#i did in fact figure out it was emotional bleed through several times and then immediately forgot that was a thing

[shivasdarknight]

time for a #wolqotd not at all based on personal events that may have happened in the past.... has your WoL/OC ever given themself an emotional haircut (or gotten someone else to do it for them)? if so, what sparked the change and what did it look like then & now?

YES, THIS HAS HAPPENED

Surkie's hair matters a Lot actually?? How it's kept, how she feels about it, why she kept it, why she lopped it all off - there's a whole fucking story to this. Because it's in part relating to stuff to do with how she's raised, but then there's gender stuff in here.

So while the Borlaaq don't necessarily have any gendering to hair, Surkie's view of her own has been impacted by where she's lived. Long hair in terms of Kugane isn't super gendered, but she was discouraged from cutting her hair by her captain due to both Hingan and Doman beliefs in the fact that your hair is something from your parents thus you don't touch it. Doesn't matter that Surkie doesn't respect her mother, she just didn't want to cause problems with her captain. So, it resulted in her having the messy bun as a teenager up until her twenties. I guess you could consider this the first incident, because - at 24 - Surkie broke up with her abusive girlfriend, booked it to Eorzea, and lopped all her hair off into something she found more comfortable. This comfort was in part from constantly being around Limsa Lominsa and being affected by gender presentation there, but also lingering stuff from Charon that was only just starting to build. Thus: the ARR Vergil haircut.

Surkie kept this through ARR because it genuinely was just more comfortable for her? But also it begins the trend of "short hair means something happened here." She's not particularly good at keeping care of herself or her hair, so this is a really messy cut that she often forgot to maintain. So it starts to grow out during post-ARR, but then everything leading up to HVW meant that it got unruly. It kept getting in her face, she struggled to keep it from blinding her in combat...and she really hates ponytails because they give her a headache. The braid is actually from someone, and that was from Ysayle. She canonically has a blue ribbon she used to keep it together, but Ysayle got her in the habit of braiding her hair. So she figured she'd just cut it off after the war - y'know, the whole cutting ones hair in a shift in lifestyle - but upon Ysayle's (perceived) death, she couldn't bring herself to get rid of the braid. In spite of the discomfort (and frankly dysphoria) of keeping this kind of hair, she maintained it in Ysayle's memory all the way into post-STB.

Post-STB was frankly a hellish time for Surkukteni, since everything was just beyond chaotic and nothing seemed to go right. Worse, this was when the dysphoria really began to kick in - dysphoria of her own mixed with Charon's feelings on the matter. It was bad enough that she was struggling with the fact that she didn't have the same agency as the others, and it was bad enough that she was having to come to terms with the fact that her mother hide the fact that she was intersex from her this entire time - to where she was 26 when she learned, and it's caused so many issues around her self image, ability to even function in sexual relationships and so on and so forth - but the biggest issue quickly became that bleed from Charon. The soul of Charon has been through shit with each reincarnation, but every one of them deals with dysphoria in one way or another. Surkie - being one of two halves of that soul - is getting a drip feed of their issues mixed in with hers, causing a severe identity crisis from that fracturing. Where she ends and Charon begins becomes increasingly difficult to define and when mixed with the grief over Ysayle (Khione), the bullshit of everything going on, her loneliness and all - it just culminates into a full on breakdown that somewhat slips into Charon and has them panic. More physical damage might have been done, had the braid being lopped off not been so damaging to Surkie specifically. It meant a lot to her - even if it made her dysphoric - and it being cut off like that hurt, as it felt like losing something from Ysayle.

She gets Lyse to help her fix her hair in part to try and mend things from STB. The ribbon is used along with a red ribbon from Lyse + the beads and feathers, and that's how you get the post-breakdown hair cut. ...which is also very similar to how Charon wore their hair. She keeps this hair all the way into Shadowbringers.

The only reason why it doesn't stay is because it ends up growing out during post-SHB. She does start to notice that her desire to cut her hair often ties with when she's feeling really shit about herself and it makes her sit down and actually try to process it? Also she has nothing to do otherwise because it grows out while she's having to sit out of things due to being pregnant with the twins. So by the time Endwalker rolls around, her hair has grown out into this shaggy mess similar to her previous hair but she's gotten...more comfortable with it?

Mullet ends up being the way for her to go from here on. She keeps the braids from the depression haircut, she leans more into that masculine presentation but she does like how wolfish it makes her look. It also helps separate her further from Charon, especially as this is now an intentional choice. So while the SHB hair was a breakdown haircut, you could argue that this is an attempt at recovery and self-determination away from that mould.

Also it's Fang's hair <3 And I love it.

[rubysunnday]

oops, I did it again

Summary: Three times Y/N saved Jesper's life and one time he almost didn't save hers

Jesper was regretting approximately three things: His choice of drink, his choice of game and the fact he'd pissed Y/N off enough that she wouldn't be coming to bail him out.

"Alright, listen, I do have your money," Jesper said, standing up and slowly backing away from the table. "It's just not on me right now."

The three men in front of him gave him several disbelieving looks and Jesper's hands dropped down, hovering over his revolver, sensing a fight brewing. Technically, it was all Y/N's fault, he was only gambling with money he didn't have because he'd fallen out with her. Or she'd fallen out with him. Because he’d been an idiot.

The three men stepped forward and Jesper took another step back, his hands grabbing the handles of his revolvers.

"Look, let's just calm down, alright," Jesper said again, trying to figure out how he could sprint back to the Slat without getting arrested.

"We will when you give us our money," one of the men said, almost growling.

A purse, full of coin, landed on the table with a thud. Jesper spun around, pulling out his revolver and pointing it at the new arrival.

"There's your money, now fuck off," Y/N said, walking forward, the heels of her boots clicking menacingly on the cobbles.

The leader of the three men took the coin purse and opened it, rummaging through. "Fine."

"Good," Y/N replied. She grabbed Jesper's arm and pulled him away before he made it worse.

As they stepped out onto the street, Y/N dropped Jesper's arm and marched down the street.

"Whoa, wait, wait, Y/N!" Jesper yelled, running after her. He caught up to her and grabbed her hand.

"What?" Y/N snapped, although she didn't snatch her hand away and Jesper took it as a slight win.

"Thanks," Jesper replied, smiling.

"Whatever," Y/N said, turning around and walking off, dragging Jesper after her.

Jesper smiled. Y/N was still holding his hand.

Y/N pressed down hard on Jesper’s shoulder, trying to ignore the blood - a mix of dried and wet - that was staining her hands. She was shaking and her legs felt like they might snap, but Jesper was her focus. 

“Ok, that hurts,” Jesper said, wincing and shifting his legs.

“Do you want me to let you bleed out? No, then shut up,” Y/N snapped, glaring at him. 

Jesper wisely kept his mouth shut, sensing Y/N’s annoyance and anger at him and since she was the reason he wasn’t dying, he didn’t want to annoy her.

“I am sorry,” Jesper said quietly, turning his head to look at her.

“I said shut up,” Y/N replied, looking over his head as the Stadwatch ran straight past them, oblivious to their hiding place in the fenced graveyard.

“Y/N,” Jesper tried again. He moved his un-injured arm to rest over her hands and realised that her hands were shaking and that she was barely keeping it together.

“Don’t,” Y/N snapped. “Don’t, Jesper, just don’t.” She inhaled shakily and shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Y/N, just calm down, alright? I’m not gonna die, it’s just my shoulder - through and through, yeah?” Jesper reassured her, squeezing her bloody hands. 

“That is not the point, Jesper!” Y/N all most yelled. “If you could just keep your money to yourself, none of this would be happening.”

Jesper blinked, dropping his hand from Y/N’s and returning it to his side. Y/N rarely snapped at him or nagged him about his gambling problems. She accepted the fact that it was a problem and that it would take him taking ownership of his problem for him to even begin healing. 

But clearly him getting shot had hit her hard. It was always hard to see a close friend - a family member, even - injured and covered in blood. Ketterdam knocked almost all emotion out of its people but Y/N had somehow managed to keep her emotions and love for her fellow Crows.

Jesper looked at his friend and noticed that, despite how bad he was, she was beginning to look worse. 

“Y/N, breathe,” Jesper said worriedly, moving his hand to hers again and rubbing his thumb over the back of it. 

“Jesper, you could’ve died,” Y/N whispered, turning her head to look at him.

Jesper was stunned to see that Y/N was crying. She never cried - not unless she was alone in her room.

“I’m still here, love,” Jesper said, attempting to reassure her. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Y/N nodded and sniffed, wiping her tears with her arm. She heard Kaz approaching and quickly steeled herself and her emotions and took a deep breath in. 

“What happened?” Kaz asked, limping over to them and taking one look at the blood covering them both.

“Jesper got in the way of a bullet, annoyingly,” Y/N replied, all sign of her previous emotional breakdown gone. “I’m now covered in blood and I’ve ruined a good jacket.”

Jesper smirked. “Wouldn’t have it any other way, gorgeous.” Y/N pressed down harder on his shoulder and Jesper yelped. “Alright, alright, I’ll shut up.”

Jesper’s blood was pounding in his ears and he was high on adrenaline. He loved a gun fight - he felt at home during a fight. The two, pearl handled revolvers felt like two friends in his hands and he didn’t even need to think as he fired at the two men approaching him. 

He was suddenly slammed to the side, hitting the wall with a heavy, painful thud. Not even a second later, a flash bomb went off where he had been standing.

Jesper turned his head and saw Y/N lying on top of him, panting, eyes wide, obviously suffering the after effects of an adrenaline rush.

“Thanks,” Jesper said, staring at her in surprise.

Y/N nodded. She was still lying on top of him and Jesper wasn’t sure Y/N could actually move.

“Did you need a hand?” He asked.

Y/N shook her head and forced herself to roll off Jesper and onto the street, landing in an ungraceful puddle on the cobbles. She winced as she landed but stumbled up to her feet, leaning on the wall. 

“Watch your back, Jes, I don’t want to see you getting blown up,” Y/N replied, panting as she leaned on the wall. 

“Was that concern for me, Y/N/N?” Jesper teased, standing up and twirling his revolvers around his fingers. 

“Do not push it, Jesper Fahey,” Y/N snapped, snatching his hat off his head and putting it on hers as she walked off down the street.

Jesper looked vaguely offended as Y/N stole her hat but smiled, laughing as he followed after her, his long legs quickly making up the space between them, throwing his arm over her shoulders.

Jesper and Y/N ducked behind a barrel, gunshots ringing over head and pinging off the metal of the lampposts.

They’d been cornered down to the pier - Kaz and Inej running off in a different direction to Jesper and Y/N to try and confuse the Dime Lions chasing after them.

The pier was empty - it was so late in the night it was almost early morning. Y/N and Jesper ran to the end of the pier, splitting up to go either side of the theatre that sat in the middle. 

Y/N was suddenly tackled by one of the Dime Lions. She landed on the pier with a heavy thud and rolled out the way as he went to slam his fist into her face. She got to her knees and ducked to the side again but the man managed to punch her stomach and she stumbled, loosing her balance.

Y/N’s eyes widened as she felt the pier disappear from underneath her and she let out a yelp of fear as she grappled for a grip on the wood before she fell. Her nails dug into the wooden planks, splinters slicing into her skin.

The man towered over Y/N as she swung above the ocean. He smirked, raising his foot above her fingers, ready to stamp on them.

“Barrel rat,” he snarled.

Y/N’s hand slipped and her limbs flailed around as she tried to grab onto something. She managed to get a grip on the wooden post underneath the pier and her body slammed into the post, her ribs taking the brunt of the force.

The man above her pointed a gun at her forehead from above and Y/N braced herself for the inevitable, making peace with her Saints.

A gunshot went off and Y/N flinched, almost loosing her grip on the wood. A body fell past her, smashing in to the water below and Y/N looked down as the water swallowed the man and then up.

Jesper quickly holstered his revolver and dropped to his knees.

“Y/N!” Jesper yelled, lying down on his stomach, stretching his hand out to her. “Y/N, come on, take my hand.”

“Jesper, I can’t reach,” Y/N replied, not wanting to let go of the wood and rely on one hand. “I can’t let go.”

“Yes, you can,” Jesper said firmly, wriggling forward more and stretching his arm out further. “Reach up with one hand and I’ll grab you.”

“Promise?” Y/N asked, looking up at him, her eyes locking on to his.

“I promise you, Y/N, I will not let you fall,” Jesper replied, his eyes never leaving hers.

Y/N inhaled deeply and forced herself to let her right hand drop. She swung dangerously for a moment but she then reached up to Jesper’s hand. Their fingers brushed for a moment but neither one was anywhere near the other.

“Jesper, I can’t,” Y/N sobbed, grabbing the wood again, her fingers shaking with cold and the strain of holding her body up. “I can’t.”

“Y/N, please, come on, just try again,” Jesper said, pushing himself further over the edge.

“No, Jesper, you’ll fall in too,” Y/N said, shaking her head as her eyes watered and tears dropped into the ocean. 

Y/N’s fingers began to slip off the wet wood and she knew it wouldn’t be long before she was engulfed by the waves.

“Jes,” Y/N said, looking up at him again. “Jesper.”

Jesper locked eyes with her again, his hand still outstretched to her. Y/N forced herself to reach up to him again but her arms were just too short and she was just too far down. 

“No mourners,” Y/N said softly, her words getting caught in her throat.

“No, Y/N,” Jesper shook his head furiously, “no, no I’m not letting you go.”

“Jesper, please,” Y/N said again. “No mourners.”

Jesper inhaled shakily and Y/N could see the tears in his eyes and the wet tracks on his face. “No funerals,” Jesper replied quietly, his voice cracking.

Y/N smiled at him, taking in every inch of his face. “Thank you.”

Y/N’s fingers slipped and she heard Jesper scream her name as she began to fall. 

Something wrapped around her wrist and Y/N’s fall was violently halted and she yelped as her shoulder was yanked out of its socket from the force. Y/N looked up and saw Jesper gripping her wrist tightly.

Jesper was halfway off the pier and was fully prepared to fall off and into the water with Y/N. But then someone grabbed the back of his jacket and for a moment he thought it was the Dime Lions back to finish the job. But then he recognised Kaz’s coat as Kaz knelt down and began pulling Jesper back up onto the pier.

Inej appeared on Jesper’s left and together, Kaz and Inej pulled Jesper back up. Jesper pulled Y/N up with him and as soon as she was close enough, Kaz let go and reached down to her. For the first time since Y/N had joined them, Kaz was willingly holding his hand out to her to take.

Jesper knew Kaz didn’t do romance and if he did it would be with Inej and with Inej only. But the bond Kaz and Y/N had was almost like one an older sibling would have with a younger sibling. 

Jesper scrambled to his knees and grabbed Y/N’s hand again. Y/N yelled as her shoulder was yanked again as Kaz and Jesper pulled her up onto the pier and to safety.

The three of them fell into a bizarre pile of limbs and dark fabrics. Kaz quickly scooted himself away but Y/N and Jesper laid on top of each other, practically clinging onto one another. Y/N was shaking violently and Jesper wrapped his arm around her, carefully minding her dislocated shoulder. 

“Hey, I got you,” Jesper said, softly. “I caught you.”

“If you hadn’t I would have been pissed,” Y/N told him, letting out a mix of nervous laughter and a sob. “I save your life and in return you let me fall to my death.”

Jesper laughed, tilting his head back. “Fair, fair.” He kissed Y/N’s head and unwrapped himself from her, jumping to his feet. “Right, back to the Slat so that Inej can pop your shoulder back in.”

“I’d rather Kaz do it, he’s quicker,” Y/N grumbled, accepting Jesper’s offered hand with her good hand and letting him pull her to her feet. “And meaner. He doesn’t give me a warning.”

Kaz, who must have been listening, limped over, grabbed Y/N’s shoulder and in one swift, quick move, pushed her shoulder back in.

Y/N let out a yell of pain, swearing loudly and almost falling back onto the pier. Jesper grabbed her side and held her up as Y/N panted, her brain reeling at the sudden pain.

“Welcome,” Kaz said gruffly, grabbing his cane and limping off down the pier.

“Ow,” Y/N said, rolling her shoulder and wincing. 

“You said you wanted Kaz to do it,” Jesper reminded. “I did offer Inej.”

“If it helps, Y/N, I would have done what Kaz just did,” Inej said, shrugging and smiling. “It makes it easier.”

“Nice to know that you two like inflicting pain on me,” Y/N told her, smiling. She linked her arm through Inej’s and the two began walking back to Fifth Harbour. “At least you didn’t let me fall to my death.”

“I didn’t let you fall!” Jesper yelled, chasing after them. “I caught you!”

[yourmidnightlover]

all my fault

Request: spencer and y/n are married, and they’ve been trying to have kids, and then she finds out she’s pregnant. a few weeks into the pregnancy, she has a miscarriage, and at the hospital the doctor said it’s bc she had an abortion as a teenager, and it fucked up her it yet us. spencer didn’t know she had an abortion, and blames her for the death of the baby, and they end up sleeping separately for a while and they have to grieve by themselves. spencer ends up talking to emily about it bc of her experience and it has a comforting ending!

Summary: when reader has a miscarriage after trying to have a baby with spencer, and things about her past are revealed and leaves things rocky within their relationship.

CW: miscarriage, pregnancy, mention of abortion, spencer’s rly harsh at first, teenage pregnancy, mentions of surgery, a cervix condition that i kinda made up, depressive thoughts, negative self-worth, HAPPY ENDING. *please let me know if i’ve missed anything*

A/N: i’ve been working on coming up with a series, which i posted last thursday! i’m sorry i haven’t been as consistent with my schedule, this summer has really taken a toll on my mental health and school is about to start back up. i promise i’m not quitting writing, but my writing might become a bit more sporadic in terms of my posting schedule. i’m still not sure if i like how i’ve executed this piece, so please let me know what you think!

IMPORTANT A/N: this contains serious topics centered around pregnancy and abortion. reader end up blaming herself and it is a very triggering subject to some. if you aren’t comfortable with those kinds of depressive thoughts PLEASE DONT READ. i don’t want anyone to be triggered by my writing. your mental health matters. you matter. do not read if your sensitive to the subject matter, please!

———————————————————————

when you and spencer checked the third pregnancy test and saw those two, very clear lines on the stick, you felt an unbelievable amount of joy.

“oh my god,” you clamped your hand over your mouth, your eyes welling with tears.

“y/n…” he held his breath, holding your free hand with both of his own.

“you’re gonna be a dad,” you huffed out a laugh as his arms flew around you.

“and you’re gonna be a mom! we’re gonna have our own little family,” he cheered as he breathed in your scent, elated from the news he had hoped for since you said ‘i do.’

spencer had wanted to be a father since he met henry, you remember how attached he was to the child who wasn’t even his own. you hadn’t always wanted children, only when you were absolutely ready for them. now, you were more than ready.

your arms flew around spencer’s neck as his went around your waist. he dropped to his knees and began pressing kisses against a bump that wasn’t even visible yet, praising you and your body for carrying his child.

because it was so hard for you to get pregnant, spencer decided to baby you every chance he got. you didn’t do the dishes or sweep, you weren’t allowed to reach for high shelves or even step on a chair to do so. he was worried about you and the baby, so you let him. you found it endearing.

the perfect man that you married was so worried about the little bean inside of you, worried for your safety, that it drove him a bit mad. who were you to complain? each time he’d do one of the new little quirks like not letting you lift anything above 10 pounds, you just smiled to yourself and brushed it off.

being pregnant was something that you had lost hope for, in all honesty. spencer had been talking to a few friends who had adopted children prior to finding out you were pregnant. if this hadn’t worked out, the two of you were going to look into adoption.

spencer had planned your doctors appointment for 6 weeks after your last period. the appointment was in three days. and then the perfect outline you had for your future went down in crumbles.

you had been having pains in your lower abdomen, and you figured it was just because you were pregnant. you went to the bathroom like you normally would when you felt queasy, kneeling by the toilet in preparation for what was to come. only nothing came.

you decided to just go pee and get back to bed. there was a pain that wasn’t like you’d felt before when you were peeing, like someone had been pulling your intestines out of your body. when you looked down, you felt your stomach drop.

“spencer!” you cried out. “spencer, hurry!” you felt tears well in your eyes until he ran up beside you. his hand was on your thigh as the other one was trying to steady your shaking hand.

“what is… oh,” he looked in the toilet to see blood inside of it.

“spencer… what happened? i don’t know what happened. everything was doing so well and the baby-we just found out and now they’re-wh-what’s gonna happen?” you rambled out, unsure of how something this horrific happened so quickly.

“i-i don’t know, my love,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “i don’t know. but we’ll go to the hospital right now, okay? we’ll get answers.”

you just nodded. you couldn’t speak anymore. you felt your throat closing in on yourself. you cleaned yourself up and got dressed. even looking in the mirror with spencer’s arms around you, you didn’t feel anything but guilt and worry.

spencer’s touch would usually be something to ease your mind and take away the thoughts of everything else around you. only this was something wrong inside of you. you were the problem this time. and you didn’t think anything could fix this feeling.

“let’s get to the hospital, yea?” you nodded as he held onto your hand, trying to ground you to himself as he guided you to the car.

you were silent the entire drive to the doctor. there was nothing to say. there was nothing to do. there was just… nothing. you were numb.

“hey,” he spoke up, “we don’t know what happened yet. there’s a chance it’s just a fluke, right? the baby might be okay.”

“what’re the statistics, spencer? tell them to me,” you ordered as tears flowed from your eyes.

“y/n…”

“tell me! why don’t you want me to know?!” you accused him, looking over at the man driving as he but his lower lip. “1 in 4 women who experience bleeding during a pregnancy are fine. 25 percent. the other 75 percent of people have either a miscarriage or serious complications. those are the statistics.”

“y/n…” he sighed, “it’s not your fault. you didn’t want this to happen. besides, there’s still a 25 percent chance that nothings wrong.”

“whatever,” you rolled your eyes and opted to look out of the window for the remainder of the drive to the hospital.

-

“alright,” the doctor entered the room. “we have the results from the test and we’ve examined the ultrasound pictures. i’m so sorry, but you’ve had a miscarriage.”

what were you supposed to feel? an overwhelming sense of sorrow? like a failure? like the one thing you wanted most in the world fell through?

“how-how did this happen?” you spoke through the tears. “we were so-we were careful. i didn’t lift heavy objects, i didn’t do repetitive motions, i just… we tried so hard to make this work,” you shook your head in disapproval, as if you wouldn’t accept the answer that had already been proven to you.

“there’s proof of an abortion when you were a teenager. there was severe damage done to your cervix that wasn’t assessed pre-pregnancy. now, we can repair the damage within the next two months, but it will still be difficult to become pregnant after the surgery,” the female informed you.

“then what’s the point of getting the surgery?” you scoffed, looking at spencer who was just staring off in space.

“while getting pregnant will still be difficult, maintaining the pregnancy is much more likely. the fetus would be more protected and secure after the surgery,” she explained with a pitiful smile, you couldn’t help but wonder how she could smile after giving you the worst news of your life.

“right,” you nodded curtly, allowing her to sense the mood of the conversation.

“i’ll leave you two be. i’m so sorry for your loss,” she gave the both of you a pitiful smile before exiting the room, the only sound audible being the closing of the door.

it didn’t feel real. it felt as though you were in a nightmare. only this time, you wouldn’t wake in spencer’s comforting arms. you wouldn’t hear the soft soothing voice of the man you love trying to calm you down. you wouldn’t feel the solace he would provide by merely being himself in your proximity.

the drive home was eerily quiet. there was an inkling of animosity between you. looking over at spencer in the driver’s seat, he had a dead look on his face, the only sign of previous emotion being his red-rimmed eyes and tear-stained cheeks. he didn’t even look like your spencer. he looked like a stranger in the drivers seat with a cold expression that you could barely read.

you knew this was something you should talk about. when the nurse came back in the room it was only to offer a few referrals go therapists that specialized in this kind of grief. clearly, any couple should talk about losing an unborn baby. but you knew that’s not what spencer was truly upset about.

you waited until you shut the door to your apartment before saying anything.

“maybe we should talk about it?” you whispered, not knowing how he’d react.

“about what? the fact that you’ve lied to me for our entire relationship?!” he wouldn’t even turn around to face you. “i thought we were in this together, y/n. we aren’t supposed to keep secrets from each other - especially not any that just killed our child!”

“hey…” you winced at his words. “why would you say that?”

“that’s the truth! your choices when you were a teenager just killed our child! my child!” he finally turned to face you, and you wished he hadn’t.

“do you think i knew they would botch my abortion, spencer?! do you think that’s what i wanted?!” you stepped closer to him, he sighed and ran a hand through his hair.

“i don’t know what you want anymore, y/n,” he shook his head, clearly exasperated.

“i want you. i want to get the surgery to fix my cervix. i want to grieve our child. i still want kids… with you, spencer,” you tried to ease the mood, calm him down. you reached your hand out to cup his cheek before he dodged your touch, afraid of touching you. “but you don’t want that?” you whispered so quiet, too afraid of the answer to raise your voice.

“i-“ he sighed and bit his lower lip. “i don’t know.”

“right. of course you don’t,” you shook your head before sitting on the couch, dropping your face in your hands.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” he scoffed as he took off his coat.

“it means that: of course, you’re making this about you! it can’t be about us grieving our loss together like the doctor recommended?!” you peeked between your hands at the man you still didn’t recognize.

“maybe we shouldn’t grieve together since we can’t even have a conversation without getting angry at one another,” he tried to reason.

“the only reason i’m getting mad is because you’re blaming me for my baby’s death,” you spat back at the doctor before you.

“because it’s your fault!” he stood strong in his belief. “when you were a teenager, did you or did you not have an abortion?”

“i did,” you admitted.

“and the nurse said that in said abortion, they screwed your cervix up! if you didn’t have that abortion, our child would still be alive! we would be on our way to become happy parents!” he accused, rubbing salt in the already stinging wound. “it’s your fucking fault!”

“stop saying that,” you shook your head and dropped it back in your hands, trying to hide the tears that began to flow down your face.

“it is, y/n! i can’t believe you’re even trying to say this isn’t!” he chuckled, clearly getting under your skin.

“shut up, spencer!”

“i can’t, y/n!” he sat in the chair across from you before standing back up, too hyper to sit. “no wonder it was so hard for you to get pregnant.”

“spencer,” you begged him to stop, meeting his face with your teary eyes.

“y/n,” he stared you in the eyes, and you saw a glimpse of the man you loved for a second before he retreated to the bedroom.

you sat on the couch in confusion of what had just occurred.

when you were 15, you’re boyfriend was adamant about taking your relationship “to the next step.” you didn’t think you were ready to have sex, but you wanted him to stay with you. so, you gave in. it just so happened to be that you were one of the lucky girls that ends up getting pregnant her first time in spite of birth control and a condom. you couldn’t tell your mom about your pregnancy, she’d have your head on a pole.

so, you earned enough money from your job to get an abortion yourself. you went to a clinic and had your boyfriend’s mom come with you to sign as your guardian. was it smart to get an abortion that cheap? probably not. but you had no other choice. your mom had made it abundantly clear that if she caught you fooling around with him that she’d kick you out.

you were 15. you were young and still had to finish high school. there was no support system for you. you would’ve been on the streets with a little baby - not to mention the amount of debt you’d go into for just giving birth to a child in a hospital. it was the only choice.

and now you were being berated for making the only choice you even had - and by the person you loved most in the world.

you curled into yourself on the couch, laying your head on the arm and crying into the fabric. you released all of the tension and turmoil. you held onto the cushions as if it were the man that you wanted - no, needed to comfort you. because as much as you’d hate to admit it and try to fight those thoughts, part of you thought that spencer was right. it was your fault.

you fell asleep on the couch that night. you didn’t have the strength to get up to grab a blanket so you just sucked it up.

spencer didn’t sleep at all. he was used to having you curled into his chest, or himself on yours. he felt terrible about how he had talked to you, but he was too stubborn to admit anything just yet.

in the middle of the night he went out of the room to grab a glass of water. he saw you curled up in a ball, you head resting on the arm of the couch as you slept. it was the most peaceful you looked in the past 24 hours. but you began shivering as you slept. you were probably too exhausted to get up to do anything.

he went to the hall closet on a detour and grabbed your favorite, soft blanket and laid it on top of your body. after placing a soft kiss on your forehead, he went into the kitchen and made his glass of water before taking one more glance at you. you had snuggled into the blanket, pulling it up to your chin with a gentle smile that always appeared when he kissed your forehead as you slept.

maybe he didn’t screw up too badly, after all.

the next few days were spent avoiding one another. spencer couldn’t face you after knowing you had kept something so dire from him for the entirety of your relationship. you couldn’t face him after he made you feel as though it was your fault you lost your baby.

you would stay on the couch all day, barely eating or drinking anything while spencer would go out - only mentioning the library or the office to do more paperwork. eventually he just started sleeping at morgan’s house - probably because he couldn’t stand being around you.

you didn’t know how to grieve your baby, you were hoping that spencer might help, but that clearly won’t be happening. on top of that, you were worrying about your marriage. he couldn’t even look at you, how was he supposed to talk to you and sleep beside you?

a lot of times, it’s perceived that the only reason women were put on this planet were to have children - of course that’s a false notion, but it didn’t make it sting any less. your body had betrayed you. you had betrayed yourself.

it was only 12 days after spencer left when he came back home, if he could call it that anymore. once he walked into the living room, he saw you curled up in that same position on the couch. you had a blank stare that was directed towards the black tv. the only evidence that you were doing something was the empty water bottles surrounding you - certainly not enough considering he’d been gone for over a week.

when he entered you didn’t even flinch. your gaze stayed on the empty screen and your face remained vacant of any emotion.

in all honesty, morgan was the one to tell spencer he should check on you. spencer hadn’t told him everything about your argument, he knew he was in the wrong. but he was just so angry. regardless, he was here now, and it’s a good thing he was.

you hadn’t been taking care of yourself. spencer had morgan and savannah checking on him, but you had nobody. he only realized this when morgan pointed it out. and as upset as he was, spencer would always love you. your expressionless face only worried him more. your clothes had been changed from when he last saw you, but he doubts you’ve had a shower.

he stayed silent as he began picking up the empty water bottles from around the table and couch. you looked at him quizzically with furrowed brows.

“what’re you doing?” you asked, your chin already quivering as tears threatened to stream down your face.

“i’m trying to help,” he whispered as sensitively as he could, making eye contact with the most pitiful face you’d ever seen.

“i think you’ve helped enough,” you rolled your eyes before resuming your serious stare-down with the television. “you can leave.”

“no, i can’t,” he replied, sitting down on the opposite end of the couch while being sure not to touch you - he didn’t know if you were ready for that.

“you already did,” you brought to his attention, briefly looking at him. “just go.”

“y/n, i-“

“i don’t want to hear it! what’re you gonna say that could make me feel worse, spencer?!” you let the tears fall past your waterline. “i know it’s my fault. i know i screwed up! and i’m sorry! i’m so sorry!” you replied with far too much sincerity, the tears streaming down your face before he scooted closer to you, planning on wrapping his arms around you. “stop! don’t come near me!” you pushed his shoulders away. “it’s my fault,” you lowered your voice significantly before wrapping your arms around yourself.

he had called emily as soon as he got back into the bedroom. he knew she had previously had an abortion when she was a teenager, and he just needed to hear her side of it. part of him didn’t even expect her to pick up the phone.

“reid, what’s wrong?” she immediately answered.

“i-i think i need to talk to you,” he whispered in a hushed tone.

“right now?” she asked in a mildly concerned tone.

“if you can? the sooner the better,” he answered honestly.

“alright. you want to meet somewhere or just come over?”

“can i just come over? it’s really personal and i wasn’t sure who else to go to,” he began tying his shoes and hoping she’d agree.

“of course, come on over,” she replied in a worried voice.

“ok. i’ll be there in twenty.”

he quietly left the apartment, not before sparing you a regretful glance. he lost his child, but you also lost your child as well. he just couldn’t control his anger. and partially, he thought he was right.

how could you not have told him about something so serious? the second you had began having issues getting pregnant, maybe you should’ve been open about previous pregnancies.

“hey,” emily greeted before giving him a hug after seeing his teary eyes. “come inside.”

“thanks,” he sniffled before stepping into her apartment.

she guided him into her living room and sat down on the couch beside him. they sat there for a few silent minutes before he was able to work up enough courage.

“y/n was pregnant,” he whispered, barely audible if she weren’t right beside him.

“was,” she pointed out, already feeling as though she knew the rest of the story.

“she uhm-she miscarried two weeks ago,” he somberly admitted for the first time to someone else. “the doctor said it was because she had an abortion when she was a teenager that somehow ruined her cervix.”

“and that’s why you felt like you needed to talk to me?” she gathered, she was a great profiler for a reason but this was far more obvious.

“i was pretty harsh. i-i told her it was her fault,” he bit his lower lip as he grimaced. “i really rubbed it in, too.”

“spencer… “ she sighed, taking a deep breath before continuing. “you’re mourning a life, right now. obviously, that would raise tensions and emotions would be heightened. but… have you apologized? for telling her it was her fault?”

“no?” he replied after thinking about it. “i was going to do that today but she’s… she’s not in good shape. i’m not saying she needs to be perfect, but while i was at derek’s i can tell she didn’t take care of herself. she barely drank any water.”

“did you ask her why she had an abortion? why she didn’t tell you? did you ask her anything about how she’s feeling?” emily asked once more.

“no,” he cowered down, feeling even worse about the truthful answer. “i was just… selfish. i didn’t think about how she’s feeling. i just-i feel so bad now, seeing what state she’s in.”

“when i got an abortion it was because i wasn’t ready for a child,” she began to inform him. “i was a child, myself. how was a child supposed to take care of another one? my mother would’ve been disgraced. i basically had nobody there for me. i kept it a secret because having an abortion is so controversial. i knew people would look at me differently for making a responsible decision for my future.”

“god, i feel so bad,” he began to tear up himself. “i love her so much and i told her these horrible things.”

“make it right, spencer,” she gave him a supportive smile and pat his thigh before he stood up.

“i-i have to go,” he wiped the tears from his face before giving emily a hug, grateful she would listen to him at such an ungodly hour.

he quickly drove back home, where he decidedly belonged in the first place. he never should’ve left home. he never should’ve left you. you were his home, and he didn’t know how he could possibly lose sight of that.

“y/n,” he cooed as he entered the apartment once more. it was noticeably a bit more clean. the trash was taken out, the dishes were done, and your hair was wet from a shower - he assumed. “hey,” he smiled when he saw you sitting on the bed, cheeks still red and tear-stained with red, puffy eyes.

“hi,” you sighed as you brushed your hair, spencer sat down beside you.

“how’re you feeling?” you shrugged. “i need to apologize to you,” he admitted, placing a hand on your thigh. “i’m so, so sorry for what i said. telling you that it’s your fault that we lost our child… i-there’s no excuse. i was clearly upset, but so were you. what i said was so out of line, and i’ll never be able to express how sorry i am to you.”

“you’re right,” you shrugged. “it was my fault.”

“no,” he rubbed his thumb on your skin. “it was not your fault. i’m so sorry i made you believe that.”

“when i was 15 my boyfriend at the time pressured me to have sex. we used a condom and i was in birth control but i still-i still ended up pregnant,” you began, taking a deep breath before continuing. “i couldn’t tell my mom because she would’ve kicked me out, so i saved up some money and had his mom take me to a cheap clinic. she signed as my mom and i got the procedure done. that was the end of it,” you finished tears streaming down your face. “a few weeks after the procedure i started having pains in like my lower back, but i didn’t think anything of it. so… it is my fault. i shouldn’t have gone to a cheap clinic, but i couldn’t live on the streets with a baby and no way to clothe or feed them.”

“y/n,” he got your attention, wiping the tears from your cheeks. “you were a teenager who had no other choice, love. it’s not your fault, it’s the clinic’s.”

“i just… it hurts so bad, spencer,” you shook your head in defeat before he wrapped his arms around you. “not even just emotionally, my body physically hurts so bad. i don’t know what to do and i thought i lost you and i didn’t know what i would do without you because i didn’t think you loved me anymore because it’s my fault,” you ranted out, sobbing into his shoulder before he moved the two of you around the bed to lay down, you on his chest.

“i’m so sorry you had to go through that, and that you’re still dealing with the repercussions,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “but know that i’m not leaving you. i love you and nothing will ever change that.”

“there’s nothing we can do now,” you whined, clutching to his shirt as if he’d disappear once more.

“we can go to the recommended therapy. we can get that surgery to fix your cervix,” he reminded you, rubbing circles onto your back as you sniffled. “then, if you’d like, we could try again for a baby.”

“so you still want to be with me?” you whispered by his ear, clearly worried of the answer.

“of course i do,” he said as if there were no other option; there wasn’t. “i’m so, so sorry, love.”

“the reason i didn’t tell you is because,” you sighed as you shuffled on top of spencer, now sitting on his lap and facing him. “because there’s this stigma that comes with having an abortion - and i didn’t know how you’d react. i also didn’t know it didn’t go well in the first place, but that’s a different story,” you chuckled. “i’m sorry. i should’ve told you about something so serious.”

“you don’t have to apologize,” he brushed a strand of hair from your face. “that was from your past. this is our future, we shouldn’t get caught up on it and allow it to ruin this.”

you nodded, “you’re right. are-are you staying here, now? or are you going back to derek’s?” there was an obvious look of hope in your eye that spencer never planned on squashing.

“i’m staying here,” he smiled. “home. you’re my home.”

“you’re so cheesy,” you rolled your eyes as a laugh left your lips.

“i’ve missed your smile,” he pressed a kiss to those very lips, your smile not going away but growing even bigger.

“i’ve missed you,” you pointed at his chest. “please don’t leave again.”

“i won’t. ever again,” you held your pinky out, he smiled and wrapped his own around it. “i’m so sorry.”

“we’ll work at it,” you sighed. “we’ll build back the trust and fix my stupid cervix and then maybe try again for a baby.”

over the next few months spencer and you had been going to therapy once a week, mourning the loss of your baby and working through your other issues.

five months after you found out about the miscarriage, you had the surgery to fix your cervix.

one year after you fixed your cervix you and spencer began talking about having a child. you were extremely nervous, rightfully so. you voiced your concerns to spencer about what if the surgery didn’t work? what if your cervix wasn’t the only issue? and he replied by reminding you that you would both take this one step at a time.

seven months after having the conversation with spencer about having children, a miracle had caught up to you.

you were pregnant.

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[annab-nana]

hello! a request with colby where the reader pranks him by like getting hurt or something and he gets super worried and frantic until he realizes it’s fake and then he’s super relieved but kinda upset about it all

I think I did a blurb similar to this but the roles were reversed and the reader was concerned for Colby who was fake hurt so if you want to find that, you definitely can haha but here you go! I’m gonna do a headcanon for this because it’s easier and quicker for me to get out to you guys so I hope you like it :)

Tw: mentions of blood (it’s fake blood but still)

Prank Gone Wrong (or is it?)

The fans had been begging you to do a prank on Colby

I mean full on pleading for months and months

So finally you were going to give in

You searched the comment sections of the several videos that Colby had posted of his various pranks on you to find an idea of what to do

You found one video from a long time ago in the first trap house where Colby had pranked both you and Sam making you both think he was seriously hurt from falling down the stairs

You were in hysterics while checking over your bloodied boyfriend while his best friend tried to assess the situation and call 911

Katrina was there and she tried to comfort your crying body before someone tapped on your shoulder

Kat burst into giggles as you slapped at Colby’s chest when it hit you that this was all some joke

You pretty much gave Colby the cold shoulder for the rest of the day and he clung to your side trying to make it up to you for the rest of the day

And eventually you forgave him and let him cuddle you and hold you and kiss you to his heart’s content

Today it was your turn

You were going to show him exactly how you felt that day those few years ago

You were going to make him feel the fear, the way your heart dropped to the depths of your stomach, how it churned and you felt queasy, how you felt like you were going to lose the love of your life within seconds

Did it sound kinda bad? Yes but he did it to you so it couldn’t be that bad for you to do the same right?

So you conjured up a plan

You were going to be filming something with Jake and he needed you to help get the big blow up trap house dog back on top of the roof of the patio

The plan was you’d fall from the roof and onto the ground similarly to how Sam did when he broke his back but you and Jake had tried this several times and landing on the blow up dog is much safer than on the bean bags

So it was ready to go

You checked outside with Jake to make sure he had the dog ready and by the patio and had a camera rolling and you already had one filming the stairs area facing towards the living room and another in yours and Colby’s room

Once all seemed to be good, you started your intro with Jake

“Hey guys, so I know I’m not who you expected to see on this fine Friday but if you know Colby, you know he hasn’t figured out what he’s doing for this video so we’re gonna help him with a prank.”

“And this is the first major prank of this trap house I would say,” Jake added

“Yes, so if you remember in the old trap house, Colby pranked me and Sam and we thought he was going to die so why not do the same to him. That seems fair, doesn’t it Jake?”

“I’d say so, yes,” he grinned at you before explaining the plan to the viewers

“Yes I’ll land right there and it’s been tested so we know it’s safe. We don’t want anymore broken backs here I promise. So I’m gonna go upstairs to get onto the roof and I’ll see y’all in a few.”

With that, you scurried up the stairs to your shared room where Colby laid on the couch, mindlessly scrolling through his phone

“What are you doing sweetheart?” he asked when he saw you going towards the balcony

“On the roof to help Jake with a video,” you said as you skipped on over to the door

“Do you want me to help? I don’t want you to get hurt?”

Little did he know, that was the plan all along

“Um you can help Jake on the ground. He said he needed me on the roof for some reason but he’s right outside the patio.”

Colby got up after eyeing you oddly for a minute and left the room

“Okay Jake. Here I come,” you whispered when you got on the roof. “Now act like I got hurt.”

You hopped down onto the dog and slid off, laying on the ground

“Oh shit! Y/n, are you okay?” Jake yelled as he poured some of the fake blood you had gotten earlier by your head and in your hair to make it look like your head was bleeding. “Colby!”

You had your eyes shut when you heard the pounding footsteps of your boyfriend coming closer and then the sliding glass door opened

“Jake, what the fuck happened? I just saw her two second ago upstairs.” The fearful waver in his voice was highly evident and it broke your heart to hear but you didn’t show a sign of anything

“Sh-she just fell. I-I think she tripped,” Jake explained when you felt a presence next to your body

“Call 911!”

A shaky hand ran through your hair, pushing it out of the way from being in your face

“Y/n, baby, can you hear me?”

You let your eyes flutter open to meet the bright blues that gazed down upon you with such fear and sadness

“Hi love,” he cooed, “can you say something?”

“It hurts,” you murmured

“I know baby. Jake’s getting help. Don’t leave me okay?”

“What happened?” Sam’s voice broke out from next to y’all

Colby looked over at him with the saddest eyes you had ever seen and Sam’s softened right on the spot

“I’ll be right back.” And with that, the blond flew back in the house

“Colby?” you whispered shakily to really sell the fact that you were weakened by the blow to the head

His teary eyes immediately found yours and his fingers caressed at your face gently

“Yes angel, what is it? What do you need? I’m right here,” Colby spoke so softly, it was as if he would break you if he spoke any other way

“This... my head...” you started, taking deep breaths between your words

“I know, it hurts,” he tried to calm you but you shook your head then wincing as if the action caused you more pain

“No,” you breathed again, making sure to breathe slower with each minute. “This is... it’s all... a pr-”

“They’re on the way,” Jake’s words cut you off but it doesn’t slip past Colby

“What were you saying baby?”

“It’s all a prank,” you say completely normal and then show him a wide grin before wiping the lone tear that slipped out of his eye

“I’m back with a t- oh, you’re okay?” Sam questioned with a towel in hand as his eyes jumped from yours and Jake’s playful eyes to Colby’s eyes that were mixed of many different emotions

“Never better!” you chirped while grabbing the towel from Sam’s hand and using it to get the fake blood out of your hair

“I’d say that went pretty well,” Jake stated as he held a hand up for you to high five which you gladly clapped your hand against his

“It was a prank?” The confused blond inquired and you and Jake nodded

“Y/n pulled her first prank!” Jake congratulated, pulling you into a side hug

“I couldn’t have done it without you,” you grinned at the boy before kneeling down next to Colby. “Are you okay, bubba? You’ve been awful quiet?”

“I wanna hug you but I’m also mad at you,” he pouted, playfully crossing his arms like a child

“Aww Colbs,” you muttered before wrapping your arms around the boy and pulling him into your chest. Your hand found his hair and comfortingly played with the strands

You looked up to Jake and poked out your bottom lip, showing him that you felt bad for the prank you had pulled when Colby’s arms tightened around you

“I’m okay, sweetheart. I’m right here,” you whispered in his ear

“Yeah I know and here you will stay. I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”

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[flickeringart]

Neptune in aspect with Mars

(Read my post about Sun and Moon aspecting Neptune and Mercury and Venus aspecting Neptune)

These planets aspecting each other makes for a curious connection, because in a sense, they represent opposing principles; Mars represents the personal drive and the ability to spring to action, the force that works to impose one’s independent will on the world – Neptune represents the inner urge for emotional unity and the religious/spiritual experience of being merged with the source of life. When these planets are in aspect in the natal chart, the personal ability to carry out one’s will is inextricably linked to redemptive longings. Simply put, Mars-Neptune individuals will put their energy into fulfilling the ego ideal, the perfection of potential that existed before the personality began to form. The personality cannot assert itself in a way that would crush the dream of perfection. Neptune is the dream of purity, the undifferentiated beauty of never having left the garden of Eden. Mars on the other hand is the agent of independence and self-motivated action – he has the purpose of fighting for the individual self which is antithetical to the Neptunian principle of surrender. While the Moon and Venus are quite social; the Moon represents nurturing and care-taking of needs, Venus represents the ability to be loving, affectionate and gracious; Mars is selfish and to a certain extent anti-social – most definitely anti-Eden and its eternal bliss. Subsequently, Neptune paired with Venus or the Moon is a little less of an obvious conflict than Neptune paired with Mars.

The conjunction of Neptune-Mars might cause considerable frustration and unconscious manipulation, because one cannot assert oneself, which is to declare separation, without feeling a deep sense of guilt and shame. It’s a little bit like the Bible story of Adam and Eve eating of the forbidden fruit and immediately becomes aware of sin. This is certainly not an easy phenomenon to deal with. The impulse to avoid accountability for one’s actions can be overwhelming, even if the consequences are perceived to be good. There can be a tremendously inflated sense of righteousness accompanying every move the individual takes because deep down there’s the feeling that one has committed a terrible trespass, that one will be unable to atone for. While the softer aspects, the trine and the sextile, more easily lend themselves to genuine selfless acts and natural inclination to fight on behalf of every bleeding heart and soul in the world through acts of sympathy and kindness, the conjunction usually brings more troubles. There can be an overwhelming feeling of having to do certain things because one cannot stand the idea of being separate from other people. One finds it easy to identify as the martyr or victim, unwilling to take radical responsibility for one’s actions – or if one does it’s in order to self-sacrifice. Often the individual will adopt any ideology that promotes the mass before the individual – often socialism or marxism fits the bill. Neptune is symbolic of undifferentiated reality, blurred edges and passive surrender. It’s not a planet that promotes autonomy and individuation. Not uncommonly, decisions and actions are referred to as byproducts of societal or larger-scale units that have little to do with the poor self. These individuals are usually profoundly dissatisfied with the ways of society because on some level they believe that individual autonomy and agency is a sin – and that the only way to redeem oneself and humanity is through some kind of chaotic dissolution of difference. This urge is seldom conscious, but it is there none the less. Vladimir Lenin had this conjunction and he wanted to revolutionize society to fit the marxist ideology, but really what this means is to overthrow the upper class – to punish those that seem to revel in the delights of Eden, to get rid of the internal shame of being excluded from paradise.

It seems like Neptune-Mars shows up in individuals with the capacity to move a crowd, perhaps most importantly, with the capacity to be the front figure and leader of the masses. Vladimir Lenin certainly affected the masses and so did Napoleon I with the same conjunction. Hassan II of Morocco, known to be one of the most severe rulers widely accused of authoritarian practices and abuses of civil rights had this conjunction as well. These examples are far removed from Neptune’s reputation for denoting empathy, soft-heartedness and sensitivity. However, it might be precisely because of the refusal to abandon the hope of the sweet sweet nectar of paradise that can only truly be accessed in a state of pre-birth if even then, that the outrage is so total. Most children scream when they are born, and this is probably the kind of terrible rage caused by separation that lingers in these people. The sign the conjunction falls in will certainly affect the expression the energies filter through – Lenin had the conjunction in Aries, Hassan had it in Leo and Napoleon had it in Virgo. Virgo is a much more analytical and practical sign than the prideful fire signs of Aries and Leo – consequently Napoleon is famous for his fine skill for method and strategy in war. On his Wikipedia page, it states that Napoleon had a hypnotic effect on people and could bend the strongest leaders to his will in one-on-one conversations. Hypnosis is a marked Neptunian phenomenon. What happens is that the person is able to gently infiltrate the other person’s will – which is quite extraordinary. If someone is receptive and open enough to suggestion, the opportunity and the invitation is there to mold the other through unconscious communion. Since there’s no obvious forcing taking place under hypnosis, the hypnotized person must cooperate on some level – yet it’s not a conscious cooperation which is why the whole phenomena of hypnosis is so unnerving. In general, people would like to think that they are in complete control of themselves, but it’s more of a fancy fantasy rather than an actual reality. We don’t know what we are receptive to and Neptune reminds us of this. He seeps through the most tightly shut doors.

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My own family is quite Neptune dominated and what often happens is that I feel subtly manipulated, yet the manipulation is never fully conscious on the part of the individuals so it becomes difficult to confront them. The times I have, they either take offense or seem genuinely perplexed. It is impossible to confront Neptune, because he works underneath the surface, below the threshold of consciousness. When confronted these types are deeply disturbed that they could’ve imposed something on someone – they either go into a introspective mood, become appalled or proclaim their love and sympathy in an attempt to restore union. My mother has Mars in the 12th house and although it’s not aspecting Neptune, Mars is placed in the house pertaining to this planet and she has Neptune in her 1st house. She never gets angry but people around her certainly do. She is eternally understanding of everyone else’s anger and has acceptance for it, yet she doesn’t respond to any of it on a personal level. She apologizes every time something upsets her. She is never aggressive, yet she does instill subtle guilt through little cues and hints every now and then because it is a sin to have a will that does not align with the crowd that one finds oneself in. Sometimes, when things aren’t the way she wants to see them she doesn’t see them. She presumes that on the most basic level, all people want the same thing, which is probably true on a “soul level”, but sometimes it doesn’t translate to everyday matters. People’s personalities contradict each other and this is no trivial matter – people can and do clash because of individual differences and it can be detrimental to one or all of the individuals involved. However, Neptune doesn’t like to see a clash as a clash – that would be to treat it as a definite fact, which would contradict the fluidity of oceanic union. The frustratingly passive statement “It’s everyone’s fault” or “It’s everyone’s responsibility” is the attempt to not deal with cause and effect while establishing the fact that some abstract common force is always at work. This is neither true nor false but this attitude conveniently keeps everyone “unified” and dependent upon each other.

Admittedly I went with the most gruesome examples when writing about the conjunction, but it goes without saying that not all people with this aspect is going to be a Lenin type – Ryan Gosling, Avril Lavinge and Timothé Chalamet all have this conjunction and they’re all quite popular entertainers in their own ways – they move the masses on some level. Ryan Gosling has a Pisces Rising so his chart ruler is Neptune which makes it particularly strong. He gives off that pure hearted watery eyed look that is extremely mesmerizing to the public – he portrays himself as sweet and compassionate, he seems to have a marked innocence and purity to his outward projected identity. Avril Lavinge has her Sun-Mercury in the 12th house squaring her Neptune-Mars conjunction in the 3rd. She has more of an edge to her personality with a lot of planets in Scorpio but she certainly comes off as a chaotic, intense and absent-minded creative which I would attribute more to Neptune. Her strong rebellious “I don’t care” statements through her music resonates with a lot of people, but so does her more sentimental songs. Timothe´ Chalamet has his Moon in Pisces sextile Mars-Mercury-Neptune and he is quite the stereotypical Neptunian boy – he looks delicate, introspective, dreamy and androgynous, more like an ethereal creature than an earth-bound human. With the conjunction in the 5th house there’s no wonder that he can act and express himself in a very fluid way. Acting and performing musically are the specialities of the Neptune, and if enough components in the chart support the endeavor one might just become famous. The trine and sextile aspect also lend themselves well to these kind of occupations. These people can effectively gain the sympathy of the public because people recognize something of themselves – something pure and unborn, a mutual feeling.

A good example of someone with the trine aspect between Neptune and Mars is Russel Brand. He is quite the Neptunian with an angular 10th house Neptune opposing his Sun and trining his Jupiter-Mars-Moon planets in Aries. Even though he certainly has the fire and energy of an Aries Mars that can sometimes be a bit too much for people he is not only fighting for himself he is fighting for all people. In many ways he’s embodying  universal hope and rage. He is fiery but also very receptive and deeply concerned with not causing any damage or hurt despite his characteristic blunt and direct approach. He has a marked religious/spiritual inclination, which is usually the case with a strong Neptune in the chart. In his early years the longing for Eden was sought through drugs, alcohol and fame, while it has now shifted to a more healthy inner exploration and focus on being of service to people. The soft aspects between Neptune and Mars-Moon-Jupiter planets in his chart helps him to cope with the disturbing Sun-Neptune opposition. In recent interviews, he admits that he still feels the pull of fame and success, yet he knows that if he goes down that path he will lose himself (his Sun) and will ultimately end up disillusioned and dissatisfied. I have the trine in my own chart, and I float aimlessly through life with the notion that things will work out and my actions will come to me, because I can’t plan or control anything. I have learnt that I have to trust the way things unfold, because I have a clear sense that my forced actions won’t lead me anywhere except to frustration and a sense of isolation. The sextile aspect seems to function a little bit more as an asset and a skill for the person to use. Politicians like Hillary Clinton, Angela Merkel and Francois Hollande all have this aspect and they can effectively use their receptivity to the masses and people in general to inform their actions.

Now to the harder aspects. Britney Spears is a good example of the dilemmas created by the Neptune-Mars square. Her Neptune squares Mars in the 12th house, the house belonging to Neptune and Pisces. Because of mental instability in her twenties she was put under a conservatorship which is essentially the equivalent of giving up personal control of one’s personal matters in order for an outside source to manage them until one gains some foothold. Mars is one of the prime factors of personal ambition and autonomy, but when it’s in the 12th it is given up – it is essentially a slave to the undifferentiated realm and subjected all the forces of the unconscious. A 12th house Mars in itself doesn’t have to produce the mess that Britney found herself in, but with it squaring Neptune, Mars is going to get swamped, mislead, confused, manipulated and subtly coerced because of the need for fusion, into doing things that will pull her further away from independent action. Another good example is Kylie Jenner. She has Neptune in her 1st house squaring Mars on the MC. She is publicly known for being part of the Kardashian-Jenner family, but she’s also gained attention because she skillfully created her own brand Kylie Cosmetics and became very “successful” (as in earning a lot of money) due to her own independent action and initiative. However, Neptune is anti-independence – and curiously enough there’s always some dishonesty involved when Neptune makes any hard aspects in the chart. She was declared the youngest self-made billionaire by Forbes in 2019, but, she has later been accused of forging tax documents to appear to be a billionaire. Neptune simply can’t let her be all that her Mars wants to be – a successful business woman with a clean record. Self-sabotage is almost always the case, however minor with this aspect, because Neptune refuses Mars’ need to be potent in the world.

The opposition creates a different dynamic although the dilemma is similar to the square. The person can be called to completely abandon an independent will to take action in favor of the glamour and blissful archetypal experience, not unlike the example of Russel Brand and his indulgence in fame and crowd-pleasing at the expense of his sense of self. The difference between having Sun opposing Neptune and Mars opposing Neptune is that in the first instance one is prone to give up a sense of self in favor of Neptune’s waters, while in the second, one feels the urge to give up the ability to direct one’s own life in order to merge with life around oneself. The opposition usually lends itself to extremism because the two polarities, in this case Mars and Neptune, can’t coexist. Queen Elizabeth II has this aspect, Mars-Jupiter in the 1st opposing Neptune in the 7th. She is on the one hand seen as an archetypal figure, immortal and divine and blissfully kept out of the real world in order to serve as a symbol and a fairytale for people to feel spiritually connected to. She’s non-aggressive, forgiving and compassionate, transcendent of the fuss of the world yet overseeing it all with care. She is essentially functioning to satisfy the religious/spiritual instinct of the masses, although it’s certainly done at the expense of her own selfish wants and needs. Luckily for her, her Mars drive is quite global and collective in nature considering that it falls in Aquarius and is conjunct Jupiter – it keeps her objective and less personal in her martial assertion. However, I’m sure she struggles with the contradiction between her own will and her role as an immortal unreality that would seem to activate itself in the interaction with other people (Neptune in the 7th). Edward Snowden also has this opposition falling in the same houses. His Mars-Sun conjunction opposes Neptune, and he famously leaked information about mass surveillance programs to the press. Neptune has everything to do with leaks and the dissolution of boundaries. He’s both been called a hero a traitor – which perfectly fits with the contradiction that the opposition represents. He certainly made a personal sacrifice by revealing the things he did so he is perfectly shouldering the martyr cape. In any case he did what he did for the public with the concern of other people in mind (Neptune 7th house) he took a non-selfish stance for the sake of a higher ideal and ethical conviction. Both Queen Elizabeth and Edward Snowden are quite extreme in their Neptunian capacity and has taken on fates of mythic magnitude.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Unintended Target

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Bucky Barnes x Reader, Avengers x Reader

Request: Hellus can I have a Bucky Barnes angst where you're dating and like you get hurt really bad on a mission because you tried protecting him and he just cannot stop crying while you're being treated. Steve like literally has to hold him through it. Ending in fluff. Sorry for so many details ahahaha! -Anon

Word Count:

Warnings: Canon typical violence, mentions of blood, a bit of angst

Author’s Note: We've reached the ending of the first week of May Madness! And welcome to my first one shot for the MCU! But you know me. I do hope you guys enjoy

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

Y/N never believed that she’d ever be able to run as fast as she had. Her heart pounded in her chest as she raced against time to get across the property in time. The sound of her boots hitting the ground had been lost to the sounds of gunfire that surrounded her.

She and the rest of the Avengers were dealing with the remnants of a hydra base. What was supposed to be a quick in and out mission seemed to take a turn. There was more manpower than they expected and it was taking longer just to clear the property.

At some point during the fight, she’d lost her earpiece making it difficult to keep in contact with the others. The others knew she could handle herself, even though they were currently trying to find her among the mess that was being created. She had been expecting to meet at the rendezvous spot with a smirk on her face with all the files she needed in her hand.

At least that had been the plan. But after her eyes had scanned one of the files, she dropped the file and began running out of the building. Hydra had a new plan alright. And it was that plan alone that had caused fear to course through her, wanting-more like needing-to be on the opposite side of the property.

“Anyone have eyes on Y/N yet?” Bucky called out as he took down another member of Hydra.

Bucky hated that Y/N currently couldn’t be reached. While he had trained with her plenty of times and knew that she was able to take care of herself, he didn’t know where she was at. He didn’t know if she was injured or having any issues. His girlfriend could easily wipe the floor with him, but as close as they were, he was worried.

She’s not in the west wing anymore. Bucky heard Natasha’s voice over the comms. She left a nice trail in the process for us though.

Natasha was trying to make light of the situation. If she could get Bucky to bring down his worry in the slightest, she was going to attempt it. Together the two were practically unstoppable, separate them and make it so they can’t speak to each other and they’ve got an anxious super-soldier.

I’ve got eyes on her. Clint’s voice came over next. And unless there’s something I’m missing, Y/N is either running from something invisible or she’s trying to get somewhere.

Anything from the west wing she could have seen? Tony’s voice filled their ears.

Still looking. Nat responded.

“Where is she headed?” Bucky asked a moment later, the swift movement of his knife piercing the body of another person advancing on him. With him down, Bucky had cleared his section. His concern now focused on why Y/N had been running away or towards something.

I’ve lost sight of her. She was headed towards the east. More than likely heading your way.

The plans had been replaying in Y/N’s head from the moment she read them in the west wing. The words on the pages she had found made her heart race in a way that all the training she had been through never made it race. The fear had threatened to bring tears to her eyes. All she knew was that she had to get to Bucky.

She hadn’t stopped for a moment since she had begun running. Even when she was faced with those that tried to stop her, she simply pulled out her dagger, allowing it to make contact for a brief moment before she continued. The bodies she left behind weren’t on her mind for more than a second.

As she made it towards the end of the property, her eyes landed on Bucky. From the looks of things, he had finished clearing things out and was beginning to look for her. She knew he had to be seeing as she no longer had her earpiece. It was something he’d always do no matter what the mission was that they were on.

Y/N believed she had made it there on time. That if he was alone he’d be okay. If there were no signs of Hydra, Bucky would be safe. That getting him out of the area would ensure his safety. It was as she began slowing down did Bucky notice her.

He took off on a light jog to meet her halfway from that point. “What happened?” He asked, seeing the look on her face.

“We need to get out of here, now.” she said in between the breaths of air she was trying to get.

You should listen to her. Nat’s voice picked up in Bucky’s ear. This whole thing was a damn setup.

The moment the words registered in his ear, they both noticed the way a red dot appeared on Bucky’s chest. His first instinct would have been to grab the both of them and find cover. Before he could do anything, Y/N’s instinct kicked in and she pushed Bucky out of the way, just as the shot had been fired.

Both of them had fallen onto the ground but it was Y/N that cried out in pain. Her hands automatically tried to grab at her back to take in the injury she had gotten. To apply some kind of pressure to it or at the very least to see where it was.

Just as Bucky moved to look her over a jolt of electricity shot through her body. One that caused a loud piercing scream to pass her lips before she went silent. Bucky could only watch as her body convulsed from the electrical charge running through her body. The last thing Y/N heard and saw was Bucky reaching for her the moment the shocking stopped his voice calling out to her before she passed out.

The minutes after had gone in a blur to Bucky. The others all speaking at once trying to figure out their location. They all had heard her screams. May it have been through the comms or even the fact that they were close by and could hear it. The words mixed in with the emotions that were currently playing through him.

From the moment she passed out, Bucky had her in his arms. He hardly even remembered yelling at the others to shut up and just get to them. They needed to leave before Y/N bled out or even died there in his arms. He didn’t even want to begin to think about her dying there. Not when that shot wasn’t even meant for her.

He could barely remember how long it had taken him to get to the quinjet, let alone the ride back to the compound. The whole ride back, he never left her side. Even when Bruce helped to stop the bleeding for the trip back, he never once took his eyes off of her. Even after getting her to the Med Bay, he fought to be with her. But he couldn’t be.

There was a storm of emotions brewing within him as he watched from behind a glass window as the team Stark hired had begun working on pulling the bullet out of Y/N’s back. The wound was simple, but because of the electric charge that came from it, her skin looked fried around the wound.

Y/N wasn’t even supposed to be in there. She wasn’t supposed to be wounded and it was because of who he was made to be. That the very organization that he had once freed himself from was desperately trying to get him back. And in the process, the woman he loved was injured.

“She’ll get through this.” Steve said as he came to stand beside Bucky. Steve knew that Y/N had been shot at, broken, and bloodied with several of the missions that she had been through. The woman always seemed to pull through.

“That charge that went through her body, was meant for me.” Bucky said never taking his eyes off of Y/N. “My body would have taken that charge and it would have caused little damage. She’s not like us.”

“She may not be like us, but I’ve seen her take on world threats and she’s come out of them right by your side.” Steve needed Bucky to have some kind of hope.

Bucky’s forehead placed against the glass as he shook his head. “I can’t lose her Steve.”

Steve watched as tears slowly formed in Bucky’s eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was fear or anger that had caused the tears. He brought his hand up and placed it on Bucky’s shoulder. It seemed that the simple action had caused Bucky to let the storm inside of him be released.

He placed his arm around Bucky, allowing his friend to lean on him while he broke down. Steve listened as Bucky mentioned time and time again about it should have been him. That he should have been the one on the table. But if it hadn’t been for Y/N, Bucky would have been taken away.

Steve stayed with Bucky for the time it took to get Y/N closed up and have tests done to make sure the surge of power that went through her hadn’t damaged any of her organs. The testing is what took the longest. The needing to ensure that Y/N would wake up was something that held the heaviest weight.

Y/N’s eyes slowly opened and she found herself in a bed in the Med Bay. A confused look played on her face for a moment before her brain registered the pain her body felt in that moment. She winced as she began to look around before a small smile pulled at her lips.

Bucky had been by her side, his head resting on the space beside her. She could tell he had been sleeping. She could see it in the steady rise and fall of his shoulders as she watched him. Bringing a shaky hand up, she ran it through his hair. The action itself was comforting to herself and if she was being honest, she was sure that it would bring some comfort to him as well.

Her touch had caused Bucky to lift his head quickly. “You’re awake.”

The slight nod of her head had caused her to wince. “How long was I out?” Her voice was rough as she spoke.

“Almost a week.” She could hear the relief in his voice at seeing her awake. He sat up and moved his chair closer before he reached for her hand. “Have I ever mentioned how crazy you are?”

That caused a slight smile to grow on her face, her fingers tightening around his own. “We both know I’m crazy enough to take bullets for the people I love.”

“Doesn’t mean you should.” He said with a slight nod of his head.

“I couldn’t let them take you. Not after everything we’ve done to make sure you got better.” She wasn’t going to let him ���win’ this argument. “The moment I saw their plans, I didn’t care about anything else. I just knew I had to get to you.”

Bucky sighed as stood up and moved to sit on the bed next to her. His hand came up and ran along her cheek, before bringing his lips to hers for a brief kiss. “I was afraid that you weren’t going to wake up. They kept saying that you were okay, that it would be when you were ready that you would wake up. All I could think about was how there was a whole day where I thought I was going to lose you. And I hated that feeling.”

“If you’re trying to say I shouldn’t go on-” She tried saying before he cut her off.

“No, I would never say that. Not when you know how to take care of yourself. I was just thinking it would be a lot easier and probably safer for the both of us if we stick together as a team.” His words had caused her eyebrow to raise.

“You mean babysit me.” It caused them both to chuckle.

“Is it really babysitting if we enjoy working together?” He asked with a smile pulling at his lips.

She shook her head slightly. “Fine. But even I know it might be a while before I’m out in the field again.”

“About that,” He said as leaned into her a little more. “During your time away from the field, I was thinking about a vacation for the both of us. Lay low while the others cut all the loose ends to ensure there’s no one coming after us.”

“A recovery vacation, while laying low? I’m definitely listening.”

The two of them knew things would never be perfect out there. Not in their line of business. Not with their pasts or even who they’ve become. There would be times where they’d be placed in this same position. They'd be willing to keep the other one safe, no matter the cost.

All WorksTag (The tag to be notified for everything I write):

@xoxo-nikki-xoxo @mrs-jackson-kenner @mizzzpink

@amariaamaris

Excelsior Tag(All MCU fics):

@hey-there-angels @hellotvshowtrash @dpaccione@taylordrunkonwhiskey @old-enough-to-know-better73 @elijahs-wife @jesuswasnotawhiteman @kpopgirlbtssvt

Winter Soldier tag(For only and all things Bucky):

@fandom-princess-forevermore

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About "Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" from The Owl House

Wow. They are really pushing it for that secret message, huh?

Anywho--Salutations, random people on the internet who certainly won’t read this! I am an Ordinary Schmuck. I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons!

I think it goes without saying at this point that Season Two of The Owl House is setting itself up as a season without filler. Now, filler episodes aren't always bad. Yes, it hurts when a series turns away from the main plot for a week. But at best, they're utilized as a chance for the writers to play around with the characters and developing said characters without it relating to the overarching story. So, some people who see that consider it a bad thing that a series doesn't have that many filler episodes.

I like to call those people: F**king morons.

Don't get me wrong, I see where some of you are coming from. And I'd be willing to agree...if The Owl House was a plot-driven series. Which it's not. It is a character-driven series. Because for every plot thread and narrative that the show presents, they always relate to the characters and develop them further each time these threads get brought up. For example, look at "Knock Knock Knockin’ on Hooty's Door" (It pains me just to write that). Several narratives move forward, and it’s all done to make the characters grow. And to explain how requires going into spoilers. So keep that in mind as you continue reading.

Now, let's review, shall we?

WHAT I LIKED

Hooty: Might as well start with the character that this episode is about.

To tell you the truth, I wasn't a huge fan when I found out we're getting a Hooty-centered episode. I've grown to love him over time, but he is a comedic character that's best used in small doses. Primarily due to how his voice is grating to me (My ears are still bleeding...). With that said, I do really love his contributions in "Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" (Seriously, there couldn't have been a less awkward title?). Hooty's antics when trying to help everyone are as hilarious as they are heartwarming. He deeply cares for his friends but just doesn't understand how his plans could do some unintended harm, which is pretty lovable if you ask me. We also get some surprisingly great insight into his character, as he feels insecure about basically being the comic relief who doesn't really do that much other than being funny. Rarely do you get that level of dimension from a comedic character, and it's even more uncommon for that to work out as well as it does here. It once again proves just how competent the writing is in this series to the point where we get an episode about Hooty, and it's funny and heartwarming instead of being annoying. And whoever is responsible for that, you're the best.

Lilith’s Letter to Hooty: I mean it when I say that I love how Lilith kept her word about her and Hooty becoming penpals. Their friendship was something I would have never expected to love, and I'm still shocked that it works so well, so seeing it continue like this just warms me to the bone. Plus, it is pretty sweet that Lilith's kind words are what inspired Hooty to do what he's done in this episode...meaning it's Lilith we should thank here--SON OF A WITCH! Even when she's gone, she's still working her way into my heart!

King going through Puberty: What?! KING IS EVOLVING!

(There, I made a Pokemon reference. Do I get my cookie now?)

Eda Keeping Herself Awake to Train Herself: I'm willing to bet a large sum of money that this has everything to with Raine getting captured last week. If Eda was still the most powerful witch in the Isles, she might have actually saved them. But she isn't, and now the love of her life is in the clutches of a tyrant planning something that could potentially be the end of everything. So I can understand Eda pushing herself to her limit to get back on top again, as I would probably do the same. It's not healthy in any way, and Eda would be doing more harm than good. But when it comes to the people you love, logic doesn't always win out in the end.

Luz Wanting to Make her Way into Amity’s Heart by Making the Echo Mouse Happy: ...That's it. I Just...I just love everything about it, ok?

This was also when I knew that I was wrong to doubt that there would be zero Lumity in this episode. I realize my follies now, and I humbly apologize.

Hooty Teaching King About Demons: This was so funny. So, so funny. Probably doesn't come as a surprise, especially since The Owl House proves itself as a comedy before, but the jokes have never hit as frequently and as hard as they did here. From Hooty getting offended by King's dance to him and Dana's insert wanting a "DNA sample," everything managed to successfully make me lose my s**t. It does come at the expense of King suffering, but I can stomach that much more than if it were Eda or Luz. And, as a bonus, we get lore about how demons work, added with another great joke of King getting in trouble with Hooty for saying he already knows this stuff. Humor isn't always the show's strong suit, but when it works, it f**king works.

King Wanting to Know What he Is: But despite how funny King's vignette was, we still get to see more of his character grow. We learn that he's frustrated now that there's this big question mark over his life now, feeling extra angry that his father "abandoned" him to leave such a present mystery. It shows the hidden resentment he has that Lilith inadvertently brought out, made even worse when King's father hasn't responded to the video yet. King hasn't really gotten that much development until "Echoes of the Past," so it's pretty cool that the writers haven't really slowed down on it. Especially when it leads to these great moments of King venting his frustrations.

King’s Shouting Powers: KING learned FUS RO DAH!

(And now that's a Pokemon reference AND a Skyrim reference. WHERE'S MY GOSH DANG COOKIE!?)

Eda’s Nightmare: If King's vignette hits you hard with the laughs, Eda's will absolutely hit you harder with the feels (never make me say "feels" unironically again). Knowing that Eda's life got thoroughly screwed over by the curse is something we could figure out on her own. But seeing just how much the curse ruined her life and tore apart relationships that mean the world to her really does a swell job at ripping apart the soul. What's even more tragic is, technically speaking, it's all sort of Eda's fault too. She kept hiding the curse, refusing to be a burden to others who would do all they could to help. If she had only been open and honest, things probably wouldn't have changed much, but they most likely would have been better than they are now.

Eda Attacked her Father as the Owl Beast: ...I don't know what I was expecting when "Keeping Up A-Fear-Ances" hinted that there was some possible tension between Eda and her father...but it definitely wasn't this.

The fact that we see blood where his eye used to be doesn't make things any happier, either.

Raine Broke Up with Eda: Before we get into anything else, let's celebrate the fact that it's now confirmed that Eda and Raine really did use to date in the past. Because this show is just f**king phenomenal with its LGBTQA+ representation!

But, seriously, this is a fantastic reveal that goes far beyond just shipping...well, sort of. It shines a new light on Eda and Raine's interactions from last week, revealing that while they're not a couple anymore, they still very much love each other. It helps make their last interaction especially tragic, as they were both on the same page now and could very well be together again. Only for them to be forced apart for the second time in a way that's much worse than the first. And I frickin' adore that this series changes the impact of one episode one week later. Again, it shows just how competent these writers are, and kudos to them for making something so...perfect.

The Moon Person: WHO THE FU--Nope. Nope! We have more than enough mystery bulls**t to deal with through CreepyLuz and Philip Wittebane, so I am PUTTING YOU ON THE BACKBURNER FOR NOW!

(They're probably nothing more than a one-off character, anyway)

The Owl Beast and Eda are Connected: Through visuals alone, we, the audience, can clue into what the curse really means. The Owl Beast doesn't want to be a part of Eda as much as she doesn't want it to be a part of her. Whether they like it or not, and they very much don't, they're stuck together. The thing is, and this is what I love the most, they still decide to make the best of their situation rather than let it ruin their lives even more. This might be the best possible turn Eda's curse could have made. It'll still affect her, and there are probably more negatives than positives, but at least now, it's not the worst thing in the world. And I feel like that's all anyone can ask when in a position like her own.

Eda's “Pretty Dream”: I don't know what emotions are toiling inside me more with this moment. Awe and wonder over how beautiful Eda's dream is, or heartbreak over the implication that she has only had nightmares since getting cursed...I'm gonna say both. Yeah, it's definitely both.

Eda’s Harpie Form: Well, fan artists are gonna have a field day with this...especially the freaks.

(You know who you are. And you're weird!)

Luz Calling Amity a “Cotton-Candy Haired Goddess”: ...Have I ever mentioned how much I love this show?

Hooty Kidnapped Amity: ...Hooty, if your stupidity wasn't charming, I would be more than willing to call the authorities over how you kidnapped a girl in your version of a knapsack and locked her in the basement. For that is going to ring SO MANY alarm bells in people's heads.

Amity and Luz Stuck in a Tunnel of Love: *Smacks lips* Mmm. The adorable awkwardness of this moment is just *chef's kiss* magnifique!

Luz being afraid of getting made fun of:

Amity’s look of hope: I mean...just...f**king--LOOK AT HER:

That is the look of a girl who, while embarrassed as hell, still is ecstatic to learn for a brief moment, everything that she is hoping for has a high chance of being real. Who, in their right mind, wouldn't go "Aw!" at something so pure and innocent?!

Luz Destroying the Tunnel of Love: This is how to effectively utilize dramatic irony. The audience can understand why Luz is tearing the place apart because she explicitly states that she's afraid of Amity rejecting her in the end. They also know that's bogus, thus making it extra painful to watch Amity's heart break more and more with each second (which is perfectly represented through Amity's expressions). You feel bad for both of them, and even worse when you know that it can easily be prevented by the simple art of communication. That's what makes it great dramatic irony. Knowing the point of view of each character results in a scene that evokes emotions in two different ways.

Hooty’s Breakdown: This was...genuinely hard to watch. Not that it was badly written, far from it. It just...hurt seeing how destroyed Hooty was when he realized he failed the people he has such an admiration for. On the upside, a wholesome moment follows soon after as the Owl House gang tries to reassure Hooty that he's done a lot of good that night. It's a pure action that shows even though Hooty gets on their nerves all the time, they still care about him...damn it. I think I'm gonna cry.

Eda’s Advice for Luz: ...Eda...You're the best.

You found out that your surrogate daughter wants to ask a girl out, and not only were you quick to deliver the best possible advice ("Just go for it!"), but you also quickly reassure her that it doesn't need to be perfect.

And you know what? That's it. Eda is the best cartoon mom! She might not technically be Luz's mom, but I don't give a s**t because she is the best!

Luz and Amity Ask Each Other Out: Shh-sh-sh-sh...

Do you hear that?

...

...

...It's the sound of dozens of Lumity fans collectively losing their s**t...and I'm one of them.

WAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

HOO-HOO-HOO-HOO!

IT!

IS!

CANON!

AH-HAHAHAHAHA!

HOLY S**T! Holy s**t! Holy s**t...might just be the best way I could possibly describe this! Finally, after all the waiting, speculating, and praying, THESE TWO IDIOTS FINALLY GOT TOGETHER! AND IT WAS PERFECT! I mean, it was awkward as s**t, but that's what makes it perfect! You know why? You wanna--Hey! *snaps fingers*. You want to know why? It's because they're teenagers. Of f**king course, it's going to be awkward! This is their first relationship, so there will be a lot of missteps along the way. And that, in itself, brings me to the best (second best part?) thing about it happening in episode eight of the new seasons. Most endgame couples get together in the climax or even at the end of the series. But to have them get together this early on, means there will be quite a few episodes dedicated to showing them grow as a couple.

And better than that--EVEN F**KING BETTER THAN THAT--dozens of kids are going to see these two, a realistic depiction of young love that just so happens to involve two girls, and are going to learn once and for all that there is nothing wrong with being who they are. That fact alone is f**king incredible. Yes, it sucks that season three got cut short, and we'll have even less time with Luz and Amity, but knowing how many kids have felt seen today almost makes it worth it in the end.

And if I see one mother f**ker saying this was poorly paced, I might just hunt them down for SPORT...Sorry if that was an overreaction. I'M JUST SO HAPPY! Because they're happy! Look at them. Listen to them! It's so...GAH-HAHAHA!

“They’re adorable! And deserve all the happiness!”: You're darn right, Hooty! You're darn right.

King’s Father(?) Shows Up: What the--WHAT?! They're doing this now?! Here?! After everything else?

Oh, man. What could this mean? What dynamic changes will this cause in the main cast? How could the writers fit this in during the next two episodes? And what--

Hooty Eats the Letter: ...Pfffft--HAHAHAHA!

Oh, man...I should be mad, and I wouldn't blame others if they are...but that is too much of a brilliant f**k you that I can't help but appreciate it. Bravo writers. Bravo.

WHAT I DISLIKED

...Dislikes? Dislikes? You would honestly believe that after everything I witnessed in this episode, that I would have the gull to list anything wrong with it?!

HOW DARE YOU ASSUME THAT I WOULD BE SO CALLUS TO--Actually, I do kind of have an issue with the episode's title. It's just too much of an awkward mouthful for me to get behind. I understand that the writers wanted to sneak the K into the secret message, but were there really no other titles starting with K that they couldn't come up with?

But that's just a personal issue, and in no way do I think anybody else would feel the same way. Especially with how well-written everything else is anyway.

IN CONCLUSION

"Knock Knock Knockin' on Hooty's Door" (title aside) is another A+ episode. It was hilarious, heart-wrenching, and downright adorable while keeping me entertained with every minute. I'm sure there are some issues I was willing to ignore due to how expertly written everything else was, but why bother looking for the chinks in the armor when I could just enjoy a perfect episode for being so...perfect! Some of you might be willing to disagree with me, but to that, I say: Don't knock it till you've tried it.

(Now, if you don't excuse me, I'm going to go lie down. It's...It's been a day.)

[andraaste]

I am not your enemy - Lance fanfiction part 14

And finally, it’s doooone ! Forgive me for the wait 💕

Chapter 14 : I just stopped hoping for your awakening

- Andraste, is everything okay ? Nevra asked, somewhat surprised at my sudden reaction.

I was about to tell him that it was none of his business when the pain, much more throbbing, resumed again, literally cutting my breath. Without warning, panic started to take me over and it was with confusion that I stood up and dodged his piercing gaze as he remained leaning over me, being too ashamed to tell him everything that was wrong with me.

The vampire still maintained the idea of ​​helping me to stand up completely and, when his hand finally let go of my shoulder, I immediately stepped back in order to establish sufficient distance between us, which didn’t escape him.

- Yes, it's nothing, I finally replied, feigned levity.

Falling back into the void, his hand remained inert along his side as his mouth opened and closed again without any sound coming out.

A wind much colder than before I fell asleep began to blow between us, causing my hair to fly and goosebumps on my bare arms. In order to warm myself up, I put my hands on them as the chills that ran through my skin burned my back unpleasantly.

I think my head was starting to spin.

- Are you sure everything is fine ? Didn't you hurt yourself somewhere or anything ?

- No, don't worry, I replied quickly. I hadn't planned to doze off here, the ground was too hard and I must have hurt a bit, but nothing serious.

I especially didn't want Nevra to know what was happening to me, I didn't think I would be able to bear this shame again in the eyes of another person.

Much to my dismay, the vampire didn't seem convinced. He took a step in my direction, reducing the distance I had deliberately created. An eyebrow raised, his gaze fell on mine.

- Do you know that I still know you by heart ? I can see you're in pain, there's no point in trying to hide it from me.

I breathed out as much air as possible against my poor acting skills. He would never let go, I was sure.

We had left each other angry earlier, though, so why didn't he take his eyes off me right now ? I felt confused, I didn't know how to react.

What's more, I had to admit that I was seriously starting to wonder if constantly blowing hot and cold wasn’t an Eldaryan custom.

Or maybe I was drawn to complicated relationships, who knows.

- Really, it's my luck, I said ironically. So you decided that I existed in your eyes, today ?

His features imperceptibly hardened as his gaze darkened so quickly that I thought I was dreaming for a moment.

- Andraste...

- What Nevra ? Are you going to tell me to pretend nothing has happened ? I was starting to get carried away. It's all well and good to behave towards me as you see fit, but it doesn't work that way.

It was his turn to exhale for a long time. Coming even closer, he took me completely by surprise, lowering his head until he came to rest his forehead against my shoulder, his dark hair brushing my shoulder blade. I remained frozen in place, unable to make the slightest movement as his breath caressed my skin.

I could no longer get my ideas clear.

- Listen, I don't know how to behave when I see you anymore, he finally blurted out, his voice slightly muffled by his probably uncomfortable position. You were the center of my world and overnight I had to relearn how to evolve without you by my side. Everyone was only talking about your sacrifice, he almost spat, but all I wanted was for you to come back to me.

He slowly lifted his head from my shoulder and came back to fix his gaze on mine. I was hanging from his lips, totally mesmerized by the words he finally addressed to me.

- Every day, for a little over a year, I didn’t stop making this wish, however selfish. Sometimes I would spend hours watching you, convincing myself that at any moment you were going to wake up. Except that it never happened, he added quietly, as if saying it out loud could shatter the dreams of this memory of him. I ended up decreasing over time my visits to the Crystal Room, I could no longer distinguish a vague sleeping figure. So to protect myself, I think I just stopped hoping for you to wake up.

The emotion Nevra was feeling at that moment overwhelmed me. I suspected that he must have suffered from this situation, but given his behavior towards me since I woke up, I had difficulty in realizing how he felt. On the other hand, I hadn’t imagined for a single second that it could still affect him at this point now.

- I didn't know all this, Nevra, you never told me about it until now. I never imagined you could feel this, I'm so sorry...

A wistful smile appeared on his lips.

- It's in the past now, even if I don't hide from you that I thought I had serious hallucinations when I saw you again.

Following these words, the vampire leaned down until his face was only inches from mine, allowing me to admire his scarred gaze under his thick black hair.

- I was a complete idiot to you, Andraste. I only took my feelings into account regardless of yours, but it was the only way I found to protect myself again. I'm terribly sorry, you absolutely don’t deserve this indifference, he confessed to me while placing a light and icy hand on my cheek. I hope you will forgive me.

Nevra was standing close, way too close for my breathing to calm down. I swallowed the air with more and more difficulty and, seized by strong emotions, the currents of energy began to circulate again in anarchy under my skin.

The young man finally withdrew his hand before standing up to his full height. Looking up at the sky, he quickly returned to plant them in mine with deep attention.

- Night has almost fallen, we better get back to HQ, he said softly.

I nodded and turned in the direction of HQ when his hand grabbed my arm the same way it had several hours earlier.

I was taken aback to find that his face had suddenly closed completely, brows furrowed.

- You're bleeding, what's happening to you ?

I widened my eyes.

- What ?

- I can smell your blood, it's not normal, he explained to me while making me rotate back to him.

Instinctively, I slapped a hand on the small of my back as my fingers slid over the thick streaks of liquid that flowed against my top.

No.

Not now, it wasn’t possible.

Nevra only took a fraction of a second to react when he saw my fingers red with hemoglobin.

A strong concern marked the tone of his voice as he spoke again :

- What's the matter with your back ? You tell me that everything has been fine since earlier, and now you start to piss blood !

- It's nothing serious, I promise. I just have to go see Eweleïn, she'll know what to do.

I still had the words he'd had when he saw me come out of the infirmary, but I think I just had no choice but to have to go back.

- I'll take you there immediately.

Binding action to word, he grabbed me under the knees and lifted me off the ground to carry me in his arms. The journey was surprisingly short to the entrance of the large building of the HQ while the abundant loss of blood finally got the better of my lucidity.

When they reached the door of the infirmary, Nevra began to pound forcefully on the door. It opened wide, revealing an Eweleïn with suddenly astonished features.

- Nevra, what happened to her ?

The vampire quickly explained the facts to her as he laid me down on the bed. The ground was turning dangerously, or maybe it was just my head that couldn't follow.

- Turn around, the nurse ordered him with authority, before leaning over me. Andraste, we're going to have to take this garment off.

I let her withdraw my sticky top without flinching before falling into a deep sleep.

*

I blinked several times in an attempt to focus, only seeing blurry elements around me. It was far from the first time I had woken up in this bed in the past few days and it made my lips pursed in frustration.

How did I end up in the infirmary again ?

Head heavy, I struggled to sit up on the soft mattress, looking for any sign of life in the room. But no one seemed to be standing here. Swallowing my saliva with difficulty, I realized that my throat was so dry that no sound could have come out anyway immediately, I felt like I had swallowed razor blades.

Feeling obstructed, I lifted my top and found a large bandage wrapped around my chest, with red spots marking the fabric as far as I could see. I was really hoping that my miraculous healing system had reactivated, like the time my stomach wound closed on its own in a very short time, because I wasn’t going to put up with this situation much longer. Moving slightly, I noticed that the pain had practically disappeared. I lowered the garment over my wounds then stood up slowly. The world was still spinning a little too fast for my liking, but I felt fit to get out of here.

I was finishing putting on my shoes when the door finally opened, revealing a long white hair in my field of vision.

- Oh hello Andraste, you're finally awake. How do you feel ? the elf asked with a soft smile.

- Hello Ewe, I think I’m okay. I’m not feeling at my best, but I’m no longer in pain.

- Perfect, I'll give you a quick test but I think you're fit to go out.

Sitting back on the bed, I let the nurse auscultate me without batting an eyelid.

- Your back is much better, even your skin has started to reform normally. I hope this story of stuck wings will get better soon.

- Oh reassure you, I hope so too, I said in a mirthless laugh. Can I go, now ?

- Yes, just a second.

She grabbed the same jar of cream as the last time and handed it to me, a smile on her lips.

- Here, you’ll have to brush your back with this until your skin is better.

- Very good, but it may be rather complicated, since it’s not an area necessarily accessible for me...

I saw Eweleïn's smile widen even more.

- Oh, I understood that someone could take care of it for you, but if it doesn't, you just have to come see me and I'll take care of it.

I narrowed my eyes at her suspicious expression.

- What are you talking about ?

- Nothing at all, and hurry up to see me if it starts again, don't wait any longer to bleed ! Come on, go, she ordered me with a wink.

Too tired to try to understand, I opened the door to rush into the hallway. But how long had I slept, exactly ? It was still dark !

Entering the guard corridor, I walked past several doors until I reached Lance's room, just before mine. I paused for a moment, hesitating, observing thoughtfully the image of the dragon towering over it at full length. Was he busy, right now ?

Heart pounding, I was about to knock when my arm caught in the air.

I didn't have to turn around to see who it was, letting myself be completely taken in by his mere presence.

- Good evening, my little dragon, his voice whispered with an amused grin.

Light streaks of ice were already drawing a multitude of abstract shapes on my skin as my lips stretched on their own.

Giving way to a huge smile on my face.

(Chapter 15)

[fanfictionwritingoddity]

𝘿𝙤𝙣'𝙩 𝙇𝙚𝙖𝙫𝙚 𝙈𝙚

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏 𝐤 𝐭𝐰: 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡, 𝐠𝐮𝐧𝐬, 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠: 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭 - 𝐤𝐨𝐝𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

( 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛/𝙶𝚊𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚕 𝚁𝚎𝚢𝚎𝚜 𝚡 𝙶𝙽!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝 )

Bullets rained down on your squad, ripping them to shreds in an instant. You dove to cover, barely making it before the enemy fire began to puncture holes in the case you were crouched behind. Adrenaline steadily pumped through your veins, making you a trembling and hyperventilating mess. Who were these monsters? The squad that had been specially trained for years had been murdered before you could even get eyes on their killers. Flitting your gaze over your surroundings, the devastating realization of your situation set in. You were alone.

The bullets stopped as a grating cackle rang in your ears. Heavy steps echoed through the mostly empty room, and the person’s clothing flapped quietly as they made their way to your hiding spot. Fear caught your heart with an iron grip. You were going to die here. You were going to die here, alone, without discovering the whereabouts of your presumed dead lover.

No.

You wouldn’t go down without a fight. Clicking your gun out of its holster, you exhaled deeply. If you were going to go anyways, you needed to take at least one of those bastards with you. Hands trembling in anticipation, you launched out of your hiding spot. With lightning fast speed, you shot, taking down three of the enemy team in one sweep. A dark cloaked figure stood in front of them, their face shrouded in a white mask and black hood. When you jumped out, they froze.

“... Y/N?”

The leader had a deep voice, one that tugged at your heart in a nostalgic way. Before you could even question why he knew your name, his soldiers shot. An inexplicable pain tore through you, the scream your body begged to release catching in your throat. Stepping forward, gun hanging in your now limp arm, you looked down. Blood was leaking out of several wounds on your body, spilling onto the floor and dying it crimson.

“Y/N! Oh, god!”

As your knees gave way and you collapsed, the man in black ran forward to catch you. He laid you on his lap as he kneeled on the ground, panic evident in the way his hands twitched while trying to find a way to stop the bleeding. Coughs escaped you, blood beginning to dribble down the side of your mouth. For some reason, the way the unknown male touched you was familiar.

“Y/N, please stay with me.”

His begs fell on deaf ears. He could tell he was losing you. Shaking hands tore off his mask, revealing someone you never would have expected - Gabriel Reyes, the very man you had come to find. Tears were pooling in his eyes as he watched you take labored breaths. Eyes crinkling as you smiled, your slowing heart leapt with happiness. He was alive, and you found him.

It seemed like time had taken its toll on Gabe, dragging its claws down his face to create creases and lines that hadn’t been there before. Scars decorated his cheeks and eyes, some seeming concerningly new. He still possessed the same roguish handsomeness, his dark hair tousled from the masks sudden removal. Unkempt stubble dotted his tan skin, and purple veins carved into the sides of his face. You weren’t sure if it was your drifting vision or blood loss, but it seemed like black vapor was swirling around the man.

“What are you doing here? Why would you come somewhere so dangerous?!”

You attempted to laugh, your giggle ending with a sickening, gurgling cough. Your lover had always been such a worrywart. Whenever you had gone on dangerous missions or done something stupid, he would act exasperated and lecture you, but you knew it was his way of showing he cared. Reaching up, you placed a bloodied hand on the cheek of the man you adored. Vermillion liquid smeared against his face as Reaper eagerly gripped your smaller hand.

“I came... for.. you..”

Only a moment after you finished your sentence, Gabriel’s expression turned to one of cataclysmic pain and the tears rolled down his cheeks in streams. He thought you had perished in the explosion. If he had known you were alive all this time... Things would be very different. Who withheld this information from him? Did Jack know? Red hot rage flooded his veins as the male watched your smile begin to fall.

“No... no no no, Y/N keep your eyes open for me. Cariño, look at me.”

Desperation, an emotion you had never heard in Gabe’s voice, echoed through your fuzzy head. Black was beginning to cloud your vision. Or were your eyes closing? You weren’t sure. The pain that had previously infected you was fading to a dull ache. All you could hear was the hurried breathing of the man clutching you tightly against his chest. 

“Please Y/N don’t leave me, not again. Please I just got you back. I can’t lose you.”

All of his words swam together in your mind. Right now, you felt nothing but peace. Before you died you had the chance to see the face of the man you had loved your entire life. As far as you were concerned, your mission was complete. Eyes now entirely closed, you opened your mouth to leave Gabriel Reyes with one last gift.

“I love you, Gabe.”

Reaper froze. He thought his heart was going to shatter into a million pieces. Never before had he loved the way someone said his name until you said it, and he only realized this fact the last time you would ever be able to whisper it. You breathed out a small sigh, body going limp against Reaper’s solid chest. He began to beg, praying and muttering in Spanish as he rocked your feeble form back and forth.

“Don’t.. Don’t leave me...”

You didn’t wake up. You weren’t going to, the male realized. A terrifying scream left his throat. It was the kind of scream that left your vocal cords shredded, so harsh it made you sure they would bleed. Sobs shook his body, echoing off the walls of the chamber as they slowly became more animalistic. You were gone. You had been so close, literally in his arms, and now you were gone.

Gabriel Reyes had nothing left.

[consumeconstantly]

Lady Cross (first aid)

Summary: Somehow, Marinette always ends up biting off more than she can chew. It started off with a kid and a nasty gash on their knee. The sudden escalation to treating the new head of Gotham’s underworld? It can only be explained by the fact that she’s catnip for trouble. 

_____________________________________________

Marinette supposed she should have expected something like this to happen eventually.

Really, she patches up a few street kids and offers a meal and some resources and suddenly she's made a name for herself in the slums of Gotham. It’s not like she’s doing anything revolutionary. Well, okay, maybe she does cheat a little bit and uses her healing powers on a few of the tougher cases that really should have been out of her realm of expertise, but she’s living near the slums of Gotham for a reason. That reason being Marinette is just a little broke and can’t really afford to send everyone she comes across to the hospital, and the people who are injured certainly can’t. It’s not like she can leave them to die. That would be heartless.

When she stopped treating scrapes and cuts for kids on the streets as she came across them and instead found her apartment balcony frequented by families who needed her help, she couldn’t just say no. And so, more and more serious wounds started coming in. Kids brought their parents and friends. The parents and friends brought... well, if the police stopped by her apartment any time soon, she’s fairly certain they’d have a field day.

But again, it’s not like she’s going to turn these people into the police when they’ve come to her for help and have a small army of people who swear up and down that they’re good people and only doing what they have to do in order to get by.

Morality comes in such a variety of shades, who was she to judge? Ladybug and Marinette have both certainly had their fair share of mistakes that they’d gladly go back in time to rectify, and her hands weren’t clean of blood either. Sure, the Miraculous Cure may have brought people back, but their deaths were still on her. And Hawkmoth? Yeah, he’s alive now, but she hammered him into the pavement after dropping him from the top of the Eiffel tower, and she’s not going to pretend that she didn’t take a bit of morbid joy in that moment.

But back to the matter at hand. Which was, the notorious Red Hood—responsible for a coup amongst Gotham’s drug dealers and responsible for taking down a man whose morality truly vanished with the wind, Black Mask himself— was currently bleeding out on her second floor balcony, smoking a cigarette and lounging against the rail like he owned the place. 

“Lady Cross,” he inclined his head.

“Red Hood,” Marinette returned his greeting.

God, she really didn’t want to get involved with Red Hood. She wasn’t opposed to helping out street thugs and criminals, but Red Hood was a different league. He seemed to be a fairly decent guy, ensuring that kids weren’t dealt drugs and tried to keep them out of the circuit as much as possible. He took down plenty of worse criminals while he was at it. In fact, Marinette would go so far to say the Red Hood as one the good guys.

But the issue was, once she started treating people of a certain level, she’d be open game. And that didn’t seem very enticing to her. Not at all. Everyone knew that Red Hood had beef with the Bat Family for some reason or other, and also made enemies with almost every single rogue in Gotham, and a good number of enemies outside of it as well. Basically, Red Hood was a universal enemy of both the vigilantes and rogues. Someone she shouldn’t get involved with while she was trying to investigate the darkness surrounding Gotham whole running her online boutique and going to college at Gotham University.

Unfortunately, Tom and Sabine and her own stint as Ladybug taught her that she could never ignore someone in need. Marinette sighed and slid the mesh open, leading Red Hood to her living room. “Let’s get this over with, shall we?”

“Real nice place you got here,” he said.

With the mask covering the whole of his face, Marinette had no facial expressions to figure out whether he was poking fun at her current living situation or not. His voice sounded genuine, but vocal emotions were easy to fake.

The apartment she was living in was not on the nice side of town. There were three bullet holes in the wall between her living room and bedroom that she just didn’t have time to patch up, some pretty nasty looking stains on the ceiling near her kitchen, and a huge, spray painted red cross on one of her walls, which was where her street name derived from. Her floor and coffee table were also in states of disarray; she hadn’t gotten the opportunity to clean up after working on two commissions and the last guest whose wounds were heavy enough to warrant several rolls of gauze, which was now half stuffed into a garbage can sitting next to rolls of fabric. Perhaps not the neatest or most sanitary situation, but she didn’t have time to clean up before every single one of her unexpected guests came in.

Look, it wasn’t her fault that she didn’t have time to fix things up real nice and neat. She’d only been living in the apartment for a month and a half, and most times, she barely spent any time in it other than to sleep, cram last minute projects for her design course, or to help heal people. Her living situation wasn’t the biggest of worries.

“Sit,” Marinette gestured to the one of the few pieces of furniture that she specifically bought for the apartment. She didn’t mind the stained, half broken, and extremely creaky couch the last owners left behind for the first week, but after she started bringing back her first… visitors, it seemed important that the couch was comfortable, sturdy, and most crucially, cleanable.

Rummaging through a cabinet, she pulled out a tattered briefcase she thrifted a while back to keep all of her medical supplies in. Not the prettiest of things, but she tried not to keep expensive looking items in her apartment because she wasn’t a fan of getting mugged. The medicine she kept was already expensive enough, she didn’t need to attract everyone’s attention by owning one of those metal containers used in hospitals. Even though most of the people who dropped by her apartment were thankful to be treated, she had a few instances where people tried to steal things from her.

“What’s the damage, doc?” Red Hood’s voice came through rather tinny through his helmet. 

Marinette grimaced. The helmet must have awful air circulation. It looked like some sort of metal, and wet and metal never smelled good together. “I don’t know, you tell me.”

“Thought you were supposed to be some mystic healer who came from the far east.”

She paused and looked at the man, trying to judge whether he was racist as well as rude. “That’s rather insulting.” 

Red Hood shrugged. Marinette applauded the man for showing no outward sign of pain at that, even though there was a bullet embedded in his shoulder, and shrugging had to bite. “That’s what the word on the street is, though you sound French to me. Thought I’d come and check out who’s healing Gotham’s criminals. What’re you planning?”

“Sorry to foil your plans, but I’m not planning anything other than getting my college degree and not pissing off the people I live near.” She paused, flipping the lock on the briefcase upwards. “I’d appreciate it if you didn’t use me as your go to healer from now on. You’re going to bring trouble my way.”

“Trouble? Me? Perish the thought.” His hand rested comfortably on the holister of his gun, ready to shoot if the girl pulled out a weapon from the briefcase. “We’ll talk about repeat appearances after I see how you do today.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Any wounds other than the obvious?”

“Just need the bullet out, and some stitches on the gash.” His shoulder and his abdomen, respectively. The gash looked nastier than the bullet; no shrapnel, but the cut on his stomach was jagged and wide. Not a normal, sharp blade. Probably needed a good cleaning.

She grabbed the tweezers, a sterilized needle, and medical thread. “That’s fine. Now are you going to undress, or am I going to have to cut your… costume… up?”

“Getting me naked already? We haven’t even had our first date yet.”

“Very funny, little Red Riding Hood. Now hop to it. I have class at 9 tomorrow and projects to finish tonight.” Somehow, trouble always seemed to find her when she least wanted it to. Not that she wanted to have trouble find her at all, but luck was a two way street, and for all that being Ladybug granted her good luck, she attracted criminals like catnip. 

“And here my informants had me thinking you were a regular Florence Nightingale.”

Marinette snorted. “They wish. I’ve got to ask who told you, because everybody should know the rules. You know, the ones where they don’t speak of my existence to their higher ups?”

“I’m not a rat,” Red Hood said, taking the top part of his outfit off. “And it’s not like you would have gone unnoticed anyways. You might be treating small timers now, but people catch on to healers pretty easy.”

“Because some gauze and sewing skills make me such a prime target.”

“No, your magic does.”

Shit. Marinette never told anyone she was using magic, and she rarely used it unless it was a dire situation. If she could patch them up using regular skills, she did. 

“Yeah right, if I had magic healing powers, do you think I’d be shoving my fingers into your shoulder to get a bullet out?”

“Not a very good liar, Lady Cross. You have this deer-caught-in-the-headlights look about you.”

“Thanks for the compliment. I’m also the deer that tramples through your windshield and takes a dump on the driver’s seat.” She maneuvered the tweezers a little rougher, hoping to make Red Hood hiss in pain. He just chuckled, amused. His high pain tolerance was getting rather annoying. She had half a mind to pour hydrogen peroxide over the wound just to see if that would make him show he was in pain, but thought better of it. Even though she didn’t like the man, she also didn’t want to piss him off. Or worse, have him come back and make her fix him up again. 

Threading the needle, she made quick, small stitches on his shoulder, sewing the bullet hole up, then put some petroleum jelly to speed up the healing process and reduce scarring. At least the wound was in a position that didn’t require a lot of gauze. She needed to go out and buy some more soon. She barely had enough to wrap around Red Hood’s waist.

“So, the magic,” Red Hood started. “Is it a conditional thing? Can you not use it all the time?”

“Again, I don’t have magic.” Marinette did have to use some antibacterial on the knife wound. He would need to take good care of that one to make sure it didn’t get infected. 

“So a meta, then. What are you doing in Gotham? Everybody knows Batman hates metas.”

“Not a meta, either, sorry to disappoint.” She tied off the gauze, then stood to wash her hands. “Make sure to clean the stomach wound well. Hope you have your tetanus shot, otherwise you should look into getting one.”

“Surprisingly, I’m inclined to believe you on the not-a-meta thing. Back to the first thing, then. Magic. Why don’t you show me the old razzle dazzle? Do you have to say one of those weird spells like the godmother in Cinderella? Bibbity bobbity boo?”

“You’re hilarious,” Marinette dead panned. 

“How’s this for magic? Bibbity bobbity boo, kindly leave. Shoo.” She followed his suggestion, made a show of jazz hands as well. “Pity I don’t use magic otherwise you’d be gone now. Anyways, it’s time for you to make your exit. It would be great if you didn't visit me again. Ever. Thanks.”

She ushered him out onto her patio, then slammed the sliding door. He saluted her before dropping off the side of the building. She could imagine the man under the helmet smirking.

Marinette ran a hand through her loose hair. “He’s going to come back, isn’t he.”

@jasonette-july-2k20

[laurensprentiss]

Jouska [Hotch x Reader]

Chapter 14:

Gif credit: @dudeitiskarev

Warnings: None really, minor mentions of injuries, major trauma bonding, Emily and reader are true soulmates, Hotch drops a bombshell.

———

“There are wounds that never show on the body that are deeper and more hurtful than anything that bleeds.” - Laurell K. Hamilton

———

Relief is a strange thing. 

Hotch has been by your bedside for the two days you’ve been in the hospital recovering from your injuries. He switches periodically between your room and Emily’s, checking in, grabbing a stale cup of coffee and stuffing himself into a chair that’s much too small. He’d met Ambassador Prentiss on the night you’d been brought into the hospital, all hard lines and pointy corners packed into her petite, perfectly postured frame. 

Emily looks unsettlingly like her, he thinks. Just warmer. 

It was Elizabeth who’d finally managed to get a hold of your father in the early hours after you’d been brought in, after which he’d ordered the plane to be turned around immediately. He’d narrowly escaped his fate too. Unbeknownst to him, Jordan had arranged for somebody to have him taken care of as well.

He was debriefed on his way to the hospital, convoy in tow and had taken the time to handle his emotions en route. A few stray tears had rolled down his cheek when he’d seen you, the angry bruising on your face piercing his chest. 

He’d spoken with Elizabeth then, hushed voices that agreed to finally take care of this. 

“It’s the Fitzgerald boy?” He’d asked Hotch. 

“Yes, Sir. He’s in our custody at HQ. Senator Fitzgerald is waiting to see him.” 

“I think maybe we should pay them both a visit.” Your father had said evenly. 

It’s the most stoic Hotch had ever seen him and it was entirely unsettling. Hotch had always known him as a powerful man, but he was kind, affable, humble. He could see now the side to him that he hadn’t before, the side that controlled DC, pulled strings and cashed in favours and had a powerful, reputational political standing. 

He’d take care of it. 

And he had. 

Calls had been made to law firms - now any lawyer who valued their career refused to take on the case, despite Senator Fitzgerald’s own old-money influence. A public defender would try to get him out on bail the following day but a well-placed call to Chief Justice Archibald and the DA would ensure that wouldn’t happen. 

A seething threat delivered in your father’s expert, neutral and unwavering tone had been made to the Senator himself when he’d tried to cash in his own favours. That had sealed the fate for the Senator, his son and his legacy. 

“Try something like that again, Senator, and I won’t need my security to take care of you. After you let your dog off his leash, after what your boy did to my daughter - I’ll make sure you’re done here. Forever.” 

———

In the meanwhile, Hotch studies the marbling bruises on your face, the stitches above your eyebrow, remnants of your harrowing ordeal. He watches you exhale in short shallow breaths, slipping in and out of sleep but frowns when a stray strand of hair obscures your face. He reaches out and moves it gently, his finger brushing the jagged skin of your cheek. 

His breath hitches. 

He’s now developed a sort of tic, runs his fingers over the cool gold of your pendant that he still has a hold of, finds it’s the only thing that’ll fight off thoughts of a very possible different ending. He keeps reminding himself he needs to return it to you as soon as he can - can’t promise he’ll want to part with it, though. 

Relief is a strange thing. 

You’re alive and recovering but would anything alleviate the guilt that’s settled in his chest? He doesn’t think so.

Guilt that he’d allowed for Jordan to get close enough, that he hadn’t worked it out sooner. Guilt that his increasing involvement with you was what drove Jordan’s obsession to such a point. He still has to fight the thoughts in his head, all what ifs and imagine ifs, the only thing that grounds him now is the fact that you’re here. 

Safe and sound. 

He succumbs to his sleep with the intention of telling you that. 

You eventually wake up in the sterile hospital room, the sounds of the various machines you’re hooked up to annoyingly monotonous. As you blink your eyes open, you slowly become accustomed to the daylight outside, the reality of the past however many days settling in. 

Your eyes fall to the 6’2 man curled into a chair next to your bed. His arm rests on his forehead, small breaths escaping his mouth. You stir just slightly, exceedingly careful not to wake him but he jolts awake at the sound of the sheets rustling anyway. 

“You’re awake.” He whispers, blinking his eyes open. He immediately places a gentle, reassuring hand over yours. 

You chuckle, wincing a little from the pain in your ribs. “Hi.” You whisper with a smile. 

“Hi.” He replies with glassy eyes. “It’s good to have you back.” He says, fondly. “How do you feel?” 

“Sore.” Your voice is hoarse. “How long’s it been?”

“Two days. They sedated you to make sure there was no swelling in your brain from the accident after you passed out. You’ve got some bruised ribs and your face needed some stitches, but you’re going to be okay.” His voice is barely above a whisper. “Listen, I have some news.” He pauses, not sure how to phrase the rest.

You feel like you’re missing a limb, a sore pull at your chest when you remember Jordan’s words. He’d killed the two most important people in your life. 

“Yeah. They’re dead.” You whisper. 

His eyes widen in alarm and he takes a seat on the bed next to your legs, a reassuring hand on your shin. “What? Who?”

You fight the tears pricking your eyes and the heaviness in your chest. “My father. Emily.”

“What? No. No, no! They’re both alive.” He cups your face gently. 

“-But he told me…” 

“He tried to kill Emily after the accident. Your dad… he had the plane turned around before he got to Paris. Emily was in pretty bad shape after the accident, but she’s in recovery - they’re absolutely fine. The rest I’ll tell you another day.”  

It’s like the feeling returns to your chest. Your tears spill over. “They’re really okay?” You reach for his hand that cups your cheek. 

He nods. “And so are you.” He delicately wipes a stray tear off your cheek, a small chuckle escaping his lips. He soothes you quietly but his face lights up, an idea seemingly occurring to him. 

He shoots up from his chair to head outside. He holds out a finger, “I’ll be right back.” He says from the door. 

He returns around ten minutes later, with McCall in tow and the tension and turmoil of the last week all but melts away when he wheels in Emily, your dad following behind. Two security guards stand watch at the doors. 

You immediately sit up in your bed, letting out a shaky laugh, in disbelief that you’re all really okay. The state of Emily’s face throws you off first, angry hues of blue, purple and red bleed into each other, stitches and scars adorn her face and she’s sporting a neck stabiliser. A nasty gash on her lip and cheek make it hard for her to smile fully but she still squeals when she sees you. 

Your father almost crushes you in his embrace, quickly retreating when you wince but you laugh them both off, reaching for their hands. Your desire to hold them close is just as much affection as it is to make sure they wouldn’t dissipate as a figment of your imagination. 

The sure enough contact is something that you would’ve ordinarily taken for granted, but this time, it almost reduces you to tears. You silently thank Hotch who gives you some privacy and waits outside. He does keep you in his eye line though, watching you fondly from the glass on the other side. 

McCall pointedly clears his throat next to Hotch causing him to snap out of his stupor. “You know we can see you?” 

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re staring, Aaron.” 

Hotch rolls his eyes in response and wanders over to the coffee machine at the end of the hall, McCall trailing behind him. He hands McCall a piping styrofoam cup, taking one for himself, immersing himself in trying to cool the hot liquid but McCall sees right through him.

“Aaron. You remember what I told you the day we went to the Fitzgerald house?”

“Ben-”

“If it wasn’t clear to you then, it must be now. You don’t spend two days squashed into a stiff chair for an assignment. I saw the look on your face when you saw the wreck, I see the way you hold her.”

Hotch says nothing, just stares into his reflection in the black coffee. 

He places a sturdy hand on his shoulder. “Everyone can.” 

It’s true. 

Everybody can. 

While Hotch had spent the best part of the last two days by your bedside, McCall had been by Emily’s side, striking up an unlikely friendship. Topics change, things are said, speculations are made, and within it all, the topic of you and Hotch has come up several times. 

Emily had never been one to sugarcoat things, neither had McCall. Both of them had a degree of distance, and could see what neither of you could. 

“It’s now or never, man.” McCall tells him with a pat on his shoulder. 

———

You’d waved your dad out of the room after 45 minutes, his incessant yawning revealing his fatigue. He’d objected, of course, but after some persuasion from you and Emily, he’d said goodbye with a kiss atop both of your heads. 

Your father isn’t even out of earshot before Emily wheels herself in closer to you, a wry grin spreading on her face in spite of her split lip. 

“So,” she whispers, rubbing her hands together. “Tell me!”

You frown in confusion. “Tell you what?” 

She rolls her eyes. “You! And Hotch. Did you guys talk?” 

You use your hands to sign between the two of you. “Well, I don’t really know if you noticed, but I haven’t really had a lot of time to figure out crushes.” 

“So you admit it? You have a crush on him?” She cackles.

“Emily, for God’s sake. Stop. You’re incorrigible. Shouldn’t you be focused on yourself, didn't you, like, break your neck?”

“No, it’s a soft tissue injury-”

“For now.” You warn her. 

“You’re not funny. But seriously, have you given any more thought to what we talked about?”

“Emily, I will wheel you out of this room myself.”  

“Answer the question!” 

Yes. 

You had. 

It was one of the only things that had occupied your brain when you were stuck in that cabin. You still feel the effects of the grief you’d felt when you’d thought you’d lost him deep in your chest. Like a lingering ache. The regret was all-consuming, regret that you’d never been able to figure out what you felt for him while he was still around. Regret that you’d never been able to tell him. 

You’ve been given a second chance, you’d be an idiot not to take it, right? The feeling had been so chilling, you’d sworn in that moment you’d never put yourself in a position like that again. But fear and vulnerability still play a part in your decision. 

“Hey!” She snaps her fingers in your face with her good arm. Her eyes soften though, when she sees the faraway look on your face. “Oh, honey.” She takes your hand and takes a cursory glance around the room before turning back to you. “For what it’s worth - I think it’s a really good idea. You. Hotch.” 

You shake your head dismissively but she grips your hand tighter in spite of her injuries. 

“Really. I know you don’t see it, but he’d do anything for you, he killed that dirty cop y’know? You should’ve seen what a wreck he was after the crash, I made him promise he’d find you.” Her voice turns thick.

“You did?”

“Yeah. It wasn't fair to him at all, I never should’ve put him in that position. But he stayed with me when they brought me in, he thought I was asleep but I was watching him. He was distraught when he thought he’d lost you.”

That sparks something in you, a kind of warmth that spreads. It’s heady. 

“I don’t know, Em. What do I even say?”

“Doesn’t matter. Just matters that you say it. And quick. You need to tell him before he leaves for good.”

That stings. You hadn’t even thought about that. You’d been so used to having him around and him being a part of your daily routine, you hadn’t really thought about him not being a part of your life anymore. 

This was an assignment and it was over. You could just as easily part ways with the hope that you’ll forget him and the effect he had on you. That you’ll eventually stop thinking about him but there’s something in you that tells you he’ll linger deep in your soul long after you part ways. 

“I’ll think about it.” You whisper. 

———

“Red or green?” He holds up two Jell-O pots, one red and one green. 

“Red.” You sigh.

“Damn.” He mutters under his breath with a laugh. He takes his assigned seat next to you, handing you a spoon and pulling your table out in the process. He winces when he sits, digging two fingers into his back, just under his ribs. 

“What’s wrong?” 

“Ah it’s nothing, I think I’m a little sore.” 

Shit. You’d been so caught up in your own thoughts you hadn’t even realised he’d been sitting there in that tiny seat, squashed together for the past two days. 

“I’m sorry. You have to squash yourself into that seat for me.”

“I’m not.” He says, almost instinctively. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” 

You both sit in silence for a moment, contemplating both of your earlier revelations. 

He breaks the silence first. “Well, I guess I should probably debrief you on the details-” He turns to catch you staring at him, a faraway look on your face. He frowns, “Hey. You okay?” 

“What? Oh yeah, I’m fine. Sorry, continue.” 

And that’s when he takes you through the night you were taken. He recalls how he came home after visiting Jordan when McCall called him to give him the news. He tells you that two of the cops that were on duty were killed in the crash and that Lawrence was Jordan’s inside man. He takes you through every harrowing detail from finding Emily barely conscious to being shot at, to finally finding you. 

Emily was right, the anxiety is etched on his face as though he’s reliving it. 

But there’s still something you don’t understand.

“How did you know it was Jordan?” You ask him. 

He sucks in a breath, eyes darkening for just a moment. “It’s complicated.”

“I think I deserve to know. Don’t you?” 

He clenches his jaw, the anger still fresh. It’s the strangest thing though, he’s not as angry about being cheated on as he is about the fact that it put you in danger. 

He inhales sharply. “Haley.”

“Ah.”

“You know?” He asks, alarmed.

“He told me when I was in that place. That he’d used her for information.” 

He averts his gaze, running a hand over his beard. “Yeah. Remember a couple of months ago when I told you we were having problems - the day I took you to the firing range for the first time?” You nod. “Well, that was the day she decided that she’d had enough, and she left. For two weeks.”

The same two weeks he’d avoided you for.

You disguise your hurt when you recall that period and he goes on, “I guess in those two weeks, she found somebody else to help her through her issues. Not that I blame her, I think it was a long time coming, we hadn’t been happy for a while. I admit I checked out of that relationship king before she did.” He swallows thickly before he reveals too much. “She didn’t know who Jordan was, but he knew she was my girlfriend - he took advantage of that, I guess.” He shakes his head. I’m sorry.” 

You frown. “Sorry? For what?”

“For putting you in danger. If I’d just kept my distance or given Haley more attention, maybe none of this would’ve happened.” 

Your heart sinks when you see the wounded expression on his face and you place a hand over his. “You have nothing to be sorry about.” You whisper. He scoffs, but you press on with a squeeze of his hand, “He still would’ve found a way to get to me. Haley, you - it doesn’t matter - he wouldn’t have stopped until he got to me. So I need you to listen to me when I say it isn’t your fault, it isn’t Haley’s fault. Nobody is to blame. Okay?” 

You need him to know that you don’t blame him, far from it, in fact. You revere him, you rely on him, you’re falling for him. 

You’re falling for him. 

He shakes his head, standing up. He refuses to allow you to make him feel better about the situation. 

He stands at the window now, gazing out at the parking lot. You drag yourself out of your bed for the first time that day, IV in tow and place a reassuring hand on his built shoulder. 

“Hey. Can you look at me?” He steels for a moment before finally turning after a minute. You close the distance between you. “Really. Hotch, you saved my life. The things you taught me, the self-defence, the weapons training? I wouldn’t be alive if it wasn’t for you. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that.” 

Your proximity to one another drives you dangerously close to losing your willpower and spilling the secrets that lie on the tip of your tongue. 

He hates to admit it, but your words lighten the load on his shoulders exponentially. He was ready to fight this guilt for a long time to come, a fitting punishment for taking his eye off the ball. But your words seem to wash the blood on his hands away. 

He says nothing but smiles gently, watching you. He marvels at your heart, doesn’t understand how somebody could be so gracious even after everything that had happened. Your closeness, your warmth, it takes everything in him to not reach out and show you what you mean to him.  

He knows as well as you do that after this, he may never see you again. There’s no reason for him to. He didn’t want to give you the impression that he was using his leverage as an FBI agent to pursue something more with you, especially after everything you’d been through. 

It didn’t matter what his true intentions were. 

It didn’t matter that he was falling for you. 

———

You’re discharged three days and a deep shower later, and despite your dad pleading with you to return back to his estate, you’re adamant that you want to go home. Besides, you have a pit stop to make on the way. 

“No way.” Hotch’s voice wavers when you make the request. “I won’t allow it. Your father would kill me.” 

“You’re not in a position to allow anything.” You reply defiantly. “I’m not asking. You can either take me now, or you can take me home and I’ll go later. Either way - I’m going.” 

“Why? Give me one good reason you want to see him and I’ll take you.” 

“I don’t need to give you a reason!” But he doesn’t budge. You sigh. “I want to show him that I won. I want him to see that I’m going to be okay and he’s not. I just need to speak to him.”

He just grips the steering wheel tighter, the leather squeaking under his grip. He inhales sharply, taking some time to weigh your words. “Fine.” He says after a pause. “But I’m going in with you. He’s behind bars, but I’m still not letting you go in alone.” 

“I can handle myself.” 

“Damnit.” He mutters. “I know you can, but for God’s sake - I’m not letting him anywhere near you without someone else present.”

“Fine.” 

———

The guard leads you and Hotch to an interview room, and the telltale hue of an orange jumpsuit catches your eyes through the tiny window of the door. He has a sling on one arm, the other kept secure by handcuffs to the table, yellowing bruises on his face. 

You’re completely safe and secure, yet you shiver. You feel Hotch’s warm, large hand slink into yours, squeezing reassuringly. 

“Are you sure you want to do this? You say the word, I’ll take you home.” 

You take a steadying breath, your hand flexing in Hotch’s. “Thanks. But I’m okay. I’m ready.” 

You nod to the guard to let you in, taking the last few seconds to brace yourself. 

The door creaks open, Jordan’s eyes fall to you. The atmosphere is thick enough to choke on and the air is heavy, lingering with unfinished business. Your mind fills with cracked memories of a dark dingy cabin, the smell of his breath on your skin - you swear you can still feel his hands around your throat.

You steady yourself.

He shifts in his chair when you take a seat opposite him, nostrils flaring. “Well, well, well. Hey, Princess,” he scoffs. You shudder at his pet name, his jarring words abrasive against your skin. The reaction doesn’t go amiss by him, so he takes the moment of weakness to reel you in, snare you back into his trap. “Miss me already?” He look wounded when he sees Hotch follow behind you. “You brought him with you? This-” he lifts his cuffed hand as far as it’ll go without pulling on his arm, “Wasn’t bad enough? You had to bring the fed?” 

You don’t dignify his words with a reply. You opt instead to just watch him with narrow eyes, a play straight out of your father’s handbook. He squirms under your gaze, visibly uncomfortable when he sees the look on your face, unwavering, focused. 

“How’s jail?” You ask.

“Peachy. ’Course I’d much rather be with you.”

“Watch your mouth.” Hotch replies, anger simmering under his skin. 

“Bail?” You ask him. 

“No dice.” 

“Wonder why.” You hum with a wry smile. 

“No doubt you had your daddy pay off the tri-state area to keep me rotting in here. Always have been a pampered little bitch.” Hotch’s hands flex into fists but he continues. “What do you want? You’re not here to make small talk, I know that much.”

You observe him slowly, before answering. “How does it feel?” 

“What?”

“How does it feel to be a failure, Jordan?” That stings, you can tell, because as soon as the words leave your mouth, he shifts positions, hunching his shoulders like a dog about to attack. 

Except he’s handcuffed. 

You continue, “You tried to kill me, you missed. You tried to kill Emily, you missed. You tried to have my father killed, you missed, you even tried to have Aaron killed. Still, nothing.” 

“Aaron?” He hisses. “What, you guys are on a first name basis now?” 

He’s deflecting. 

“Answer me. You’ve done nothing but disappoint your father, he tolerates you. You had everything you could possibly need, you could’ve done so much with your life, Jordan - I actually pity you.” 

He blinks rapidly, desperately thinking of a way to attack you. 

“You think this is going to go away for you?” He snarls. “You don’t think I’m going to haunt your dreams? Everywhere you look, you’re going to think it’s me. Every time you get a letter, a package, your first reaction is going to be fear.” He chuckles. “I’m gonna stay with you, it doesn't matter if I’m doing life in here.” 

“I can handle that. I will handle that. But you - you’re gonna spend the rest of your life in a 6x8, with nothing to do except to think about all the ways in which you’re a fucking disappointment. A coward.” You force your voice to remain steady despite your entire body shaking. 

The chair scrapes against the floor when you go to get up, your hands clenched in fists, willing them not to shake. Hotch follows behind you and you’re already out of the door when Hotch is called back into the interview room by Jordan. 

A cold smile makes his way onto his face, an attempt to deliver one last blow. “You know I fucked your girl, Aaron?” He delivers his line calmly, his tongue in his cheek. 

What Hotch says will stay with him, long after he walks out of the doors. “Did you get what you wanted?” He nods over to the doors you’d just walked out of, a fond smile on his face. “Because I did.” 

———

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[stanknotstark]

Odinson M.D. (Loki x reader) Pt. 1

I’m excited for this series honestly. I’m doing a lot of research so I write this medically correct tho, if yall see anything wrong don’t be afraid to tell me ^^

Summary: Y’all wanted a House AU so here it is. Loki is a doctor who keeps most people at bay with his sharp wit and sarcasm. He doesn’t understand the need for romantic ploys and casual human discussion. He thrives in the hospital, trying to figure out the unknown, even if his methods turn a bit morally ambiguous at times. That’s why he has Thor and Frigga to keep him in line although he would argue he has no need for it. You just happen to be a doctor on tenure under Loki’s tutelage along with Steve Rogers and Peter Parker. Can you convince the jaded doctor you’re just what he needs to keep him on his toes? 

Loki feels the, what had started as pin pricks now, full blown boredom eating away at his overactive mind. He folds sticky notes, from his rolling chair, into small balls and flicks them over to his brother, Thor, who stands fiddling with a broken, plastic Santa sitting on the desk they hang around. Thor proudly wears his white lab coat on top of a nice plaid button down and brown, pressed slacks. Loki prefers to stick to his more casual clothes, if not a bit fashionable for casual, for a doctor. He wears a black cashmere sweater with gray, pressed slacks, a nice pair of oxfords to finish his style. It’s enough to keep him warm during the winter season.

Christmas, such a mainstream holiday. Loki abhors this season what with all the festive cheer and decorations that litter NYC. You can’t walk two feet without being guilted into giving money to the people who stand on corners with bells for the Salvation Army. You can’t buy something nice without a cashier smiling at you, as if all knowing, and asking who you’re giving this gift to with cheerfulness in their high pitched voices. What he especially hates is that Odin expects him to show up to the family dinner every Christmas, seeing as Thor has a wife and has to spend half his time with her family. Loki is the black sheep that’s expected to pick up where his brother has neglected. All in all, Loki would demolish this one holiday from existence if he had the even the slightest chance.

The only good thing about being a doctor was that meant he could get away from most of the holiday by working through it. He couldn’t always escape the dinners seeing as his mother, Frigga, was of administration and Dean of Medicine on his floor. Not only did that hinder him but his father owned the hospital, so he was at a disadvantage, if only by a bit. 

“We are condemned to useless labor.” Loki sighs out, his fingers playing with another yellow sticky note, crushing it into a ball. 

“Fourth circle of hell,” Thor replies with a roll of his eyes as a paper ball launches towards him, hitting him in the cheek before falling to the ground. “Charting goes a lot faster when you eliminate all classic poetry, brother.” Thor says lightly. A suggestive twitch of his lips all Thor gives to a bored Loki.

Loki takes time from making paper balls to look over at the pile of charts next to him, sitting on the clinic’s lobby desk, waiting for his attention. He’s sure if the charts came to life they would resemble a dog, desperate for attention, wagging its tail with excitement when he finally looks at it. “Writing down what we already know to be read by nobody,” Loki brings his attention back to making another paper ball, completely ignoring the fact that Thor had rolled his eyes so hard he probably has a headache. “Pretty sure Dante would qualify that as useless,” Loki says lightly, a frown on his lips.

“You’re two weeks behind on your charting!” Thor says with exasperation, stopping his fiddling with the Santa to look at Loki as if he had offended Thor personally. 

Loki flicks another ball at Thor, however he misses his target and, it sails past Thor, hits Frigga on the chest whom had just walked into the clinic. She watches the paper fall to the ground, giving Loki a look of disappointment. The man gives his mother an innocent smile from his seat. “Oops! I missed.” 

“Are you eight years old?” The poised woman asks with a squint in her eyes as she walks over to the side of the desk Loki and Thor reside at. She picks up one of Loki’s charts and reads it with flickering eyes.

“Could an eight year old do this?” Loki asks, catching Frigga’s eyes, and sticks his tongue out at his mother who rolls her eyes. What is it about Loki that causes everyone to roll their eyes? Something he’ll never get the answer to, not because he can’t but because he doesn’t care enough to find the answer when it’s so painfully obvious. 

Loki’s mother lifts Loki’s chart, she had picked up, a little higher as if trying to garner Loki’s attention, after she had finished reading through it, and looks at him with frustration. “You have a patient in exam one, Loki.” 

Loki settles further into the rolling chair, throwing the pad of sticky notes on the desk, bringing his hands together over his stomach and lacing his fingers. Loki embodies the epitome of comfort and relaxation. He shrugs. “Yes but see I’m off at twelve and it’s already five off...” He shakes his head minutely with a look that says ‘Not much I can do’. He’s rather hoping his mother will let him off the hook this one time. He knows she has a soft spot for him and takes full advantage of that. Thor remains quiet on the matter, playing with the plastic Santa that’s supposed to sing when you press its button.

“She’s been waiting for you since eleven.” Frigga says with finality. Setting his chart down, Loki swears he could hear a gravel slamming down, and then she leaves but not without a pointed look at Loki. This meant Loki isn’t getting away this time. He sits there with his lips pursed and a frown etched into his eyebrows as he watches her retreating form.

“Melancholy without hope, which circle is that?” Loki pointedly asks Thor who looks at him with a sympathetic look only causing Loki to scoff and rolls his eyes as he stands, grabs his cane, and makes his way towards exam room one. 

Loki limps into the room, already conscientious about his gold and green cane, making sure it doesn’t hit the wall as he slips into the exam room. 

Looking back Loki doesn’t regret the choices his made on the cane. The man liked attention from the right people. He hates most casual people seeing as he usually finds them boring, predictable, and the need for small talk not something he takes much joy from. The cane definitely stood out and was the starter of conversation for common man that passed him by, unfortunately. This wasn’t enough to make Loki regret his ostentatious picks on his cane though.

The cane itself is light but durable. The stabilizer at the bottom had four anti-slip feet, covered by a wide quad base, all black and shiny. The cane, in all its glory, was emerald green, specifically requested by Loki, and had snakes engraved in the metal base. The snake outline, repeated around the entire cane, were then dusted in gold and, shined pretty and proper when in the sun. The snakes that run from the bottom to the top, run up the cane with open mouths as if devouring the brethren that followed up the last snake. When they reach the top of the cane, the handle’s edge, they stopped. The handle itself was covered in pure gold. The inside of it was carbon so it was lighter to carry but still very durable. The handle was fashioned after the head of a Black Mamba. Sleek and slim but one of the deadliest, most venomous snakes in the world. A symbol of Loki’s true power, or at least that’s what he told anyone that asks. In all honesty, Loki had picked the Black Mamba head because he thought it looked cute. He had a reputation to uphold, however.

Loki pushes his way into the exam room to find three nuns, one on the medical bed with two nuns on each side. As he closes the door he turns his head so he may let his eyes go wide without the women seeing his exasperated look. He turns his head back after the door is closed and he reins in his emotions.

“Hi, I’m doctor Odinson,” Loki supplies the three women, setting his cane aside in the room and looking up at the women with a small tilt of his lips. “What seems to be the problem?” He asks the woman sitting on the bed. 

“Show him your hands, Augustine,” One of the sisters demands of Augustine, the woman on the bed Loki tabs in his head. 

As the woman shifts the cloth covering her hands Loki takes the time to pop a pain pill into his mouth, swallowing without water if only because he’s been taking them for years for his disability. The use of the word disability is new, seeing how he didn’t take to the word too kindly in the beginning. As of now, he has accepted it for what it is and calls it as it should be, a disability. Something that may hinder him but does not define who he is or ever shall be. 

Sister Augustine lifts her hands in front of her and they shake a bit as she holds them out for Loki to examine. They look raw, red, and as if they’re wet but in reality it’s because they’re covered in an ointment and severe rash. They’re pruned as if they spent too much time in water. When she turns over her hands to show him the palms he notes that they’re also raw and red, but more so and bleeding probably from scratching.

“It looks like stigmata.” The sister on the right of Augustine needlessly announces to Loki, or possibly to no one in particular. The other sister on the left shushes at her. Loki has to resist the urge to roll his eyes at her remark. Of course this ignorant nun would condemn her sister for something as simple as an allergic reaction. She finds the rash to be a form of disgrace on her sister. Typical. 

Loki steps forwards, his eyes on her hands, “Must be all the talk around the holy water cooler.” He lightly supplies the three sisters with a joke to break the tension that had risen from the sister’s remark of stigmata. His eyes come to rest on her hands and as he reaches up to hold them in his own says, “You been washing a lot of dishes lately?” Loki glances up at sister Augustine’s aloof face.

“I help out in the kitchen.” Augustine replies. 

“Anything new in the kitchen?” Loki asks, trying to pinpoint what’s causing the rash.

“We just got a donation of pots and pans this week.” The nameless nun tells Loki which supplies Loki with an answer for her reaction. Dish soap, pots and pans wouldn’t have caused such a reaction. 

“I unpacked and washed them.” Augustin gives Loki, trying to help him out.

“Should have spent your time saving souls,” Loki says, his natural sarcasm coming over him, “It’s easier on the hands.” He says with a face that could be taken as contrite but is actually irony. “This is contact dermatitis. You’re allergic to dish soap.” Loki tells the nuns, his mind bored with how easy this diagnoses is. 

As Loki turns to write down his report in the chart one of the nameless nuns speaks up. “Nonsense! We’ve always used that soap, why would it be a problem now?” She asks Loki.

Loki lets his head tilt back as he looks at the ceiling with a playful look on his face. “I’ve been a doctor for years,” He looks at the nun who spoke up, “Why do I have to keep assuring people I know what I’m doing?” He asks rhetorically. Not only talking about the nuns, Loki thinks of the many times where he has had to convince his own mother, and brother, that he knew what he was doing, going so far as to proving it. 

“A person can become allergic to substances they’ve had repeated and prolonged exposure to.” Loki explains, his eyebrow raising perfectly, as if asking if the sisters had any other remarks to make before he looks down at the chart for Augustine to write his report real quick. 

Loki then makes his way to the cabinet and picks out a small box inside of it. “Good news is, free samples!” He gives a fake smile, and excited tone, to the nuns. “I’m giving you an antihistamine to stop the allergic reaction,” He explains his process. “Take one every eight hours, might make you sleepy, and get some over the counter Cortisone cream, for the itchiness.” Loki looks at sister Augustine to make sure she understood his words, nodding at her when she gives an understanding nod, then handing her two pills from the box he had pulled from the cabinet. 

“Thank you, doctor.” Augustine says with a small smile and nod.

“Want me to get some water?” Loki asks the women. 

“I have some tea!” A nameless nun says, grabbing her thermos and giving it to Augustine.

Loki nods at the nun and backs up to pick up the chart. “Relax for a minute, the pills work pretty fast.” Then he leaves the room thinking he is done for the day in the clinic, thank god. 

Loki throws the chart on top of his other charts he had left on the desk with Thor, in the lobby, and sighs as he limps around the desk and to Thor’s side.

“Still out by twelve.” Thor says, more so to grate on Loki’s nerves than anything. 

Loki lets it go but replies, “How do you solve the problem of dermatitis.” 

“Doctor? I want to thank you for your patience.” A sister says interrupting the conversation Loki was about to have with Thor. One of the sisters from Augustine’s side now stands in the clinic’s lobby with Loki and Thor. Her face showing she genuinely means it.

Loki manages to give Thor a disparaging look when he asks, “She talking to you?” As if shocked Loki was getting any kind of compliment. Loki can’t fault him there, he isn’t used to getting compliments either. Doesn’t mean he doesn’t bask in it but it is a little uncomfortable.

“I don’t know, she’s certainly looking at me...” Loki says back to Thor, shifting his weight from foot to foot in discomfort. He turns, watches, as the sister makes her way over to him, standing a little over a foot away. Enough distance to be comfortable since she is a stranger but a little too close for Loki’s comfort anyways. He hates people, so physical, so sentimental. 

“It’s so good to get a secular diagnosis.” The nun offers Loki with a gratified look on her face, her body swaying with her words like she really means them. 

Loki feels the frown come over his face and he tilts his head down at the sister. 

“The sisters tend to interpret their diagnosis as divine intervention.” The nun explains to a bewildered Loki. 

“And you don’t?” Loki asks, his voice not betraying his confusion but it’s definitely there. This sister is very...different from regular nuns, he can already tell. Her ideologies being promulgated so plainly are leaving Loki in an almost disoriented state. “Then you’re wearing an awfully funny hat.” Loki says, his sarcasm coming out to hide his true feelings on this whole conversation. The sister merely tilts her head with a look that says ‘Very funny’. 

“Oh boy.” Thor whispers behind Loki. Loki can feel him shifting as if he wants to escape this situation just as much as Loki. “Excuse me.” Thor says grabbing all his charts and reports so he may make a swift exit. Loki glances back at Thor, his face now shifting from its usual neutrality to a look of perplexity and a hint of longing as he wants to leave too. Loki looks back to the sister, hiding his emotions again as she speaks.

“If I break my leg I believe it happened for a reason. I believe God wanted me to break my leg,” The sister says, her face showing nothing short than utter earnestness that almost makes Loki gag. “I also believe he wants me to put a cast on it.” The sister finishes causing Loki’s lips to twitch upwards and forget his brief nausea. He likes her, something no one that truly knew him would take lightly. 

“Doctor! Something’s wrong!” The other sister says loudly as she races into the lobby. This breaks the little moment the sister was having with Loki and he stands at attention. 

They all make their way back to exam room one with hast in their steps and Loki’s limp. 

When Loki enters the room he finds Augustine to be hunched over, rapidly breathing but the air is filled with wheezes as if she can’t get breath into her lungs. Loki quickly tabs this as an asthmatic attack but grabs his stethoscope and brings it up to her chest. “Lift up your chin.” He demands softly, letting the stethoscope land on her chest when she does and moves it from the left to the right side listening to her lungs and heart as she panically breathes in faster. 

“Sister you’re having an asthma attack, I need you to relax,” Loki drops the stethoscope from her chest, taking it from his ears, and turns to the drawers in the room, “Roll up her sleeve, please.” He demands of the sister next to him. He quickly picks up an syringe from the drawer he opened and turns back to sister Augustine. “I’m going to give you epinephrine,” He explains. “It will open your lungs and help you breathe.” 

Loki uncaps the shot, by mouth, and quickly sticks the sister’s arm, injecting the liquid components of the epinephrine into her upper arm with fluid movements as if he’s done this a thousand times before, because he has. 

Loki looks up at sister Augustine to assess the situation. The cap of the needle still in his mouth which he lightly grinds around with his teeth, almost nervous but not quite.

Everything is quiet for a moment. Loki takes this time to remove the needle from the sister’s arm and replace it with a cotton ball which he presses to her skin with moderate strength to stop any blood flow that may have followed the intrusion. 

“What happened?” One of the sisters ask. 

Loki foregoes the answer to that question to ask his own, “Did she take the pill?” He looks at the sister next to him, the one that had warned him of the situation and had stayed behind with sister Augustine. The one that had called it stigmata.

“Yes.” She says in a tone that betrays confusion and defensiveness.

“It’s an allergic reaction.” Loki explains ignoring the sister’s emotions at his question. 

“She’s allergic to an anti-allergy medicine?” The same sister asks in an incredulous tone now. 

Sister Augustine sits there taking in small mouthfuls of air, as if she now understands breathing is a commodity. Her body is still hunched over as she grabs at the medical bed with a white knuckled grip. Loki looks at her sympathetically. “How are you feeling?” He asks thinking about what variations he can use to treat her allergic reaction on her hands now that the blood rushing experience is over. “I’ll put you on some steroids instead.” He decides out loud, capping the syringe he used and throwing it away in the designated red safety box.

“Is my heart supposed to be feeling so funny?” Sister Augustine asks breathlessly, Loki watching as she brings a hand up to grab at her chest. 

“It’s called adrenaline, makes the heart beat fast.” Loki says flippantly but puts two fingers on her pulse point on her wrist just to check if it’s something worth looking into. Loki looks at Augustine with concern, his eyes flitting around the room in thought, “But not this fast.” 

Sister Augustine takes in a deep breath, wheezing again.

“Get a nurse, please.” He tells one of the sisters in a calm but pressing tone.

Sister Augustine leans into Loki’s body with a whimper and he grabs her so he may lightly rest her on the bed in a supine position. He leans over her watching her and trying to figure out what’s wrong, what could possibly be causing this, and how to fix it, fast. 

“Somebody help!” Loki hears the nun call outside the room. 

His attention is diverted when sister Augustine passes out. He quickly puts the stethoscope in his ears and puts the diaphragm on her chest, checking for her heart beat first, then her lungs. There is no comforting beat to be heard and her breathing has completely stopped as if it never existed, pulling this situation from a simple allergic reaction to something far, far more serious than Loki had anticipated. 

“Somebody get in here!” Loki yells out frustrated no one has answered their calls for help. Finally a nurse in blue scrubs comes in, realizing the situation is of immediate emergency and looks at Loki so she may help. 

“Call a code and charge up the defibrillator, she’s got no pulse.” He says speedily, starting to perform CPR on sister Augustine. The nurse flees from the room in record time to grab a defibrillator and yell at someone to call a code blue. 

Loki manages CPR for a few minutes until the defib team comes in and takes over. They only barely manage to bring sister Augustine back to life. 

Loki stands at the doorway, the two other sister next to him praying, he bites at his thumb. His mind is racing with the need for an answer. What caused this? What was he missing? It’s an allergic reaction, there’s no doubt about that, nonetheless he can’t figure out why everything he tried sent her into further shock. She couldn’t possibly have been allergic to everything he gave her, antihistamine and epinephrine. There is a factor here that he doesn’t know about, something is missing, and he would figure it out if it was the last thing he did. 

Loki barely glances at one of the sisters as they take a drink from a thermos before going back to saying their Hail Mary’s. 

Tagging (because they showed interest for this series): @rosaline-black​ @blueberrynonnie​ 

I won’t tag yall in any other posts unless you specify you’d like that! i just wanted you both to know i started it and if you’d still be interested 😊

[sineala]

A Few Thoughts About Hurt/Comfort

I have been asked this month to make a post about hurt/comfort in Avengers comics. And I love h/c -- I actually have a massive number of WIPs right now that are h/c -- so I am very happy to talk about it! Anyway, this is not really all that planned out and this mostly turned into an excursus on Tony Stark's pain. I'm sure you're all surprised.

Like pretty much everyone else, I'm sure, I have found that everything lately has been... pretty tough. And the coping mechanism that really got me through last year and this year was reading and writing a lot of h/c, on the theory that, however lousy a day I'm having, I can absolutely make sure that Tony Stark has a worse one. And then I can make sure he gets hugs. Wish fulfillment? Why, yes. (Once at Hallmark I was trying to find a "get well soon" card, forgot what it was called, and described it to my wife as "a hurt/comfort card.") I think Marvel Comics -- the Avengers side, in particular -- is an interesting canon for h/c for a lot of reasons. Though, honestly, if you asked me to recommend you, a hurt/comfort fan, a new fandom, I would probably just hand you some Starsky & Hutch DVDs. Go watch "The Fix" and get back to me later. If you like that, there's way more where that came from. But there's still lots to love in Marvel! Superhero comics are really a goldmine as far as the hurt side of h/c. Because superheroes, and you probably have noticed this, get hurt a lot. They get hurt repeatedly, in fantastical ways that are probably impossible in real life both physically and emotionally (at least, I don't think anyone's invented mind control yet), and even the heroes without superhuman healing powers tend to get physically hurt a whole lot worse than actual people can take. Currently in Iron Man comics, Tony has a broken back and is dealing with this by locking himself into the armor as a backboard and injecting himself with massive doses of painkillers. He's busy! He's got stuff to do! He doesn't have time to lie around and heal! So, basically, if you name a kind of pain that you would like to see happen to a character, it's probably happened to superheroes. Multiple times. The downside, though, is that comics do not really deliver that well when it comes to the comfort part of h/c. They could. It's not inherent to the medium that they don't. But because of the serial nature of comics and also the fact the primary audience is dudes who want to read about people in spandex punching each other, a lot of the time they don't really feel the need to provide closure and write about people dealing with any of the hurt. (Raise your hand if you're still annoyed with the end of Hickman's Avengers run.) But at the same time, I think that's a quality that makes Avengers ripe for h/c fanfic. Because, generally speaking, fandom likes to provide the things that canon doesn't, and fandom is more than happy to provide the comfort. If you enjoy canonical h/c in comics, I think you really can't go wrong with Iron Man. One of the big innovations of modern Marvel Comics was the concept that heroes would also suffer from relatable human problems, and in practice what this means is that a lot of heroes start with a fully-loaded angst-ridden backstory and origin story, ripe for h/c. So Tony starts out by incurring a heart injury that he fully expects is going to kill him, which he responds to by vowing he won't get close to anyone so they won't be sad when he dies, and throughout the early Silver Age is constantly on the brink of death as his heart nearly gives out on him practically every issue. And then even after his heart gets (mostly) better, there are various plots involving his armor being detrimental to his health and him choosing to fight on anyway. It's hard for me to think of another superhero hitting that particular variety of h/c in exactly the same way. Sure, superheroes risk their lives constantly, because this is how superhero comics work, but Tony is the only one I can think of who is this constantly this badly off, physically. Like, think of all the other heroes who have had a continual solo presence as fan favorites across Marvel history -- Captain America, Thor, Spider-Man, Wolverine, maybe even Deadpool. You know what those guys all have? Healing factors! For the most part, they are not running around continually on the verge of death, and while there are certainly memorable arcs involving several of them being severely injured and/or dead, you really have to work at it. It's not their constant state of affairs, whereas Tony is the kind of superhero who shows up to a fight already bleeding out under his armor. Yeah, I know Extremis gave him a healing factor. But he didn't have it very long, and also he did some extremely dangerous things while he did have it; I'm pretty sure I've never seen Wolverine saying that he'll just solve a problem by cutting off his own foot. So, anyway, yeah, there are a bunch of good arcs involving h/c for Tony. If you're looking for physical injury, he has a whole bunch of heart problems over the years, gets several new hearts, then ruins his brain, et cetera. That level of hurt is basically the background pain of Tony's life; every so often, his heart will get damaged or he'll have to live in the armor or the armor will be killing him, et cetera. If you're looking for more unusual trauma, I am, as always, going to rec Manhunt, a relatively obscure arc in late v3 (IM v3 #65-69) in which Tony has an extremely bad week. His tech is stolen and used to bomb a building. Then he gets shot in the chest. Then while he's at the hospital a nurse tries and fails to poison him, and she then tries to beat him to death. Then he checks himself out of the hospital and a helicopter shoots missiles at him. Then he becomes a fugitive from justice. And then, oh, yeah, he has to fight the Mandarin. It is... a lot. (Volume 3 of Iron Man is pretty good as far as h/c possibilities. You've got a lot of physical pain, Carol's drinking arc, the Sentient Armor, both DreamVision arcs, and Manhunt. Manhunt is finally supposed to be out in trade this month, by the way.) There are of course the drinking arcs, which probably count as their own type of hurt. But if you haven't read the second drinking arc (IM #160-200), please do. Marvel likes to up the stakes on events (Fear Itself, Secret Empire) by making Tony drink, and it does work, I think. I feel like I've spoken at length about Tony's drinking elsewhere so I don't really want to rehash it all here. And then there's the emotional pain. Angst and drama is something that happens to a whole bunch of characters, yes, especially in comics, but somehow Tony seems to end up with possibly more than his fair share of it. Fandom likes to make a lot of Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, so much so that you might think, if you didn't know canon, that this was just fandom running with a throwaway mention of Tony's terrible childhood and making it worse. But, no, canon really does go there with a reasonable amount of frequency. Howard's actual first appearance is in a flashback where he's ordering teenage Tony to break up with his girlfriend because she's the daughter of one of Howard's business rivals. And then we get into the verbal abuse, and the physical abuse, and the time Howard made Tony take his first drink, and the part where Howard was a demon in hell who Tony fought while he insulted him. And more! Currently, in canon, Howard is alive again and is in league with Mephisto for the express purpose of ruining Tony's life. Also when Tony was a baby, Howard tried to trade him to Dracula. I think you can make an argument that fandom is actually showing restraint when compared to canon. Tony also has a whole lot of Terrible Exes whose presence and/or former presence in Tony's life can be used for a lot of hurt. If you've read any amount of fanfic, you probably know that the exes who get the most play in fandom are Sunset Bain and Tiberius Stone -- not that Tony and Ty were ever canonically a couple, of course, but fandom is definitely enamored of this idea. Ty and Sunset both have relatively similar interactions with Tony in canon, in that they are both liars and emotional abusers, heavy on the gaslighting, with the purpose of becoming more successful than Tony. They both also attempt to murder Tony, although this is after he figures out they're evil, at least. (Yes, I know, this is not how either of them usually appear in AUs.) Tony also has a bunch of exes who also have just straight-up tried to murder or otherwise hurt him, sometimes while they are dating, and sometimes before Tony dates them: Whitney Frost, Indries Moomji, Kathy Dare, and Maya Hansen come to mind. There are probably more I'm not thinking of! But, yes, if you want to write about a guy in a series of terrible relationships, please consider Iron Man comics. If mind control is one of your favorite flavors of hurt, Tony's pretty good for that too. We all know about The Crossing. I suppose when I say "mind control" I mostly mean "armor control" because there are an awful lot of plots where someone else makes Tony's armor do whatever they want it to do and Tony is along for the ride -- Demon in a Bottle, Sentient Armor, and Execute Program are the first things that come to mind. There is also a fairly obscure What If that is What If Iron Man Lost The Armor Wars in which Justin Hammer apparently really wants Tony in a mind control collar to take off all his clothes and lounge around in his underwear. No, really. I think a lot of pain for Tony often revolves around his issues with control, generally -- his alcoholism comes into play here again. The entire aftermath of Civil War is also notable for its propensity to hurt Tony over and over and over. Is he stoically soldiering on through his grief after Steve dies? Hell, no! He cries, like, six separate times. He 100% blames himself for Steve's death. It's great. Everybody loves The Confession and the funeral in Fallen Son, but one of my personal favorites is Avengers/Invaders, in which Tony is confronted with a time-traveling Steve from WWII and in order not to screw up the timeline, he can't tell Steve he knows him. He is clearly not coping well. He shuts himself in a room with a giant wall of pictures of Steve! Also there's a part where he has to try to convince Steve he can trust him and he ends up having to tie Steve to a chair to talk to him, and Steve looks at him and asks, "Who did you kill to get where you are?" and I feel like that is probably one of the worst moments in Tony's life. No wonder he gave himself amnesia. So now we might want to ask, okay, but why is hurting Tony in fanfiction so much fun? I mean, I can tell you why I think it's fun. I can't speak for anyone else. One reason is that he is very emotional and very affected by everything he does. Sometimes you will see people complaining that the heroes of m/m fanfic cry too much and this is not realistic. This is not a problem if you're writing Tony! He can cry as much as you want and it's perfectly in character. I don't think it would be as fun to hurt him if he didn't express so much of his pain. But he does. He also feels guilty, and for me that's a very satisfying character element. If he were well-adjusted and didn't blame himself for so many things, it wouldn't be nearly as fun as watching him blame himself for everyone whose death he thinks he is responsible for, whether or not he is. And then he just keeps going, and it's, y'know, nice to watch him be resilient, too. So, I guess, I think hurting him is interesting because it's easy to hurt him, his weak points are pretty obvious, and he reacts a lot. Steve doesn't hurt quite as much as Tony does, in canon. It's certainly possible to hurt him -- I mean, they did actually kill him after Civil War, after all -- but I don't think the canonical patterns of hurting him are as numerous. Obviously deseruming Steve is a fairly popular go-to in terms of physical hurt; he's been deserumed at least three times that I know of. I think's easy to see the appeal there of taking a character who is fairly physically resilient and making him... much less so. Certainly Marvel seems to see the appeal. But other than that I don't think he has any other really common way to get physically injured. Unlike Tony, whose origin story is basically "oh no, I've acquired a disability," Steve's origin story is "I drank a serum that cured all my disabilities." Which, I mean, great wish fulfillment but there's not really as much there to poke at. Pretty much all of Steve's pain is emotional, but, unlike Tony, his pain isn't often specifically in response to someone directly, purposefully hurting him. Hickman's Avengers run is a big exception, yes. His pain seems to come up most often as a kind of situational angst. He feels like a man out of time. He feels out of touch with the modern era, with people his own age. He feels guilt because he feels responsible for Bucky's death. He feels like he can't trust the government and therefore he can't be Captain America. He worries that he doesn't know how to have a normal life. And, yes, these are deep and important worries but it's different than, like, Indries Moomji dumping Tony with the intent to make him sad enough to start drinking. Very few of Steve's villains want to personally ruin Steve's entire life the way Tony's villains do; mostly they just want to do things like bring back the Nazis. In terms of Steve's potential for h/c, I think Steve is harder to hurt than Tony is. Physically, he is definitely harder to hurt. You can deserum him, sure, but unless you want everything you write to be a deseruming fic you're probably not going to want to do that more than a couple of times. And if you want to hurt him physically while he has the serum, you have to hurt him hard. Usually past the point where a regular human would ever survive it. He's also harder to break, emotionally, than Tony is -- which means it's very satisfying when you can get him to break, but this is a guy who's only cried twice (that I remember) in canon. So if you want to get him to cry, you really, really have to wreck him, and he doesn't have as many obvious weak spots. He also doesn't generally sit around blaming himself for things that aren't his fault, and the whole "stewing in guilt" genre of plots for him basically came down to "he was sad that he thought Bucky's death was his fault," and that's really the biggest regret he seems to have, and also Bucky's not dead anymore. The Steve/Tony relationship itself, I would think, is also appealing to h/c fans because canon provides a lot of ways for them to hurt each other. Some people only ship pairings who would never, y'know, take turns beating each other half to death in major event comics. (And for a lot of Marvel Comics history, that was also Steve & Tony, so if you want them to be BFFs who have never fought, you can just set your fic earlier.) They have definitely hurt each other both physically and emotionally, so if you're looking for something easy and satisfying as a h/c fan, you can just read or write something where they... make up. What about Marvel characters other than Steve and Tony? Surely some of them are angsty, yes? Well, yes, but also it depends on the particular flavor of angst that you like. If you like the way Tony hurts, you may very well enjoy Doctor Strange comics, because they have a very similar attitude towards life -- they are both former alcoholics whose origin stories involve physical disabilities, who routinely make tactical decisions that negatively affect their continued existence and/or happiness a whole lot. It's very much an "I must suffer alone in the dark and no one will ever know what I am doing to save the world but it's the right thing to do" sort of vibe. Like, you can read comics where Strange is lying in hell with two broken legs, hallucinating that Clea has finally come to save him. Strange's biggest fear, akin to Tony's control issues, is basically that one day he's going to be an asshole again, so he's out there trying as hard as he can to do good. Also, if you like tentacles, he has all of them. I mean that. Carol also occasionally hits similar angst spots, and her drinking arc is great. A lot of people like Natasha, too; I have read zero Black Widow comics but I get the impression many people enjoy her brand of angst. The mutant metaphor is a little different in terms of overall vibe, but some people really like it as a source of angst -- the whole "protecting a world who hates and fears them" thing. It may not work for you, but if you like your hurt to include things like systemic oppression, go pick up some X-Men comics. Start with something like God Loves Man Kills. I feel like I liked this sort of thing a lot more as a teenager but that I kind of aged out of liking the mutants quite so much. It's also worth mentioning that not everything that hits the spot in one universe will be the same in the others, and I'm mentioning this because I feel like I have to say something about MCU Bucky. MCU fandom seems to get a lot of mileage out of Bucky's guilt about being the Winter Soldier, everything he was forced to do, et cetera. I have definitely read my share of those fics, and FATWS sure went right for that angst too. But as far as I can tell, he doesn't hit the same way at all in 616. And I like him a lot in 616; I'm always pleased when he shows up on a team. (He was so good in Strikeforce. Everyone was so good in Strikeforce.) But the thing is, 616 Bucky is, basically, phenomenally well-adjusted, given everything he's gone through, and I'm including the time he wrestled a bear in a gulag. He gets over having been the Winter Soldier, and now he's just, y'know, a guy with a cool arm who likes to bring guns to every fight to horrify his teammates, and he snarks at Clint. If you're looking for that angst, that is really not him these days. He's all better. So pretty much all that is canon. So what do we do in fandom for h/c? Well, as far as I can tell, a decent amount of it is canon-based or very canon-close -- there are a whole lot of stories exploring the angst of Civil War or Hickman's Avengers run. Tony's drinking comes up a fair amount, and if one of Tony's Evil Exes comes back to haunt him, it's pretty much only Tiberius Stone. I don't think I've read a lot of fic with Steve getting deserumed; it doesn't seem as popular in fandom as in canon. When Steve gets hurt, he tends to just get physically whumped pretty hard, and there's a fair amount of that for Tony too, but of course Steve can take more. There's also a thriving, uh, subgenre of pain involving Hydra Steve doing terrible things to Tony, presumably the terrible things he would have wanted to do to Tony in canon if Tony had had a flesh body. There's the usual kinds of h/c setups that appear in basically every fandom as well -- sickfic, whump, dub-con/non-con. You get the idea. But since fandom in general likes to take specific inspiration from canon, there's a lot of fic where the hurt tends to resemble things that happen more in canon. Like, I feel like comics fic probably has more tentacle fic and more mind control than canons that don't come pre-stocked with those. Probably everybody has a whole lot of "tied up by bad guys," though. And then, of course, fandom brings the comfort that canon does not. This is true in pretty much every fandom -- I mean, you aren't going to find a lot of actual canons where Character A saves Character B from mortal peril and then there's gay sex -- but, like I was saying, comics don't provide a lot of closure before it's onto the next thing. Usually with a different creative team, who has no interest in wrapping up anything from the last team. Steve and Tony talked about the incursions exactly once after Secret Wars and nobody mentioned the part where Steve spent several months trying to hunt Tony down and kill him. Tony is never going to remember the events of Civil War. Hydra Steve died ignominiously in a fire and no one has ever talked about him again. Honestly, if you're looking for a way to get some comfort in your fanfic, picking an event, any event, and just having the characters talk about it will be way more than any of them get in canon. I feel like honestly that can often be a pretty satisfying to read. And even though comics canon physically hurts characters pretty often and pretty badly, they also often skip right past the recovery. Maybe you'll get one page of a character in a hospital bed at the end of the story arc. Maybe you won't. Demon in a Bottle has one splash page of Tony going through alcohol withdrawal and then he's all better. I think Manhunt skips to Tony getting out of the hospital at the end. That's just not a story that they want to tell very often. The second drinking arc is notable in that it devotes almost as many issues to Tony's recovery as it does to getting him to rock-bottom. Similarly, Steve is done with his Nomad angst way way faster than you probably think he is (though The Captain does go in for a fair number of issues). So one of the things we often want to do in fandom is focus on all the bits that canon skips over, both in the "why did no one ever mention this story arc ever again" way and the "wow, so how long are they in the hospital after that" way. That's really all I can think of about h/c! I'm off to write some more of it!

[wizardimagines]

the ghost of you, draco x reader

It had rained everyday since the Malfoy family disappeared without a trace.  No one knew where they went, their manor standing empty as the family vanished off the face of earth. Not a single letter or a warning, one day they were just gone. Several people had made an attempt to reach out, but without success. 

Your bed was left empty for weeks after Draco's disappearance. Nothing truly felt right, the walls in your dorm you once had loved and found comfort in suddenly looked dull and montone and you couldn’t bring yourself to sleep in the bed where you had spent multiple nights tangled up in his arms. His scent was embroidered into the sheets, the last piece of himself he had left behind before he vanished. At first, you were just irritated. Angry that he had just left you behind without saying a word, just leaving one day without even warning you. Then the anger turned into sadness. You felt rejected, like you didn’t matter. Like you were nothing in his world. Then the sorrow hit.

You eventually gave up. One night it just hit you that he was actually gone. A part of you had hoped he would come back one day, pulling you into a tight hug, reminding you that you were his. But slowly the other part, the part where you knew he wouldn't come back took over. That was when it all changed for you. You couldn’t bring yourself to face things you associated with him, causing you to spend less and less time in your dorm and you just couldn’t seem to bring yourself so you could go eat breakfast or dinner. Everywhere you went, you could see his blond hair and lanky figure. His voice echoed throughout the whole building.

It had been months now. Everyone had accepted the fact that they were gone just a couple weeks after their disappearance, giving up on their attempts to find them or get in touch with them. It all just went back to normal after that, everyone forgetting about their existence; everyone but you. The school seemed so empty and quiet without him around, even though the halls were always filled with the loud students, you couldn’t help it but look for him in the crowds. He was never there, and your heart broke each time. Some people were happy Draco was finally gone, and a part of you couldn’t blame them, he could be rather greedy and horrible to say the least. 

You had tried to find love in someone else after some time, never succeeding. You always found yourself in bed with some boy who had the same blue eyes, some boy with the same platinum blond hair and sometimes you would just flirt with someone who looked even the slightest like him. No one ever compared to Draco, but the tiny bit of happiness you felt while looking into someone else's blue eyes, believing it was actually him for a split second of time was worth it.

Then the day came. The day where the rumours started to spread. You had been sitting in class, looking out the window as the raindrops hit the big windows when you first heard someone whisper behind you. ‘’I heard the Malfoys are back,’’ Your heart had stopped beating for a second, feeling your whole world coming crashing down all at once. After that everyone was talking about it, it was impossible to avoid. Some people said they had just been on a business trip while others said that they were death eaters and that’s why they had to leave so suddenly. Supposedly someone had seen a letter being dropped off at the headmaster’s office, written by Lucius Malfoy. Others claimed that they had seen the family back at the manor. You didn’t know what to believe. 

But there he was, standing right in front of you. You had left class early, as you did quite often nowadays. You just couldn’t bring yourself to focus, your thoughts always drifting away as you watched the rain fall outside the big windows day after day. The halls were dull and empty. The school had lost its color and feeling as Draco disappeared, the atmosphere now feeling strange and ghostly. It no longer felt like home to you. You had just turned around the corner when your heart sank to the bottom of your stomach.

You lost your ability to breath as you stood there, as still as a statue. He looked like a completely different person. He looked defeated. The bags under his eyes were more noticeable than ever, the corners of his lips pulled down as he looked at you. His ice blue eyes looked dead, there was not a single emotion to be seen. As the first tear rolled down your cheek, there was no going back. You could feel your whole body trembling, your throat tightening as your eyes continued to bleed with pain. Right there and then, it was like he never let in the first place. Time stopped as you looked at him, trying to make out his features as your eyes went blurry from the tears.

The atmosphere was thin like glas, almost like any noise would shatter it. You couldn’t bring yourself to say anything, you didn’t even know what to say to begin with. It was like you were staring at the ghost of him. His skin was pale, he was almost invisible. His black suit hugged his lanky figure, his hands were trembling and looked rough, like fine-grit sandpaper. ‘’Hello Y/N.’’ 

His voice lingered in your spine. His voice sent shivers through your whole body, his voice raspy and heavy. You felt your legs trembling as you tried to take a deep breath, failing miserably. You dropped the books you were clutching to your chest, a loud bang echoing through the empty halls as they hit the hard ground. After that, you fell into his arms. The feeling of his long arms wrapping around you for the first time in what felt like an eternity made you sob into his suit. It only took a couple of seconds for his scent to hit you, making you grab onto him even harder. You grabbed onto the material of his suit, never wanting to let go, like someone could snatch him away from you any second. ‘’I’ve waited for you,’’ You sobbed, your throat feeling tight as you tried your best to get the words out.

The world didn’t seem so dull in that moment of time. With your soul intertwining with his you finally felt like you belonged somewhere again, it felt like everything fell into place. It was like the rain stopped, the absence was suddenly replaced by the presence of his warm body pressed against yours. You knew deep down that this feeling wouldn’t stay forever, you knew his absence would come lingering back at some point. But at that very moment, your whole world centered around the boy in front of you and every breath he took like your whole life depended on it. 

[animedaddymilkers]

Kinkmas 2020: Day 21

Prompt: Yandere/Spanking w/ Inoichi

Genre: Smut/18+ || Tags: Yandere, Mutual Pining, Implied Stalking, Mild Dubcon, Spanking, Penetrative Sex, Aftercare || Characters: Inoichi Yamanka, Female Reader || read it on ao3 here

this fic contains yandere and mild dubcon themes, if that makes you uncomfortable please do not read!

With a content sigh, you unlocked the front door to your apartment, a slight fuzziness blurring your vision and limbs thanks to the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your keys were discarded into the cutesy trinket tray, your shoes kicked off into the ever-growing pile nearby. The date was an okay one, nothing extremely exciting but, hey, he was cute and it was a fun time. It may have sounded obnoxious when said out loud, but no men your age interested you. Not like you didn't give a plethora of them chances, and you still made friends with most of them. You just never seemed to form that romantic attachment you craved so desperately. What that said about your mental health wasn't totally lost on you, but not like you could (or wanted) to do a whole lot about it.

The sweater covering your shoulders was thrown onto a chair, your constricting belt quickly following as you made your way to your bedroom. At first, you didn't notice it, didn't notice anything at all. You simply continued walking on past the kitchen and living room, into your bedroom where you stripped your shirt and pants off. Trudging back out to the bathroom in your underwear and bra, your brows furrowed. You didn't remember turning one of the lights on… Chalking it up to the kitchen stove light you always left on, you continued your mission of brushing your teeth and face. When you came back out of the bathroom, you headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, freezing when you saw a figure sitting in one of your chairs, contently reading a book.

"S-Sir?!" the big kitchen light was on, illuminating the stoic face of one of Konoha's strongest shinobi.

The older blond man placed his book down, seeming annoyed it took you this long to notice him before he started with a huff, "I pay all my employees well, even ones as low down on the ladder as you. One would think that allows for better locks. And it's about time you arrived home, considering you have work tomorrow, no?"

Confusion was about the only emotion you could feel as your boss all but scolded you, besides the dull horny you always felt when it came to the man in front of you, though you suppressed that part for now, "Better wha- What the hell are you doing in my house?!"

Inoichi stood slowly, towering over you and making you regret the harsh tone you used, "Because it seems you forgot whom you belong to, dearest rosebud."

Besides the fact that his reply gave you more questions than answers, you silently gasped at the pet name he used. It was the same pet name your secret admirer had been using for you. You never saw the constant flower bouquets, food deliveries, or expensive gifts as harmful. They were, if anything, an ego boost to you thus far. All delivered to you with the sweetest notes, describing how ethereal you were, and always addressing you as rosebud, albeit also sounding a bit possessive. Additionally, in the six months, you had been receiving gifts, you hadn't been on any dates, instead choosing to focus on your new career supporting the Torture and Interrogation Department. A career that found you moving up the ladder fast, though you were still just doing menial tasks. Briefly, you wondered how much Inoichi had to do with those promotions, but he took a step towards you, cupping your face in his hand, and tore you from your thoughts.

"I think it's about time you come home. To your true home, don't you?"

Your heart thumped loudly in your throat and you nodded against your better judgment, "I do."

The smile you were met with sent a warm tingle through your body, and you returned a smile of your own. Inoichi nodded and picked his book up from the table, his other hand patting the top of your head. The silent praise had your chest swelling with pride for some reason unknown to you. It should have alarmed you how easily you accepted his offer, though you rationalized that you didn't have much choice, fearing that if you rejected him the trained ninja would take you anyways. Better to go willingly than be taken by force, right? Well, that and you were still a bit tipsy.

Before long, you were tucked snugly into the side of the blond man, his arm wrapped protectively around you. The route to his home was longer than it should have been, you suspected he was purposely avoiding the main streets. Being a high ranking shinobi taking a girl home during the early hours of the morning would raise questions. Especially a girl that worked under him. His warm touch was protecting you from the cold and the smell of his expensive cologne was intoxicating. It had you snuggling into his side more, an act which made him smile, he knew his rosebud wouldn't deny him. This definitely proved you deserved a present larger than anything he gifted you previously.

The Yamanaka clan complex was expansive and the main house was nothing to sneeze at either, easily dwarfing your apartment several times over. He led you inside, showing you around and you took notice of how similar his place was to yours. Not in the layout or big furniture pieces, but he had the same type of napkins, your favorite drinks, even your shampoo in his bathroom which you assumed was his daughter's. It didn't dawn on you until he took you on a tour of his room just how deep you were in. In his room, you found clothing that was unmistakably yours, items that had gone missing months ago and some just last week. They ranged from shirts and leggings to underwear and even a pillowcase. You tried not to take note of how some pieces were stained with white spots. Uneasiness began to grow in your gut as you wondered what exactly you had gotten yourself into when your phone buzzed with a notification. You pulled it out, only to have Inoichi take it from you and punch in your passcode.

His face soured, "You really think that lowlife deserves a second date? Before you give me even <em>one</em>? Disgusting."

Your date from earlier must have texted back after you replied you wanted to see him again. He was about to slide your phone onto the dresser when it began to ring. If the scowl on his face told you anything, it was, unfortunately, your date calling. The guy did say he preferred talking over text and at the time, you didn't mind, but now, it was really rather annoying.

"Answer it. Reject him. Reject him like you know you want to," the direction was clear and stern, leaving no room for discussion as he thrust the phone in your direction.

Nervously, you took the device from him and answered the call. Rejecting someone, in general, was an anxiety-inducing task, but to have an overbearing admirer glare you down while doing so was all the more nerve-wracking. Your voice wavered slightly as you talked and although Inoichi still frowned, his hands played through your hair, skimming the ends of your locks. The guy on the other end was rightfully confused while you explained you never wanted to see him again because just an hour ago you texted you were looking forward to it. Part of you hoped he would pick up on the odd behavior and come after you, but the realistic part of your brain told you the boy was too daft and a measly coward. The opposite of the man in front of you.

Once the call was complete the smile returned to the blonde's face, "Good flower! I knew you wanted to be with me. But-," his face fell again, a look of complete seriousness that made you swallow hard, "I can't forgive your little indiscretion. Not yet. It seems you need a punishment to truly remind you of whom you belong to, rosebud."

Your face grew cold at the implications, yet still, you allowed Inoichi to lead you towards the bed. He sat on the edge and patted his expansive thighs, hardened with all the training he did. You should be refusing, should be running far, far away from this situation. But, it was too tempting. How many times does the man you fantasize about return your affections so vigorously? Additionally, a spanking from him sounded like time well spent and you did deserve it for trying to date someone else when you were meant for him. You laid yourself across his legs, the pants you haphazardly put on before leaving being tugged down to your knees. His hands caressed your backside, massaging your ass cheeks before giving a playful swat to them.

"Count them. If you lose count we start over. We'll stop when I think you've learned your lesson. Got it?"

You nodded before squeaking out a, "Yes, daddy."

The name seemed to both please and shock the man, as his hand stalled in mid-air before he grinned. Then, he brought his hand down to your cheek, prompting you to call out the number. A second smack was quick to follow onto the other cheek along with a third, his hands only stalling to hear you mutter out the number. Thankfully, he was merciful in his technique, alternating cheeks and making sure to smack the untouched parts of your backside. A couple even landed harshly on your folds, the wetness gathering there only intensifying the pleasure-pain you felt. After spank thirty, it was hard to find an area that wasn't welting up, and so he went over the areas he already smacked. It made it all the more sensitive as your legs jerked slightly and hands clutched at the comforter beneath you. Your ass was raw and bleeding slightly in a few places, yet still, his hands struck you, enjoying each conflicted whine that left your mouth.

At fifty, you prayed he would be finished, but he kept on spanking, making sure to land more smacks over your pussy. He'd make comments that were a mix of degrading praise about how wet you were for him and how well he was going to fuck you. The promise of being railed by the ever-growing hard-on beneath you was the only thing keeping you from begging him to stop. You were determined to be a good girl for your daddy, despite the burning pain you felt on your rear. Somewhere in the midst of the sixties, you actually came on his hand after he smacked your pussy again, earning rumbling praise from the man above you. Finally, at seventy-five, he stopped, most likely because his hands were sore at this point too. Your reprieve was capitalized by him affectionately rubbing and massaging your abused cheeks as if it pained him to hurt you. Without restraint, you whined into his chest as he held you, hips grinding down against his.

He laughed softly and kissed along your jaw, "Have you learned your lesson? Are you ready to accept me as your one and only?"

"Yes, I've learned my lesson, daddy. You're the only one I want in my life. Now and always, please never leave me," you held onto his shirt as you locked gazes with him, your best puppy dog eyes on display.

They worked their intended magic, as you could see his expression soften almost immediately, "Good little blossom. I'll never leave your side and you'll never leave mine. Especially not after we become one, petal."

The notion was intoxicating, being loved by someone so much they'd do anything for you. But right now, the love you needed was physical and with the goal dangling right above your head, you were desperate to reach it. Your hands slid under his shirt and peeled it off, your own being removed soon after. Within a flash, you both were naked and kissing each other feverishly. Inoichi laid back on the bed's pillows, admiring the sight of you perched atop him. You didn't mind being on top, taking the advantage to push his cock into you quickly. As you sank down on him, his hands stroked up and down your thighs, giving a testing thrust up into you. You sat on his cock as much as your body would allow and without hesitation, began to bounce yourself on him. He sighed in pleasure as you wrapped around him so perfectly, telling you he expected nothing less from his perfect rosebud. The praise drove you wild, finally getting the recognition you deserved, albeit in the form of compliments on your sex technique.

When your thigh muscles began to clam up from overuse he laid your body down on top of him. His thick arms wrapped around your torso and he wasted little time in thrusting up into you. Hands caressed your shoulders and he locked gazes with you, unable to tear his eyes away from your face. In the midst of your passionate throes, Inoichi couldn't help but get lost in your otherworldly beauty, only the noises you made and the movement of his hips kept him grounded. It felt like your pussy was made for him, wrapping around him so perfect and driving him insane, he had trouble restraining himself from fucking into you harder. His lips met yours fiercely, kissing and holding onto you like you might disappear at any time. You put a hand on his cheek as you kissed him back and snaked a hand down between your bodies to rub at your clit. Though, your hand was soon removed, being replaced by one of Inoichi's, who explained he was determined to be the one who pleased you. As if you'd have any qualms about that.

His surprisingly smooth fingertips rubbed at your clit and with the constant feeling of his cock pounding against your cervix, you quickly came a second time. Yet still, his fingers kept moving, only stopping for a brief moment to let you ride out your high. The look on his face let you know he was close to orgasm himself, the blush covering his cheeks made your own heat up. Seeing the older blond man so lost in ecstasy, lost in your body, was absolutely pussy clenching. He groaned and held onto you tighter, his face burying into your neck as he moaned your name. The number of times you imagined him calling out your name in pleasure had absolutely nothing on the real thing. You whined into his chest and dug your nails into his shoulder, relishing in the way his cock pounded into your hole, hitting the same spot over and over. Every little thing was mind-blowing when added together and when you heard Inoichi announce he was cumming inside of you, you easily spiraled into another orgasm of your own. You clenched around his twitching cock, milking him for all he was giving you.

After you coaxed a second orgasm from Inoichi you let him pull out, both panting hard and nearly passed out. Yet somehow, he managed to get you into the bathtub and cleaned you up, personally washing you as he whispered constant praises in your ear. You nearly fell asleep like that, if it wouldn't have been for the cold surrounding you once the water was drained. Inoichi sat you down in front of the vanity after he dried your body and affectionately brushed your hair while blow-drying it. Again, the attention and repetitive actions almost put you to sleep, your daddy coaxing you awake with kisses to your jaw. He instructed you to pick out something to wear in the closet while he waited for you in the bed. You assumed he meant to pick something of his to wear for the night, but once you entered the expansive walk-in closet, it all became a bit too clear. The wall opposite of what you assumed was Inoichi's was filled with clothes that fit your exact aesthetic. A few flips through and it confirmed, they were all in your size, some items were exact copies of things you had in your closet, others literal things that you had gone missing. The sight should have disgusted you, creeped you out, something. But looking at the wall of clothes and shoes all you could think of was how thoughtful it was of him to so thoroughly prepare for you moving in.

hope you enjoyed! remember likes & reblogs help me reach more people! :D

[blossom-hwa]

Constellation - FELIX

The last week and a half has been hectic, to say the least. I don’t think I need to go into detail about why, but hopefully this story will bring back a bit of levity :) I’m really excited that it’s finally finished, and for a) the comeback and b) Felix’s birthday no less! Happy comeback, happy late birthday to the one and only Han Jisung, and happy birthday to the lovely marvelous wonderful Felix Lee, one of the best boys in the whole world! I hope you all enjoy :)

Pairing: Felix x fem!reader

Genre: fluff, angst, nature spirit!au

Word Count: 11k

You swear an oath to return your fallen star to the sky.

SKZ Masterlist | Whispers of Nature

Felix’s head hurts. It really hurts.

Something liquid starts trickling down his hair when he tries to move, something that he’s pretty sure isn’t the starshine Donghyuck so loves to splash in his fellow stars’ faces. It’s much thicker. Stickier.

Where…?

Groaning slightly, Felix forces his eyes to flutter open slightly. Immediately a round of dizziness rushes into his head and he slams them shut, willing the nausea to fade away.

What happened?

Mentally, Felix starts going through everything he remembers doing tonight. Nothing much, really – he sent dreams to the children, shone in the Sky, mediated a squabble between a few younger stars, ran away from Donghyuck’s antics, then… falling?

Wait, falling?

His eyes snap open to cold air brushing his skin and dusky green dotting his vision. A stark horror starts to fill his mind, overtaking the growing pain in his head.

I’ve fallen. I’m on Earth.

Panic rises in his chest but he forces it down, if only for a few moments. He must’ve hit his head when he fell. That would explain the throbbing pain. He probably blacked out for some time – he doesn’t know how long, but the Sky’s light is already turning gray in the east so it must be near dawn by now.

If he weren’t immortal, he would be dead right here, right now. Felix gulps at the realization, sitting up slowly. His limbs work, even though they ache a lot. But even that pain can’t compete with the feeling in his head. 

Something shiny glints at the corner of his vision and he turns to see bright ivory ichor on the grass. He slowly reaches a hand to the back of his head and feels a sticky, wet lump. When he lifts his fingers to his face, smears of ivory glitter in the faint daylight.

By the Mother Earth and her child the Sky, how did I get into this mess?

For how long he sits there, trying to get a grip on the situation, he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know what to do – should he try to find people? Should he try to figure out a way back home on his own? Should he just lie down and wait and hope that the Sky will take him back tomorrow night? Why did he even fall in the first place?

A rustling of grass jerks him out of his spiraling thoughts and his head whips to the right. The throbbing intensifies and Felix watches in mute horror as someone emerges from the trees.

For several seconds that could be minutes or even hours, Felix stares at you and you stare at him. Terror adds to the growing pile of emotions in his head and he can’t even act on his instinct to flee because his body feels so tired and pained that it won’t let him move. The fact that you’re a human nearly sends him spiraling again but he forces his mind to cooperate.

Felix has seen many things from his vantage point in the Sky. War. Famine. Greed. Disease. Destruction. So many atrocities that humans have committed against each other and against those they deem different, inferior.

What would they do to a star?

Slightly more mobile, Felix scoots backward as best he can. His eyes remain locked on yours and he can feel himself trembling in your presence.

A being of the heavens, a child of the Sky and the night, trembling in front of a small human. The other stars would laugh if he shared this story with him.

He wonders if his powers still work on earth.

But for now, he doesn’t need to find out. For instead of pressing forward, you back away, holding up your hands in a gesture that does not scream danger to him. Curious eyes look at him with wonder and a little fear, but not enough to warrant harm. It is natural to fear the unknown, but thankfully for Felix, it looks as though you have not given in to the fear so much as to hurt him.

“I’m sorry for scaring you. My name is Y/N.” Your voice is soft, like the one he uses when comforting a startled moon rabbit. “I saw you were injured. Do you need help?”

Yes. Yes, he does. He needs a lot of help, but he’s not sure if he trusts you enough to rely on you.

You sit down, keeping a safe distance away from him, though Felix isn’t sure if the distance is for your safety or his. “You’re bleeding,” you say patiently. “I’m a maiden at a shrine not far away. If you want, I can take you there and clean your wound, then give you directions to wherever you’re headed.” A small, worried smile plays on your face. “The shrine is very deep in the forest, you know. You must be lost.”

Almost against his will, Felix nods. He is lost.

So very lost.

“May I take you to the shrine?” you ask again. “I can help you better there.”

Felix notices his muscles have untensed. He’s relaxed in your presence. He vaguely thinks he should be upping his guard, but the pain in his head has rebounded and the throbbing has turned sharper. He raises a hand to the wound again and his fingers comes back still covered in blood.

Ivory blood.

Hiding his hand is of no use but he does it anyway, heart dropping when he sees your widened eyes.

Dead silence reigns, broken only by the slight rustling of the leaves.

“Ivory blood?” you finally say, smiling tentatively. “It’s okay. At the shrine, we take care of many magical beings. We’ve had pixies, nymphs, a few fae, even a demon, once. Red blood, golden blood, black blood. I’ve never seen ivory before, but we care for all, so long as they show us no harm.”

The momentary panic cleared his head but now that he thinks you still mean no harm, Felix finds himself relaxing again. He nods sluggishly.

You come forward, touch slow and gentle against his bruised skin. You loop one of his arms around your neck, then support him with an arm around his. Step by slow step, you help him across the soft grass, deeper and deeper into the forest.

. . . . .

The bruises are easy to treat – a few dabs of cream, and you promise the boy in front of you that they will be good as new in a few days. The wound on his head takes more time. Ivory blood oozes from a nasty lump on the back of his head, and it takes a lot of water, a lot of flinching, and a lot of murmured apologies before it’s clean and bandaged.

“Done.” You finally give what you hope is a reassuring smile and begin putting away the bandages. “I need to go do my morning chores, but you can stay and lie on my bed awhile. I don’t think many people will come by here, but on the off chance that they do, they won’t hurt you. I promise. I’ll be back soon, probably around midday.”

He nods, luminous eyes staring at you with something unreadable in their depths. Even as you begin walking to your bedroom door, he doesn’t lie down on the bed. He’s still sitting as you close the door quietly behind you.

Your heart pounds as you rush down the hall, hoping the priestesses won’t scold you for being so late to your chores. They know your fascination with the forest, know the long walks you take every morning. Maybe you could just say you got lost in the sunrise? They wouldn’t hold that against you, would they?

Thankfully, no one comes by as you snatch a broom from the shed and begin sweeping the front of the shrine clear of dead leaves. Your stomach scolds you for missing breakfast but really, what’s a missed meal in the face of helping one of the lost?

Even if this lost boy is unlike any being you’ve ever seen before.

A lot of magical beings have strange-colored blood. That didn’t faze you. Fae, sprites, nymphs – golden blood runs through all their veins. Hell, you’ve seen black blood from the demon you helped that one time. Ivory isn’t so different.

But white hair that glows? Eyes as pale and silvery as the moon? You’ve never seen that before. As you finish the chores and begin walking back to your room, you puzzle over what the boy is.

He reminds you of something, but what is it?

Lost in thought, you bump into a heavy table full of small relics. But just as the curse leaves your mouth and pain starts blooming in your hip, a yelp from the sleeping quarters pushes all thought out of your mind and you run to your room.

You nearly smack into Priestess Jeon, the head priestess of fire, who’s standing outside of your room with a shocked look on her face. Peering anxiously into the room, you see the boy, looking scared but thankfully unharmed.

“Y/N.” She turns to you, not angrily, not fearfully, but with confusion. “Why is there a star inside your bedroom?”

It hits you.

A star.

Of course.

He is a star. It explains the glowing candlelit hair, the luminous eyes, the way he seems to exude the calm of night. That’s what he reminded you of – a night sky full of stars.

“A star,” you finally murmur. “I-I’m sorry, Priestess. I found him in the forest and he was hurt, but when I came back I was already late for chores and I saw no one around so I tried to patch him up as best I could and left him here to rest until I finished. I was just coming back to check on him.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you see the poor star’s gaze flicker from you to the priestess to the door and you feel terrible. He’s a star, one of the luminous children of the sky and night, being forced to face two impure human beings.

How did he even end up on earth in the first place?

Priestess Jeon steps forward slightly and your eyes rivet between her and the star sitting on your bed. She kneels down so that she is eye-level with the boy and beings to speak.

“Hello, little star.” You know the smile she has on her face – it was the one that persuaded you and your brother to stay, and you only hope it has the same calming effect on the star. “I am Jeon Jiyoung, priestess of fire, and one of the head priestesses of this shrine. We are a shrine, but we are also a home for the lost. We welcome all – nymphs, demons, fae. We have never hosted a star before, but it would be our greatest honor to do so. If you are lost, we will take care of you until you can return to the sky.”

“I don’t know how.”

Had it not been so full of anxious terror, the startlingly deep voice that the star speaks with could have belonged to a man. But all you can see is a scared boy in front of you. Cracked, soft, terrified, his words make your heart clench.

“Would our witch know anything about stars?” you ask. “She might have suggestions. Or maybe Changbin?”

“Perhaps.” The priestess stands. “Our witch is very skilled – she might know something. Changbin is a moon child, too. He might know or be able to ask someone how to return you to the sky,” she tells the boy. “But until then, little star, do not fear. The shrine is safe for you. Y/N –” she looks at you – “can I entrust you with caring for our star?”

“Me?” you squeak. “Aren’t there… shouldn’t one of the older maidens… I’m not –”

“Do not doubt your capabilities.” Priestess Jeon puts a hand on your shoulder, smiling gently. “Besides,” she whispers, “I think our star is a little afraid – naturally so. Since you found him, I think he will trust you the most. You have not given him any reason to distrust you, have you?”

Biting your lip, you shake your head. She turns to the star, satisfied. “Is this all right with you?” she asks him.

His pale eyes bore into yours, as though he’s seeing right through your soul. Trapped beneath his gaze, you cannot move until he nods slowly. “Yes.”

“Then it is settled.” The priestess claps her hands. “Y/N, you are excused from the rest of today’s chores. Take our star to the healing ward and check him for any more extensive injuries. He may stay there until he can return home.”

. . . . .

Felix lies awake for most of that first night in the healing ward. He doesn’t like it there. It’s too clean, too silent. He would have preferred sleeping in your room and he wishes the priestess had suggested it, but she didn’t and his shyness prevented him from asking.

Faint sunlight shining through the windows tugs him out of a light sleep the next morning. You come in just as he’s swinging his legs out of the bed.

“Good morn – oh.” You cover your eyes. “I’ll just… wait outside until you… put on a shirt?”

Confused, Felix looks down. Then he remembers that humans have strange rules about covering up their skin in the presence of others. “Sorry,” he mumbles, hastily fumbling for the shirt he was given yesterday.

After a light breakfast – the milk and the bread taste good, but not so much the sour, crunchy thing you say is kimchi – you take him on a walk in the woods to meet the witch.

“I don’t know exactly why she came here,” you explain on the way there. “She just showed up one day, pregnant, and asked for shelter. I think only Priestess Jeon knows truly what happened to her.”

Felix doesn’t know much about witches, but the one he meets is kind. She has a child, a young boy who has her hair and nose and eyes and who quickly takes a shine to Felix. His skin is a little paler than hers, though, and their smiles aren’t quite the same. Maybe those are traits from his father.

“I’ll be honest with you – I don’t know exactly how to return you to the sky.” The witch closes her book and Felix looks up from the cooing little boy you’re holding in your lap. Little fists grab onto Felix’s pants and he almost yelps in surprise, but the boy’s chubby cheeks and laughing eyes render him silent and he deals with it, even though it feels strange. You laugh a little, adoring gaze focused on the child, and Felix pauses at the love he sees within your face.

The witch holds out her hands to her child, who immediately (thankfully) abandons your lap and Felix’s ragged pants to enter her arms. “I do think there is a library in the moon palace where there might be more books on the stars, however. I’ll ask Changbin to help me find some. Until then, I will give you a potion that will help you adjust to life on earth. It will change your sleeping pattern, as well as prevent serious sunburns. I’ll also ask Changbin for one of his moonflowers – I think the moon’s magic will help keep your body stable.”

Felix nods, a little overwhelmed by the information and disappointed that the witch doesn’t know how to return him home, but thankful nonetheless. “Thank you,” he says, dipping his head in respect.

“Thank you,” you echo, standing up from the floor. “Do you know when Changbin will be around?”

“Not exactly,” she replies, detaching her child’s hands from her hair and settling him firmly on her lap, “but he’ll come soon. It’s almost that time of the year, you know.”

A dark silence falls over the small house, something you and the witch understand but that Felix doesn’t. Clearly something bad happened to this Changbin, and he isn’t exactly sure he wants to know what.

Then the child starts babbling and the spell of silence is broken as the witch focuses her attention on him and you laugh at his antics. “Thank you, again,” you say, looking fondly at the small family. “If there is anything you ever need from the shrine, simply ask. You do so much for us.”

A faraway look comes into the witch’s face. Felix wonders what she’s thinking of. “It’s no problem.” She smiles warmly, but with a tinge of melancholy that a less perceptive person might not notice. “Oh, wait.” Hefting her son onto her shoulder, she stands. “Would you give me one of your hairs? I will need it for the potion.”

Bemused, Felix reaches up a hand and plucks out a strand of hair.

“I know it’s strange.” The witch takes it with an embarrassed smile. “But this is a specialized potion, specific for just you, and these potions often need something from the person they will be given to. It’s to ensure that it will be effective on you.” She smirks. “Blood is often temperamental, so I don’t use it unless I have to. And I don’t feel like you would want to drink what used to be one of your nails or a sliver of your skin.”

Felix makes a face. He would not.

“I suppose we should take our leave now.” You bow slightly and Felix scrambles to do the same. “Thank you so much again.”

“Thank you,” Felix echoes, hoping his expression conveys the depth of his gratitude.

“The pleasure is mine.” The witch smiles, patting her son on the back. “I’ll bring over the potion sometime tomorrow.”

Then the boy starts crying, so you quickly leave the hut.

. . . . .

“I need to complete my chores,” you tell the star as you two enter the shrine. “Do you want to come with me, or do you want to stay in the healing ward until I finish?”

A slight grimace crosses the star’s ethereal face when he hears your second option. You’re not surprised by his choice to come with you, but you are surprised by his offer of help.

“It’s awkward just standing here, watching you work,” he mumbles shyly. “If I’m staying here for some time, I should at least learn to help out.”

So you fetch him a broom and teach him to sweep, then attempt to teach him to cook. He’s surprisingly good at sweeping – he even looks graceful while doing it, which doesn’t make sense at all – but he’s a terrible cook. You have a hard time stifling your simultaneous laughter and yelps of fear when he nearly cuts off a finger and sends carrot peels flying all over the floor.

In the end, you send him back to the healing ward with a plate of food and a promise to join him after you’ve finished serving the other maidens and priestesses. But by the time you enter the ward, he hasn’t even begun eating yet.

“Are you not hungry?” you ask, sitting on the bed next to him. “We can wait to eat until later, it’s not a problem.”

The blush that settles across his freckled cheeks is strangely adorable. “Um… no.” He holds up his chopsticks. “How do you…?”

“Oh.” You laugh. “It’s not hard. Let me show you.”

So the star learns to use chopsticks as quickly as he learns to use the broom – so not long at all – and within minutes, he’s carefully putting food into his mouth. Silence falls as you fill your stomachs.

“Do you want to go outside?” you finally ask, putting your plate on the floor. Then you look more closely at his face and see pale pink beginning to burn on his skin. “Wait, are you already burning?��� You touch his face, alarmed.

He shrugs, leaning back slightly. “I don’t know,” he mumbles. “Is… that what the pain is? Burning?”

“You felt pain?” you half-screech. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

He shrugs again. “I thought it was normal?”

You sigh. “Have you ever been out during the day?”

The nonplussed look he gives you is enough of an indication of how dumb that question was. “I’m a star,” he says by way of reply.

“Sor-ry.” You roll your eyes, embarrassed. “Sunburns are common if you stay outside in the sun too long – the heat literally burns your skin. But normally you don’t get burns from walking under the forest canopy. I guess your skin is just extremely sensitive.” You rummage around a nearby drawer, pulling out a bottle of aloe. “Can I put this on you? It’ll soothe the pain.”

Swallowing, the star nods assent. You sit next to him and begin applying the gel to his skin.

“How do you have freckles if you don’t see the light of day?” you mumble, brushing gel over some of the tiny dots on his face. They don’t really look like freckles – they seem to have a pattern, and they’re a little darker – but that’s the best word you have for them.

“Freckles?”

There it is again – that lost, confused expression that he had while holding the chopsticks. He doesn’t know what freckles are.

“Uh, freckles.” You wave your hands somewhere near his cheeks. “The… dots? The dots on your face?”

His mouth forms a little ‘o’ as he realizes.

“Yeah.” You drop your hands. “People are either born with them or get them from the sun. Most of us get them from staying outside too long, it’s not a commonly-born trait.”

“I didn’t get them from the sun,” he mumbles. “They’re… the constellation I’m part of.”

Silence falls again as you put away the aloe. “By the way,” you finally say, trying to start conversation, “may I know your name? I don’t think you ever said anything…”

The star swallows. “I’m sorry. In the sky, we don’t usually give our names to anyone but ourselves. Because to give our name to someone like a fae or another trickster race would be disastrous.” He smiles a little. “You’re not a fae and you’ve been kind, but I don’t think I can give you my name just yet.”

You give him a small smile with the last dab of aloe. “Don’t worry. I know the weight of a name.” Happy memories bring a smile to your face. “We had a fae here once – his love brought him in after he fell out of a tree, trying to impress her.” You roll your eyes. “The priestesses had to give up their names and all of the maidens’, too, to know the fae’s and his lover’s. It was worth it, though.” You close the drawer, smiling at him. “The fae and his love are some of our favorite and most frequent visitors now.”

“A fae,” the star murmurs. “You have a lot of strange visitors.”

“We do, but it makes life interesting.” You lean forward. “Did I tell you about the demon?”

He shakes his head slightly. “You mentioned it, but didn’t go into detail.”

“Well, let me tell you, he had the wildest blood pressure.”

And so story after story turns afternoon into evening, the light outside the window dimming until you have to light a candle and one of the maidens comes in with food for you too. Guilt-stricken, you apologize for not cooking, but Jiae simply waves you off, reminding you that your duty is with the star and a few missed chores are nothing. Felix doesn’t speak much, but his features begin to relax as the hours tick by and that’s all that matters, really.

The candle has almost burnt out by the time you decide you should leave. “I think it’s time to sleep.” You can only just see the faint outline of his face in the flickering candlelight, but his hair almost glows in the dark while his silvery eyes still bore into yours. “I’ll go now.”

Fear and another indecipherable emotion flash across the luminous eyes as you stand and you stop. “Do you need anything?”

The star swallows hard. “I…” He takes a deep breath. “It’ll sound stupid.”

“I’m sure I’ve heard stupider things. After all, I grew up with my brother.”

A small smile twitches at the star’s lips, but the uncertainty remains on his face. Patiently, you wait, and finally, he speaks.

“I don’t like being alone here,” he admits almost shamefully. “Could I stay somewhere where there are more people?”

That throws you for a loop. Where could he stay? In someone’s room? Maybe with Jeongin or some of the other messengers? But their quarters are all the way across the shrine grounds…

“You could stay with me?” you offer. “Do you want to go to my room or stay in here?”

A look of relief passes over the star’s face. “… Your room? If that’s alright.”

Hopefully the priestesses won’t scold you for this.

“Of course. Come on.” You take him to wash up first, then lead him to your room. He follows behind you so soundlessly that you look back sometimes, half-expecting him to have vanished. He’s always there, though.

“Take the bed,” you order, spreading out a blanket on the ground for yourself. Felix immediately begins to protest, but you hold up a hand. “You are the guest, and you are injured. Take the bed. Don’t argue.”

He takes the bed.

Satisfied, you lie down on the floor, pulling the blanket around you. Then another one drops on top of it.

“It’s too warm,” the star’s voice rumbles. His silvery eyes, peeking over the side of the bed, dare you to argue.

You sigh but smile. “If you say so.”

And so you fall asleep.

. . . . .

Several weeks pass, and Felix becomes more comfortable with the shrine. Trust is something hard to give and easy to take back, and he vacillates between the two as he explores the world little by little. You seem understanding, though, never showing impatience or annoyance with his periodic silences. That comforts him.

Life goes on. He settles into a routine, and as the days go by, Felix starts taking your presence as a comfort, rather than something to be viewed with suspicion. A month later, he feels comfortable enough to tell you his name.

“Felix,” you mumble. His name catches on your tongue, but he likes the way it sounds from your lips.

A flash of doubt courses through his body. “Please don’t give it out so easily.” Felix’s eyes beseech you. “I must return to the Sky.”

“I won’t.” You squeeze his hand gently. “I promise.”

The witch comes by with Felix’s potion after the first week and he can finally go outside. The other maidens and priestesses make him nervous at first, so you only take him deep into the woods to sit in silence.

Sometimes you talk. Sometimes you don’t. At first, the silences are awkward, but they later turn warm. Comfortable. You bring a pad of paper and sketch things when it becomes quiet. Felix likes to watch you draw, fingers moving smoothly along the pages and etching flowers and grasses and trees onto the paper. The silences are almost as pleasant as talking.

But when you talk, Felix is reminded by how nice your voice is. Soothing, sweet, kind. It washes over him in gentle waves and calms him like the starshine used to. Now, he’s too far away from the Sky to feel the starshine as much as he used to, but it’s okay. Your voice and your stories are good substitutes. They help him feel at peace.

One day, you bring a different book with you on the walk into the forest. It’s not your rough sketchbook. This book has tattered pages and a heavier cover embossed with faded golden characters. You stop him at the edge of a sparkling pond, right under a large willow tree that drapes over the water.

“What’s that?” Felix asks, pointing at your book. He can’t read the words on it.

“It’s a book of stories,” you reply, opening it up. “Since I’m running out of stories to tell you about the shrine, I thought I could read you some instead.”

You read to him for hours, stopping only to pass over some bread you packed for lunch, and Felix loses himself in your voice and the stories you tell. Witches, dragons, pirates, brave princes and princesses – he revels in every tale.

Being the star of everlasting childhood, he always knew humans had the ability to come up with these fantastic stories. But too many lose that ability as they grow older and their innocence slips away. It’s been a long time since Felix has had a reminder that people are still born under his star, born with the gift to remain a child despite their age.

The Sky has darkened by the time you close the book. Felix pouts a little when you say it’s time to go, but the firm expression on your face convinces him to stand.

“The forest isn’t safe at night,” you explain on the way back. “Daylight may keep the dangers away, but once the cloak of night falls, the sprites like to come out to play. Han isn’t here and I think Chan had to visit another forest, so we have no guarantee of safety right now. If you’re lucky, the sprites will leave you alone, but you’re a star. That’s strange enough. Better safe than sorry.”

“Who are Han and Chan?” The names are unfamiliar on his tongue.

“Chan is the guardian of this forest, and Han is the fae I told you about.” You grab Felix’s hand to pull him around a large tree root. Your skin is rough, but it feels so right against his. “Han is not the fae’s real name. Chan is, though. He’s protected by the magic that binds him here, so I can tell you his name. Han isn’t as safe.”

Felix likes your touch. Your hand may not be soft and white like a star’s, but it’s comforting and gentle in its smooth roughness and he trusts it.

Your voice pulls him back to reality. “But anyway, if you’re so put out by story time getting cut off,” you laugh, “I can teach you to read, and we can try to read together tomorrow. All right?”

Blushing slightly, Felix nods. “All right.”

. . . . .

Changbin finally arrives several weeks later, eyes hollow and reddened. They regain a little of their normal sparkle when you wrap him in a large hug, burying your head in his neck. His expression turns to one of wonder, then respect as he meets your star for the first time.

Felix is too starstruck at the sight of a moon child to say much, only wordlessly handing over a strand of hair for the witch and taking the moonflower necklace Changbin hands him. You tease him about his pink cheeks after the moon child closes the door.

“I’ve just never met a moon child before,” Felix grumbles. “He’s the son of the goddess I serve!”

Rolling your eyes, you push him out of the room to get ready for bed. The two of you settle down in comfortable silence after you blow out the last remaining candle, and you’re on the cusp of sleep when Felix mumbles something.

“Hmm?” you mumble.

“He didn’t look lost,” Felix whispers to the dark. “Changbin, I mean.”

Confusion shakes you awake. “Lost?”

“Priestess Jeon said this shrine was a home for the lost.” Felix rolls over in the bed. “I… just thought he didn’t look very lost. He looked quite sure of who he was. Where he was.”

Sympathy and sadness fill your heart, and your mouth twists into a small frown. “Changbin found this shrine after he lost someone very precious to him.” Your throat closes up, just remembering his story. “She was his world, for a while. When he lost her, he lost a part of himself. That’s when he found his way here.”

Contemplative silence fills the room.

“When were you lost?”

Under the bright rays of the sun, you don’t think you would be able to tell Felix your story. Allowing him to see the terror and joy and desolation of the memories on your face would make you feel far too vulnerable in the daylight. However, the darkness of night cloaks your expression and comforts you.

So you tell Felix of your manipulative and abusive father, leaving out the worst details but keeping enough that he realizes the gravity of your situation. You talk about your mother, the woman who tried to shield you and your brother from the worst of it but ultimately succumbed to sadness, illness, and injury.

“We left on a particularly bad day,” you murmur. The night hides your face, but it feels like Felix can still see the tear making its way down your face. “It was night, and our father had just gone to sleep. Jeongin and I just ran for it. We couldn’t stay any longer.”

Half-starved, you eventually found the shrine. The priestesses took you in, fed you, and allowed you to stay.

“Jeongin likes being a messenger. I like being a maiden.” You blink the tears away in favor of a smile. “We’re happy. I think I’d be happy here for the rest of my life.”

“What about Jeongin?” Felix asks.

Your smile turns wry. “He likes being a messenger. He gets to travel a lot. And if I’m not mistaken, he’s found a special someone already.”

“What?” Felix sits bolt upright, his silhouette dark against the window full of stars. “Who?”

You snicker. “I’m not sure,” you reply truthfully. “But I think – I think! I’m not sure – she’s the nymph in our wishing well.”

Felix falls back onto the bed with a soft whumph. “I’m so going to tease him tomorrow.”

“You’re terrible.” You sit up in the darkness, fixing him with a mock glare that he can’t see. It’s teasing, though – if there’s anything you’ve learned about your star from the past few months, it’s that he has a sense of humor. “What happened to being so solemn and sober in the beginning, huh?”

He rolls over. “Tch. I’m the star of everlasting childhood. I can be however I want.”

“… Everlasting childhood?”

A sad smile settles on Felix’s face. “Yes.”

“Isn’t that just immortality?”

“Not quite.” His silver eyes shimmer into yours. “You can age, but still be a child forever.”

You lie back down. All you say is, “I see.”

An idea begins brewing in the back of your mind. All this time, you’ve been choosing random stories to read Felix from the shelves of the shrine’s small library, but now you think you know one that he’ll enjoy for sure.

It’s one of your favorites, after all.

. . . . .

The next day, you’re buzzing with excitement, to the point that you drag Felix away from his breakfast to the tiny library in the shrine. When he starts complaining that you took him away from food for a dusty book, you just laugh. “I think you’ll like this one,” you grin.

That afternoon, after chores, you read to him the tale of Peter Pan under a shady tree, warm sunlight dappling through its leaves. It’s a children’s story, full of mermaids and pirates and young boys fighting, and it’s a little overwrought, but even so, Felix falls in love with it. He falls in love with John and Michael and their exploits with the Lost Boys. He falls in love with Peter Pan and his rivalry with Captain Hook. But most of all, he falls in love with Wendy Darling, the girl who trusted in her innocence and ability to fly.

Wendy reminds him of you, Felix thinks. Mother-like girls, caring for the lost souls around them without a thought for themselves. With a pang, he thinks of all that you’ve done for him during his time on Mother Earth.

He can see why you thought he would like the story, as the star of everlasting childhood, the star of those who stay young at heart for their lives. Peter stayed young forever, literally. But Wendy’s spirit was passed down through the generations of girls after her.

There’s one line he loves, one line that doesn’t have too much real meaning (they’re just directions, after all), but that resounds deeply within him, for some reason. It’s when Peter tells Wendy where Neverland is.

“Second star to the right, and straight on till morning.”

It’s childish, really. A bit stupid. Where is the first star to the right? How can one figure out the second star Peter speaks of? And depending on when you start out, how can the distance ‘straight on till morning’ be the same for all those who journey there?

But it’s the simplicity of thought that rings with Felix. The pure, innocent certainty of Peter Pan that he will find Neverland again and again, based on such minimal direction.

It makes dreams seem so direct, so simple, so real.

It gives him the hope that he’ll be able to return to his home in the Sky.

. . . . .

It’s a peaceful day when things begin to fall apart.

Felix is reading, his deep voice stumbling and uncertain and beautiful as he works his way through Peter Pan on his own. You’re taking advantage of the time to sketch, lulled by the errant rhythm of the star’s halting words. You haven’t picked up your sketchbook in some time, what with helping Felix adjust and all, but now that he’s picked up a penchant for reading, it’s nice to go back to one of your older hobbies.

Mina is the one who finds the two of you in the clearing, sun shining warmly through the trees. You look up, ready to greet her, but a frown slides over your face when you see her panicked expression. “Mina?” You stand. Felix stops reading. “Is something wrong?”

“Our witch,” she says quickly. “She wants to speak with you.”

It’s with a racing heart that you enter the shrine and see the witch waiting for you there. “Y/N,” she greets, kindly but hurriedly. There’s something terrified in her eyes – however, they’re steel. Whatever she’s decided she’s going to do, she’s set herself on it. “I’m leaving for the war.”

“War?” Felix echoes, eyebrows furrowed.

“There is a battle in the west,” the witch explains. “I’m not going to fight. I’m going as a medic. I’m letting you know now because I know the star depends on my potion, so before I leave, I’ll need several more hairs to lay in a supply. Changbin has the instructions to make more, if I don’t come back in time.”

Everything’s happening too fast. Just moments ago, you were sitting in a grassy clearing without a care in the world. Now you’re being told that one of your favorite people is leaving for a fight you can’t even see.

There’s no convincing her otherwise, though. You’ve seen the set in the witch’s eyes before. It was there when she arrived at the shrine, pregnant and on the brink of exhaustion. It was there when she gave birth.

You don’t know why this war means so much to her, but that’s not for you to know unless she explains. So you only nod. “I wish you luck.”

Felix echoes the sentiment, but as the two of you dress for bed, his expression remains pale and uncertain. You ask him if something’s wrong.

“I’m… I’m just wondering if I’ll ever go home,” Felix whispers.

With that short sentence, something in your heart breaks. You sit on the bed next to him. “I’m going to give you a hug,” you state.

Felix nods.

You squeeze him between your arms, patting his head until it falls limply onto your shoulder. His shoulders shake a little. “We’re going to get you back,” you whisper, stroking his hair. “If you don’t believe anything else, just believe this. You will go home.”

Felix sniffles, though the tears aren’t coming yet. “I know it’s selfish, but… why is she leaving?” he mumbles. “I just want her to stay and just work on a cure. I know she can’t, but…”

A sigh leaves your lips. “Our witch works in strange ways,” you say heavily. “She has a lot of secrets. She doesn’t say a lot about herself. But she does have a large heart. One thing I can say is that she wouldn’t have left you if the war wasn’t so important to her. She cares about you. She cares about everyone she helps. It would have been a very difficult choice for her to leave.”

The tears start falling, soaking into your shoulder. You huff a small breath, holding your star tighter. “Trust in her and trust in me. Or, if you can’t, trust in Changbin. He’s a moon child. He knows things that we don’t, and he isn’t completely through searching his mother’s library. We can find a way.” You lift Felix’s head out of your shoulder, making him look you in the eyes. “We always do.”

(You fall asleep in the bed that night, arms wrapped tightly around Felix’s small body. When you wake up, he’s turned around, one arm draped over your shoulders, breaths puffing softly onto your face. Tear tracks stain his cheeks.

You hold him until he wakes.)

. . . . .

The witch leaves quickly, dropping off her child at the shrine the next day with Felix’s supply of potion. As he watches her disappear into the forest, Felix can’t help feeling like the last thread of hope he had is about to snap.

He asks if you can stay at the shrine that day. Reading by the pond is relaxing, but he needs something to keep his mind from drifting. He needs chores, messages, something to do that’ll occupy himself.

“Of course.” You smile, squeezing his hand in the gentle way that reassures Felix’s trust in you. “Come on, I’ll teach you how to actually cook. None of the disasters from before,” you tease.

Felix feels his face grow hot with embarrassment. He smiles, though, in the wake of your sparkling eyes.

He’s still terrible in the kitchen. Bowls clatter to the ground, knives draw cuts on his pale fingers, and more than once you have to rescue a pot from charring itself on the stove. But it’s fine. Everything’s fine. The other maidens only laugh and smile, kindly helping him wrap up his fingers, finish cutting the carrots, and pick up the bowls scattered on the floor. They eat his bland food without complaint, telling him he’ll do better next time.

And for all those hours in the kitchen, you don’t leave his side. Not once.

So the days in the forest turn to days in the shrine, with Felix finding every little thing he can do in order to keep his mind away from the Sky. When he feels himself wavering, feels himself becoming jaded or hopeless or depressed, you nudge his side or hold his hand or call his name, and he comes back. He feels hope.

(You told him, once, to trust in you and the witch to get him home. And if he couldn’t, he could trust in Changbin.

You don’t know that he would trust you over the other two combined.)

The stories don’t stop, of course. He trades happy memories with you while sweeping the floors, tending the gardens, and washing the clothes. Every night, you read to him from another book, or you sketch by candlelight as he works his way through another few pages of Peter Pan on his own.

Your presence comforts him, wraps him in warmth that reminds him of starshine streaming down his skin. Felix knows that when (if) he leaves, you will be the one he misses the most.

Still, he has to go. He has to return to his home, the Sky. Mother Earth may be kind, but she isn’t his home. He isn’t meant to be here. It’s unnatural, his new sleeping pattern, the way his skin has slowly darkened over time. And though he revels in the sunlight, loves its caressing warmth against his bare arms, it isn’t meant for him.

The sun is meant for Mother Earth. The moon is meant for his Sky. The sun and its warmth weren’t made for his pale skin and silver eyes.

Which is why when Changbin returns, pressing a heavy, ripped book into his hands, Felix feels his heart soar and drop at the same time. He stares at the tome, unable to comprehend its weight between his fingers.

“There’s a spell inside that will help a fallen star,” he says, “one who has fallen due to a mistake of the universe, not one who fell of their own misdoings.” Changbin looks Felix steadily in the eye, dark eyes boring into silver. “This was not you?”

Felix racks his mind for anything that could have caused him to fall. He comes up with nothing. “No,” he answers.

The moon child nods. “There isn’t much to it. We need your blood. There are herbs in the witch’s home that she has given me access to, and we can get the rest from the garden here at the shrine.” Changbin’s gaze slides to you. “We also need the blood of one who cares for him. One who will be willing to sacrifice a day of their life for his return.”

It’s clear who he thinks that person should be.

A lump grows in Felix’s throat. It all rests on you. He wants badly to say something, to ask you if you will, but he can’t. You’ve done so much for him already.

He doesn’t have a right to convince you to do more.

Silence seems to stretch for an eternity as your gaze shifts between the moon child and the star. Felix doesn’t know what you’re thinking – your face, for once, is unreadable.

Then you nod. “I can do it.” You swallow hard, like something hurts, and say it again. “I’ll do it.”

Felix doesn’t miss the glance Changbin sends you, full of something he doesn’t understand. A prickle of uncertainty grows in his heart, but then the moon child is nodding, moving on to something else. “The spell can only be cast on the sixth full moon of the year,” he says.

Next to him, you make a small noise of surprise. Felix feels like he’s been punched in the gut.

The second full moon has just passed. There are only four left to go.

On one hand, he’s soaring above the clouds in excitement, elated that he can return home so soon. On the other, his heart is dropping like a stone, upset that he has to leave so quickly.

“Okay,” you finally say, breaking the silence. “That’s good.” You turn to him, a smile on your face. “You’ll be home soon.”

Your smile is genuine. It says so much, and Felix knows you truly are happy for him. But after all these months of standing by your side, he can see the underlying emotions conflicting beneath the surface of that smile.

“Yeah,” Felix breathes, unsure what else to say. “Home.”

His home, the Sky.

. . . . .

It’s easy to avoid Felix for the next day. You disappear into the forest with Changbin, citing the excuse of practicing the spell that you have to cast to bring him home. It’ll be boring, you say. He should just stay back at the shrine and maybe talk with Jeongin. You’ll figure it out.

As you walk to Changbin’s small home, he gives you a sidelong glance. You stubbornly don’t return it because if you do, he’ll see the truth lurking in your eyes.

And the truth is, you don’t want Felix to go.

You are happy for him, you truly are. When Changbin brought in the book, seeing that light flicker on in Felix’s eyes gave you so much joy in that moment that you almost felt like crying in happiness.

Then you realized that if he was going home, he was going to leave the shrine.

You still wanted to cry, but for a very different reason.

It’s stupid, you know that. Obviously, if Felix was to return to the sky, he would have to leave you behind. Just as stars don’t belong on earth, humans don’t belong in the sky. You don’t even think you’d want to live in the heavens, at least not forever.

But for the past months, you’ve managed to push that thought to the back of your mind. Felix is here, you told yourself. He’s here now, and that’s all that matters, isn’t it?

Clearly, it isn’t.

Everything happened so fast. It was like whiplash. One day, the witch was leaving and Felix was crying in your arms over the thought of never returning to the sky. The next, Changbin had found the book and there was a way to send your star home.

It happened too fast.

You’re being selfish, you know. Even though the sun is kind and the Earth welcomes him, this isn’t his home. He belongs in the sky, with the moon and the sun and the darkness of night. He doesn’t belong to the tainted impurity of the Earth.

And yet your heart doesn’t want him to leave.

“Copper for your thoughts?” Changbin pokes you with the book when you zone out for umpteenth time. With a jolt, you come back to the present, staring blankly at the sheet of paper in front of you. Written on it in Changbin’s neat scrawl is the phonetic translation of the symbols in the book.

You chew on the inside of your cheek. “Sorry. I’m… tired.”

It’s a lie if you’ve ever heard one, and the moon child knows it too. He puts the tome down and looks at you expectantly.

“What?” you snap, feeling cornered.

There are times when it’s hard to remember how old Changbin is, times when he seems more like a friend your age than an ages-old son of the moon. Right now, he’s a mix of the two, posture mimicking a slouching teenage boy, but eyes piercing with wisdom.

“Something’s on your mind,” he states simply. “And I think it has something to do with the star.”

Felix. The star. Your star.

Yes, it has very much to do with him.

The words slip out. “I don’t want him to go.”

A lump grows in your throat after you speak those simple words, staring at Changbin as though he holds the answers to your dilemma. But you already know the answer, the only correct answer – you must let your star go.

The problem is, you don’t want to.

The moon child brings you close after that, books and translations forgotten in favor of soothing hugs and quiet tears. He doesn’t tell you to do anything, doesn’t tell you to talk to Felix or the priestesses or even to avoid them. He just embraces you in silence with hands that hold the wisdom of an eternity.

You cite a headache as your excuse to go to bed early that night, curling up in your blankets on the floor and burying your head in the pillow. It takes some time, but you’re starting to drift off just as the door slowly creaks open and Felix pokes his head in the room. Immediately, you pretend to be asleep.

Mistake.

The star pads in with quiet feet, then picks you up with gentle arms and settles you on the bed. You can’t even protest or he’ll know you’re awake, so you lie in smoldering silence as he arranges the blankets over you.

He falls asleep on the floor while memories of his gentleness squeeze tears from your eyes.

. . . . .

Felix knows you’re avoiding him. There’s no doubt about it – no matter how much you claim you need to practice the ritual with Changbin, there are only so many times that excuse can hold merit. And anyway, there’s no reason he can’t be there too.

He thinks he knows why. It might have something to do with the fact that when he returns to the Sky, he will leave the Earth behind. Felix isn’t so oblivious as to believe his departure will leave no impression on you.

He isn’t so oblivious as to believe it’ll leave no impression on him, either.

The Sky is his home. There will never be any doubt of that. But he’s come to love the Mother Earth too, much more than he used to. He’s come to love her greenery, her creatures, the gentleness and care she showers her inhabitants with. He’s come to love the shrine, the priestesses, the maidens, the messengers.

And he’s come to love you.

If he stayed longer, Felix thinks, he would want to explore this tentative love, this blossom of affection in his chest. If he stayed longer, he might be disappointed, but he wouldn’t be sad. At least, not all the time.

The stars lure him in, though. Sometimes, he pretends to sleep, but he’s just staring out the small window in your room at the darkened sky studded with lights. His friends, his family. His home.

But he won’t go home without making peace with you first.

It’s hard to corner you when you don’t want to be caught, Felix finds. You disappear easily, quietly slipping between trees or into unknown rooms of the shrine. Even when you’re in plain sight, you’re busy – sweeping, cooking, gardening.

Then it rains.

Felix doesn’t normally care for the rain. It’s cold and wet, heavy and about as far from the gentle lightness of starshine as it can get. But the clouds heeded his prayers, perhaps, because the rain gives him the chance he needs to finally get you to talk.

You’re glancing out the window when he walks over, as though hoping a miracle will stop the pouring rain. When you notice him, your eyes turn slightly panicked, and you move as though to leave through the door.

The words escape him before he can hold them back. “Please stop avoiding me.”

You freeze.

For several moments, his broken, soft voice hangs in the silence, expanding to fill the room and thickening until he thinks he’s suffocating under the muffling words.

Then you drop your head. “I’m sorry,” you murmur, voice thick. “Let’s go to my room.”

. . .

Silence falls again when the two of you are seated on the small bed. You look smaller than ever, hunched over slightly, hands entangling themselves in the sheets. Felix wants to gather you up in a hug, the way you always did with him, but restrains himself. It isn’t the best time.

“Why were you avoiding me?” he asks quietly, just to dissolve some of the tension. He’s pretty sure he knows the answer, but he needs to hear it from you anyway.

Your fingers curl tighter into the blanket. “You’re leaving,” you mumble. “I just…”

The silence hangs heavily once more.

“I want you to go home,” you finally say, looking up. The sky outside the window is still dark gray, pouring rain, but you look at it like there’s something beyond the clouds that only you can see. “But I don’t want you to leave. Does that… does that make sense?”

Felix nods, once, twice. “Yes,” he manages. “Yes, it does.”

“I needed time to get my thoughts in order,” you continue, turning your gaze back to him. “I thought avoiding you might be the best way for a bit. But I’m a coward, I guess. I just kept trying to hide, even after I knew what I thought.”

“Do you still need more time?” Felix prods softly. “It’s fine. We have…”

He stops himself. He was about to say you two had all the time in the world.

You don’t. You only have around two months.

“No, it’s okay.” You shake your head. “I know… I know myself now.” Sad eyes stare into silver. “What about you?”

Felix knows his answer. It’s on the tip of his tongue, and if he could just get rid of the lump in his throat, he’d say it. Rain pounds on the window, mimicking the dull throb of the thoughts in his mind. He opens his mouth with difficulty.

“I don’t want to leave Earth,” he says slowly. “I don’t want to leave you.”

Your fingers loosen slightly on the sheets, then clench them even more tightly.

“But I have to return home.” Felix breaks his gaze, his head lowering. “I don’t… I don’t belong here, Y/N. I have to go home. I want to go home.”

Belatedly, he realizes how childlike he sounds. He sounds like a newborn star, newly formed of the moon and the sky, scared and terrified of the expanse of space in front of him. Shame crawls up his pale cheeks.

Then he feels a tender warmth around his shoulders. The thin mattress dips as you shift, wrapping your arms around his body – since when was he trembling? – and bury your head into his neck.

“You will go home,” you mumble into his skin. “You will go home. I promise.”

“I wish you could come with me,” he chokes out. “But you wouldn’t, even if you could, would you?”

The sigh you heave is all the answer he needs. “No,” you murmur, pulling back gently. “I wouldn’t.”

There are no apologies. No “sorry” for your decision, no “sorry” for his. There’s no blame here. Just facts, ways of life, and decisions.

A stray strand of hair falls into your face. Felix pushes it back gently. “You have too much here to give up for me.” He smiles sadly, his hand falling to cup your cheek. “As I have too much in the Sky to give up for Earth.”

You nod slightly, fingers rising to touch the hand on your cheek. Felix basks in the gentle warmth of your roughened skin.

He doesn’t know who leans in first, exactly. The memory is slightly hazy. But when his mind clears, he’s pressing his lips to yours gently, warmly, sadly. Your fingers intertwine, falling to your laps, and Felix tries to memorize the feeling. To memorize the way your hand fits into his, the way your lips feel so connected to his.

Two months. He has two months left before he must go.

Two months left before he leaves this warmth behind.

. . . . .

You pass the days with as much levity as possible. You don’t speak of leaving. Neither does Felix. Every day, the two of you work together on your chores, traipse into the forest, sit together in the sunshine. At night, when darkness falls, you crawl into bed together and hold each other until the sun rises.

Morning turns to night far too slowly, but far too quickly. In the back of your mind, there’s always a little voice reminding you just how long you have left. One day passed turns into two, then three. A week turns into two. Two weeks turn into four, and then there is only one full moon left to pass.

The night of the year’s fifth full moon, the last you will share before Felix leaves forever, you sit on the steps just outside of the shrine. Your star’s hair glows in the bright moonshine, bathing him in pale light.

A lump rises in your throat. You swallow it away. “Wait here,” you say.

You come back with your sketchbook and a few pencils. “Can I draw you?” you ask.

Silver eyes softly stare into yours. He nods.

This isn’t just a rough drawing. It isn’t one of the half-baked sketches you’ve done in the forest. No, this time, you want to capture the sparkle in your star’s pale eyes, the airiness of his blinding white hair, the exact location of each of the starry freckles dotting the sky of his cheeks.

It takes several nights to complete, sitting under the comforting rays of the waning moon, studiously ignoring the voice in your head that keeps chanting two weeks, two weeks. You sketch and resketch, rubbing bits of charcoal away, until on the third day, the sun is beginning to rise, and you have a portrait of the star you love.

You don’t cry. You promised yourself when you decided to draw the portrait and you promised yourself again when Felix sat, eyes expectant and soft and warm and gentle and kind. No tears will fall during the last few days you have together.

Your eyes still sting. Your throat still chokes. But even as Felix leans in, pressing the gentlest kiss upon your lips, you don’t let a single tear slip down your face. Not today, not tomorrow, not the next day.

And then it’s time.

. . .

The night is perfectly clear. Deep blue, so deep it’s almost black, ripples across the sky. Stars dot the landscape. The forest is silent, save for a slight rustling of trees.

Felix stands in a patch of moonshine, pale light glinting off of silver eyes. His eyes close as you begin to read from the book Changbin places in front of you, chanting strange words as the moonlight grows brighter.

Your eyes begin to sting. Your fingers begin to shake. Your throat begins to close, and your voice grows hoarse. But you keep speaking, words unwavering, until the chant is almost over.

Changbin pricks your finger. A drop of blood falls into the tiny bowl, already half-full of crushed herbs and two drops of Felix’s silver ichor. He gives the mixture to the star. Felix drinks it.

A wave of dizziness blows through your mind. You close your eyes, feeling a tear slide down your cheek, as the sky takes a day of your life away.

A day of your life for your star’s return to the sky.

It’s worth it.

As soon as the dizziness comes, it goes, leaving your mind clear once more. You finish the chant, voice trembling. It’s over.

Come dawn, your star will be gone.

Changbin leaves quietly, picking up the heavy book and disappearing back into the shrine. For a few moments, you sit with your star in silence, cool grass tickling your skin.

“Wait here,” you whisper eventually. “I have something for you.”

It’s a simple gift that you lay in his waiting hands, a worn, well-loved book with a torn leather cover and faded gold lettering. It’s familiar, and the corners of Felix’s lips lift in a ghost of a smile as he takes it.

“Thank you,” he says, clutching the book. One shiny tear drips onto the cover.

“I know it’s your favorite.” You try to smile, but it’s too hard. “Keep – keep learning to read, all right?”

He only squeezes your hand in reply. “Give me a moment,” he murmurs. “I have something for you too.”

He’s in and out of the shrine in seconds, carefully cradling something between his hands. A crown of wildflowers and leaves, interspersed with several delicate moonflowers. The ghostly petals glow in the moonlight as he places it in your windblown hair.

“It won’t decay,” he promises. “Changbin helped. I made it, but he gave it the magic.”

It’s too hard to not cry and you bury your face in your star’s shoulder, dreading every second that passes. Felix’s arms automatically loop around your waist, thin and warm and strong. “Hey, look up,” he whispers, his soft breath caressing your ear. “Look up for me, Y/N.”

Shakily, you comply.

“See that?” He points, finger glowing in the moonlight, at a patch of the sky. His constellation.

You nod.

“That’s where I used to be,” he murmurs. “Remember Peter Pan?”

“‘Second star to the right and straight on ‘til morning,’” you recite, a shaky grin coming over your lips. “How could I forget?”

“Well, maybe I’m not the second star,” Felix says, pulling you close, “but I’ll always be there, all right? I’ll watch over you. You’ll know where I am, always.”

You take a breath. Nod. “Always,” you echo.

Little by little, as your quiet whispers and tiny laughs disappear on the wind, midnight begins to turn to dawn. Starlight fades, the sky turning from deep blue to pearly gray.

And as the moonlight disappears, Felix begins to turn translucent.

No, no, no, no…

Your heart races. Tears begin to pour down your cheeks. Felix looks as calm as ever, save for the slight panic in his eyes and the deep sadness etched in his face.

“Don’t forget me, Felix,” you beg, voice strained, words pleading. You try to breathe. “Please. Remember me.”

“How could I ever forget?” Your star smiles through the tears sliding down his cheeks. “You mean more to me than the earth itself.”

Minute by minute passes as you hold him, memorizing the weight of his body against yours, the warmth of his skin, the silver of his eyes, the gentle pressure of his lips on yours.

“I love you, Felix,” you whisper, even as his freckles begin to disappear. The tears roll down faster. “Truly.”

“I love you too.” Even his voice sounds thinner. You strain to catch the deep tones of his words, the slight rasp in his throat as it fades away.

For a second, his entire body disappears. You almost scream, tears streaming down your cheeks. “Felix!”

“Hey, hey.” He holds your hands tight, even as his fingers flicker in and out of existence. His silver eyes sparkle with unshed tears. “When you’re lonely, find me in the sky, yeah? I’ll always be there.” Your star smiles. “You’re never alone.”

You lean in desperately, lips crashing against his with terror and love and everything in between. His fading hands rise to cup your cheeks and you tangle your fingers with his, trying to feel everything about him before he leaves.

The sky takes him mid-kiss, and you’re left holding air.

. . .

They find you there after dawn breaks, silent tears streaming down your cheeks as the sun rises. Jeongin holds you close, saying nothing as he helps you back to your room.

You see the portrait of Felix you drew so many nights ago sitting neatly on the small nightstand. His smiling face stares up at you, starry freckles dotting his nose and cheeks, silver eyes glittering on the paper.

It hits you in the gut that he is truly gone, that your star has left forever.

(Jeongin catches you when you collapse to the ground.)

A week passes before you find the courage to speak to the sky. The moon is dark but the stars twinkle mischievously, throwing bits of light onto the grass.

Felix’s constellation glows, a silver map of his freckles sparkling in the sky. There’s a star, small but very bright, that wasn’t there before.

Your throat chokes, but no tears fall. The constellation that dotted Felix’s cheeks is now complete.

“Hello, my star,” you whisper. His flower crown sits on your hair, glowing in the dark. “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

Speaking to him hurts a little at first, stings a bit in the heart. You keep wanting to look over into his eyes of silver, see his pale hair glow in the moonlight. But as you talk to the constellation, imagining the freckles dotting your star’s cheeks, the lump in your throat fades, and you begin to smile.

A few tears fall that night, dripping onto blades of grass and your clothes, but not too many. Just a few. You talk of anything and everything, from new shenanigans to old memories to plans for the future. You promise him things, to love and honor him as long as you live, to stay a child, to remember the story of Peter Pan, even though the book has gone with him to the sky. You talk until your words are strong and the silences comfortable, broken only by the rustling of trees in the wind.

Wind wisps around your shoulders as you eventually stand, staring at the new star in the sky. It seems to glow a little brighter.

“I love you, Felix.” You smile up at the blanket of night. “Thank you, my star.”

The star glows even brighter. You can almost feel his presence by your side.

Second star to the right, straight on ‘til morning. I’ll be there, always – you’re not alone.