabeth and her friends? Such observant young ladies! Sometimes it feels like they know me better than I know myself! But let me take you through some of my thoughts. Once again, not naming my House ;)

Ravenclaw: my smarts! Need to solve a puzzle? I'm your man ghost! I'm also rather curious. As you know, I've travelled the world, have decades worth of learning behind my shoulders. Some argue that I am not that smart (which is, first of all, ouch?) but do I really have to have perfect grades for that? So what if I don't know the difference between French, Latin, and Greek? I am sharp at what I find interesting and what I might need in the future. And what about emotional intelligence? Plus, I think wearing blue would rather suit me! If all Ravenclaws were academically inclined — Ravenclaws would've won every since House Cup ever! 

Some people might want to put me in Slytherin for, er... Well, stealing a wand during my apprenticeship at Olivander's. To which I have to say: I doubt things like that have anything to do with a specific House, Slytherins are not bad people! I had my reasons and I am not proud of stealing anything. I should probably visit the current Mr. Olivander and explain myself... Most of the Slytherin traits do not fit me. Self-preservation especially, Merlin's beard, if only I hadn't gone to that cave alone! 

Gryffindor sounds like a good fit! I was described more than chivalrous on multiple occasions. And once again, bravely going into the cave alone, and then having the nerve to deal with the spiders, determined to get to the end... Although a lot of that was done because Anne never showed up. I was rather upset and now that I think about it, initially I didn't even want to go there alone at all... I am so glad I managed to track down that Auror that somebody mentioned a while ago, hoping to get Anne out of Azkaban. We are just waiting for the Ministry's reply at this point. But I digress.

And then Hufflepuff... I suppose that with trying to get Anne out we can speak of fairness and justice? But patience? Oh no. I might work hard on the things that I like but not everything else! Modesty and Loyalty? Oh, well... Those do not sound reassuring either...

My point is: there is no need to try and sort me into any of the House. I will be in whatever House you guys want me to be~ Speaking of which... If there is anybody who is willing to let me borrow their extra robes for when Thursdays come around when I am corporal — please, let me know! I do not want to alert the staff to my... visits, and since I still look like a 7th year, I think I can pass! 

*Richard writes this letter specifically without naming anybody just yet. He passes the letter to his Scribe, and as per their agreement earlier, the Scribe casts Geminio on the paper, successfully duplicating it. Satisfied, Richard proceeds to do separate introductions for both Indi and Anon on two different parchments, finishing with:*

With much appreciation for your question,

Richard Jackdaw

[fisherpiers]

Seems you have problems with Amity so how come you ain't a fan of her?

okay lemme take a deep breath and gather up my receipts. hope you’re ready for a whole fucking essay.

do i think her designs cute? yeah sure. she’s adorable. and marketable. easy to slap on disney social media posts during pride month.

do i like that her attraction to girls is treated as good and natural and not scary? yes. for the owl house’s message, and helping kids grow up without thinking they’re monsters, this is good.

okay now that i’ve pointed out the good, lemme tell you why i hate her.

and this got too long so here’s the shortened version. the reasons she most rubs me the wrong way. and it’s still too fucking long lol

1. first things first. she’s the hexsquad’s bully. she was horrible to willow and luz and she never really puts in the work to make up for this. well. she does for luz. not willow, however. her main victim.

AMITYS VERY FIRST APPEARANCE IS TREATING WILLOW LIKE SHIT AND DESTROYING HER CONFIDENCE. WITH NO PROVOCATION. okay? and then that episode ends with ames trying to get luz dissected.

it’s not even an “amity let bosha, her best friend that she replaced willow with, terrorize willow and thus is responsible as a bystander” situation. no, amity is shown personally going out of her way to be an asshole.

and then in that fucking library episode she says “i know what you are now, luz. you’re a bully!” like bitch?? excuse me? you were literally regular and cyber bullying luz and willow in the episode previous to it. literally she bullies them and then the very next episode calls luz a bully (for some shit her siblings were doing, not even luz)

and then she just assimilates herself back into the friend group, as if nothing happened. willow and gus tolerate it bc they’re not assholes. but the tension is there. on screen even.

like that whole hair braiding scene. wtf was that. amity braiding willows hair does not make up for years of her making willows life a living hell. willow frowns while it happens. and the whole reason amity even came to talk to willow in the first place was to talk about luz. she is only there bc she needs something. it was all about her relationship with luz, not willow.

i know i’ve said this many times before but i think willow should get to clock amity in the jaw. at least once.

and willow should’ve been fucking pissed when luz started getting romantically involved with amity. luz and willow should’ve had a fight about it.

they call back to the tension again in “thanks to them”. the scene in the museum. they feel the need to have to reassure the audience that things are fine between the kids, totally no tension at all. you know bc amity hasn’t actually apologized and they just sort of swept everything she did under the rug.

(another part of “thanks to them” when she tells hunter to go change his silly outfit. not an egregious sin but it’s still mean.)

“understanding willow” wasn’t enough. all amity does it throw out her little sob story excuse for first abandoning willow and then bullying her. probably only bc luz was there to make her feel bad about all of it. which is not a proper apology. WHICH LEADS ME TO MY NEXT POINT.

2. and here’s where it gets personal. amity’s sob story is that she has shitty parents. cool. me too. and i ain’t ever bullied anyone bc of it.

i’ve got literally the same parents. a manipulative control-freak mother and a father who just sorta lets her terrorize his children and make all the family’s decisions bc he’s too busy or scared of her to care. all the same pressure to do perfectly at school and weird fixation on my hair, even, and i’m just fine. my mother belittling me every time i breathed didn’t make me feel the need to make other kids’ lives miserable. get better coping mechanisms.

and i know the “amity doesn’t even try to fight it when her mother gets the hexsquad expelled in ‘escaping expulsion’” thing is a reason other people don’t like amity for, but no i understand this one. i would’ve been too afraid to cross my mother too. so she gets a pass on that ig

oh and mentioning that ep, bonus round. 3. that scene where she walks into her house and immediately throws her clothes on the floor for the butler to pick up pisses me off

sigh. it’s not that i think people can’t change, in fact i’d be perfectly fine with her if she actually made things right with willow. i just wish she would’ve. on-screen.

[k-s-morgan]

Hi! Sending love your way. <3

I was wondering - I know you spoke about what sort of story you would have written for Merlin, with Merlin reliving his life basically and killing all of Arthur’s enemies before they could hurt Arthur… do you have any plot ideas for what you would be interested in writing for Magnus and Alec, if you were to write something for them? I know you only write for specific ships; just hypothetically, what sort of story between them would be interesting for you. :)

(Referencing this post)

Hello! Thank you <3

I do have an idea for Magnus and Alec - in fact, I started writing this story and I was very excited about it, but then the war happened and I lost my drive. I might go back to it one day. This was the summary:

Young Magnus after the decades-long chaos he unleashed under Asmodeus’ guidance, staggering under the weight of everything he’s done.

Older Magnus slowly withering from Camille’s sweet cruelty, losing himself to heartbreak and a persistent thought, Why am I never enough?

No matter when, no matter how, Alec loves him always. And if he has to spend time in the past, he will do it by Magnus’ side, nurturing and cradling him, and making him see he’s worth it.

The story is set in a post-canon period, and it's an excuse for me to write about Alec meeting and comforting Magnus during the worst periods of his life, giving him the kind of love he needed.

Basically, Alec goes to the Seelie realm and asks to be made immortal because he doesn't want to ever leave Magnus. He's given an ultimatum: if he's serious about his wish for immortality, he has to prove it by spending thirty random years in the AU realm (time goes differently there, so he won't be missed in his world). If he still wants to live forever after this, so be it. Alec agrees but asks to be sent to places where Magnus is at.

If someone's interested, here is what I wrote so far. Obviously unedited.

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

“I’ve developed quite a bit of respect for you, Alec Lightwood,” Meliorn drawled. The greenish lights of the Seelie realm gave his crown an unnatural, eerie glint. “And Magnus is, shall we say, a friend. After the death of my predecessor the Queen, it is well within my powers to bless you with immortality and freeze your youth in the shape that it is now… On one condition.” 

“I’m listening,” Alec said. His heart was trying to pick up the pace but he took several slow breaths, bringing it to a steady rhythm.

He had to trust that Meliorn wouldn’t ask for something impossible. That this would be a condition he would be able to follow and that it wouldn’t make Magnus hate him.

A sharp smirk on Meliorn’s face wasn’t very reassuring. 

“I will open a portal to another realm for you,” he spoke at last. “A realm very similar to our world. Spend thirty years there, and when you come back, we will see what you think of immortality.”

“What?” Of all things he expected, this wasn’t among even the least likely scenarios.

 Meliorn shrugged.

“Immortality is a curse as much as it is a gift. You cannot understand what you’re asking for now even if you think that you do. Have a taste of what time is. Live for thirty additional years, and if the perspective of the eternity doesn’t scare you then, I will grant your wish.”

For a moment, the eternal lights of the Seelie realm dimmed. His brain short-circuited, and Alec shook his head slowly, desperate to make sense of it all.

It was a condition he could follow. Being exiled to another world for thirty years was bearable as long as he knew that his future with Magnus was waiting for him afterward — a bright and cherished future he would do anything to secure. But…

“I will not leave Magnus for thirty years,” Alec said harshly. Thoughts about his family came next, and his brows furrowed even more. “And I can’t leave Izzy and Jace for so long, not when they can be dead by the time I return.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about it,” Meliorn waved his hand dismissively. “Time flows differently in every realm. For you, it will be thirty years — for everyone else here, it will be thirty days. Does that sound acceptable to you?”

Alec inhaled. Then exhaled; inhaled once more.

For Magnus, he reminded himself. For saving him from ever having to mourn me.

He could do it. He could live thirty years away from everything he loved.

On the other hand…

“I have a condition of my own,” he said, and the firmness of his own voice took him aback. Meliorn arched an eyebrow in a silent question. “I agree to your terms, but I want to spend these decades near Magnus of that realm. Is it possible?”

A small intrigued smile curled Meliorn’s lips upward.

“Don’t you think that this way, you’ll get sick of him even before the time runs out?” he wondered. Rage spiraled up, and it must have shown on Alec’s face because Meliorn suddenly grew serious.

“I can send you to where he is,” he agreed. “But I cannot control when or how it will happen. I also can’t tell you how many years you’ll spend in what time. You could be stuck in the seventeenth century for two decades and then spend several years in the 1900th before jumping another century. Opening the portal to a specific location and setting the time is all I can do.”

“I accept,” Alec said quickly, and when his heart jumped in — tension? excitement? again, he ignored it, squaring his shoulders instead. Magnus was Magnus, no matter which world or time he came from, and having him nearby would make these thirty years go by faster.

He just hoped he would find him quickly.

***

Alec landed in the middle of the forest. His hand clenched around his bow instinctively, but everything was quiet — no demons, no immediate danger in the vicinity.

Carefully, he activated the two runes Clary had come up with for him. One would make him fluent in whatever language people of this world were using; the other one would make him aware of the current time and date.

A predictable burn was followed by a wave of sudden awareness. May 17th, 1660.

If Magnus of this realm shared a birthday with his Magnus, then he was… about fifty? So young. He must have stopped aging only three decades ago.  

An involuntarily smile began to slide over Alec’s face when a cold realization burst through, freezing him in his spot.

If Magnus was fifty and the events here followed the events of Alec’s world at least partly, then he was still with Asmodeus or fresh after banishing him. Even two years after being married, Magnus was reluctant to discuss that time. Alec knew practically nothing about it other than the fact that Magnus hated himself for whatever he’d done and that sometimes it haunted his dreams — no matter how many soothing words Alec murmured to him, it lessened the guilt on his face only somewhat.

A branch snapped behind him. Alec whirled around, his bow at the ready, but what he saw made his grip instantly loosen.

Magnus was standing in front of him, in a dirty red outfit with black stripes and an equally dirty sleeveless jacket. His hair was wild, and there was only a touch of black eyeliner around his eyes.

Their gazes met. For a moment, Magnus stared at him as if he’d seen a ghost, and then he bent over with laughter.

Normally, seeing Magnus laughing would put an immediate answering smile on Alec’s face. But this laughter wasn’t right. It was hysterical, it was broken, and it only sent chills down his spine.

“A Shadowhunter,” Magnus murmured. His hands kept twitching nervously, as if unsure what to do. “Of course I ran into you. Of course.”

Alec opened his mouth to say something — anything. His instincts couldn’t distinguish this Magnus from the Magnus he loved, and they were roaring to life now, demanding that he do something to remove this terrible expression from his face.       

Before he had a chance to figure out what to do, Magnus dropped to his knees, and Alec’s breath hitched.

“Well?” a voice so familiar and so beloved sounded unacceptably bitter. “Aren’t you going to do your job? Arrest me or kill me, or whatever it is you followed me here for.”

“I didn’t follow you,” Alec managed to utter. His heart was pounding violently, his own knees trying to buckle under him. “What… do you need help?”

Magnus stared at him incredulously before bursting in a new fit of laughter. 

“Is this some new trick?” he gasped. “Are you supposed to play nice and pretend you know nothing before taking me in? Can’t say I see the point.”   

It was too much. Whatever Alec had been expecting from this realm and from its version of Magnus, this wasn’t it — this was worse than any worst scenarios he could have imagined. Seeing him in pain for even one moment was an unbearable prospect, and so Alec crossed the distance between them and dropped to the ground, carefully pulling Magnus into his arms.

The laughter stopped. Magnus went still, and Alec stroked his back and put his head on his shoulder, something in him finally settling in comfort.

For some time, none of them spoke. Then Magnus asked, “What are you doing?”

His voice was small and hesitant. Alec tightened his grip protectively.

“Calming you down,” he murmured. “Is it working?”

Magnus let out a hoarse, bewildered chuckle, but he didn’t attempt to move.

“Don’t you know who I am?” he asked instead. “Because if you—”

“I know. It doesn’t matter.”

“I killed people. I slaughtered villages and watched them burn. I was doing the bidding of the Greater Demon for almost forty years — you can’t tell me it doesn’t matter.”

“But you banished him. Eventually, you banished him, because you knew it was wrong.”

Magnus tried to snort, but it came out as a sob. His body shook, and then he wrapped his own hands around Alec, clutching at him, holding him as tightly as Alec was holding him.

“How can it make a difference?” he asked breathlessly. His chest was rising and falling at a concerning pace. “It’s too late now. I realized what he was too late. So many people dead — I can’t take it back now. I can never atone for it. You should execute me right here, I’m sure your superiors will support this decision wholeheartedly.”

“I told you, I’m not going to do that,” Alec said distantly. His mind was racing in several directions at once, trying to understand what to do.

He had no idea what country they were in and whether any Institute was nearby. One thing was clear: he had to take Magnus to safety. He brought gold with him that he could sell in exchange for a shelter, but that required leaving Magnus for some time, and he wasn’t willing to risk it.

“You should,” Magnus insisted. His words turned into gasps as he fought to breathe. Alec tried to lean back in alarm, but Magnus’ hands tore into him, holding him in place. “You should,” he repeated weakly. “You should… you should… you—”

The remaining fight went out of his body. His head dropped, and Alec finally managed to pull back a little.   

Magnus was unconscious. Maybe it was for the best — in his state, Alec wasn’t certain he would be able to control his magic. And this gave him the time he needed to figure out where to go.

Magnus had come here on foot. It meant that there had to be a road, a village, or something similar nearby: all Alec had to do was find it.

Activating his Strength and Speed runes, he picked Magnus up. Then he took off.

***

It took him an hour to find a village and pay for a small unoccupied house on its territory. Magnus was still unconscious, and Alec put him to bed, covering him with a thick blanket.

Something was wrong. Magnus’ skin was burning, and he kept murmuring words that Alec couldn’t understand despite his rune. The feeling of helplessness gripped his chest, and it kept tightening with every passing hour.

What could he do? He was surrounded by the mundanes. He couldn’t risk contacting other Shadowhunters, and he had no idea where to find trustworthy warlocks of this time.

Maybe he could try sending a fire message to Catarina or Ragnor. They must have been alive at this point, right?

But did they even know Magnus? Would they risk coming to an unfamiliar place upon the request of a Shadowhunter?

His panic began to steal his own breath. Alec stood up, his body moving on autopilot, trying to create a semblance of activity, when Magnus’ eyes flew open. They shone golden, and the sight knocked the breath right out of Alec’s chest.

“Magnus,” he whispered. He dropped back into his chair and tried to catch his gaze. “How are you feeling?”

Magnus’ unfocused stare travelled to him and stopped. Widened. The same haunted look from before sharpened his features, etching misery into them.

“You,” he murmured flatly. “You are still here.”

“This place is safe,” Alec told him. His hand reached for Magnus carefully, freezing when he flinched away.

Right. Magnus had no reasons to trust him.

“Something is wrong with you,” Alec said instead. “You have a fever and I’m not sure how to fight it in these conditions. Is there someone I could call for you? A friend or—”

“It doesn’t matter,” Magnus closed his eyes again. His breathing grew labored. “No one can help. My magic is poisoning me.”

“What?” Alec straightened as a new wave of panic flooded him. This couldn’t be true. “Why?”   

Sweat was glistening on Magnus’ forehead. His body was shaking, and even though he spoke, he didn’t open his eyes again.

“Because all my life, I’ve been using it for evil. Now that I understood what I’ve done, it’s trying to change… to become healing rather than destructive. But it’s too late.”

“No, it’s not,” Alec snapped back. As always in situations like this, his voice came out harsh and unyielding, but Magnus didn’t seem to even hear him.

 “The good and the bad are clashing,” he mumbled distantly. “I can never go back to destruction, not after what I’ve realized, and there isn’t enough good in me to win this fight. They can’t coexist in their current quantities, and they can’t destroy each other entirely, so sooner or later, it’s going to kill me.” 

“No,” Alec repeated, even as his heart jumped to his throat. This couldn’t be happening. Had his Magnus ever had the same problem? If so, he survived it — something helped him survive it. A solution existed, Alec just had to find it.

“Shouldn’t you be happy about it, Shadowhunter.” The way it was structured, it had to be a question, but Magnus’ voice weakened too much to make the right inflection. “I’ll spare you the trouble. Since you seem too soft-hearted to do your job and kill me.”

“I’m not going to—” Alec started, but it was too late. Magnus’s body slackened further as he was once again lost to whatever visions tormented his mind.

Taking a deep calming breath, Alec unclenched his fists. Then, just as slowly, he stood up and walked to the oddly shaped table, measuring each of his steps. There was a basket with cold water there, so he put a piece of cloth into it, let it soak, and went back to Magnus. Pressed it to his forehead gingerly.   

He had to think logically. He had to act on this logic, not succumb to his emotions.

Trying to contact Catarina or Ragnor was always an option. Magnus had said no one would be able to help him, but judging from his state of mind, it wasn’t necessarily true. Still, it shouldn’t be the primary option either. There were too many uncertainties involved for Alec to feel comfortable.

Magnus had also claimed that there wasn’t enough goodness in him to overcome or even balance out the destructiveness of his magic, but Alec knew perfectly well how wrong he was. Magnus was good — kindness comprised his entire foundation, and whatever he’d done with Asmodeus, it was because he didn’t know any better.  

He was the only one in the world with eyes like me. He was my father.

Maybe Magnus himself didn’t know how good he was, but Alec did. And if he managed to convince him… if he succeeded, then maybe Magnus’ magic would shift accordingly.

Magic wasn’t the biggest problem here, it was Magnus himself. If he started wanting to fight, to survive, this could be enough to save him. But how to reach him when he spent most of the time unconscious, and when he was awake, he was in a too poor of a state to listen to reason? Especially when that reason came from a Shadowhunter he didn’t know, the last person he should technically trust.

It was still something, though. It was better than nothing. Alec had talked to his Magnus when he was in a coma from overusing Lorenzo’s magic, so small and vulnerable in that hospital bed — he could do the same now.

But talking to him didn’t help last time, an unpleasant voice reminded him. He didn’t wake up at once.

“But he woke up later,” Alec said aloud. His fingers were digging into the skin of his hand, pinching and bruising it, and as soon as he noticed, he jerked them away.

Talking. He could do some talking. And whether it helped or not, this was something Magnus deserved to hear.

***

Alec waited for another twenty minutes, hoping to bring the fever down. When this didn’t happen, he clasped Magnus’ hand in his, bringing it to his lips.

“I hope you can hear me,” he said quietly. “I need you to listen because this is important. You have always been good, Magnus. Only a good person would be able to recognize that what they’re doing is wrong when they never knew anything else. You were born different. Your mother couldn’t handle it, but that was her decision. You are not responsible for her death. You were a child — a sweet child who deserved better than finding his mother dead and being immediately attacked by his stepfather. You protected yourself against him and his words the only way you knew how. No one that age can be held accountable for hurting someone, especially after a trauma like this.”

Magnus didn’t regain consciousness, but he also stopped twitching restlessly. Encouraged by this, Alec dropped another reverent kiss on his wrist.

“You survived,” he continued. “Even at that age, after losing your family, without knowing who you are, you managed to survive. Only a strong person could do that. When Asmodeus found you, you were a child starved for everything, from food to basic human connection. And unlike others, Asmodeus didn’t turn away from you, not even when you showed him your eyes. On the contrary, he proved that he was just like you, and you loved him from that point on.”

  A small incoherent sound escaped Magnus’ lips. Alec leaned toward him, gently brushing his fingers against his face.

Still hot. But he couldn’t expect instant results.

“Even when you followed Asmodeus’ wishes, you did it out of love,” he said. “Not because you wanted to destroy anyone. You wanted to make him proud, to make him keep loving you. You never wanted someone’s death, Magnus, so even then, you weren’t evil. Lost, confused, yes, but not evil, never that. You are the best person I’ve ever known and nothing could change it.”

Magnus didn’t react, but that was all right. Alec had many things to say. If he had to, he would keep saying them indefinitely.

***

“—the kind of man who would accept and nurture any Downworlder in need of help,” Alec was muttering. It was the second day now, and save for several hours he used to sleep, he didn’t stop speaking. “Being guided by you would be an honor for any of them. You would be kind and understanding, patient and sensitive to whatever they are going through — because it’s you. You wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Alec was so focused on pushing himself to keep talking that it took him some time to notice that Magnus was awake. A jolt tore through him, nearly making him fall off his chair, but the excitement was tempered by quick realization that Magnus’ gaze was dull, with only minimal flickers of awareness.

Still, it was an improvement. It had to be. And Magnus was looking at him, so even if he didn’t understand any words, he was listening — this was more than Alec could have hoped for after hours of no change.

Gently, he pressed his hand to Magnus’ face.

“Anyone who needs help would choose to come to you,” he said. “Because despite your jokes and your eye rolls, you would never be able to turn down someone vulnerable and lonely. That’s who you are. The kindest and most compassionate man to ever walk the earth.”   

Magnus blinked. Something more conscious flickered in his eyes, and Alec’s heart skipped a beat.

“I can see some of the future,” he blurted out. “And everything I see in yours is a testament to what a wonderful person you are. One day, you are going to save a young man named Raphael. He’ll be a recently turned vampire with no knowledge or understand of the world he stumbled into. If not for you, he would lose his identity and become a monster. You’ll save him. You’ll teach him how to survive and still be himself, and he will always be grateful to you. You are going to change the lives of so many people… and just for that, you need to hold on. Your magic can be good, you only need to believe it.”

This time, there was definitely awareness in Magnus’ stare. Some wariness, too — he was watching Alec like he wasn’t certain what to make of him, whether he was trustworthy in any way.

So Alec resumed talking, and he didn’t stop for a long time.

***

When Magnus’ mind wandered off again, Alec took a brief trip outside. He refilled their water supplies, bought some food from an unsmiling woman, and rushed back inside. Magnus was still sleeping, and since there was no way to make him eat anything, Alec settled nearby. Speaking was increasingly becoming a challenge, but he hoped that if he went too hoarse, the Iratze would take care of it.

For the next hour, he was telling Magnus about how he would help Luke at the expense of his own powers. He was so absorbed in this memory that he almost missed the moment when Magnus opened his eyes again.

 “You are still here,” he whispered. It was the same words he’d said before, but this time, they sounded differently. Instead of being a miserable accusation, they were wondrous, hopeful, as if he couldn’t let himself rely on Alec’s presence yet but started wishing for it.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Alec confirmed. His hand went to stroke Magnus’ hair before he could stop himself, and his breath caught when Magnus carefully leaned into his touch.  

[imagine-silk]

Day Recovering: Day One; Husband?

The first thing was the beeping, that steady tick. Daylen twitched his fingers and felt cold sheets. 'Cold sheets?' As soon as he opened his eyes he regretted it. The white was blinding like heaven was refusing him. "Ah fuck." His voice was sandpaper.

"You are awake. That is good.” Looking to his bedside he saw Sten sitting in a chair too small for him. “You should get your bearings in order before the nurses swarm you." He grabbed a pitcher and a foam cup, still calm but it seemed so off.

"You're-" He didn't know what he was going to say but a coughing fit made it so he would never find out.

"Do not strain yourself. Drink and I will give you a pen and paper." Sten stood up briefly to station a table with the cup of water and a straw in front of Daylen. His first thought was, ‘I am not a child’ and sat up to try to pick up the glass. A sharp spasm shot through him and he spilled it before he could get away from the table. He stared not understanding what this feeling was. Shame? Violent? Despondent? Sten said nothing, he simply cleaned the water with the bedside tissues and reset the water, straw and all.

When two glasses were finished Sten held out a pad of paper and a pen. Daylen's voice was raw but he decided he could bear it. "I can talk."

"I would rather you not."

What others would say was an insult Daylen recognized as a concern. Sten very rarely insisted against him in recent years. Question, yes. Directly opposed, almost never. 

The pad and pen changed hands. "Firstly, do you remember what happened to get you here?"

Driving home from a day of answering crisis calls, taking the freeway a route he did every day and could do with his eyes closed, a long-haul truck was in front of him, then pain, lights, it's silent, it's loud- Maker please don't take me.

With a shaky sigh and an unsteady hand, he wrote, Yes.

"What do you remember?"

The highway and the headlights. As he tried to write the next thing he pushed too hard and dropped the pen. He huffed with glass eyes and picked it up again. Was I the one who swerved? 

Sten gently took the pen and laid it on the paper. "No. The truck driver fell asleep at the wheel and leaned into your lane."

"Did anyone die?" Daylen wavered.

"No. Everyone else on the road got out of the way. You were the only person hospitalized."

“That’s good.” Normally Sten would say something to the contrary like, ‘Your lack of self preservation is unmatched.’ but Daylen’s glass eyes were threatening to break. So his mouth stayed closed and a gray hand wrapped the smaller one.

"Oh, Maker!" A nurse at the door screamed.

"And now peace will be robbed from us," Sten said as he watched the terrified nurse run out.

Daylen took his hand back and wiped his eyes like nothing had happened. How long was I asleep? 

"Nine days." Sten took the moment of Daylen’s bewilderment to rip off the top paper on the pad and put it in his pocket. "We don't need anyone to see this, especially before I can explain everything to you." 

Before that statement could be digested the doctor walked in. "Mr. Amell, you gave my nurse quite the scare." His tone was humorous and light, reassuring. "Don't worry, she's just new. I hope she didn't scare you."

Before Daylen could say anything Sten replied. "She did not offend. But I would ask you not to ask him to speak. He has a pen and paper."

The doctor gave a knowing smile, "Of course." And proceeded to address Daylen. "Your husband has been very concerned. He's here every day during visiting hours."

Daylen knows he must have looked very stupid at that moment. He opened his mouth to speak with a tsk but he couldn't find his words. When he looked at Sten he was as stoic as ever. "This is true." Daylen could help but think, 'What part?' All he could do was give him a confused smile.

The rest of the conversation with the doctor, Dr. Mullins, was swift. Probably because he was in some sort of rush. Sten did not talk, only jumping in when the doctor ordered a sedative that came in the form of a needle. The good doctor didn’t notice Daylen’s apparent fear, or simply didn’t care. “I do not think that is a good idea.”

“Pardon?”

“He has a fear of needles. And I will not hold him down so I trust you have oral medicine.” Sten was many things. Blunt came to mind today. A part of Daylen wanted to say Sten was being dramatic and that it was fine. A bigger part of him wanted to make sure a needle never came close to him. So all he did was smile politely and hoped that was enough.

After everything was said and done, and the doctor had left for good that day, Daylen turned to Sten and wrote Husband? 

His eyes drifted away as Daylen’s bore into him. “The only ones who could see you were your family.”

You lied to medical staff?

“Yes.”

That’s illegal.

“Yes.”

Daylen couldn’t help but huff in irritation. So I suppose this means nothing to you but I could get fined. [1]

“Kadan, listen-” Scratching paper cut him off.

Don’t ‘Kadan’ me. Why didn’t you just get my family?

“Because they would have let you die.” The simple statement cut into Daylen’s outburst and left his stomach empty. “A family member had to sign off on your final surgery so I called them. They told me to let you die so I  assumed the role of your husband. As far as they know you are dying or dead.”

Daylen had never been particularly close to his family, and when the circle took him they drifted farther apart. They all found some issue with him. Something they didn’t care for. But he never believed they would let him die. After all he did for them, after all the chances he gave them, after all the things he was willing to overlook, after they used his honors after the blight, after he got them higher status and connections, and they would let him die. That simultaneously was too unbelievable and too on the nose.

I’m sorry and thank you.

Sten grabbed the pen and scratched the page. I’m sorry and thank you.

“Do not apologize. My actions were impulsive, brash. I risked your status and I risked my visa. I was wrong and I would do it again.”

Daylen couldn’t help but laugh even when it turned into a coughing fit. Only Sten could say something so endearing in the most obtuse way. But he wouldn't had him any different.

 I thought your people didn’t get married.

“We don’t.”

Then you should learn how to play the part if we don’t want to get caught.

“I will admit, it was much easier when you were unconscious.”

[kaitlynnlauryenn]

Brooo😭 my anger & distress feels like a HUGE fucking rock hanging over my head & it's just waiting to crush me.

When I feel overwhelmed like this I always come back to feeling as if my romantic relationship is what keeps this huge ass rock afloat.

It's been 3 fucking years & it still feels like hell 90% of the time.

The first year made me feel small and insignificant. My relationship with mom blew tf up. I started having huge mentally ill episodes. [for example like getting arrested] I started losing my bearings on my reality.

That same year, my mom became crazy pissed by my relationship & felt as if she had the right to decide that it was toxic & actively detrimental to my well being.

I realize that no matter how right she was in that perspective, her reaction was completely psychotic & inappropriate. SHE was definitely responsible for causing huge riffs in our relationship.

Especially because I was in the process of trying to understand my short comings & bring myself motivation to actively & productively achieve goals that were incredibly important to me.

My mother wouldn't give me space to process my realizations about my family, nor did she respond to me clearly communicating boundaries. Instead she had PTSD attack after PTSD attack & blamed me.

That being said she kicked me out. This would be during the second year of my current romantic relationship.

My very turbulent relationship.

We broke up every 6 months due to major downfalls in our communication & connection.

As a gift after being forced to leave my home, my mother left me in complete psychosis. She completely slandered my bf & left me tortured with the fear of him being an abuser & if my bf was abusive then obviously I had become abusive & mistreated my family.

Her perspective is that I "chose" to leave home when I had zero means to support myself.

I was talking to my bf @ the time she kicked me out even tho we were not together. He made sure that I was safe & not homeless. Without him like idk if I would've been able to find shelter for the last 12 months.

I stayed with a friend of his & now I'm living with his parents. Being at his parents house has made me feel so stressed. From trying to avoid any sort of deep connection or long conversations with his family to feeling trapped in his old room because leaving would mean interacting with his family.

All my shit is entangled with his shit and I am Soo fucking tired. He has put so much work & effort in making our relationship steady and stable. He is fr carrying our relationship. He's learned to push his own baggage & feelings aside so that we can communicate in the healthiest way possible.

I can see how far my communication has gotten & the clarity I've gained in order to communicate with him on the same level he communicates with me. However, the truth of the situation is I haven't been able to give him the same amount of care & support that he has given me.

I find myself lost in my own painful experience. Most of our conversations consist of him being understanding & helping me heal.

He rarely gets to confide in me for his own experience & pain. He clearly states his disconnection with me so that I can understand what he experiences in our relationship, but my experience still overshadows his.

It's gotten to the point where even when I apologize & try to communicate that I see him & I will work to change & improve my shortcomings, he no longer feels or expects for anything to change.

This is where we are in our relationship almost 3 years in.

This feels fucking awful. The hurt & pain I feel from knowing this truth & failing to consistently change this dynamic is ASTRONOMICAL.

He reassures me that he is aware of my mental state & of the trauma I am working through. I thoroughly understand that he is NOT the kind of person to participate in something he doesn't want to either.

But his perspective of our relationship & my perspective of our relationship is vastly different.

He sees our relationship as something that has been restorative & helpful in his understanding of himself. He is invested in building a life with me because he feels my perspective is insightful. He's even expressed to me that I am the only person who sees him for all of who he is & it means so much to him that I've been able to see & love all parts of him.

I see our relationship as something that has clearly shown me what I need to heal & that it's possible to be respected & cared for by someone unconditionally. [which I didn't believe existed] I have also gathered being so open & vulnerable at this stage in my life is difficult as fuuuuuckkkk.

I try to be & I want to be! He has shown me the gift of healing & connecting with another person on such a deep level, but the process of doing that has been hellish for me. When I think of how this relationship has impacted me, it's been incredibly painful, and EXHAUSTING.

It feels like the timing of our relationship was the most poignant & karmic time of my life. I've learned so much about myself in this relationship. It's also been the most difficult thing I have ever done.

At this current moment I feel burnt out & overwhelmed with worry & anger.

Whenever my bf & I successfully connect with each other, it feels so deeply rewarding & bonding to me. It gives me confidence & motivation that I truly do have the ability to make space for him & provide emotional support.

Sadly, that bonding and safety lasted such a short period of time in our relationship. Probably somewhere around 3-4 months.

All I know is that I am desperately needing to create connection with myself & learn to sooth myself so that I can release some of the stress & hypervigelence that plagues my brain & nervous system.

The longer it takes to reciprocate consideration for his emotional experience, the more I lose hope in being able to repair that part of our relationship.

On a more positive note I have finally gotten back into therapy. This makes me hopeful that I can work through more things without my bf. I want our time together to be as loving & comforting as possible. Therapy gives me a space to indulge in my feelings & experience with someone outside of me & outside of my close personal relationships.

I wanna learn to take care of myself & pour into other people healthily. It's something so precious & valuable.

[veryrealimagination]

Henry kept shivering as he walked around with George. Their flashlights weren’t as strong as they should have been, and he could only see a small amount ahead of him as they continued to search through the blacked out alleyways. “This is making me nervous,” he muttered, hearing something clamor and seeing the back end of a tail scurry off.

“It’s a dark night. There’s a storm predicted after three am,” George listed, “And we’re hunting for some of our worst criminals reincarnated and ready to come after us.” He switched his light to the chest of his partner. “You should be nervous.”

“You know, that doesn’t help.” He swung back around and started waving his arm around. “Every single person that hates our guts is wandering around Toronto in the middle of a Blackout, and we’re out here with flashlights.”

“It’s not every single one.”

“No, just Sally Pendrick, Eva Pierce, James Gillies, Ralph Fellows, a good chunk of the Black Hand-”

“All right, Higgins!” George yelled. “I get it.” The two kept walking and checking around. They let a half hour go before heading back to where they parked. Everything had been seen through, and there were no signs of activity. “I thought things were supposed to be fixed by now.” His phone was under 50%, and he wasn’t sure if his battery packs were charged and able to keep him going until sunrise.

“Yeah, thought so too,” came the faint reply.

As his voice wasn’t as strong as it could have been, he swung to make sure that nothing happened to the other man. His face was pale, and he seemed to be breathing a bit heavier than a mild walk would entail. “Henry?” he asked, voice soft.

His reaction time was off. It took thirty seconds to realize that George had stopped and was waiting for him to comment something about him being okay. “I think I was better off not remembering anything,” he whispered instead of some sort of reassurance. “Now that I remember the past, everything is wrong. Ruth and Jordan. The Constabulary. Giles and not Brackenreid. Watts and Jackson! A-and, knowing that Gillies is out there, and he’s better at what he’s doing now. That Ralph Fellows still hasn’t gotten in through his head that he has to beat Murdoch and fails, which almost gets any one of us killed. That Eva Pierce is plainly just targeting all of us, even when flirting with Murdoch. She’s going to try shooting Ogden again and this time, she might get it fatal-”

George had to stop him. Watching him was uncomfortable, and the more he saw, the more he realized that the man was panicking. It had been interesting, the first few weeks, finding out that they had all come back together, in the same Station, no less. The changes in Doctor Ogden and Murdoch were fascinating. The woman still became a doctor but didn’t practice as she had last time. No, she had a son in college (who was actually Detective Watts!), and residency had to be restarted thanks to a car crash. So, she went fuck it until she wanted to go back. She wrote books, encouraged him to start again after finding a secondhand copy of a couple of his. Murdoch wasn’t as, well, he didn’t want to use the words harsh, or straight, but he had loosen up. He suffered the loss of Liza twice but had the support of foster parents and grief counselors this time around.

It was after the first (re)encounter with James Gillies that he could see how it could be bad. The criminal remembered them. He had been committing murders for a year plus before they had one land on their beat jurisdiction because he was prepared to start playing. And then burying alive Watts, who wasn’t Watts yet and he was just the teenaged son of Doctor Ogden-

Henry had been thinking about this, pondering, wondering, mulling, dragging this through his head enough to panic over it.

During his own little trip into the rambling, his partner had started breathing heavily, faster than what was safe. Oh, shit, he’s hyperventilating and panicking. What was Julia telling Llewellyn when the lights went out? “Higgins, Higgins, look at me,” he said, making sure the other man was aware of him and following along, “Follow my breathing.” It took a few times to figure out the pattern, but once he did, George repeated it for Henry to copy. George grabbed a hand to squeeze and let him know to switch between breathing in, holding, and letting go.

There were several minutes of quiet before Henry was breathing safely and calmer than before. “Sorry,” he muttered, quite embarrassed.

“Henry,” George said, “You’ve got nothing to be sorry about.” He squeezed his hand one more time and let it go. “Let’s get back to the car, let Murdoch know we haven’t seen anything, and hit the next location before the storm hits.”

They were almost back to parking when something clanged in the distance. “What the hell was that?” Henry asked, mostly to the air because George couldn’t see it either. Another clang, and they both wished there was still an armory and the ability to take out revolvers.

“Toronto Police Department, lay down any weapons and step into a lighted area,” George ordered.

“Patrolling the streets doesn’t seem as an efficient use of a Detective’s time,” someone called out. Freezing, he stared as a woman he hoped wouldn’t even have been born again showed up into the light. “Why Georgie,” Amelia cooed, stepping near enough for him to see, “You don’t look so well.”

A gagging sound had him swing around. Dorothy had a chain, which was now wrapped around Henry’s neck as she tried choking him. Immediately, he started attacking the woman, making her drop Henry. He gasped for air before launching himself at the first woman when she pulled out a knife and headed towards George. Once she was down, he had handcuffs on her to keep her from attacking again.

“No!” Dorothy screamed, pulling out a gun and pointing it at them. “Uncuff her.”

“She planned on attacking an officer,” Henry yelled, “Both of you are getting arrested.”

“Then, I’m sorry. I don’t have a choice.” She pointed the gun and shot at George. The man yelped as it entered his left side.

“George!”

“Uncuff my sister, and you can call for an ambulance,” she said, "Without interference."

It took a split second, but he pulled out the keys and quickly undid them before pulling out his phone and dialing. He watched the two leave while he was connected. "Detective Higgins, officer down," he relayed, kneeling down and using his jacket to apply pressure, "I need an ambulance sent to my location. Gunshot, left side of the chest. Unsure if it hit the ribs or went through." He looked down at the man, who was already unconscious with a great deal of blood on the ground. "Don't do this to me, George. Please."

Prompts:

Chains

flashlights

hyperventilating

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t have a choice.’