#i do wish it was more of a proper sleep aid instead of a . telling you to go to sleep audio

[erial-c]

absolutely nobody is surprised that the one thing that drags me back to redacted is erik dropping a guy audio

[silksaddle]

lullaby

rating: 18+ only!

pairing: frankie morales x afab/fem!reader

summary: two love birds fucking to sleep.

word count: 2.2k+

content: fingering, brief intercrural sex, piv sex, biting, praise, choking (if you really, really squint)

a/n: ahhh. ignoring all the day’s responsibilities to write frankie smut. you know how it is.

It’s that usual slump of the rainy afternoon, your brain fogging over at the same rate that your eyelids grow heavy, blurry bursts of attention dwindling down to a steady and constant disinterest. Caffeine would do little to help, you think, clicking the pen in your hand— the only thing that keeps you alert. Incessant, slow snaps of noise against your thumb.

Resting your chin in your palm, you look over the same string of words that have flown through your vision three times, always forgotten once your sight leaves them. A break would help, should help, but you can’t pull yourself up from the chair. Instead, your arms become a pillow underneath your head, crossed and slightly uncomfortable for your neck as you scoot the chair outwards and lean against the desk.

Half-conscious, you hear the door crack open, then listen to the way it squeaks further as Frankie carefully pokes his head in. You hum in acknowledgement of his presence, but it’s the most you can manage, turning your head to rest the other cheek over your forearms, pushing the work back in the process.

His chuckle follows, warm and cheery sounds filling your ears until his large hand rests firm on your shoulder, fingertips applying light pressure in a too-gentle attempt at pulling you upright.

“Baby...” he whispers, lowering his head until his lips are just shy of your ear, “that doesn’t look very comfortable.” There’s a concerned tone lurking underneath the sweet edge of his voice as he begins to rub his fingers into both shoulders, working into the knots and tension. “Time for a nap?”

He presses a little harder into the spaces beside your neck and you raise your head with a sigh, leaning into his calming touch. 

“Looks like it,” he continues, bending to leave a soft kiss on your neck. “Come on, sweetheart. Up.” He places his hands under your arms and lifts, raising you a fraction of the way until you hold yourself up for him, standing on your feet and then lazily falling into the support of his strong arms.

“Hi,” you smile into his chest, all woodsy and warm with the essence of campfire.

“Been working real hard, huh?” he smiles back, gingerly leading you to bed, minding the steps you take.

At the foot of the bed, he sits you down and kneels at your feet, deft fingers working at the button of your jeans. His tongue pokes out in his focus, sliding across his upper lip.

“What’re you doing, baby?” you question, brushing a curl off his forehead with a single finger.

“Tell me if I’m wrong, but jeans aren’t comfortable to sleep in,” he laughs, his head chasing that subtle touch of yours. His fingers hook at the waistband and tug, you lifting your hips for him to aid in the process. The denim bunches at your feet and he pulls off each pant leg, dropping a kiss to each knee.

You thank him as he stands once more, planting his palms on either side of you as he leans in for a long, simple kiss to your lips. “You know I’m always available if you need to be undressed,” he says into your mouth and you giggle back into his. He urges you to lay down after ridding himself of his own pants, pulling you up with him on the mattress.

He’s a warm, solid comfort behind you as he tucks his smooth legs into the backs of yours, a heavy arm draping over your waist and bringing you ever closer to himself. His nose tickles the back of your neck as he uses it to move your hair, getting it out of the way for his lips to leave kisses there.

“Frankie,” you laugh, light and airy, squirming in his gentle grip while his kisses gain firmness and you feel the unmistakable yet lightning quick swipe of his tongue. His movements slow, an arm sneaking under your shirt and a thumb seeking out your nipple. He brushes over it languidly, hooking his chin over your shoulder to watch you and hear the way your breathing quickens. 

“Frankie...” This time, you sigh his name instead of laughing it out and you can feel him rapidly hardening against you, his hips beginning an unhurried roll.

“What kind of man would I be...” his breaths are shallow in your ear and he punctuates his words with a rough grind, “if I didn’t fuck my girl to sleep?”

“Oh, God, baby...” Breathless, you match and mirror each roll of his hips, listening to the low groans falling out of him. He brings his thumb up to your mouth and waits for you to take it in and wet it; you swirl your tongue before he withdraws it and brings it back to your nipple, massaging its wetness into the sensitive skin. 

“Is this okay?” He moans the question, reaching his hand down the front of your underwear and whimpering when he feels how slick you are for him, how physical your neediness has become.

“Fuck, always, Frankie, keep going,” you splutter, earning a pleased chuckle, his fingers spreading your wetness and circling your clit softly. Your head falls back into his shoulder and your body rocks with each thrust of his, sheets rustling beneath the both of you.

“Shit, you’re wet, baby.” His voice teeters on the edge of trembling as he slides two thick fingers in to stretch you out, fucking you with them in time with his grinding. Your own hand is quick to grasp at his wrist, nails digging, your moans filling the room in high and breathy, desperate and desirous noise. He curls the fingers inside you, pressing them tight to that spot he knows you can barely handle and keeps them there, rubbing it, massaging it. 

“Fuck, I need to fuck you, have to... have to have you,” he grunts, rubbing a few more circles before slipping his hand away, leaving you whining at the loss. “Shhh, baby,” he soothes, reaching down and tugging your underwear off. You kick them from your feet and attempt to turn and help him out of his but are powerless against the strength of him pinning you on your side. “No, I want you like this,” he tells you— warns you, sliding an arm under your neck and bending it to hold you still, squeezing you between his bicep and forearm. 

Taking his cock out, you feel it hard on your skin with the slight dampness of precum dripping. For a moment, he slides it between your thighs, your arousal allowing it to slip easy and thoroughly through your folds. At another whine of his name, he notches it at your entrance and before stretching you on it, he hooks a hand under your knee and raises your leg.

He gives you the first few inches and pauses to let you adjust, though his restrain is steadily running out. Once he’s sure you’re okay, he lunges forward to the hilt and his grip tightens on your neck, your leg, and the sound that leaves him is wrecked; a serrated and low hiss causing you to wet his cock even more.

“Jesus, fuck— you feel perfect like this,” Frankie babbles, lips catching on your ear lobe. You tilt your head to leave a free space for him and he takes it, open mouthed nips pulling at your skin, but not lasting— he turns to simple mouthing at your neck when he pulls out and pushes back in, the ability to place proper kisses diminishing, replaced by his pleasure.

He’s so thick, even more so at this angle, filling you to the point you feel complete with him nestled into you like this. The scruff of his cheek scratches on your neck, your hand reaching back to keep him there, fingers threading through what used to be a neat head of hair, now a mess of curls.

“M— more, please,” you beg, wishing you could turn your head enough to kiss him. Frankie notices the strain of your need, leaning his face as close to yours as he can, capturing your lips in a messy, sloppy kiss; it’s a desperate joining of mouths. His thrusts grow more urgent when he feels your slick dripping out onto the rest of him, sharing his breath with you; his groans to your lighter sighs.

“Yeah baby? You want some more?”

Lifting your leg even higher, deepening the crease in your hip, he fucks into you faster, harder, hitting something profound inside you and he tells you how fucking good you feel, how pretty you are, how gorgeous you sound. 

Mewling, you tug roughly on his hair, jolting with every push. His teeth scrape your shoulder, trailing until he bites down on it with a loud grunt, grinding his cock deep instead of fucking you in and out, keeping it inside you with each small but hefty shove.

He surrounds you; his flannel-covered chest and soft belly flush to your back, his wet, desperate mouthing, his cock filling you up so well. He lets your leg free, dropping that hand to your clit, running the tip of his middle finger over its slippery surface.

“That’s right, baby, just let me fuck you,” he coos, nuzzling his cheek on your shoulder, “just let me take— fuck— take care of you.”

“Frankie, you feel so good, baby, I can’t—”

“S’okay, I’ve got you.”

Another moan breaking from your throat forces him to start moving again, hard enough to make those sharp slapping noises of his pelvis against your ass, though not as loud as his harsh breaths in your ear, his strained praise. He picks up the pace of his fingers, swiping petal soft patterns on your clit, your sensitivity allowing that gentleness to be wholly pleasurable.

“I’ve needed you like this for so fucking long,” Frankie confesses, a deep furrow in his brow, his teeth catching his bottom lip. “Thought about fucking you from behind, making you cum on my cock, hearing you moan just for me...” 

“Francisco!” You cry, his fingers working you up almost too fast, and paired with the sensation of his intense pushes, there isn’t much time left to brace yourself for the way you’re about to cum, for the way it’s swiftly building up strong and relentless.

“Come on, baby, cum on me, I wanna feel it.”

You can faintly hear him urging you to take a deep breath right as it washes over you, the tingling, fiery release spreading from your head to your toes, all while Frankie fucks you through it. His cock brushes every inner part of you, his finger on your clit stopping just to apply pressure that sings from your core.

“Good girl,” he rasps those sweet words, your throat turning sore at the endless panting and use of your voice, your leg falling limp to the mattress after holding it up so long for him. From the corner of your vision you can see him fisting the pillow underneath you, the veins of his hand prominent, the muscles of his forearm tensing.

“Can I—”

“Yes, please, baby, cum inside,” you whimper, his cock pushing in even smoother with the added slick of your orgasm and he mewls at those words, getting a few more rhythmic thrusts in before they turn ragged and he spills into you with a soft shout. His nose burrows into your neck as he tries and fails to catch his breath; you, letting him hold you close as he comes down.

He resumes those featherlight kisses, a line leading up to that spot just behind your ear— warm presses of his lips with no other intention than to feel you.

“Okay?” He manages to ask, so quiet and bashful, even, as he feels his cum trickle out of you and onto his lap.

“Mhm,” you smile, finally able to turn in his hold, and the sight of him makes you want to do it all over again; his flushed face, his wide, dark eyes looking back at you in admiration, the disheveled state of his button up. The sleeves pushed up to his elbows are all crinkled, and you let your thumb run over the edge of the fabric before feeling your way up his arm. He smiles, a sleepy state of contentment taking over him and he pulls you onto his chest, keeping you safe, a hand on the back of your head.

The patterns of your breathing match, in and out, slowing down, his heartbeat losing speed under your ear.

He makes a happy noise when you place a chaste kiss on his collarbone, the rain picking up outside, washing down the window behind the see-through curtains. He taps the small of your back three times, and you know this is him telling you he loves you, a tap for each word; so you kiss him three more times, two kisses on those smooth spaces where hair refuses to grow, and once on his lips which he returns gratefully.

Drawing the comforter up over your shoulders, he ensures it’s snug over the two of you. “Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he murmurs, “you deserve it.”

+ taglist: @filthybookworm​ @frannyzooey​ @omgreally​ @kjim16 @anatanotegami​ @redkenobi​ @yeliahk @acrabbybish​​ @battletales​​ @catsnkooks​​ @mitchi-c​​ @xcertaindarkthingsx​​ @ihavenoaesthetic​ @belleropho-n​​ @i-love-marble-hornets​​ @trollsarenotwelcome​​ @tossacoin2yourwitcher​​ @lycheemi​​ ​ @jennacide02 @astroboots​​ @wigwitch​​ @buckypascal​​ @altarsw​ @thirstworldproblemss​ @agent-catfish-kenobi​ @leonieb​ @sleep-tight1​

[stephreynaart]

Gravity Falls - “Waiting”

Pop-Pop AU

Stan sits in a hospital waiting room, thinking about his life and the people he loves.

- - - -

This is kinda old, but I realized I never posted it on tumblr. Hope ya like it!

Lots of fluff, the only ships are Soos and Melody.

AO3 LINK

- - - -

It had a square aspect ratio. Ink pen and watercolor on white heat pressed cotton paper in a bland white frame. One single blue flower in a red vase with what looks like a yellowish shadow. One shadow going left, the other going right. The lack of confidence and inexperience was obvious, the lines were unfocused and jagged, the color plainly filled the shapes and gave no other visual interest to the image.

Below the frame was a small white card that read “Painting donated by Jessica Blaise from Gravity Falls Elementary School”

Stan scanned the painting at least 20 times while sitting in that chair. The too rough and too soft at the same time chair that had similar copies populating the almost white room he sat in. The wallpaper bouncing off light pinks and blues with tiny ducklings as a makeshift wainscoting was starting to irritate the old man. It was too bright, and the consistent buzz of the fluorescent lights seemed so loud. Stan adjusted himself in his chair, switching his crossed legs to a wider spread and leaned his head against the wall.

The only other stimulus in the room were a few posters promoting proper hand washing techniques, the play area with a small table and chairs with large blocks, crayons and that weird “game” with the metal wiring and wooden beads that’s in every waiting room Stan’s ever sat in. He played with the toys to give himself something to do after he read all the magazines. The novelty wore off fast.

The television mounted on the wall was airing some cooking channel with no sound and no subtitles. Looking at food when you haven’t eaten in a few hours was practically torture, so Stan had been averting his eyes.

There were other paintings on the wall, one was less of a painting, but instead a print of a painting. He doubted that the artist got any compensation from it, if they were still alive. The other was a charcoal drawing done by a student from the community college a town away. Another square, but the entire image was black, the brightest thing on the page was an intruding infant hand coming from the left with the arm fading into the dark background. The fingers seemingly mid-twitch and grabbing at something. The lighting was dynamic and interesting. Stan swore it was a drawing of a penis the first time he glanced at it, which resulted in his brother’s laughter. Stanley smiled at the memory, it was only a few hours ago, but he relishes any time he can make Stanford laugh.

Stan’s eyes darted at the door in the far corner when it opened suddenly. He eased back into his chair when the nurse crossed the room to talk with the receptionist. He couldn’t hear the conversation very well, but could tell they were just gossiping and making jokes. Nothing that was of his interest. So he looked back to the elementary school child’s painting and analyzed it again. His eyes were dry and he was tired. He wished he could sleep, the chair wasn’t comfortable enough and when he did managed to sleep, his neck was sore when he woke up. He was only lucky Ford let him use his shoulder as a pillow for a while. He looked to his left and noted the book his brother placed in the seat. It seemed thick and in what looked like Hebrew. Stan wasn’t very surprised Ford was fluent in the language they were acquainted with as children. Their grandparents on their father’s side were the last to be fully fluent in Hebrew. It was like his brother to be curious of their heritage, but Stan only remembered a few phrases and words he learned from holidays and special event when he had to recite anything in Temple.

Stan crossed his arms and glanced at the clock on the wall and let out an exasperated sigh. It had only been 10 minutes since he last checked the time. He wanted to be at home, be in his soft warm bed and getting ready to eat pancakes at this time in the morning.

He and Ford were on the porch of The Mystery Shack when Soos rushed them off to the hospital the yesterday afternoon. What he originally thought would be a couple of hours of waiting turned into almost twelve. Apparently labour can last a long time.

Stan wished he could be a witness for Soos and Melody like he was when Dipper and Mabel were born, but Melody wanted her privacy, which Stan could respect, but Soos wanted him there…..so he and Ford waited in this bright, annoyingly pastel waiting room, twiddling his thumbs awaiting the arrival of the new member of the mystery family. He was glad he was in at least comfortable clothes, some gray sweatpants and a sweater Mabel knitted for him that read “godfather”.

He was never clear on what the title entailed, but it was mentioned a few times by Soos’ grandmother and the kids insisted that Soos was intending to ask him. He hadn’t, but he didn’t protest Stan wearing the sweater. Whatever job godfathers had, he was willing to play the part if Soos were to ask him.

Stan looked at the double doors a few feet away that lead out of the waiting room and into the halls. His brother left to find something for them to eat, but was taking his sweet time. The turkey being basted on the television was no help in aiding his growling stomach.

He distracted himself by returning his thoughts to Soos and Melody. Just down the hall they were experiencing the strange and beautiful phenomenon that was witnessing the arrival of a brand new person. Stan remembered the feeling so clearly. His entire life he’s felt the presence of human beings. It’s inherent in most people to feel when someone is in the room with you, the other soul sharing the same space as you. Imagine being in a room with a set amount of people and someone else comes in, but imagine they came in without using a doorway. Just appearing seemingly out of thin air. Suddenly another person is with you, and they’re brand new to the world, a life full of potential and power. Yes, today is indeed a happy day, but no amount of positive thinking would ease Stan’s nerves. His foot began to bounce and his hands unconsciously began to fiddle with each other. He didn’t want to think anything would go wrong with Soos’ baby, but anything can happen and life is so fragile, especially at the start of it.

He recalled his nephew’s nervousness the day Dipper and Mabel were born. His hands were shaking and he was constantly checking on his wife and asking the doctors loads of questions. He didn’t fully understand the twins’ father’s behavior until the end of that day.

Mabel’s birth was swift and easy. Her mother only needed to push one and a half times before she was here. It was as if she was eager to meet everyone waiting for her. She cried like most babies do, but Stan could’ve sworn they were tears of joy. While Mabel was greeted with, “hello, beautiful”, “hi, sweetie” and “she’s perfect”, Her brother’s introduction to world started with, “what’s wrong?”, “wait, let me hold him”, and “he’s not moving”. Dipper was rushed out of the room before his mother got a chance to look at him. Stan managed to catch a glimpse of the horrifyingly blue tint on his great nephew’s tiny face. The memory still gave him chills. He remembered how much he wanted to hold Mabel, who began to fuss and cry, obviously missing her brother. He was terrified at the prospect of another incomplete set of twins in their family. After the longest 30 minute of his life, Stan’s great-nephew returned with a bright pink face, wailing with all the power his little lungs could produce. Once the twins were reunited in their mother’s arms, they settled down almost instantly. The doctors told their parents Dipper was significantly lighter in weight than his sister, but both were very strong and healthy. Every so often Stan thinks about Dipper and how much he has impacted his life. His thoughts lead to darker places and he questions if Ford would be here if Dipper wasn’t there to find the third journal. He shook his head as a cold shiver went up his spine.

Stan did his best to distract himself from revisiting the scare that Dipper caused him 16 years ago.

16 years…..17 in August

Stan blinked. The squishy, bright faces that stayed with him that first summer had changed significantly. They stayed in contact all year round and visited every summer since they were 12. But every in-person meeting was always a shock. Dipper was developing the square jaw Stan, both his brothers and nephew shared. He started to regularly wear glasses their second summer with the Stans. Poor kid will grow up looking like Filbrick like the rest of the Pines men. He reminded Stan of Ford at that age.

And Mabel…..

Stan will never get over how much she looks like his mother. It didn’t strike him until Soos and Melody’s wedding and she put her hair in a bun. She’s calmed her hyperactivity down a bit, but not by a lot, she still brightens his day with her wit and creativity. They’ve both matured physically, but not much has changed personality wise and they still acted like big children when they’re around each other. Stan loved them very much, and wished he could see them more often. He wondered what the future held for all of them. Would they still visit town after going to college? Would they move here? Or somewhere else?

He’s had several conversations with them to see how they’re managing the prospect of separating. They’re much better at communicating than he and Ford were and they seem actually excited to have some independence. It made Stan nervous, but he was sure their close relationship wouldn’t suffer.

Wendy chose to be elsewhere for the next few years. She and her friends booked a plane ticket and plan to backpack and hitchhike around Europe and the UK. Stan hopes they stay safe and watch out for each other. Lotta weirdos in Amsterdam. She was set to leave in the coming days, Wendy wanted to wait until today arrived so she could meet Soos and Melody’s kid before going away for who knows how long.

A tap on the shoulder woke Stan from his deep thoughts. His brother arrived with some warm sub sandwiches and coffee.

“Any word yet?, he asked Stan

“Nothin’ yet”, Stan felt helpless not having any clue how Soos and Melody were doing.

Stanford took his seat next to Stanley and they both silently enjoyed their late breakfast. Since arriving they’ve witnessed families reuniting and going past the door in the far corner to meet their children, grandchildren or siblings. Stan looked at the clock again. How has it only been another 5 minutes? He sighed, leaned back and finished the rest of his sub. One hand holding the sandwich, the other went back to gripping the arm rest, then a six fingered hand went down to rest on top of it. Stan let go of the armrest and tangled his fingers between Ford’s and held onto it with a, hopefully not too tight, grip. It was like an anchor to reality, much better at easing his anxieties than any words could. Over the past 4 years, Stan and Ford’s bond grew stronger. Stan still feared one day he would wake up and find himself still in that basement surrounded by broken machinery and languages he didn’t understand. He hasn’t yet, and was enjoying the time he had left with his twin. Stan took a moment to look at his brother again, Ford made eye contact and smiled then continued to read his book. Hands still intertwined

Stans thoughts went back to Soos…

It amazed Stan how much he had grown and it still baffled him that Soos idolized him as much as he does. Before Soos, Stan had no one. His brother was….gone, the rest of the family didn’t talk to him much outside of the holidays and special occasion. There hadn’t been any sense of consistency in Stan’s life for years, decades even, until he hired the chubby little kid he barely glanced at one random Saturday. Soos always arrived to work early, sometimes with breakfast for both of them. Stan didn’t know how much he needed a reliable companion until he had it and he enjoyed the 10 years he had with that kid… or man he should say. Here he was…a few rooms away, becoming a father.

Stan used to daydream a lot about the prospect of having kids when he was younger. He’s was always good with them when he had the chance to babysit his nephew, then later Dipper and Mabel when they were toddlers. He loved having kids in his house that first summer. He loved the energy and the sense of adventure the twins brought. They gave him a sense of purpose and belonging he hadn’t felt in years. He wished he was brave enough to have his own children. Not that he was ever with anyone long enough to want to have kids with him. He supposed it was for the best that he didn’t subject a child to homelessness or an unhappy marriage. He was also terrified at the idea. His dad used to say having kids ruined his life. He wondered who his father was before his older brother was born. Did they really ruin his life? Stan often wondered if he would be like his own dad if he has children of his own. Would he change and become that annoyed parent that resenting his children?

He thought about Soos again

That was probably the closest to parenthood he ever experienced. The first time he felt like one was when Soos asked him for homework help after closing. He initially told Soos no, he wasn’t exactly smart and didn’t think he would be any help. It apparently upset the kid, so Stan sighed and gave it a try. It was fairly simple middle school math, he didn’t remember everything, but helped Soos do more than half of it. Soos thanked him and went home happy. Stan felt weirdly proud, he was glad he made a small difference and managed to teach Soos something he didn’t even know he knew.

The second time was when Soos was a teenager. His grandmother wasn’t able to teach Soos to drive, since she had forgotten how and her late husband used to do the driving, she mostly walked everywhere. Soos offered to work for free so Stan could teach him. Stan loved driving and found teaching Soos cathartic. He was a fast and eager learner, he only bumped Stan’s car once while trying to figure out parallel parking. Little did Soos know that he was getting paid for his normal work hours. Stan just put it away long enough to help buy the kid some old used truck in the junkyard for getting his license. They fixed the truck up and in only a few weeks it was ready to be on the road. Soos has taken good care of it and it’s still his ride to this day

Stan was very proud of Soos. He taught the kid some basic self defense and managed to be a decent influence in his life. Soos at least has his priorities straight.

Stan was even glad to see that Soos was willing to question him. When the portal was reaching the final countdown, he didn’t hesitate to protect the kids from him when he thought Stan was dangerous. He didn’t know, none of them did, so he didn’t blame Soos for distrusting him. He hoped he never had to betray him again. They both had crappy dads, and Stan knew how Soos saw him. Stan was never really sure if he reciprocated those feelings. It felt natural to act the part, but to put a label as important as “dad” on Stan was daunting. Soos definitely deserves better than what he was given, Stan wasn’t sure if he was it.

Stan looked up at the familiar voices running towards him from the double doors.

“Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Ford!” Mabel waved to them

The two teenagers and Wendy walked in holding a balloon and various toys. They took some seats across from the Stans and asked how everyone was doing and if the baby arrived yet.

“Not yet, hopefully soon” Ford answered

Stan relaxed and silently enjoyed his family’s company. He laid his head back and leaned slightly on Ford to rest for a minute. His eyes shut as he listened to the kids joke around and talk amongst themselves. He squeezed Ford’s hand one more time before drifting off.

He knew he should’ve tried sleeping earlier, he wasn’t out for more than 15 minutes when Soos came into the waiting room. Stan’s eyes shot open and he was on his feet faster than he did when he was being chased by angry costumers as a door to door salesman. Soos’ red eyes sagged and he seemed exhausted, but carried a proud, wide smile across his face. He sniffed and wiped his eyes.

“It’s a boy”, he squeaked, “mom and baby are okay”

Dipper and Mabel were first to start the hugs, and the room filled with cheers of congratulations and love. Stan felt light as a feather giving Soos a hug and joking about child labor.

“Can we see him?”, Mabel bounced with anticipation

“Yeah, dudes!”, Soos gestured everyone past the corner door and into the suite. “But only for a little while, Melody has to sleep”

The room was small, dimly lit and warm. The Pines crew collectively lowered their voices as Melody came into view on the bedding holding a bundle of blankets decorated with small yellow ducklings. She was leaned back on a large pillow, covered in blankets and toted a soft smile on her face. Soos stroked her hair and picked up his little son to show to the Pines’. The younger twins got a look at him first,

Mabel squealed and cooed at the tiny infant. Then Wendy, who said hi to the baby and told Soos she’d make sure to send him gifts while she was away

“What’s his name?”, Mabel asked Melody

“I named him after my dad”, Melody replied, “Jacob”. She smiled sadly at the memory of the father she lost the year before.

Soos approached the Stans, Ford smiled and complimented the couple on a having such beautiful little boy, but shot Soos a look, who silently replied with another one. Something was up.

Finally Stan got a look at baby Jacob. “Wow” Stan smiled, patting Soos’ arm. “He looks exactly like you”

Soos laughed, “really? I think he looks like Melody”, there was a short silence before Soos spoke up again.

“Do you want to hold him, Mr Pines?”

Stan looked at Soos and smiled, “heh, sure”. He held his arms out. Soos lowered his arms to pass the baby to Stan, who scrunched his face up and started to fuss. Stan took the infant and managed to hold him with one arm. He bounced and shushed little Jacob until he calmed down. “Heya kid”, He’s held babies dozens of times, but something felt different about this one. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but Stan felt an almost magnetic pull towards him. Jacob settled comfortably against Stan and continued his rest. Stan softly beamed at the tiny person in his arms.

“Hey, Stan?”

Stan lifted an eyebrow and looked at Soos, who was fidgeting with his hands and nervously smiling.

“Uh..”, he paused, taking in the sight of Stan holding his child. “You know about my dad”, Soos looked at Ford again, who shrugged and nodded. Stan studied Ford’s face, who’s eyes strayed away as he hid a small smile. Soos got his attention again.

“You uh…he wasn’t…”, Soos choked up, his voice strained a bit, “I met you when I was probably the loneliest I ever was in my entire life”. Stan pictured the little boy he hired on the spot, he didn’t remember him until Soos showed up at his door step the next day ready to work. He didn’t know how much that quick, thoughtless decision would change his life.

Soos perked up and walked across the room to a table and picked up the piece of paper sitting on it. Soos glanced at it, then at Stan and smiled, gaining some emotional strength it seemed.

“You mean a lot me”, Soos, “you were there when I really needed it, you gave me a job, taught me just about everything I know. I don’t think I ever thanked you for that”

Stan got a bit nervous, Was this him asking to be the godfather?Everyone was silent and curiously watching. Soos held his hand out and handed the paper to Stan. He adjusted his arm to properly hold Jacob in his arm and took it. Stan flipped the page and noticed it was the baby’s birth certificate. Stan eyes bounced off the page and read the various information: birthdate, weight, parents, but he froze when he read the full name. Stan’s wide eyes questioningly studied Soos’ face.

“Are you…”, Stan felt his own throat tightening, crap. Come on, not in front of everyone “really?”, he asked. Soos gave a genuine nod and sniffed.

“I uh” Soos cleared his throat, “I was wondering, since Jacob doesn’t have one…if you wanted to be…. his grandpa?

There it was

Stan felt dizzy and took a small step back before remembering who was in his hands and regained his balance. Ford came to his side and wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Stan decide not to look at his brother and chose to stare forward, then his eyes went back to Soos, who look deflated. Oh man. Stan was terrified, he didn’t want to say no and hurt Soos, but if he said yes….he wasn’t sure what made him so nervous. The entire concept sounded so alien to him, like he didn’t deserve the title. He always considered Soos, Melody and their son a part of his family. But to bare a title like “grandpa”, had to mean he had children that that children. That he was already a parent without his knowledge. It all felt so natural to want to lean into this and become part of this family like Soos wanted.

He heard something make a noise from beneath himself. Stan looked down at little Jacob, who was mid yawn. The baby’s mouth grew wide opens and inhaled, scrunching up his face and suddenly shut. Suddenly two tiny eyes opened for just a few seconds, enough time for Stan to make eye contact before Jacob shut them and got comfortable again

Everything was different now.

Stan didn’t notice how quiet the room had gotten nor the tears forming in his eyes. Stunned by beauty and overcome with pride and a sense of purpose. The pride he felt teaching Soos math, how to drive and attending his graduation all combined just looking at the perfect being in his arms. If he said yes, he would want everything that came with it. Stan lifted the birth certificate up to read the name again.

Jacob Stanley Ramirez

“Y-Yes”, he heard a shaken voice say, almost not realizing it was his own “of course”. He looked at Soos, tears in his eyes and a bright smile on his face. He still wasn’t sure if he deserved this, but Stan wanted it. He wanted it all. Why not indulge just this once? He gave the certificate to Ford and used his now free hand to pull Soos into a hug. Gently sandwiching his…..grandson in between him……and his son.

[mrs-gucci]

I’m going to try come up with other ideas lol but these jumped out at me. I would absolutely use these for something! I’m saving them too because I just might!

But if you feel like it, these combined scenarios could be really fun for a sarcastic, grouchy ass Flip or Kylo AU. It could be anything from enemies to antagonists to the guy being in trouble with you currently from doing stupid shit and trying to make up with you! Anything you think!

your enemy has been badly wounded, and somebody needs to bandage them up, so you agree to help them, and suddenly they're shirtless, and you can't help but admire their body, something this cheeky motherfucker takes notice of

there's only one bed, but this time, they're arguing over who should sleep on the floor, which nobody agrees to, so instead they end up sharing, incredibly annoyed over having to share their space (it’s not like friends to lovers, in which they both awkwardly get into bed. this is straight up just. i will set this bed on fire if you don’t stay on your side)

The Longest Knight {Sir Kylo Ren x Reader}

author's notes: hello, hello! shannon, dear, you always seem to know what I'm in need of when you send requests in. I've been dying for an excuse to write some medieval/knight Kylo, and this fits in perfectly with that AU, so thank you! <3

**THERE ARE SOME DARK(ER) THEMES IN THIS STORY, BUT ONLY AT THE VERY BEGINNING (there’s an indicator of when the dark content ends, in bold, you can’t miss it). PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS AND TW’S BEFORE PROCEEDING!**

warnings: some angst. some gore. some fluff. smut. enemies-with-benefits. sex w/o feelings. kylo is a huge douche (but in, like, a lowkey sexy way). 

tw's: (at the very beginning): dead bodies & blood, vivid depictions of wounds/injuries, brief depictions of battle, implied (battle-related) murder. mentions of sex work (later on in the story, not relating to the reader character).

word count: 4.4k

terms to know: loincloth: groin-covering cloth tied around the waist (literally just underwear). bedswerver: “adulterer” (an insult). mamillare: medieval breast band (bra).

When the sounds of marching footfall, deep cries of manly battle, and shod hooves pounding on the drought-hardened ground had ceased from the air, you saddle your horse and ride out to the far field of your property. 

The putrid smell of rotting flesh hits you before any bodies are even in view. Your prized stallion slows his trot, nostrils flaring and ears perked forward as the scene of battle presents itself to both of you.

He begins to snort and whinny in acute panic at the sight of so many corpses, both human and horse. Your stomach begins to churn, and you can barely bring yourself to look upon the scene as your heel encourages him onward, wanting to make sure there aren’t any surviving soldiers. 

Both sides seem to have suffered great loss, although you’re unsure which corpses belong to which side. The conflict betwixt Alderaan and Naboo has been dragging on much too long, and at the end of the day, is any conflict truly worth all of the lives lost?

You certainly didn’t think so, but perhaps you’re just too close to this war, incapable of having an unbiased opinion due to the loss of your beloved husband at the hands of Sir Kylo Ren, the Alderaanean calvary general and the most feared man across all five kingdoms. 

As you make your rounds to check for survivors, much to the dismay of your steed, you quickly lose almost all hope that anyone laid here ended up surviving the brutality apparently brought down upon them during the fight. 

Suddenly, your horse lifts himself up on hinds legs ever so slightly, jogging in place as a barely-audible groan comes from one of the men. His hand moves ever so slightly, and you quickly rush over to him, dismounting with a small first aid bag.

His helmet is that of a high-ranking official, but on which side he belongs, it’s too hard to tell. Not that it truly matters, you’d take just about any man with the courage to fight these battles.

“Sir?” You say, kneeling down beside the large man. “Do you remember what happened to you?”

He grunts lowly, winter-chapped lips opening in an attempt to speak. “S-Stomach.”

Once your mind registers his husky words, you look down at his abdomen and see that his armor seems to have been compromised in a spot right on the side of his stomach. Fresh blood seeps from the deep wound, and you cringe, grabbing one of the towels from your pack to gently wipe away some of the blood, but the tear in flesh is so deep, it’s impossible to do with just one towel. **dark content warnings ENDS**

“My estate is just a short ride from here. I cannot hold your weight myself, but if you can mount my horse, I will take you back and mend your wounds to the best of my ability.”

The mask nods softly, slowly but surely lifting himself up off the ground, wobbling towards your horse, who snorts nervously. He seemingly understands the severity of the situation, though, and stands still as the knight sits himself on his back. 

From there, he lays back, breath catching in his throat as his injuries are tweaked with each of the horses’ strides. You hold onto the reins, leading your stallion back to the house. 

After quite a bit of maneuvering and a lot of quarreling with the injured knight, you finally manage to set him up the cot in your spare bedroom. He sits down on the chair as you do so, mumbling and grumbling about his pain. You found it quite annoying, really, but you can’t really blame him for acting in such a way.

“You’ll need to remove your armor, sir. I cannot treat your wounds with it on.”

“By God’s bones.” He curses under his breath in annoyance, but stands and removes his body armor nonetheless.

Piece by piece is peeled from his body, his physically intimidating figure revealed slowly to your curious eyes. Only his under-layers were left, soon enough, and you found it a bit odd that he hadn’t taken his helmet off first. You would think that would be a great relief to have the proper air exposure on your face, but you’re not really in a place to make assumptions about that sort of thing.

His brilliantly alabaster skin is severely bloodied, bruised, and badly butchered. He would require quite some time to heal and recover, but if you learned anything from being married to an army man, it’s that they’re all stubborn bastards who never take the proper time to allow time for their bodies to properly heal.

He’s soon fully exposed to you, minus his helmet and threadbare loincloth, and you have to look away quickly as your cheeks heat up. The small garment left very little to the imagination, and this knight was...well endowed, to put it kindly.

Putting your own personal feelings aside for the betterment of the patient, you look back up at him with a small smile. “You may remove your helmet now, good sir.”

“I cannot reach up to grab it from my head.” He says in a flat, unamused voice.

“Of course.” You scold yourself for not thinking of that. “Well, if you lay down on the cot, I shall remove it for you.”

Instead of protest, which is what you expected, he complied with your instructions and laid down on the cot. He grunts satisfyingly at the comfort of a mattress, most likely used to sleeping on the ground.

When you reach for the bottoms of his helmet to pull it off, he suddenly snatches your wrist, stopping you instantly.

“If you need touch me, ask before doing so.” His voice is nothing more than a growl.

You almost roll your eyes, starting to truly become annoyed with this knight. You invited him into your home and you’re willing to be his bedside nurse...and he has the audacity to request something like this.

Again you’re forced to put your personal feelings aside for the sake of your patient and for the maintenance of your bedside manner, forcing a smile onto your face. “With all due respect, sir, I’m your nurse for the time being. I will be needing to touch you quite often. Am I really expected to ask each and every time?”

“Yes.” He replies.

Your jaw clenches and you wish nothing more in this moment than to smack this man right across the face.

“Fine. May I please remove your helmet?”

Sparing you the assurance of a vocal reply, the mask simply nods, and you pull it over his head. When the face of your patient is revealed to your eyes, you’re appalled.

It’s Sir Kylo Ren...the man that murdered your husband.

You drop the helmet onto the ground, metal clattering as it rocks back and forth once it’s settled in one spot on the hardwood. This can’t be real.

He snarls. “Why are you looking upon me with that expression? Have you never seen a man before? I have wounds that need tended to, girl, and I’d like to be out of here before sundown.”

Anger begins to boil your blood, tears burning in your eyes as you look down at the man before you.

“You bastard.” Your hand raises, ready to strike him clean against the cheek. He catches your fist in his hand before you can, though.

“I wouldn’t, if I were you.” Kylo warns, squeezing your fist. “I’ll have to have you beheaded for hitting an army man, and your head is much too pretty to be put to such waste.”

You snort, yanking yourself from his grip, teeth gritting as you walk out to fetch all the medical supplies. He’s wearing a cocky expression when you walk back in.

“I recognize you.” He says.

You huff, unamused. “How could you possibly recognize me? We’ve never met.”

His lips curl up into a devious smirk. “You’re right, we haven’t met before, but I recognize you from your husband’s description. I asked him what you looked like, since he was babbling on and on about you.”

You freeze up, bottom lip beginning to quiver as Sir Kylo continues.

“Then I drove my blade straight through his pathetic chest, and later that night, I touched myself as I thought of you.”

He chuckles deviously.

“Bedswerver!” You yell, cocking your fists once more and lunging at him, ready to strike once more. But then, you stop yourself, knowing the consequences you’d surely face should you actually hit him. 

Your fists lower and you simply say nothing, preparing the cloths in the warm water. The tears run down your cheeks on their own volition, but you quickly wipe them away before turning back towards him. 

“He wasn’t worthy of your company, Y/N.” Kylo says as you begin to clean the wounds on his stomach. “And he clearly didn’t satisfy you in the way you needed, considering the manner in which you looked over my body when I took my armor off.”

His hand reaches around and squeezes your ass, making you jump. 

“How long has it been, little lamb? A young woman like you shouldn’t have to live without a man to satisfy her aching need.”

You can’t pretend that you’re not aroused by his words, by his touch. But you’d never let him have you, not in a thousand years. So, you quickly swat his hand away and continue cleaning his wounds. “That’s none of your concern, Sir Kylo. I am perfectly content without a man and that’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”

He laughs. “That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one. I bet you’re aching right now, just from my words and my simple touch.”

Before he can touch you further, you back away, limbs trembling with anger and frustration. You dunk the bloody rag back into the bowl of water, ring it out a bit, then throw it onto his chest.

“Clean the wounds yourself, since you can obviously move your hands and arms perfectly fine.” You say, wiping your own on a dry cloth. “I’ll be back to bandage you in a bit.”

“Don’t think of me too much, lamb. You’ll release too quickly.” He snickers as you slam the door shut behind you, bursting into tears the moment you step foot into your bedroom.

You sob quietly, the freshly-healed stitches of your heart popping open one at a time, the grief and pain of losing your beloved consuming you once more. 

And now you’re here, mending his killer.

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

It takes everything you have, every ounce of willpower, to wake up and face Sir Kylo every single day. You know you’re doing the right thing by helping him, but that doesn’t make dealing with him any easier.

He’s impossibly stubborn, arrogant beyond comprehension, and increasingly grumpy. But, you just have to keep going, keep pushing through, reminding yourself that each day brings you closer and closer to his inevitable departure.

You’ve all but blocked out his inappropriate and antagonizing comments or remarks, just getting his bandages replaced and then leaving the room as quickly as possible.

Today, though, he’s achieved a new level of jackassery, a thing you thought impossible until he did it. And boy, did he do it.

“I’ve made arrangements for a few whores to come and provide me some...company.”

Your fist tightens around the bandage in your hand. He smirks.

“You’re more than welcome to join us. There’s plenty of me to go around, little lamb. You’ll get your turn.”

“No, thanks. I think I’d rather stab myself with a sword.” You reply, beginning to switch out his bandages. “You’re lucky I’m even allowing it to occur in my house.”

He just chuckles. “You’d probably be bad, anyway.”

You suddenly rip the bandage off of his skin, causing him to cry out in pain. He looks at you, and you glare down at him. “Just...can you please just stop talking for once in your life? Must you always berate me when all I’ve done over the past few weeks is take care of you? Is this what kindness, genuine kindness, gets me?”

He suddenly seems to sober up, to let what he’s done to you sink in. It doesn’t last long, but you still see it. Perhaps he does have the capability to feel at least some sense of remorse.

Kylo stays quiet for the rest of the time you tend to his wounds, and when you turn to leave, the two words you’ve been convinced are not in his vocabulary, come from the behind you.

“Thank you.”

This sliver of empathy is short lived, especially after the girls from the local brothel make their way up to his room. 

“Oh! Oh! Sir Kylo!”

You shake your head, attempting to read in the study, which is located on the other side of house from the guest bedroom. Yet, their screams, cries and the various other lewd noises still manage to make their way to your ears.

“Ah! Ah! Ah!” “Take it, whore, take it!” “Kyloooooooo!”

The temptation to go up there and kick the girls out is increasing by the second, but you don’t. Maybe this will help mellow him out a bit, make him more manageable.  Plus, you’re pretty sure that you’d have to carve your eyes out after walking in on whatever they’re doing up behind that closed door.

Unfortunately for you, it becomes progressively more difficult to focus on your book as the burn between your thighs intensifies. It’s been almost two years since your husband was murdered, which means that it’s been a little over that since you were last intimate with someone.

Normally, and up until Sir Kylo entered your household, you were more than fine subduing your sexual desires. You haven’t once touched yourself, not that you’d really know how to anyway, and you certainly weren’t about to start now.

You cross your legs, hoping that’ll quell some of the burning, but it only makes it worse. Another half an hour passes and your hand now rests on your thigh, slowly inching down towards your soaked and quivering pussy.

Just a quick touch won’t hurt...he doesn’t have to know...

Luckily, a knock at the door brings your motions to a stop. You sigh in relief, walking over to open the door. When you do, you’re met with a bandaged bare torso, a very muscular bare torso. His skin glistens with sweat and the smell of sex radiates from his essence. 

He’s still breathing heavily as he stands in the doorway, looking down at you.

“We’re finished upstairs.” He says breathily. “I’m due for my afternoon bandage change, whenever you’re ready.”

You watch him saunter away, admiring the way his muscles stretch and tense with each stride. You’re burning up by now, both your skin and your arousal, and you wonder how you’re going to get through this next bandage change. 

When you enter the room, the musk of sex is thick in the air, humidity at a suffocating level. You try to ignore it, try not to let it get to you, but it’s just surrounding you. 

Your skin begins to glisten, brow furrowed as you focus on trying to change these bandages as quickly as possible. Kylo seems to take notice of your hurry, your sudden perspiring.

“Is something wrong?” He asks you, biting back a smirk. “You seem flustered.”

Nodding, you continue on with the bandaging.  “I’m fine, just a bit warm is all.”

Kylo hums, reaching down to grab your wrist as you reach up to re-bandage the wound on his chest. He brings your fingers up to his lips, sucking the tips into his mouth gently, tongue swiping over the pads of your digits.

You try to pull away, to leave before you do something you regret, but his hold on you is firm. And if you’re honest with yourself, you don’t actually want him to stop.

Oh lord, this is bad. It’s so wrong. You shouldn’t want this. He murdered your husband, the man you loved. He’s so smug and cocky and yet...it’s what you’ve been wanting this whole time, the thing you’ve tried to suppress, to not let yourself want.

But now, everything else be damned, you want this. You need this. And damnit, you’re gonna have it.

His lips release your fingertips with a lewd pop! sound, an arrogant smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You haven’t tried to pull away or tell me off in a minute or two. Is everything alright?”

You huff. “Just do it.”

He raises his eyebrows, sitting up a little. “Do what? What do you want me to do, little lamb?”

“You know what I want.”

“Oh yes, I’m fully aware of what you want.” He smirks. “But I want to hear you say it out loud.”

You cross your arms on your chest, trying to ignore the twang of guilt that shoots through you as you prepare to say the words aloud.

“Fine. I want you to f-fuck me.”

“That’s right. I knew you wanted it.” Kylo takes your hand and trails it down his muscular abdomen, stopping just above where his loincloth sits on his hips.

“Take it off.”

You’re chewing your lip numb as you reach down and undo the tie holding the garment on. Your breath hitches as you slide it off, exposing his member, which is hardening steadily.

“Instead of staring, perhaps you’d like to try touching it?” He smirks.

You shoot him a glare. “Stop talking, for once in your life, please spare my ears the sound of your constant squabble.”

Kylo chuckles, putting his hands behind his head.

Your hand wraps around the base of his length, and he grunts softly. It’s your turn to wear a smirk.

“Oh, do you like that, Sir Kylo?”

He huffs. “Every man likes their cock being touched. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

You squeeze his shaft, drawing a deep grunt from his lips and small buck of his hips. He looks away, jaw clenched in an attempt to prevent any further noises. 

This fact only makes you more determined, hand pumping his cock with more vigor, alternating between different paces and pressures to really drive him crazy.

You’re thoroughly enjoying this, drinking in the sight of him trying his absolute hardest not to react to the touches that so obviously arouse him. You tease him even more, using your fingers to touch certain parts of his length. 

Well, it’s fun for the few minutes it lasts, but suddenly, you find yourself in his position, laid back on the cot. He’s on top of you, now, pushing the skirts of your dress up, fingers yanking the laces on your bodice.

He quickly pulls it off, followed by your skirts, leaving you in only your mamillare and your loincloth. His eyes roam your newly exposed skin for a moment before his hand slips down between your thighs, fingers pressing up against the fabric.

“I knew it. Were you listening, little lamb? Were you listening to me fuck those whores and wishing it was you?”

Your breath hitches. “Well, it was sort of hard not to listen when the girls were screaming.”

His fingers wrap around the waist tie, pulling them down to fully expose your wet heat. He smirks, rubbing around until he finds that one spot that has your back arching and a gasp escaping your lips.

Before he can even say anything, you reiterate his words in a mocking tone. “Every woman likes being touched there. Don’t go thinking that it means anything.”

He huffs, rubbing you harder.

“Tell me how wet you got when you heard me fucking those whores. Tell me that you wanted a turn on my cock, wondered how good I’d feel inside you.”

“N-No.” You say, a stern expression on your face. “I’ll never say that to you.”

His jaw clenches as he bends down, lips next to your ear. “You'll be screaming it once I’m done with you.”

Your eyes widen when his fingers slowly press up into your entrance. 

“Kylo...” You’ve never been touched in this way before. It’s...different, and not necessarily unpleasant.

He sees your hesitation. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

And you did.

His digits begin moving in and out of you, curling up occasionally to stimulate a certain tender spot inside you. You’re biting down on your lip, surely hard enough to break the skin, trying your darndest not to give him the privilege of hearing your noises.

As you did to him, seeing you suppress your noises only spurs him on more, movements becoming quicker, swifter. Your orgasm draws closer with each skilled stroke, but just before you reach your peak, he pulls out.

You thought you wanted to hit him before; now, you kind of want to pop some of his abdomen stitches. 

“Why did you do that?”

He laughs devilishly, reaching down to pump his cock, slicking it with the juices of your arousal. “You didn’t think I’d actually let you get off that easily, did you?”

“Well, I was sort of hoping...”

You’re brought to silence when he crawls on top of you, trapping you beneath his massive form. His mushroom head swirls around your entrance, collecting some of your slick before pressing it inside of you.

It’s been quite a while since you’ve had anyone, and you don’t think you’ve ever had someone of his size before, so you gasp softly as he presses forth. Soon, his entire length is seated in you, stretching and filling you to the brim.

His eyes are squeezed shut, jaw clenched as he tries to remain still in order to allow you an adjustment period. Once you’ve had some time, he begins moving his hips, rolling them at a steady pace. 

“Knew you’d have a nice little cunt,” He growls, teeth baring. “So wet and tight for me, little lamb.”

You bite your numbing lip in an attempt to prevent any of the desperate moans or cries that want to escape. He’s doing something similar, jaw clenched tightly. 

Only the wet squelch and sharp snapping of skin colliding can be heard between the two of you, minus the occasional grunt or sharp inhale from either of you, which is quickly shut down almost as soon as it slips out.

Soon, you feel your climax begin to appear on the horizon, walls clenching and pulsing around his cock. He takes notice, quickly speeding his rhythm up, exhaling loudly through his flared nostrils.

He’s getting close, too, balls pulling up as his body prepares itself for orgasm. The energy between you two, as well as your physical movements, quickly turn desperate. 

“Don’t release inside me.”

“I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to.” He says, smugly.

You huff, rolling your eyes. “I see that even the throws of passion and ecstasy is still not enough to tamper your unbearable attitude.”

“There is nothing that can stop me from taking the opportunity to get a rise out of you, milady.” He smirks before his brows knit in the center of his forehead. “If you’re gonna cum, I suggest you do it s-soon.”

Your eyes flutter shut, hips attempting to lift up off the mattress, wanting him to hit that certain spot inside you. As soon as you find the right angle, a choked sob leaves your lips as you’re quickly brought and tossed over the edge.

Kylo groans softly, thrusting rapidly before pulling out at the last minute, spilling his seed all over your abdomen.

Both of you are breathless as you ride out your climaxes, basking in the peaceful bliss that washes over your body, basking in the luxury of his utter and complete silence. It was a welcome change, a much-needed reprieve from the past few weeks of dealing with him.

He eventually flops down onto the mattress beside you, grabbing and re-securing his loincloth around his hips. You’re already a bit sore from being stretched for the first time in two years.

“May I just sleep here tonight, Sir Kylo? Unless you’d like to carry me back over to my bedroom.”

The side-eye he gives you is incredibly humorous, but you contain your laughter, not wanting to add oil to the flame.

“I won’t be a bother. I will stay on this side of the cot; you’ll barely even know I’m here.”

“Are you truly incapable of walking yourself back to your bedroom after one session of fucking? Was I really that amazing that I’ve left you unable to move about the house?” He laughs.

"And suddenly, the pain of walking over to my room seems less painful than staying here and listening to your vexing squabble.”

Kylo huffs. “If you stay here for the night, you may not breach the center of the mattress. I will kick you out if you even come close to bumping into me or making any sort of physical contact.”

Mocking his words from earlier, you smirk. “I’m flattered that you think I’d even want to touch you.”

“Very funny.” He says, flatly, rolling over to face away from you. “Just stay on your fucking side of the bed.”

You roll your eyes, sitting up to braid your hair for bed before fluffing the goose-feather pillow beneath your head, settling down for the night. Soon, Sir Kylo’s obnoxious snores bounce off the walls and you put your pillow over your head, hoping to muffle the noise.

God, even his snores are arrogant.

-

The next morning, when your eyes flutter open at the first sign of light through the window, you find the sheets next to you vacant.

You sit up, eyebrows furrowed as you look around the room, ears open to listen for any noise anywhere in the house. You don’t hear anything.

Then, you see a piece of rolled up parchment on his pillow along with a small satchel. When you open the pouch, you’re shocked to see a pile of shiny coins. You unrolled the note, reading the sloppy script.

For the medical supplies and for your trouble. Here’s hoping our paths never cross again.

-Kylo

As you read the very brief and to-the-point note, you can practically hear his snide voice in your head reciting it. The cold, cocky tone of his words shone through the parchment and ink, incredibly so. You huff, tossing the note back onto the pillow before getting up to begin the day. 

Well...at least you’ll never have to see him again.

[ackerpreach]

This ending .... I can name 500 reasons and I will name them right now, because I don’t think I’m the only one who is upset with how things turned out. (Also, A positive message for all of you at the end)

MAJOR LEAKS SPOILERS/ READ WITH CAUTION

Update: after reading more theories from fellow RM bloggers, and sleeping over it one day, this entire chapter might be an april fools... Don't fully lose hope yet beautiful people. It's me just giving a review on a possible fake April fools chapter

After following this franchise since 2013, so nearly a DECADE. this ending is a pure disserve to the entire fandom. I feel like Yams has rushed it just for the sake of being done with the entire manga. So many things are left open, characters and their developemt are reverted back all the way to chapter 1 or are left even worse than that...

Mikasa’s worthless character development/ Aaronmika’s horrible toxic codependent relationship 

Oh honey... Let’s start with how horrible Isayama has treated her. We were all rooting for her, because we all felt like she was so misunderstood. She had a horrible childhood and imprinted on a guy who treated her like trash 99 percent of the story. And then, slowly but surely, she starts to realize she has to stop obsessing over him in the uprising arc with the help of a real man who treats her like a queen, more importantly, he treats her like a real human being. This man sees her for her abilities and that she has the power to be self dependent. She learned parts of herself, that she was able to work together with him like no one else could.  She learned parts of herself she was unable to do so if she kept obsessing about Aaron. All this love, care, mutual understanding and RESPECT these two shared. 

but...NAH FUCK THAT, right Yams?? Throw all this development away, all this bonding. Let’s make the main female lead even more yandere than she already was in the first season. Let her make out with his decapacitated head (like dude, this is also pure disrespect to Aaron’s dead body btw) and let her obsess even more about the guy who has treated her no better than a piece of toilet cloth 99 percent of the time. The guy who was never really appreciative in front of her for saving his ass billions of times, who always pushed her away, who yells at her and snaps at her whenever he can instead of reasoning and talking calmly with her in mature way. (EVEN PARODY YOUTUBE CHANNELS WHO DONT SHIP ANYTHING MAKE IT A TROPE WHERE AARON TELLS MIKASA HE HATES HER GUTS WHENEVER HE CAN) 

Then after all that, suddenly Yams tries to last minute persuade us Aaron’s always been head over heels for her???  He should have build their relationship better which he hasn’t even tried to do so... He must be thinking his fans are stupid for eating this from his hands.    

Like seriously??? What is this??? 

Isayama is just fully contradicting himself. It’s like someone tipped him off with a buttload of money for him to write Aaron like this to satisfy shipping needs and to cash in those extra money’s from it. Even if he tried to cater to Erem*ika, this is not how you write a loving and caring couple which people will root for. 

This next two panels just freaking infuriates me to the core of my soul. I can’t even describe how dissapointed I am with Mikasa. 

Why is she clutching that head so obsessively like that?  Why is she walking and turning her back away from her comrades? After everything they have done for her, after all they’ve been through?! After everything Armin has done? Standing up for Mikasa, beating up Aaron for hurting her. I feel like even Jean, Connie and Sasha have cared more for her in a healthy way.  Sure, Aaron cares for her romantically too apparently (What a twist Yams :)), but has he aided her to becoming a mentally healthier individual? Has he aided in her mental stability? The answer is a big fat NO!  All I see between these two after today’s raw Chapter’s are too Yandere obsessed individuals who have no clue on how to maintain a healthy relationship. 

Love should only go as far as the heart can endure and it seems like her character is not willing to be aware of that. Even Armin was able to let go of Aaron in those latest panels. Why does her entire character resolve around this guy??? I really do not understand. Her Ackerbond and her age is not an excuse for her to throw her life away like this. 

Shonen’s disgusting portrayal of women 

I’ve seen this countless of times in the many years I’ve watched anime. SasuS*ku from Naruto, Ichih*me from Bleach, Shinji and that oranged hair girl from Neon Evangelion.. Why do these women get decreased to simpletons with one single goal? And that is to obsess over a bland male lead who either treats them like trash or doesn’t notice them up until the last last chapter (LITERALLY WHAT YAMS HAS DONE). Some go even as far as the male leading wanting the kill the female love interest and yet the female lead is still in love with them???. It’s disgusting for him to write the MAIN female character this way. 

It’s dissapointing we believed in Isayama doing Mikasa’s character right. That she’s finally being able to let go of her codependency and to live for herself maybe live in Hizuru and find more about her roots???, but every single time she shows some improvement, it’s burried deep in the ground again by the Author. It almost seems like a lowkey kink of some of the male Mangaka’s to write about a girl obsessing over them no matter what. I see this so many times to the point that I truly stand behind it that some of them might have this fantasy. 

I wished he didn’t portray her last panels like this. Everyone else is living their lives while Mikasa is still grieving about him. I’m not saying she’s not allowed to grieve and everyone takes it at their own pace, but cmon... Show her living her life too. This is too much. Her being next to his grave and grieving him as her last panels just shoves it in our faces that YET AGAIN, BEING OBSESSED WITH AARON IS ALL HER CHARACTER STANDS FOR. 

I truly despise how Isayama handles her grieving, kissing his decapacitated head, carrying it around like some handbag, and her last panels being thissss.

The world leaving Paradis alone miraciously after all that??? 

It’s so weird and out of place with so many political feuds and disagreements between the world and Paradis, the entire Rumbling happening and we can see Mikasa just chilling outside in Paradis with no one bothering them. You can see the rings of the walls in the picture below.  I don’t know the exact reason behind as the manga is still in Korean, but from what I see, the story went the route of: throwing a happy ending without enough proper reason and  it was all fixed just like that in a snap! It doesn’t fit the entire narrative of attack on titan for things to be so peacful out of nowhere. When it comes to the narrative, how things work in that world, how hard it is to achieve peace, everything made somewhat sense up until chapter 138. 139 seems so so out of place...  It’s like I’m reading a chapter from a totally different manga. 

Aaron Yoghurt got defeated so easily/ Aaron’s character assassination

The build up on the first part of the rumbling was great, those kids carrying coins. You could feel humanity’s fear and Aaron’s hatred in those pages. As if he truly had a goal and he has turned away completely from his comrades and his closest friends with no return. The world seemed truly doomed, but he  got defeated just like that. He was in the nape all this time (because screw the warhammer power of hiding yourself elsewhere in his ginormous titan body). There is no master plan as we all expected, and in the end he just acts all yandere in the paths with Armin and that’s it... They massacared his entire character as well. Many fan theories created a better ending with his character. Him being reincarnated as Historia’s baby would be so much better. For him to still keep on seeking and to strive for power. It has always been his motive. It’s his personality from the start until chapter 138. Even if things are okay, to keep on going and to seek that adventure, but then.. He’s so weak and directionless suddenly.. It’s so weird... This is not Aaron at all???

Using Aaron for him this entire post, because I don’t want others to invade our tags... :)))

Historia’s baby 

The only panel we got from Historia’s child was this. Just a normal kid, normal life... Why did Isayama put so much effort in highlighting Historia’s pregnancy if it was nothing too spectacular anyway? It seemed he had major plans for this kid and for their development too??? It’s again, big plans, big developments, big relationship dynamic, but all  got thrown out of the window... 

Don’t read the next sentence if you are a minor :’) 

It’s like almost ejaculating, but stopping right before it and repeating that every single Arc.

My energy when writing about this chapter is the same as Nostalgia Critic and his hatred for atla the live action

In Conclusion...

I know us fans should not be deciding on how this story should end, because this is Isayama’s story after all, but I truly wished for him to wrap up things much more rounded. There are so many unanswered questions... Again, I think for the sake of being done with this manga, he rushed all of it. He’s become a millionaire from this story and now his pockets are jammed full, I guess he doesn’t need to put in any effort anymore, right? Perhaps a controversial opinion, but I really wished he cared for his fans a little bit more with this last chapter by giving some answers that make sense at least. It’s his fans who gave him this platform and the opportunity to tell his story and for him to at least give in a bit of effort especially in the last chapter is the least he can do. Rivamika being canon or not, he truly rushed it without thinking much about the entire story line. He expanded it so much, he didn’t know how to bind it all together.

Even after all this, I’ll still ship them in the headcanon type of way. I do give credit to Isayama for giving us a template for such a beautiful dynamic between Levi and Mikasa. He decides to waste it, but that doesn’t mean we have to.  I want to thank all the people with amazing writing skills, the ones who give us beautiful art like @carmenlee @phit chan @vialesana​ and many more. I want to remind all of you that we can create something beautiful of our own and we don’t neccesarily need canon lore for that. The art I’ve seen, the fanfictions I’ve read have touched me deeper than Isayama ever could at times.The Mikasa in our mind is appreciate of Levi, is mature, classy and has a strong will for herself. They spend their remaining days together peacefully. Keep writing, keep drawing, stay creative. 

I love you all so so much, I’ve only been publicly active since March, but thank you Rivamika fandom for giving me so much joy as a lurker these past 7 years <3

[free-pancakes]

Dreams and Nightmares

Summary: LeviHan Canon-Divergence fic

Hange barely survives the final fight against Eren, and is saved by inheriting the Beast Titan from Zeke Yeager in the end. However, the Scouts soon find that this would come with a heavy price--particularly at Levi's expense.

Chapter 8/? Chapter 7 Chapter 6 Chapter 5 Chapter 4 Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Chapter 1

crossposted to ao3 here: link

notes: sorry for such a late update. this also turned out much longer than expected. it's real fluffy though, and quite self-indulgent, but hope you all like it!

CHAPTER 8:

“Was he really that important to her?”

The words echoed in Zeke’s mind as he continued to watch the memory unfold before him.

Hange returned to the room with a steaming hot mug in her hand, and carefully handed it to Levi. She watched in anticipation as he took a quick sniff and sipped on the tea.

“Not bad,” he whispered. And at that, Hange’s face lit up, and it took all her might not to let out a loud “Yahoo!” in her excitement—she heard Levi was quite particular with his tea, and she was feeling absolutely ecstatic that he didn’t spit it right out.

Levi soon fell quiet, satisfied with the drink. Hange sat down at the desk right next to him, keeping him company as she scribbled away in one of her notebooks where she kept notes on her titan research, often speaking her thoughts out loud. While listening, Levi’s eyelids began to droop. To Zeke, he seemed... almost as though he was fighting sleep just to listen to her for a little longer.

The memory soon dissipated, Zeke finding himself standing in a new setting—a gigantic ballroom lay before him, the massive chandeliers glowing dimly above him, hundreds of people wearing ornate, traditional-looking suits and gowns. A sign by his side read, “Annual Sina Military Ball”.

Zeke walked around, trying to find Hange but instead found Levi standing alone, a small cloth bag in his hands.

“The previous commander?” Zeke said under his breath as Erwin and two others approached Levi, clearly teasing him.

“Guys, please. And Mike, shut the fuck up.”

“I’m just sayin, if she turns you down, you can join me. Open bar this year yknow?”

“Mike, stop stressing him out!” Nanaba replied, swatting Mike on the shoulder as he laughed.

Erwin stood behind Levi, grabbed him by the shoulders and gently pushed him into the crowd.

“Just go already, she’ll love it.”

As Levi walked into the crowd, the three huddled together.

“He’s hopeless isn’t he?” Nanaba sighed.

“Yup. Erwin and I will wait at the bar,” Mike answered.

Zeke walked behind Levi into the crowd of people, until he saw him hesitate before tapping the shoulder of someone in a long navy blue gown shimmering with gold. Big, beautiful brown curls turned to reveal... Hange?

Zeke’s jaw dropped—he barely even recognized her.

“Oh! Levi! Aw I’m sorry—“ She itched at the fabric on her side. “I wish they’d let me wear a suit or something to one of these things, all this traditional wear or whatever is too much, but I mean your suit doesn’t even look comfortable either! Man, I just—“

Hange paused as soon as she noticed the small cloth bag in Levi’s hands.

“Oh? What’s that! What do you got there?”

His heart was thumping so loud, he was sure Hange could hear it. He reached into the bag, to pull out a yellow hair clip—it was his mother’s.

Hange’s eyes grew wide and nearly sparkled in the low light, and she smiled as Levi pulled the strands of hair from her face, and held it up to the side of her head with the clip.

“Not bad,” Levi said under his breath, his heart almost stopping at how stunning she really was. Hange gave him a quick hug hiding the blush suddenly reaching her cheeks, and the hug sent Levi’s head spinning. She then reached out her hand—

“Levi, the orchestra’s playing my favorite! Let’s show them all what a proper slow dance looks like!”

Levi rolled his eyes, but took Hange’s hand, accompanying her to the dance floor.

Sand began to fall like a curtain in front of Zeke, wiping the scene away to the open sky, sun setting peacefully in the horizon above the water. The smell of salt tickled at his nose, and he stood ankle deep in ocean water. Young voices sounded from behind him.

“We probably should get going soon, right? The sun’s already setting.”

“Aw Jean, just let them have a moment. I haven’t seen them this happy in such a long time.”

“Sasha, Captain Levi never looks happy!”

“Connie shush! You can tell he’s happy underneath! Come on, just look!”

Hange and Levi stood knee deep in the water, and Hange held up a small, cream-colored conch shell. Levi’s face scrunched up in disgust as she held it towards him, but she pulled him close by the shoulder while trying to reassure him, and held up the shell next to his ear. Zeke waded in a bit closer to hear what they were saying.

“You can hear the ocean inside the shell! It’s something I read about once.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Come on, Levi! Just listen.” And when he finally did, his eyes lit up ever so slightly, his mouth just partially agape.

“So you’ll always remember our first trip to the sea,” Hange said. And before she could hand the shell to Levi, she dipped it into the water letting it fill up, and splashed him with what collected inside.

“What the hell, Hange!” Levi grumbled, kicking water back at her. Splashes back and forth escalated so much that they had gotten absolutely soaked—Hange laughed as she tackled Levi into the sea, the two coughing and giggling stupidly as the rest of the kids ran back into the water to join them.

Once again, sand whisked away the scene and Zeke was now standing in a balcony, overlooking a courtyard. He looked back to see what was going on inside—another ball? He then looked down to see Hange and Levi standing together out in the venue’s garden. They looked a bit more mature, older. And Hange was wearing an eyepatch—it must have been a different memory from before.

Zeke heard footsteps coming from the hallway behind him.

“I’m telling you, Mikasa, smelling someone’s hair during a hug means they love them!”

“I guess now that you say it, I suppose that could be true…”

The two walked out past Zeke, and leaned their elbows on the balcony together, looking down at the courtyard and garden. They gasped and crouched when they saw who was standing down there.

“I’ve never seen Sasha so nervous! She wanted to dance with Niccolo, so I took the hair clip off and put it on her—yknow for the confidence boost. I hope that’s okay, Levi?”

Levi looked at Hange, and tucked her loose strands of hair behind her ear. “I like it better on you, but I suppose Sasha needs it tonight, then.”

A new song echoed from the orchestra inside—Zeke recognized it to be the same from the earlier military ball memory.

Levi reached out his hand, just how Hange did before.

Hange giggled and grabbed his hand, pulling Levi close, practically in a hug as they swayed together. She leaned into him, her cheek pressed against his forehead.

“New shampoo, huh? Lavender—you know that’s my favorite, right?”

Jean and Mikasa heads snapped towards each other, their eyes locked and faces red in realization.

“Hange-san smelled his hair—“

Mikasa slapped a hand over Jean’s mouth.

“Shush, they’ll hear. Let’s go before they notice us—“

The scene quickly changed, and it was quite jarring for Zeke this time around.

He found himself staring into the face of his past self, sitting miles above Liberio inside the war balloon the Scouts had taken control of. This time, he could see the room where Hange and Levi walked off to after hearing about a fallen soldier named Sasha, or something like that.

Levi stared at Hange, in his eyes a mix of worry and anger stirring inside him.

“Stop looking at me like that, Levi,” she said curtly, clearly trying to hold herself together.

“Hange…” Levi urged.

He watched her hands shake as she reached into a first aid kit from her bag, pulling out a half used tube of wound ointment—the same one she had always used on him.

“C’mere,” she beckoned, and Levi obliged begrudgingly, letting Hange pull down his shirt slightly to apply the ointment to the lacerations on his shoulder. He watched Hange biting her lip—he knew she was holding back the tears, trying to “look strong” for everyone else, but he thought that was utterly stupid. She was allowed to have feelings… Commander or not.

“Hange…”

“I’m fine, Levi, would you stop pestering me already??” She barked back, though still maintaining her gentle touch as she tended to his wounds. She continued in silence until they landed.

Hange and Levi left the back room, standing together outside the door as the Scouts filed out with Zeke and Eren. Oyankopon nodded at them both, and left. Lastly, Jean, Mikasa, Armin, and Connie, holding Sasha’s body, all of them a tear-ridden mess. Both Levi and Hange saluted them as they walked past.

Hange started to follow behind them but Levi took hold of her hand. She didn’t look back.

“I’m okay, Levi. Really. I have to—“

Levi pulled her and ushered back into the room, now that everyone was gone.

“Go be okay in there for awhile. I’ll stand outside.”

Before she could protest, he gently closed the door behind him, and stood guard outside of it. He knew it was exactly what Hange needed.

From behind the door, there were muffled sounds of glass breaking, boxes thrown, and anguished wailing.

Zeke watched as Levi stood unmoving from the door his head down, biting his lip as a few tears ran down his face.

The memory faded and Zeke was now in a small office. Levi sat before him, holding a familiar cream-colored conch shell. He lifted it up to his ear, listening, and maybe, just maybe, a smile began to form on his lips.

A quick, loud knock on the door startled him, and he hastily shoved the shell into a drawer, slamming it shut.

“Levi, quick!”

He stood up frazzled.

“What’s wrong??”

“A camera, Onyankopon got us a session with a camera!”

“Hange… what the hell is a camera? And you know I don’t trust all these Marley things…”

Hange gave him a big pout. “Aww, Levi! Come on, it takes photographs! Like the one in Eren’s father’s notebook! The one of his old family?”

“My family photo…” Zeke thought, his own past memories now aching at his chest.

The memory dissolved, but the same scenery returned, unchanged. Yet this time, Levi was holding a framed photograph in his hand—a picture of him standing next to Hange seated, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. He looked tired, a light shade of purple hugging the skin under his eyes. But when Levi laid his eyes on the photo, his face lit up with a genuine smile as he stared.

Then once again, a quick, loud knock on the door startled him, and he quickly stuffed the photo into the backpack sitting at his feet.

“Hey, Levi! You busy?”

Levi stared back at Hange, both need and sadness swimming in his eyes.

“I know Levi… but I brought you a surprise!”

She pulled from behind her a white, spherical object, and held it out for Levi to see.

“A… baseball?” Zeke said under his breath, emotions tugging at his chest.

“Hange… this is the last afternoon we spend together just us—God knows long I’ll have to watch Zeke in the forest before I get to see you again…” He said, avoiding eye contact with Hange.

“Don’t you trust me, Levi?”

Levi continued to look down towards his backpack, fiddling at it with his foot, only stopping when he felt Hange’s hands on his cheeks, and a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“Do you really have to ask me that, Hange?”

She laughed, the sound of it bringing Levi comfort. She backed up and held her hand out towards him, a smile on her face, her eyes beckoning him to come with her. And of course, Levi sighed, and took her hand.

They walked outside, a clearing in the patch of trees next to the barracks.

“Here take this, they’re called mitts! Helps soften the blow when you catch, since the baseball is pretty hard.” Levi took one and wore it.

“So I read a bunch of different Marley novels, and for some reason, playing catch is such a common kind of bonding time? Between a parent and child, or between friends? A symbolic kind of theme, maybe? I thought it was fascinating!”

Levi looked at the baseball—“So what… we just, throw the thing back and forth? And what? We’ll magically become friends??”

Hange threw her head back and laughed. “Good one, Levi! We’re already friends! So, hm, how about we just throw it back and forth for now? If it gets too boring well, we could always just drop it. Sounds like a plan?”

As soon as Levi nodded, Hange grinned and ran a distance away. She waved to make sure Levi was ready, and lobbed the ball over to him, landing with a satisfying thump as it hit Levi’s mitt. He picked it up and ran his fingers over the red laces, and soon pitched it back to Hange a bit too far, so she ran and dove for it, catching it just before it hit the grass.

“Hange be careful!”

She laughed in excitement, and got up to throw it back.

Before long, they were throwing for hours, talking about anything and everything. Sharing memories that hadn’t been touched in years, laughing over inside jokes, the 104th kids, and their past, beloved friends.

Their voices began to fade, and Zeke strained to listen, calmed by how comfortable their conversation felt, comforted by the sound of the baseball hitting their mitts, back and forth.

Soon, the memory went black, a burst of light, and he was back.

Paths.

And there was Hange, laying down in front of him with her back towards him, the sand no longer black surrounding her.

“H-Hange?” Zeke asked.

Hange didnt’ turn around to face him.

“So, you saw all that then too, huh?”

“I… did. Sorry, they seemed like private memories,” he answered cautiously, careful to guard himself if Hange decided to fight him again.

“No harm, Zeke. Not like that was your fault.” She finally sat up, sniffling and wiping away residual tears.

“But we do have to thank Levi—he got us out of a potential mess.” She ran her hands through the sand, now colored a bright white. “Susceptible to our emotions huh. Could have been a disaster.”

Hange caught on quick, Zeke thought. But something she said bothered him a bit—

“What do you mean, thank Levi, though?” Zeke asked, genuinely confused as to how she thought he played any part in getting her out of the black sand ordeal just now.

Hange smiled, knowing exactly what Levi must have done. The box of things she had him pick up—he probably opened it.

“Not bad, Shorty,” she whispered to herself.

She laughed to herself again, but soon stopped as she saw Zeke holding out his hand in front of her.

“Are you… are you deciding to help me?”

Zeke’s chest tightened as he thought about all the memories he had just seen. He was angry at how much it moved him, both personally, and objectively—Hange and Levi had a history he never imagined existed between them, based on what he knew about them prior.

With his free hand, he pinched at the bridge of his nose in annoyance. He hated that he wanted to help. But he couldn’t deny it—he felt for Hange.

“Yeah,” Zeke replied. “Let’s figure this out, together.”

Hange grinned excitedly, and grabbed Zeke’s hand.

[twelfth-harbinger]

A/n: Greetings! Request away! Here’s a sample of my writing! Just a few cute head cannons I’ve been dreaming up! — I plan do Liyue next! Enjoy ^^!

Nightly Routines — Monstadt

Warnings: None! All Sfw!

Mentions: Bed time routines and nightly activities!

Lisa

She likes to read before before bed, I suppose this is not much of a surprise but alas...

How could she not allow herself to be lost in the sweet confines of a book in the late night hour?

If she is not reading — the Purple Rose is experimenting with an array of different ingredients.

Crafting potions... she so eagerly wants others to try.

“Come now, these are just harmless concoctions. Nothing dangerous cutie. Nothing that a Calla Lilly won’t heal.”

Sometimes she’ll read Klee a book before her bedtime.

Reading with company like Klee is always a treat.

Lisa likes to “save energy”, with all the book keeping work she has to do during the day.

Hunting down those who have overdue books.. at night is so taxing.

She’s usually in bed early to be ready for the next day to come.

Sometimes she’ll have long talks with Jean about miscellaneous things that happen throughout their day.

It’s very relaxing and Lisa gives great advice.

Klee comes up a lot she just worries about those bombs..

Jean

She’s doesn’t really have a bed time routine.

She falls asleep at her desk instead of in a proper bed. It worries Lisa and Barbara.

What’s sleep? She’s always up late into the night doing paperwork “It’s exhausting just looking at the work pile” — Kaeya

Though, when Jean is able to finish up for the day without any issues, she likes to take the time to soak in a hot bath.

She stays inside for as long as she can.

It simply relaxes her muscles and relieves any tension the day might’ve given her.

Lisa joins her sometimes, seems that woman gives her peace of mind.

When she’s all tucked in at night she enjoys indulging in books akin to Lisa.

Reading tales of legendary heroes. Her favorite being the King of Khaenri’ah.

Honestly, she does not like sleeping. She has asked Lisa for a potion that keeps her awake.

But, when she finally does wish to sleep she has a hard time doing so and well...asks Lisa for aide.

Lisa reads her a bedtime story too or rather she tells her stories about the strong and admirable people she has met at Sumeru Arcademia. — This occurs during their long late night talks.

Kaeya

He wouldn’t be Kaeya if he didn’t have a glass of wine before bed.

He’s enjoys the company of Lisa from time to time they will share a glass.

Before going to bed and leaving for the night, he checks in on Klee.

He makes sure she’s alright but, that’s usually only after she has caused trouble for Jean that day.

Those pointers seem to go to waste. Pls don’t report him.

Kaeya likes to take his time before getting into bed.

He usually takes off his clothes and strips down to his bottoms. Or naked

Yes, he removes his eye patch but, only his reflection has seen what lies underneath.

Kaeya stargazes as he enjoys his nightly glass of sparkling wine.

Once he has had a few and they’ve warmed his insides, he’ll take a cool shower to regulate his body temperature.

It relaxes him more than a hot bath or shower would.

When he’s out falls asleep fairly quickly.

Diluc

He does not sleep much.

Given his nightly rounds keeping Monstadt safe from any posing threats, overseeing Monstadt’s wine industry and running the Dawn Winery...

Diluc escapes sleeps like Houdini.

Not that he wants to but he simply doesn’t have the time.

Like his voice line for relax is literally “Guess we can rest for a bit” like he didn’t have any plans on doing that before lmao poor Diluc.

He cares about the safety of Monstadt and her people.

Kaeya may be an ass at times but, he can tell that even he worries about his lack of sleep.

When he does have a moment to relax, he will play a round of chess with his butler while drinking grape juice.

He likes to drink that before bed instead of wine in difference to Kaeya.

Diluc often gazes at the collection of artwork he has around the manor.

It’s so intricately detailed, many thoughts and emotions were sewn into each of the piece by its maker. He notices it all.

He does all these things because he’s so used to being up for long periods of time that when it is finally time to rest his head. He’s up doing these idle things.

Diluc lies in bed for a long while before drifting off into a restless sleep, before he even realizes it — sometimes the sun rises and he needs to work yet again.

Klee

She’s never truly tired when her bedtime rolls around.

Always doing bomb experiments inside of her “room”

The guard that stands outside her door is genuinely scared they’ll get blown up...again.

Jean has to confiscate everything so she goes to bed on time.

Lisa will read to her for a while.

Her voice is so sweet and soothing it’ll easily put her to bed.

Klee keeps Dodoco close by when she’s tucked in.

She never sleeps without it, she also sleeps with a bomb right next to her.

It may not be a good idea to surprise her in the middle of the night.

For everyone’s safety lmao.

After a long day of treasure hunting with Bennett or being saved from a disaster by Razor. Klee will fall asleep quite easily.

Amber

She has a lot of energy even before bed.

So, to tire herself out she will go for a nightly run or jog in and around the city of Monstadt.

She will also glide around from time to time up by the church.

Feeling the night wind in her hair is a nice stress reliever.

She may not sleep right away, she wanders around the Knights HQ and often sees Lisa up reading if she isn’t sleeping.

She may also check in on Klee, she doesn’t really like her being inside that confinement cell.

If she isn’t doing that, she may go on a nightly hunt before bed too.

Just so she can cook up a good breakfast in the morning.

All that energy needs to go somewhere.

She’ll eat moon pie before bed, she knows it’s not good to eat and then go directly to sleep but... it just tastes so good!

Barbara

Outside her room everyone can hear her humming to herself.

The acoustics in the cathedral are top notch she sings there are night when it’s empty.

Bennett often walks in covered head to toe in scraps and bruises.

Nearly scares her half to death. She heals him of course.

In her pjs’s Barbara sits in front of her vanity, singing to herself as she brushes her hair.

She has a melody to go along as she counts each brush stroke.

She checks in on Jean to make sure she’s not working herself to death.

Some nights she helps Jean to a proper bed.

If she isn’t sleeping during the late night hour she may be performing at the Angel’s Share.

Diluc frowned the entire time.

Her performances tucker her out and she sleeps as soon as she sees her bed!

She’ll take a bath first though and sing there too. Barbara will never stop singing!

Fischl

When she’s alone out adventuring on a quest Fischl can relax a bit more.

She sits under the illuminated night sky with Oz, gazing up at the stars.

Dreaming of far off worlds with the company of Oz by her side.

She can break character in front of him.

She lets her hair out and takes off the eye patch when she’s not in front of people.

She brushes her fingers through her hair a few times to allow it to fall freely. Only to pick up one of her favorite novels.

Always manages to read herself to sleep until or until the sun rises.

She reads a lot of fantasy novels and of course makes sure to return them on time.

Fischl spends her time in the adventures guild usually until the late night hour.

It’s a bit hard to understand her word choice but everyone there tries to be nice about it.

It’s a good thing Oz is there to translate.

Fischl is one for walks through the city of Monstadt at night, well that’s when she usually returns from her adventures outside the city.

She’s tired then and will quickly fall fast asleep, she’s more of a day time bather than a night.

Diona

She spends her nights bartending.

If she’s not busy making delicious drinks...

She’s out in the wild searching for ingredients to make a concoction with a horrid taste.

All in efforts to bring down the wine industry in Monstadt.

She has her reasons but, she dares not to speak of them in front of anyone and especially with Diluc around. — Seems he has eyes and ears everywhere?

Diona is an excellent bartender in fact, she’s so good at her job that the people who frequent there are there for her!

Her nights consist of entertaining the guest at the Cats Tails whilst also making drinks.

It’s fairly tiresome but when the night is over she goes home.

Not to sleep no, but to try and come up with a drink that will utterly topple the wind industry.

If she comes to a standstill, Diona will go out and ask around about the things people would most hate to drink.

When she does sleep, she will crawl into the comforts of her own bed. Doing nothing but stretching to get comfortable as she moves to rest.

Which seems to occur when the sun begins to rise. She sleeps throughout the day so that she can focus on her job at night. — that is unless she’s asking around to feed into her plans. One may see her during the day!

Razor

Will always watch the moon and star lit skies before he falls asleep.

He does this while keeping watch.

He checks on his lupical throughout the night too.

Just to make sure they’re all sleeping easy and peacefully.

Will sit and eat meat casually letting his feet dangle by the cliff side.

He honestly doesn’t do much before falling asleep.

Razor think about a plethora of things though before it tires him out.

How he’s not a real wolf mainly — it saddens him.

In any case he enjoy going to bed with a full stomach.

If he’s feeling restless, he will go for a run as well.

All that excess energy disappears once it’s concluded.

After that he’s too tired to think about anything else other than sleep.

He smells like a wolf and won’t bathe too often — doesn’t see it as a necessity to being a wolf.

If he’s out at night and sees Lisa she will make sure he’s clean even if she has to shock him.

Bennett

He sleeps like a baby most times but as luck would have it...sometimes he doesn’t.

It’s mainly when he’s out adventuring.

When he finally drifts off into sleep — not that he does much to prepare for sleep to begin with other than getting comfortable.

Bennett keeps his fire going to stay warm.

It unfortunately attracts hilichurls.

He stays up late trying to defend himself and his treasure from them.

He lost everything once lmao.

When he isn’t out and about, he’s in the guild.

Staying up late taking care of his Dads.

Always makes sure they’re all alright before he even thinks about sleeping.

Bennett, after assuring their happiness and comfort would then rest.

He thinks about death but not in a fearful way albeit, it does cross his mind often at night but he tries not to dwell.

Sometimes his nights are spent being mended by Barbara — he falls asleep at the cathedral too if he’s too tired to move.

It all depends where his adventures have him end up!

Noelle

She cleans before bed, any surroundings that may be out of place Noelle will scrub, sweep and dust until it shines.

She’s often doing errands during the day or helping out with the Knights at HQ.

When night falls she’s fairly tired.

Albeit she does not show it, the hard work she does is quite the energy drain.

She barely lets herself rest often doing the “less dangerous” jobs assigned to her by Jean or Kaeya. All in efforts to keep her safe.

When night falls and she has done everything she could do for that day, Noelle will practice with her claymore crafted by Wagner.

She stays up late trying to refine her skills until she can’t swing anymore.

She may have super human strength but after a few rounds of practice she will get tired.

She likes to soak in a hot bath with geo salts. It’s relaxing and rejuvenating.

The healing properties aide in strengthening her body when she’s exerted herself from a longs day work.

Sucrose

Research.

It takes up her days and her nights.

Lisa is always so insightful to almost everything that she does.

It is very helpful but Sucrose seems to never know why.

She loves alchemy and will often fall asleep at her work station. With experiments bubbling over and materials by her head.

Albedo wakes her only to tell her to go rest somewhere properly — wait for a new day to begin again.

Sucrose uses this time to bathe as well but she won’t soak in a bath for very long she prefers hot showers they’re brisk and warm her up just the same.

She will read alchemy books before moving to rest for the night and sometimes she’ll fall asleep with them in her lap.

Scribbling down notes along the way, she often wakes up in the morning with books and paper scattered throughout her bed.

Mona

She is a night owl, very rarely will someone see her during the day unless she’s shopping for something to eat at Sara’s.

But even then she’ll go out and do that at night if it’s not too late.

She scrys, usually somewhere out in about in one of the forests of Monstadt.

Honestly it’s hard to fall asleep on an empty stomach so she reads the stars like a book until she’s too tired to do so anymore. In hopes of possibly making a breakthrough of some sort.

Astrology being the only thing that can put her to sleep when she’s feeling restless.

She will indulge herself in a few experiments as well, getting “important work” done so that she can further her magical prowess.

Mona can’t discern the origins of a few things in Monstadt — that often keeps her up as night.

She will read star maps while she’s soaking in a warm bath at night before bed.

They float above the water and she turns the wheel in the air with as she proceeds with divination.

Being surrounded by water in a warm bath and their reflective surfaces always helps her see clearly.

Venti

He does not sleep at a set time.

Be it night or day...

It is always random with him.

Not to say he does not get tired but..

Venti does things on his own time.

He stays up drinking through all hours of the night.

He will sit atop his statue within the heart of Monstadt.

Always with an expression on his face that reads that of melancholy and longing.

It is there he falls asleep and it’s not for very long.

He doesn’t do anything to prepare for sleep it simply has to catch him in the wind.

Venti will sing, of tales new and old.

He may even go to the cathedral to see Barbara — he has watched her preform at Angels Share.

He often tries to bum a drink off Diona but never gets very far.

If he’s not in the city he’s out by the large tree you can always find him under.

Writing poetry, songs and playing the lyre.

He will fall asleep doing these things.

It’s there he will sleep the longest and where the sunrise wakes him for the new day.

[elisaphoenix13]

This Dance Of Ours

Another Witcher fic, but I believe I got it out of my system (for now) so I can turn my focus back on my Marvel WIP's 😂. Still getting a feel for writing in this fandom so I apologize for any OOC.

Geralt woke up with a start. The feeling of wrong nagging at him as he sat up and looked around the small campsite. Roach stamped the ground in her unease and the Witcher could smell the metallic tang of human blood hanging in the air. If that wasn't alarming enough, Geralt finally realized what had been missing. A heartbeat.

A quick glance to the bedroll nearby confirmed his suspicions when he found it empty.

"Jaskier?" Geralt calls out.

It wasn't unusual for the bard to respond to the call of nature in the middle of the night, but considering Roach was uncharacteristically restless, Geralt knew something was wrong. Jaskier's lute was still strapped to Roach's saddle as well so it wasn't like the bard took off without a word. Geralt was always aware of his surroundings, even while he meditated or slept, but maybe it was because he was used to movement from Jaskier that it didn't disturb him. He got to his feet and walked over to Roach to calm her with a pet to her flank and then tried looking around the immediate vicinity. It was the night of a new moon so the forest was nearly pitch black, even for Geralt, so he had to assume that Jaskier didn't go far. If he couldn't see the campfire on a night like this, he wouldn't go any farther.

The stench of blood was also worrisome.

"I'll find him." Geralt says to his horse as he digs through the saddle bags for some potions and strips of cloth.

With another pat, Geralt grabs his swords, drinks one of his Cat potions, and follows the smell of blood as the elixir takes effect. He was better able to see when it did, so he was also able to catch more than one set of footprints just outside the radius of the campfire. He found blood as well. As he followed the tracks and the periodic drops of blood, Geralt wondered in the back of his mind how he hadn't heard Jaskier being attacked. Had he gone so long without adequate rest that he fell into a deeper sleep than he normally did?

Did Jaskier even get to call out for help?

Geralt didn't get a chance to think much more about it because the tracks led him to a cave that was poorly lit and narrow. He could hear voices from within, but as he silently walked in and made his way through the passage, he had yet to hear Jaskier. He was hoping it was either because the bard had somehow gotten away or he was here and unconscious.

Unfortunately, neither ended up being true when the passage opened up into a large chamber and Geralt carefully peeked around the corner to assess the situation. Normally, he would have strode in with his usual confidence but if Jaskier was there, whoever took him might use the bard as a human shield. His quick glance revealed that Jaskier was in the cavern, and that the guilty party for his kidnapping were bandits...the smell of blood was stronger than ever as well.

"You said he would come!" One of the bandits snarls.

"He will." Another bites back.

"Not before he bleeds out!" The first says while motioning to Jaskier's unmoving body.

Geralt decided it was best to step into the cavern if Jaskier's life was in jeopardy, and did so while drawing his sword. "You have something of mine."

He had counted five bandits while he listened to them argue amongst themselves, and they all turned to face him. Before anyone could utter another word, the Witcher scrunches his nose in disgust when the smell of urine overpowers the smell of Jaskier's blood. He looks at the bandit on the far right and regards him with a raised eyebrow when he finds the very obvious wet patch in his breeches. Bandits were notorious for being courageous in a foolhardy way, but this one clearly missed the memo.

"Don't worry. You'll be free of your embarrassment soon enough." Geralt growls out.

The Cat potion tended to make him look a little feral so Geralt wasn't too surprised. A lot of people would run screaming if they saw him like this. All but the bard that is.

"Give us everything of value you own and we'll let the bard go." The leader bargains and Geralt glares at him.

"I don't make deals with bandits."

"Then we'll take it off your corpse!"

Geralt dodged the arrow shot at him and focused on getting closer to Jaskier. The bard wasn't in shackles, or even in a cage, but he was alarmingly pale and barely conscious. It was no wonder they didn't bother. Jaskier was in no condition to move, let alone run, and there was a small puddle of blood beneath his leg where he was no doubt shot with an arrow. The situation only served to further anger Geralt and he used his Aard sign to send a blast at the group of bandits once he circled them out of Jaskier's range. He dealt with each bandit that got up and ran at him in preparation of their own attack but didn't get a chance to land and they were all dead within moments.

It was pathetic.

"...alt…"

Geralt sheaths his sword and looks back at Jaskier before rushing to his side and dropping to his knees beside him. He carefully lifts the bard's face to look at his eyes and ignores Jaskier reaching out to grab the front of Geralt's tunic. He hadn't even bothered putting his armor on in his haste to find Jaskier. Just some bandages that he started to wrap around the bard's wound. Fortunately it looked like the arrow missed anything fatal and would heal once Geralt got the bleeding to stop and Jaskier got some rest.

"Jaskier, what happened?"

"Got shot in the leg with a fucking arrow. That's what happened." Jaskier mumbles and looks up into Geralt's eyes as the Witcher binds his leg. "You look feral...like it…" he continues to mumble. "Makes me feel safe--OW!"

Geralt ties off the bandage. "It doesn't look like you're going into shock like I originally thought."

"No. Just hurts." He answers and groans when Geralt pulls him to his feet and wraps one of his arms around him. "As much as I enjoy our little excursions, being shot and then asked questions later isn't ideal. I told them they were wasting their time because you wouldn't come for little old me…"

Geralt let Jaskier ramble despite the fact that he was wrong. While the bard was always talking, somehow he knew this time it was to distract Jaskier from the pain. He figured he didn't need to deny Jaskier's assumption anyway since Geralt clearly did come to his aid, and instead led the way back to camp. With the bard's injury, they would have to find somewhere with a proper bed to stay so Jaskier could rest and recuperate, but the nearest town was a day's ride.

"Sorry."

Jaskier's sudden apology nearly made Geralt stumble in surprise, but he managed to keep his feet and finish the walk to the campsite. He silently helps Jaskier sit down against a tree before moving about to pack up their bedrolls and stash them in Roach's saddle bags, who look more relaxed now that Jaskier was safe.

"What are you doing?" The bard asks. "Going after the basilisk? I'll be alright here-"

"Jaskier." Geralt sighs heavily and the bard falls quiet as he walks over to help him back to his feet and over to Roach. "Come on."

"What? You mean on Roach? Oh, okay!" Jaskier yelps when Geralt helps him mount the horse. He looked even more surprised when Geralt mounted behind him after extinguishing the campfire. "Why are you…?"

"If you pass out, it'll be easier to keep you on the horse this way." Geralt grunts out.

"That...makes sense. Now that you mention it, I am a little tired." Jaskier admits.

Geralt hums and urges Roach forward, quickly finding the road and taking it toward the next town. Jaskier continued his rambling for the next half hour before his talking turned into mumbling and he started to nod off, but instead of falling forward like Geralt expected him to, his head lulled back. Jaskier's body followed, and Geralt soon found himself with the younger man resting against him and fast asleep. He did have to keep the bard from falling sideways at least once, and kept his arms somewhat rigid to keep Jaskier in place as he continued toward town.

Geralt wasn't uncomfortable with the situation like he thought he would be (and was prepared to be), but he was definitely concerned. He found himself looking down at Jaskier's leg more often than not to check the bleeding, but even if that had been easy in the beginning, it proved almost impossible once the effects of his elixir finally wore off. Even with his enhanced vision, there was only so much he could see on a night like this.

Makes me feel safe.

Jaskier's earlier words suddenly came to mind and Geralt's first thought was that the bard was insane. He had seen his reflection before after taking that specific potion and he knew it was a terrifying sight, but Jaskier...saw things in a different light. While most ran from him in fear, Jaskier ran toward him. Without fear and for protection and safety...and Geralt provided that. He couldn't help it after the younger man stepped right into his personal space, made himself comfortable, and wormed his way into Geralt's heart. Now he couldn't imagine life without Jaskier in it. Which was why he was insistent on finding even the smallest hamlet with a tavern or an inn.

As if destiny heard his wish, Geralt came upon a small town an hour later...if it could even be called a town. But it had a tavern and he rode up to it without hesitation and dismounted carefully so he wouldn't knock Jaskier off before he was ready. Geralt made sure he wasn't in danger of falling off the saddle while he went inside to ask for a room, and pet Roach.

"Steady. Don't let him fall." He tells her before heading inside and over to the barkeeper. "I need a room. Is there a healer here?"

"One is supposed to pass through in the morning." The barkeeper says as he hands Geralt the key after the Witcher pays.

Geralt nods and goes back outside, fortunately finding Jaskier as he left him, and carefully pulls him down. Since the bard was in no position to pull his weight, Geralt hefted him into his arms and carried him inside and up into the room, ignoring the curious glances directed at him. It was probably quite the sight to see a Witcher carry someone, whether they were injured or not, and Geralt wouldn't be surprised if it caused suspicion. Hopefully nothing would come of it, and they would be undisturbed.

He changed Jaskier's bandages once he laid him on one side of the bed, and when he was finished and washed his hands clean of blood, he looked at the other side of the bed. His attempt at proper sleep was disturbed and he was starting to get desperate for a good night's sleep before there was another djinn incident. When he thought about how Jaskier might react if he woke up to see Geralt sharing the bed with him, he sighed because he knew the younger man wouldn't mind. In fact, he would praise the decision and say something along the lines of "See? There's nothing wrong with the occasional indulgence of comfort."

That had been what drove Geralt to kick off his boots and collapse heavily onto the other side of the bed with a sigh. Jaskier had already seen the best and the worst of him so this was nothing in comparison. He'd be more careful about staying aware of Jaskier's condition though. He wouldn't let anything happen to him while he had anything to do about it.

~~~~

Jaskier woke to the feeling of his trousers being removed and rather than panic immediately, he first looked to see who the culprit was. He definitely wasn't expecting it to be Geralt though.

"As flattered as I am, could you hold off until I'm in considerably less pain before you try...what was it you said? Hide your sausage in my pantry?" Jaskier says and Geralt looks at him for a long moment before smacking the bard's uninjured leg.

"I need to clean your wound. Shut up and behave." Geralt growls.

Well that certainly wasn't the response Jaskier was expecting. He thought Geralt would glare at him and toss him off the bed for being a pest. But since he had reacted like this, it made Jaskier very curious about what was going on in the older man's head.

"Ow. Way to hit a man while he's down." Jaskier complains.

"How's the pain?"

"Not as bad I suppose. It just throbs." Jaskier sits up and watches Geralt wrap his leg in fresh bandages. "Geralt? Have you slept?"

"Yes. Now lay back down." He replies and pushes Jaskier down. "The healer said you need to rest and drink that." He points at the cup sitting on the table by Jaskier. "It should help with the pain and stave off infection."

Jaskier sits up again just enough to grab the cup and swallow the contents before coughing at the bitter and foul taste. "Oh gods, it's like drinking the guts of a rancid fish."

"It is rancid fish."

"Wh-What?!" Jaskier gawks at Geralt and he huffs when he finds amusement in his eyes. "Oh yes, very funny, pick on the bedridden bard. See if I help you next time you get hurt!"

"Rest. I'll bring food."

"Bread, cheese, grapes, and ale?" Jaskier asks hopefully.

"Stew and apple juice."

"Really Geralt. I'm not a child." Jaskier bemoans as he lays down and stares at the ceiling. "At least make it grape juice."

"You'll get whatever I bring you." Geralt grunts.

Geralt throws a blanket over Jaskier before he stands up and leaves the room. The fact that the older man was showing such gentleness was a surprise to Jaskier. Not just with the blanket, but how he had tended to his wounds. He was so gentle that the younger man was just now processing that his hands had been big and warm...and that Geralt had applied a soothing salve. It only made Jaskier wonder if maybe the Witcher would always be that gentle with him. No matter the reason for the touch. Especially with the jest he made earlier.

And then there was what Geralt had said last night. You have something of mine.

No matter how much Jaskier told himself not to look too much into it, he couldn't help the giddy feeling welling up in his chest. He prided himself in being one of the very few people that knew Geralt well, and he knew the older man wouldn't say something like that just because. In fact, he would go out of his way to deny any sort of friendship with Jaskier. But what he said? It was intimate.

When Geralt returned with their food, he held out the tankard. "Don't say I never do anything for you."

"I would never."

Jaskier took a swig of his juice, fully expecting apple, and was pleasantly surprised to find that it was grape.

He's a big softie.

[ivesambrose]

Is this taken from that Danny Devito meme? Yes, Indeed it is.

Choose by intuition or pendulum and not visual appeal (or you can use the technique I learnt from Servantofthefates here to pick an image that strikes a memory in you)

DM or email me at jovescorpioreadings@gmail.com to book a personal reading with me.

Tips are appreciated 🍀

1.

You have either been struggling with savings and finance in the past few months. You may also been having a false sense of security (could be somewhere you're at, a place you work, someone you're with or a habit etc). Eitherway, there's something in your life that isn't as stable as it seems. Whether you notice or show it or not. Perhaps you're struggling with self expression and having anxieties in regards to your public image or career. I see some of you may be dealing with nightmares, improper sleep and fatigue as well. I see you getting some rest from your burdens. Trust me, you need it. You simply need to unwind.

Good news is things will progress and move forward in terms of career or business / any projects that you have in mind.

Slow progress is stable and sturdy progress remember that. Some of you maybe changing locations or want to leave something behind and start afresh. You'll get a chance to do that as well. You're hesitant in taking the first step but you'll soon discard the worry and go for it anyway. You have a life ahead of you.

A lot of you will meet your soulmate / a fated connection after you have changed locations. It will indeed mean leaving things behind first which includes people, perhaps a breakup might occur as well. (depends on your situation)

I feel you're either Cancer, Gemini or an Earth sign or they are significant in your life in some way. Perhaps it could be the energy that will be surrounding you soon. The energy of this pile has a lot to do with you, the way you're breaking a pattern and moving forward in life.

Timing is anywhere between one season to within a year.

2.

You're stuck somewhere but that's not completely stifled your creativity. Yes, I understand that you wanted to do more. But you're doing all you can with what you have. You're trying to make something from scratch, you're bringing something to life and it's progressing. It indeed is. Maybe you're manifesting the life style you desire or the love you want or the way you see your ideal self to be. Transformation takes time. You've been bogged down by people before, people you have considered your friends. Now that you sit alone in silence and in your own company you realize how empty some words can be but you recognise yourself a lot better to know what you deserve and where you're going from here.

A lot of you are learning to reparent yourself as well.

You're surrounded by love or I feel there's someone out there who straight up prays for you. Maybe they are not in your life yet but when the weather gets warmer they wish for you or think of you, you bring warmth into their heart. You'll feel their love soon, it's coming.

But first a transformation will come, don't be surprised when people come and tell you that you've changed or they can't recognise you anymore. Because you're gonna drastically change. This is the group for a strong fire sign or a scorpio, definitely some scorpio or 8th house influence in you. I can feel it. You're breaking free from a very tight coccoon.

There's a driving force or passion in your life or simply the fact that you want to achieve a certain thing that's pushing you forward. Please remember to rest because some of you take on the energy of multiple people and circumstances very easily.

One thing you can look forward to is simply pushing past your obstacles and going your way. There's a change coming. You've put up a strong fight. You'll get time to stop and smell the roses and also see the tiny details in made up for the bigger picture. I also see some of you straight up moving overseas. There is a long distance travel somewhere. I'm also getting a significant message. Message from a community or institution? I'm seeing greenery too. A lot of harmony and an increase in status. Also being desired by a lot of people. Make sure to establish proper boundaries.

For timing, for a lot of you it's already begun.

You're highly likely going through your first or second saturn return. The wheel is already turning for you, you've got this.

3.

You feel as though situations or people that are no good for you latch themselves onto you easily with no intention of letting go. You get charmed pretty easily and don't recognise deceit. Deep down you know it, you've been stubborn in your ways. Went left when everyone else is going right or taken a different route when you've been shown the way. That's left you in an energy you find rather difficult to fully trust but it feels like something you've grown accustomed to so you stay put. You may even be dealing with some form of addiction (this is not limited to substance, it could be something as simple as a habit) you may feel stuck to a set means of income too, you want to do more. You may think you've found your tribe or you tell yourself to have gratitude for the same. But you're still rather far from it. Please don't get disheartened though.

You can look forward to building a sanctuary for yourself. The start of the journey will be rather solitary till you learn how to truly nurture yourself and grow to be the person you're meant to be. It doesn't have to be too tedious. Bug it will require unlearning and relearning some things.

I see some of you investing in property, plot of land or a house too. I see some of you trying to fix your relationship with your mother or sister or a female friend. This in turn will aid you in your own journey. I see some of you wanting to spend more time in nature, with your pets or around animals. You might take up gardening or organic farming too? Or wanting to eat more organic and healthy food instead of processed ones. A lot of you have realized how bland and structured life feels. A lot of you will realize you had dropped certain plans and paths that were for you but you decided to settle for things just because they suddenly seemed more available for you.

You'll have certain realizations that may not be as pretty as first. Things might topple over. Things might change and perhaps you don't handle change as easily. This is definitely not the mutable sign pile. I'm also sensing neptunian influence/dominance here. Also capricorn (rising perhaps?)

Whatever happens will led you to build an empire for yourself. Something you'll feel extremely proud of. You'll be presented with several choices and opportunities, but this time your intuition won't lead you astray. The opportunities will impact your life purpose and career. You may pick up new hobbies too maybe with a friend?

A lot of you will realize how important it is to shift one's energy and try new things. Don't be scared to take this journey by yourself as intimidating as it sounds. It's necessary for you. You can't keep carrying different energies and crumbs from different people.

For timing, I'm not getting something definite yet. It could be anywhere from pisces season to a year or within a year.

[kiapet2]

where the two ends meet

The newly-elevated Crown Prince Roman knows two things:

First, that his brother is dead.

And second, that it is his fault.

But when Roman journeys into the witch’s forest on a quest of penitence, he discovers that there is more to the story than he could have known. What he finds there may be his salvation— or his ruin.

Takes place after @whenisitenoughtrees‘s fic thrice for another day. Can also be read on its own.

Pairings: Platonic Creativitwins, Background Intrulogical

Word Count: 4,029

Warnings: death mention, grief/mourning, blood and injury, abusive parents

AO3 Link

Nearly a month after his family buries an empty coffin, the newly-elevated Crown Prince Roman slips out from his castle room and walks alone into the forest.

Unlike past evenings, Roman does not turn into the stretch of woods closest to the castle. At this point, he could likely name every rock and tree and still not find what he’s looking for. Instead, he walks in a straight line, heading deeper and deeper into the woods.

There is said to be a witch at the center of this forest, one who preys on the surrounding villages and whom no man should approach lest he meet his end. Roman had once thought to adventure into the woods to slay such a foul creature, but his intention tonight is far different. He has need of help only a wielder of magic can provide.

And if the venture is to end in his death, so be it.

...

Roman hasn’t been walking for long when he becomes aware of someone following him. The feeling comes and goes— a tingling on the back of his neck, like he’s being watched— but as Roman scans the woods around him, he cannot detect any signs of unusual activity.

The third time he feels the presence, Roman comes to a sudden halt and places a hand on the hilt of his sword.

“Show yourself, whoever you are!” he calls, then scans the trees around him for any sign of a response.

“Why have you entered my woods?” an irritated voice says from somewhere behind him.

Roman whirls around and draws his sword in a single, fluid motion.

The person standing behind him raises an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. Roman takes the man in: dark hair, a sharp-featured tan face, and piercing dark blue eyes that seem to peer straight to Roman’s core through a pair of wire-rimmed glasses. Despite the man’s simple clothing, Roman knows with a deep certainty that this is the witch.

Ignoring all his instincts, Roman sheaves his sword and holds out his empty hands in a gesture of peace.

“I have been searching for you,” he says. “I have a request to make of you, and am prepared to reward you well.”

“I don’t make a habit of dealing with royalty,” the witch says coldly.

Roman’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Yes, I know who you are, Prince Roman of Thaylar,” the witch says, “and I am surprised you would dare come here, considering your family history. You are either very brave, or very foolish.”

“Both,” Roman says, “but I mean you no harm. If you would hear me out—”

Dark blue energy forms in the witch’s hand. “I have nothing to hear from you, witch-killer. I would advise that you vacate my premises, before I am forced to take action.”

Roman swallows and takes an involuntary step back. Perhaps he should listen to the witch’s warning, abandon this fruitless quest and return to his bed.

It’s not worth it, his father had said after they found Remus’ trail leading to the forest. He couldn’t have gotten far anyways.

Roman straightens his spine and lifts his chin. He owes this to his brother— owes him so much more than this, but it’s the only thing left that Roman can do.

“I only wish to find my brother’s body,” Roman says, “So that I might bury him. Aid me in this and I will ask of you nothing more.”

The witch seems to search Roman’s face for something, his expression unreadable. Then he nods once, sharply.

“That, I can answer easily enough.”

Without another word, the witch turns on his heel and heads off into the forest. Roman hurries to catch up, biting back the urge to question where they are going. The walk lasts far longer than it feels like it should, and Roman suspects the witch is leading him around in circles so he will not be able to tell how to get into his lair. Or how to get out, some part of his mind whispers. He shoves it aside.

Finally, they reach a small clearing with a wooden cottage that looks surprisingly simple and well-kept for a witch’s lair. The witch leads Roman around the back of the house to an herb garden, stopping at a small pile of stones. For a moment Roman wonders what spell the witch intends to cast here; then the shape of the stones registers fully.

A cairn.

“I found him a little ways out from here,” the witch says. “His ribs had broken and pierced his lungs, and he’d been bleeding internally. It was a miracle he managed to make it even that far.”

Roman lowers himself to his knees and hesitantly places a hand on the upturned earth, trying to comprehend that under it is all that remains of his brother. Even now, it feels like all of this is a terrible dream, and one day he’ll wake up and Remus will be alive and driving him crazy again.

“I am sorry for your loss,” the witch says stiffly.

Roman’s chest feels tight, and he swallows past something lodged in his throat.

“He would like being buried here, by the garden,” he chokes out. “He always went on about how everyone becomes food for worms and fungus eventually. If you were to grow your strangest plants over his grave, it would have made him very happy.”

It feels wrong, to speak of his brother in the past tense.

“Might I ask what happened?”

Roman squeezes his eyes shut, holding back the tears that burn at their corners. He doesn’t deserve to cry, not over this.

“I gave him up as a witch,” he whispers. It’s the first time he’s said it out loud, and the words seem to grate and tear at his throat. “He trusted me with his life, and I betrayed him.”

The silence behind Roman is telling.

“Thank you,” Roman rasps, “For putting him to rest.”

He stays there, kneeling in the dirt, long after the witch has returned inside.

...

Remus cries out as he tumbles into the tower room’s wall, jarring harshly against the rough stone.

“Father,” Remus cries, “Father, wait—”

“You are no son of mine!” Father snarls, lifting Remus by the front of his shirt. “Foul demon!”

Roman’s mind screams at him to do something, to run forward and grab Remus or yell at his father to stop but instead he just stands there, frozen in horror, as in one great motion his father shoves Remus through the tower’s window and dangles him out over open air.

Time seems to slow as Father screams curse after curse in Remus’ face, as Remus clutches at the hands holding him above a dizzying drop. Remus’ gaze slides over to meet Roman’s, and for one terrible moment Roman sees in his eyes pure devastation. The agony of betrayal.

And then Father releases his hold, and Remus is gone.

Roman wakes up screaming.

He rolls over onto his side and curls up in a ball, taking harsh, gasping breaths. It takes a moment for him to register that he’s not standing in the castle tower staring in horror at the empty space where his brother used to be— the space that was right there in front of him as if Roman could have reached out and touched him but he was already gone and it was too late—

Breathe.

Roman closes his eyes and listens. In place of the screams that still ring in his head, he hears only the sound of wind swishing through trees. He reaches a hand out and feels loose dirt beneath him. He’s lying on the ground, outside. Roman opens his eyes and sees a dark sky full of stars.

Perhaps Remus is among those stars now. Would he like that? He’d probably think it was boring, to be honest. The thought brings a slight smile to Roman’s face.

Roman sits up, focusing on his breathing. It takes another moment for him to recognize where he is: the witch’s clearing, right by Remus’s... by the grave. It is dark except for the light of the moon— full, a poor omen. Roman had meant to be home by this time as the forest becomes vastly more dangerous at night, but apparently his many nights of lost sleep have finally caught up to him. There’s no use to it now; he’ll just have to wait for the light of dawn to find his way home.

Father will not be happy when Roman returns after dawn has already broken.

Roman has been much less concerned with keeping his father happy, as of late.

No, what bothers him most is why he’s been allowed to stay here at all. Considering the witch’s initial hostility to him, Roman figured admitting to turning in his own brother for using magic would result in being thrown out at best and murdered in his sleep at worst. And yet here he is, sitting in the witch’s clearing un-murdered.

Roman reaches out and touches Remus’s cairn with reverent fingers. He can’t bring himself to regret falling asleep here, dangerous though it may have been. It feels right to have slept beside his brother one last time.

“Well isn’t this sweet! Roro, I didn’t know you cared so much.”

Roman freezes. He knows that voice. But— but that’s impossible—

Roman scrambles to his feet and turns, heart in his throat.

Remus stands before him, illuminated by the light of the moon. He’s clad in the clothes he died in— Roman would know, he sees them in his dreams every night— and there’s a stain of something brown on his shoulder and neckline that Roman doesn’t particularly want to identify.

Roman gapes. “Re, what— how—”

Remus’ smile is bright, but his eyes are cold. “I think you know, Roman.”

Roman feels the blood drain from his face.

They’ve all heard the legends: spirits of magic-users who roam the earth, invested with their magical power and seeking vengeance on those who wronged them. Roman’s father once taught him the proper ways to... dispose of... witches to prevent such a phenomenon from happening. It was Roman’s least favorite lesson by far.

“There it is!” Remus cheers as the comprehension dawns on Roman’s face.

Roman falls to his knees, trembling.

“Remus,” he breathes, “Remus, I—”

He breaks off, lost for words. Roman has thought about what he would say to Remus if he had the chance dozens of times, dreamed up countless scenarios where he prostrated himself and begged for forgiveness or explained himself in a way Remus would understand. Now that he’s actually here, those dreams seem childish and futile in the face of everything that’s happened.

“So funny story,” Remus says, “I’ve thought it over and someone must have told the king about me, right? But I never practiced where anyone could see, and there’s only one person I ever shared my secret with. The person I always shared everything with. Got any idea who that could be, brother?”

Roman’s stomach feels like lead, and he can’t bring himself to look Remus in the eye.

Remus laughs softly. “That’s what I thought.”

His face twists in sudden fury and he shoots forward, getting in Roman’s face and forcing him to flinch back.

“Do you know how it feels, Roman? To have every bone in your body shattered, shards of your own ribs stabbing your insides until you drown in your own blood? Do you know how it feels to lie helpless and dying on the forest floor, knowing your corpse will stay there forgotten, with you replaced without a second thought? How it feels to be betrayed by your own twin, the one person in the world you’d thought you could trust?”

“Stop!” Roman cries, clutching at his head.

“Aw, is baby Roman too sensitive for all that?” Remus croons mockingly, pacing around him. “Do we need to protect his innocent little ears from the icky details of his brother’s brutal murder?”

Tears gather in Roman’s eyes, and he struggles to keep them from falling.

“Remus, I swear, I never meant for any of this to happen.”

“Then what did you want? Why did you do it, Ro? Did you want my throne that much? Or did you just hate witches more than you loved—”

“No!” Roman protests. “No, Remus, I could never hate you!”

“Then why?” Remus says, and the raw pain that fills his voice is so much worse than the anger. “Why did you tell him?”

Roman’s throat is tight and his eyes burn, but he forces the words out anyways. Remus deserves to know.

“Y-you kept hurting yourself. You’d come in bleeding and half-dead from experimenting with your magic and you wouldn’t see a doctor and, and I thought that one day you were going to kill yourself and it would be my fault for not stopping you. I thought if I— if I told Father, h-he would make you stop—”

Remus laughs bitterly. “You thought old daddy dearest, who has scores of magic users killed every year, would what— let me off with a warning?”

Roman flinches. “You’re his son! I didn’t— he was understanding before when I—”

“He was understanding of you,” Remus says. “You are his son. I’m sure he was thrilled at the chance to get rid of me.”

“I’m sorry.” The words force their way out in a whimper, and Roman’s stomach twists at their inadequacy.

“You’re sorry,” Remus says flatly.

Roman’s response catches in his throat, and instead he just bows his head, refusing to defend himself further. Nothing can make up for what he’s done.

Remus laughs suddenly, loud and manic. He snaps his fingers and mutters under his breath, and Roman is lifted into the air, a gentle pressure holding his arms against his sides with far more control than Remus ever had in life.

Remus gives him a vicious grin. “And what if I said ‘sorry’ wasn’t enough? What if I said I was going to have my vengeance, right here and right now?”

Roman’s tears finally overflow, and with them the pain that has been building ever since Remus went out that window.

“Do it,” he sobs. “Kill me.”

“What?” Remus says, sounding startled.

Roman bawls, not the pretty tears of the heroes in his books, but in wracking sobs that tear at his throat and send streams of tears and snot running down his face.

“Please, just kill me. I killed you. I killed you, and I’m so sorry, I’m sorry I killed you.” He cuts off with another sob. “Do whatever you want with me, please, I deserve it. I deserve it.”

The force holding Roman releases and he drops heavily to the ground. He curls up, chest heaving, and waits for the first blow to fall.

But the touch that falls on his arm isn’t painful; it’s soft and warm. It pulls him up and holds him tightly against a chest that is solid, breathing, beating.

Alive.

“I’m not going to kill you, Roman,” Remus says, his voice strangely choked, and Roman can feel it reverberating through his chest. “You’re my brother.”

Roman’s heart feels like it’s going to pound out of his chest. Remus, he’s... he... how did he—

The world spins, and Roman sees a brief flash of Remus’ worried face before everything goes dark.

...

“Roman! Roman, please!” Remus screams. He clutches at Roman’s hands where they grip his shirt, his face a mask of terror as his legs dangle over nothingness.

Roman fights desperately, screaming from deep within his mind, but his body doesn’t move.

“Why, Roman? I’m your brother!” Remus whimpers, tears gathering in his eyes.

Roman hammers at the boundaries of his mind but is helpless to stop it as his hands steadily, inexorably loosen.

Remus screams again as he slips through Roman’s fingers and falls into the darkness.

“Roman!”

“Roman! Roman, wake up!”

Roman jolts awake, his heart pounding as he gasps for breath.

“Ro? Hey, can you hear me?”

Roman blinks blearily and a face fades into focus above him. Worried red eyes, that ghastly mustache, a white streak in his hair...

“Re?” he croaks.

Remus grins. “There we are!”

“Remus,” Roman breathes. He reaches out with one shaking hand to cup Remus’s face and feels warm flesh beneath his fingers. “Are you really here? Or— or am I dead?”

Remus gives him a lopsided smile. “Takes more than getting thrown out of a tower and smashing my bones to smithereens to kill me!”

Roman surges upwards, wrapping his arms around his brother and burying his face in his shoulder.

“Hey, come on,” Remus says as Roman begins to shake, his tears wetting Remus’ shirt. “You’re going to dry yourself up if you keep crying this much. Just shrivel up like a human raisin until you end up a dried-out mummy and someone finds you like a thousand years later and wonders what the hell happened.”

The thought is so gross and ridiculous and Remus that Roman finds himself laughing through his tears.

“Gods above, I missed you.”

Composing himself, Roman pulls back and looks Remus over. He’s wearing simple, weathered clothing, his hair is an absolute mess and there are dark bags under his eyes. He’s the most beautiful thing Roman has ever seen.

“How?” Roman says, his voice cracking with emotion. “I thought you were— that I’d— How are you even here right now?”

“I healed a bit and then dragged myself here,” Remus says. “Logan did the rest.”

Remus looks back over his shoulder with a surprisingly soft smile, and for the first time since waking Roman tears his gaze away from his brother’s face to look at where they are. Roman is sitting on a cot in a simple wooden room, bare except for a small table and worn bookshelves lining one wall. The witch’s house, Roman assumes. The witch himself is standing stiffly a little ways behind Remus, his face transitioning from warm concern to dark displeasure as it moves from Remus to Roman.

“You lied to me,” Roman says. “You knew he was alive all along”.

“Technically, I never spoke a falsehood,” the witch— Logan— says coolly. “I did find Remus with the injuries I described. I merely was able to heal them, if barely.”

“We had to be careful,” Remus says. “I didn’t know, if...”

If Roman felt any real remorse for what he’d done. If he would turn Remus in again, once he found him.

Roman rises from the cot, causing Logan to dart forward in alarm. But Roman just lowers himself to one knee, bowing his head and placing a hand over his heart.

“I swear to you on my life, I never meant to harm you in any way,” Roman says. “I have regretted what I've done every day, every moment, since we parted.”

“Yeah, I got that from the whole bursting-into-tears-and-telling-me-to-kill-you thing,” Remus says. “Which was dramatic even for you, by the way.”

“People will often show their true selves during states of heightened emotion,” Logan says, adjusting his glasses. “The ruse was a logical course of action to discern your intentions.”

“And also fun!” Remus says. “You should have seen your face, Ro, it was so white! I make a pretty scary ghost.”

“You were terrifying,” Roman says honestly, which makes Remus beam.

Still on one knee, Roman turns to address Logan. “And thank you, my good witch, for saving his life. I am forever in your debt.”

“I didn’t do it for you,” Logan says sharply. That and his icy glare make it quite clear that he is not as forgiving as Remus. Roman winces internally; this whole debacle is not the best first impression to make to a sibling’s lover.

And that’s what Logan is, or at least what Remus wants him to be— it’s written all over his brother’s face. Before... before, Roman would have teased Remus about it, and then Remus would probably have made some sort of lewd comment that would make Roman sputter and shove at him. They’re not quite at that point now, he thinks. Not yet.

Roman inclines his head to the witch. “You have my gratitude all the same.”

“Look at us, all making up and being friends!” Remus cheers, but Roman knows him well enough to see the lingering discomfort in the slant of his shoulders and curve of his smile. Remus isn’t as okay as he’s pretending to be.

Roman rises and clasps Remus’ hand in his own.

“Remus, I have done you a grave disservice. While I cannot take back the pain I have caused you, I can offer you back the crown. If you wish it, I will give you my blade and the clothes off my back so that you may return to the castle in my stead and reclaim your birthright under my name.”

Remus stares at him for a moment, then throws back his head and cackles. Something deep in Roman’s chest loosens at the sound; he hadn’t realized how much he missed Remus’ laugh.

“Like hell am I going back to that burning trash heap!” Remus says. “Look, getting thrown out a window sucked major ass, but finding this—” he gestures to the house around him— “is probably the best thing that ever happened to me.”

Behind Remus, Logan’s face turns bright red. Well that answers that, then.

Remus takes Roman’s other hand, meeting his eyes. “If you really want to make this up to me, go back. Become king. And change things.”

Roman bows his head once more. “I do not deserve this second chance, brother,” he whispers.

His hands tighten on Remus’s and he meets his twin’s gaze again, determined. “But I will do as you ask. I swear it, with every inch of my being: I will make things right.”

Remus shouldn’t trust Roman with something this important, not after Roman made it so clear what his word is worth. And yet, Remus nods as if satisfied and steps back.

“It is past sunrise,” Logan says. “I will not have you drawing search parties into this forest when the castle discovers you are gone.”

“I’d best be off then,” Roman says, knowing a dismissal when he hears one.

“I’ll walk you back!” Remus says.

“Absolutely not,” Logan snaps. “I will not allow you to walk that sort of distance while you are still on the mend.”

“It’s been a month!”

“And you were bedridden for weeks!”

“Logan can show me out,” Roman says firmly. “The last thing I want is you hurting yourself more over me.”

Remus’ eyes go watery. “But we just found each other again.”

Roman pulls him into another hug. “I will return, as long as you will have me.”

Remus nods into Roman’s shoulder, tightening his arms around him. They stay like that for a few moments more before they reluctantly part.

“Right, then,” Roman says. “Goodbye, for now.”

“Goodbye,” Remus says, unusually subdued.

Logan shows Roman to the door, and together they begin to walk across the clearing to the trees.

“You should know,” Logan says, “that if you break his trust again or hurt him in any way, all the guards in the castle will not be enough to stop me from killing you.”

Roman laughs heartily at that.

“I knew I liked you, Specs!” he says, slapping Logan on the back. “I’m glad Remus has someone like you looking out for him.”

Logan blinks. “Right, then. Good.”

“Wait!”

Roman looks back to see Remus standing in the house’s doorway. He looks... concerned?

“I know it’s going to take some time to be okay with what happened,” Remus says, “For both of us. But you weren’t the person who threw me off that tower. The king was. Just... remember that, okay? Remember that and come back.”

Roman nods mutedly, and the door closes.

“Right,” he says, clearing a mysterious obstruction from his throat, “let’s go then.”

With that, Roman turns and walks into the woods, headed back to the castle. Back to the duty he promised Remus he would fulfill.

And this promise, Roman intends to keep.

[delicioussshame]

No Abyss trash/porn AU in 3... 2... 1...

Luo Binghe has had sex with Shen Qingqiu, and it is the worst thing that has ever happened to him.

How is he supposed to keep on living when he now knows the taste of his shizun’s skin, or the feeling of his… everything? He’s supposed to keep pretending this didn’t happen, like the diligent pupil helping his teacher through a bad moment he was?

Impossible. Even if Shen Qingqiu had obviously been reluctant to ask Luo Binghe for his help with this particular matter, it hadn’t been enough to quiet his student’s own passion.

Luo Binghe had done a poor showing of himself, too. He can tell. He didn’t know what to do, faced with his poisoned shizun grudgingly asking him for his support.

Luo Binghe has, of course, been taught, like every disciple, to be wary of the vicious effects of the many plants a cultivator could come across. In cases such as these, he should have been running back to Qian Cao Peak and gotten a proper healer instead of trying to handle this by himself.

He couldn’t. They had been so far away from the sect, or the nearest village, that the idea had been ridiculous. In this case, he had to be the one administering first aid.

This was what Shen Qingqiu had been asking for: treatment, nothing more. So that’s what Luo Binghe had tried to offer, stilling his shaking hands and hiding his love behind nervousness.

He’d barely managed, too overwhelmed with what he was being given. But Shizun, ever indulgent, hadn’t said a word of reproach, letting him act as he wished.

He’d also, to Luo Binghe’s utter distress, dismissed his resulting heartfelt confession with a wave and a barely hidden smile, confident that the situation had confused Luo Binghe. No matter how much his disciple had tried to convince him of his truth, Shen Qingqiu had ignored it, babbling nonsense about wives and ridiculous happenstances.

This brings them to here, with Luo Binghe going back to bed in the bedroom he outgrew years ago, as far as he was concerned, while the shizun whose naked body he was holding barely a few days ago slept by himself. A tragedy if there ever was one. Shizun should never be alone, and by that Luo Binghe means he should never be without his best disciple by his side. Luo Binghe is sure he could be of even more service to Shizun if he were allowed to, let’s say, dress him himself, or wash his body in the bath…

Luo Binghe groans as his mind brings his own body back to a very familiar state, of late. Worse, masturbation has lost all appeal with he very much remembers Shen Qingqiu’s warm hand around him.

Would Shizun really turn him back if Luo Binghe entered his room and slipped between his sheets? It’s not like it’s something they’d never done, hadn't it? He’d do better this time! Without the urgency of having to save Shizun pushing him on, he might be able to control himself better! Surely not even Shizun would refuse his mouth on him? Luo Binghe would love to learn how Shizun tastes everywhere. He bet it would feel much better than Luo Binghe’s clumsy hand. And, maybe, maybe he could get Shizun to take him… He cannot imagine anything grander than that.

Luo Binghe rises from his bed before he can stop himself. He’s got nothing to lose. Shizun doesn’t believe him. At least, he might think his disciple is serious if he shows up this late and this… affected. At worst… no, Luo Binghe cannot believe Shen Qingqiu will be mad at him. His affection is certain, if not his attraction.

He escapes his too small bedroom to enter his shizun’s.

Who doesn’t so much as twitch when Luo Binghe enters his room, or when he approaches, or even when he starts pushing aside the sheets that are cruelly keeping him away from the object of his desires.

Luo Binghe reaches for his unveiled shoulder, the robe having drifted away in his sleep. “Shizun…”

Foggy eyes blink awake. “Binghe…? What are you doing here?”

“Shizun was too far away. I wanted to be with him, to-“

Before he knows it, he’s trapped into a hug. “Binghe had a nightmare? You’re too old for this, but it’s the middle of the night, and I’m sleepy. Stay here if you want.”

And he promptly falls asleep again, this time on Luo Binghe, completely obvious to his disciple’s real intentions, or how precarious his own position is. For a moment, Luo Binghe is this close to waking his shizun up again, not with a kind hand and soft words, but with a hungry mouth and torn garments ripped off his frame.

Shen Qingqiu deserves better than being forced, so Luo Binghe abstains. He gets to spend the night in Shen Qingqiu’s bed, even if it’s only courtesy of Shen Qingqiu’s sleep-addled brain, so there is progress.

Still, he does not believe he will sleep tonight.

Really, Shizun can be so cruel.

[anarchyduck]

[appear] “ i need help. please. ” gerfra

So sorry this took for-freaking-ever OTL ---------------------

Takes place: 1942, Paris

  Germany does not find sleep easily anymore. The wheels in his head continue turning, agonizing over battle plans and strategies, over conversations he held with subordinates and superiors. He thinks about the paperwork that sits untouched on his desk, in untidy piles that would usually dive him made. A half empty bottle of brandy sits in the middle of it all, a glass of it in his hand as he stares out the window to the Parisian streets.

 A rapid knock breaks through his thoughts and he stills, waiting. It is late and he is not expecting company at this hour. Another knock pushes him to move. He sets the glass down on the desk as he crosses the room, hand on his pistol as he nears the door. Thoughts filter through one by one, all with the touch of paranoia as he wonders who it could be.

 “I know you’re there.” A voice, tired and strained, and slightly muffled through the wooden door. “Don’t be rude.”

 A moment of shock stills his actions but then Germany opens the door. France stands before him, his clothes shuffled and worn. His face is narrower than last time Germany saw him, and he looks in need of a shave. More alarming than that is the blood that covers the side of his face.

 “I need your help.” He says before Germany can ask. Tired blue eyes fix on him. “Please.”

 He should not. He knows he should not. The last time he saw France was nearly two years ago after taking Paris. How tall and mighty France stood high even after being defeated. He was bloody then too. Though he was hurting, he walked with his head held high and greeted him with the same grace and charm Germany remembered him for. He came willingly and there was no need for shackles. Few days later, France was gone. Now here he stands, dressed in dirty clothes at his door.

 Germany pulls him inside, closes and locks the door behind them. “You shouldn’t be here.”

 France laughs dryly. “I could say the same about you.” He stumbles in his step before sitting down heavily in the closest chair. He groans as he leans his head back, his eyes falling close as he rests.

 Germany realizes the strange situation he has found himself in. His enemy enters his living quarters in the dead of night, wounded and exhausted. He doubts France has the strength to fight back. The thought of radioing it in snakes into his mind. He should call it in. France would be arrested, placed into the cuffs that he avoided before. It would certainly resolve some problems. His superiors would congratulate him for the capture. Something about it does not sit well. The mental image of France being carried away to execution makes his stomach churn.

 He finds himself walking to the bathroom to retrieve a first aid kid and wet washcloth. France is still in the same position when he returns and, were it not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, Germany might have suspected him to be dead.

 A chair scraps across the wood floor as Germany pulls it around the coffee table to France's side. He sets the kit down and, with the cloth, begins to carefully wipe the blood from the man’s face. “What happened?” he asks.

 “Just a touch of carelessness on my part.” France replies. His eyes are still closed, though his brows twitch together every so often.

 “Thought you had gone south.”

 “I did, for a time. But I missed my city.”

 Germany continues cleaning the blood away and finally finds a wound at France's hairline. It is clotted and closed now, though he wonders if it needs stitching. His brows pull together, and he moves the cloth away with a frown. The thought from before resurfaces once again, gnawing at his mind. A little voice tells him to call for reinforcements and another tells him to take care of it himself. Other questions came to mind, the top of them being why was France back in Paris?

 France's eyes open and he tilts his head to look at him. He looks awful, Germany thinks. Cheeks are hollower than he remembers. Dark circles beneath his eyes and a day-old bruise on his jaw. A still healing scrape blemishes his cheek and he looks tired. Worn thin. “So?” he asks, drawing Germany from his observations. “How bad is it?”

 “It’s fine. You’ll live.”

 “What wonderful news.” France says and Germany cannot discern if it was sarcasm or not.

 He stands and takes the bloodied cloth to wash in the sink. When he returns, France is helping himself to the brandy at his desk. Germany stills a moment and thinks of the many secret documents laying open on his desk. The paranoid voice hisses in the forefront of his mind and he chooses not to pay mind to it. Instead, he looks at the man standing by the window that overlooks the city. How delicately he holds the glass as he drinks, the moonlight in his hair.

 “Quiet night.” France says. “Never could stand the quiet when I was younger and now, I don’t mind it much. This industrial age is so noisy that I almost wish for quiet nights again.” He takes a sip then looks to Germany. “Suppose you wouldn’t know much about those nights, would you? Long before the wonders of electricity and automobiles.”

 “Why are you here, France?”

 “This is yours, yes?” France picks up the other glass of brandy Germany left on his desk and holds it out to him. “Drink with me. And do not worry, I didn’t poison it.”

 “I wasn’t thinking that.” Germany retorts as he takes the offered glass and, if to prove his point, takes a sip. France smiles lightly in approval.

 “We both know it would take more than poison to harm you.” he says calmly. “It is exhilarating, no?”

 Germany frowns, mind scrambling to catch up. “What?”

 “Conquering. The rush of new territory folded into you. Better than any drug in the world. Better than sex.” France chuckles lightly as Germany’s cheeks color red. “Once you have that first taste, you only crave it more. Don’t you, Germany?”

 “I don’t believe that’s an accurate description.”

 “But you do understand, don’t you? The good and the bad of it.” France swirls the liquor around in his glass. “All that territory, it doesn’t belong to you. Your body becomes a war within itself and you crave more in hopes it will satisfy the ache.”

 “Why are you here?” Germany asks again.

 France exhales a sigh and, for a moment, stares into the swirling brandy. Then he takes a drink and says, “Wonder if I could take a bath while I’m here?”

 Just how long does France intend to stay, he wonders. His mind wars with itself, frustrated he cannot gauge a proper read off the Frenchman. A thought that sounds awfully like his brother tells him to not to trust France. Do not turn your back, it says. Then again, Gilbert said that about many other nations. His chest tightens slightly at the thought of his brother and quickly pushes it out of his mind.

 “Yes, of course.” he replies, and France smiles again.

 “Thank you, my dear.” He finishes his glass in one swallow then sets it down onto the desk. Germany watches him go down the hallway and hears a door close. He drums his fingers around the glass in hand and looks to the empty one on the table. Pipes rattle in the apartment walls as he faintly hears the rush of water and he wonders how he has fallen into playing host to his enemy. He knows the trouble they will both be in if someone caught them.

 If.

 Germany’s mind falls back on France’s hollow cheeks and before he realizes it, he is in the kitchen preparing to reheat soup from earlier.

 France emerges sometime later. In the time spent, Germany has cleared his desk and consumed another glass of brandy. It is enough to finally take the edge off and silence the whispers that slither in his mind. Soup is sitting warm on the kitchen stove, its smell taking over the small apartment. He wonders if it will be enough. If France will take it alone or if he will distrust a meal from his enemy. He looks up as his new guest enters the kitchen and frowns lightly.

 “Are those my clothes?”

 “Found them in the wardrobe. Hope you don’t mind.” France finishes buttoning the cream-colored shirt, leaving the last few buttons at the top undone. It hangs from his body though not in the same way it does to Italy. Though he is broader and taller than France, Germany cannot help thinking the clothes should not hang off that much. “God, I remember when you were smaller.”

 “Excuse me?”

 “You used to be this cute little darling that Prussia adored showing off. And now look at you, all grown up.” France exhales a sigh as he ties back his still damp hair. Few stands escape to frame his face and it's then Germany notices he has shaved. The shadows beneath his eyes remain, as does the bruise on his jaw. His eyes drift upward to the cut on his forehead and feels relief when he sees it is nearly healed. His gaze catches France’s and he sees the man smirking at him. “See something you like, Germany?”

 Germany’s face warms and he hastily turns away towards the stove to lift the pot and stir the soup. Behind, France chuckles lightly and he wonders how much of this the man enjoys. All of it, he realizes. Would it be too late now to throw him out of the apartment? His jaw tightens for a second as he ladles some soup into a bowl and sets it down on the table.

 “Thought you would be hungry so I…” he trails off awkwardly as he catches France’s still smiling at him. He is not sure what about this time.

 “How kind.” France muses. He takes the seat and stirs the contents around in the bowl with his spoon. Faintly, Germany wonders if the man will take food from him. Would he think it was poisoned? But then the worries fade as France begins to eat.

 “Entire city is rationing and here you are with real meat.” he comments between bites. “I thought all resources were going to the front.”

 Germany’s jaw tightens as he frowns. “They are,” he replies.

 “Don’t suppose you have cigarettes on hand, do you?”

 “I don’t smoke.”

 France raises a brow at him and puts his spoon down. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin metal container from his pocket. “Then what’s this?”

 “Gift.” Germany replies. “But I don’t smoke.”

“Hm. Mind if I do?” France asks as he pulls out one of the cigarettes from the box. He quickly lights it and inhales deep, holds it, then exhales. Germany waves off the smoke that wafts in his direction and moves to take the other seat at the table. They sit in relative silence. While France smokes and eats, Germany once again attempts to figure out the situation he has found himself in.

The grandfather clock in the living room chimes twice as France lights his second cigarette. “Does it ever stop?” he asks suddenly.

Germany frowns. “Does what stop?”

“Those gears in your mind.” France leans back into his chair, cigarette between two fingers as he looks at him. “They have been excessively turning since I arrived. You’re wondering what I’m doing here.”

“I am curious, yes.”

France hums in his throat and brings the cigarette to his lips. Smoke curls in the light as it floats about the room. “You wonder if I am here to steal your precious plans. Stuff papers and secret documents into my trousers and carry them off to my leaders.” He takes another drag, the end lighting on the inhale. “Or perhaps I sneak into your bed and slit your throat while you sleep.”

 Germany’s brow furrows. “The thought crossed my mind, yes.” he says tensely. “Why else would you come back, knowing the danger.”

 He laughs and flicks ash into the empty soup bowl. “My dear, I’m not crude like Arthur.” he says. “Besides, in my current state, I could not hurt you even if I wanted to.” 

“Then what do you want?” Smoke swirls around France and it reminds him of Bismarck. When Prussia brought him to Versailles to be crowned as the new German Empire. He had his first cigar then and found it distasteful. It made his eyes water and the smell clung to his clothes for days. France had been there too. Silent and seething from across the room when Wilhelm was proclaimed emperor.

“What I want,” The memory fades as France begins to speak. “I cannot have.” He takes another long drag and Germany wonders if he intends smoking it down to the end as he did the first one. “Least not immediately, so I will settle for second.” 

“Which is?” 

 “A soft bed to start,” France’s lips curl into a smile. “And perhaps your warm company.”

“No.” Germany says immediately and leaves the table, ears growing warm as France’s laughter trails behind him.

[ridiculousn3sswrites]

Unwanted Advances - My Princess Pt. 8

*Zendaya x Reader

*Summary: Prince Thomas makes a move on the Reader. Zendaya and Reader aren’t happy about it.

*Warnings: Minimal threat of violence (not against main characters or Reader), let me know if I missed anything.

*A/N: Next week is finals week and then I’m officially a college senior ;-;

Tip Jar

Part One || Part Two || Part Three || Part Four || Part Five || Part Six || Part Seven || Part Eight || Part Nine || Part Ten

**********

Surprisingly, the meeting with your parents wasn’t as bad as you expected. Sure, you were being informed of more details concerning your engagement as negotiations continued, but there were small highlights of the meeting. Perhaps the brightest point was learning that your engagement was being prolonged; instead of being married before the year was over, ongoing negotiations and the upcoming ball made it appear that the wedding would probably occur sometime in the next year. The difficult part of the meeting came when your parents were discussing what would happen following your wedding. As it stood, it was likely you would be sent to Xerin to rule alongside Prince Thomas. The throne in your own kingdom would remain with your parents until they were too old to rule, then would go to your cousin (you assumed that was the relation, even though you didn’t exactly know how they were related to you).

For once, the issue wasn’t with your parents. No, the issue came in the form of one overzealous Prince Thomas. Dinner itself went by without real issue - he asked about your day, gushed about how excited he was to have his friend coming to the kingdom for the ball, talked to you about anything that came to mind - but the issue came during the walk back to your chambers after dinner. Prince Thomas insisted on escorting you back, and you agreed, not thinking anything ill of it. Then he had the audacity, right in front of your door, where your beloved sat on the other side waiting for you, to attempt to kiss you. He’d held your hands, talking about how nice it was to spend time alone with you, and then leaned in. If you hadn’t been quicker with your hand on his chest, pushing him away, he would’ve kissed you.

“Prince Thomas,” you chastised him, voice harsh to show this wasn’t a coy attempt at flirting.

“I’m sorry, you’re just so… I can’t even put it into words,” he said, eyes looking at your lips once again. You took a step back.

“It’s not proper. I’m afraid I’ll have to have a chaperone on any further outings with you. Goodnight.” With that, you let yourself into your room, closing the door before Prince Thomas even had a chance to respond. You waited for a few seconds, listening for his retreating footsteps. You hear a soft curse as he walked away, and you weren’t sure if that was at your rejection or at himself. As soon as you heard the footsteps far enough away, you finally turned to find Zendaya sitting at your desk.

“My Princess, what troubles you?” Zendaya asked, watching you with concern. “Did the meeting with your parents not go well?”

You huffed out a small laugh. Of course Zendaya would think your parents were the cause of your troubles as they normally were, but for once she was wrong. “I wish that were the case. My meeting with my parents actually went fantastic, my wedding has been pushed back due to the ball.”

“That’s great news,” Zendaya interrupted, though you knew she was still waiting for you to tell her what else happened.

“It’s the Prince,” you finally said, still trying to figure out how to tell Zendaya exactly what happened. Sure, he hadn’t actually kissed you, but the fact that he’d been that close just made you feel off.

“What did he do?” There were few times when Zendaya got as serious as she was now, you couldn’t even remember the last time she was like this. “(Y/n), I can’t do anything to help you if you don’t tell me. If the Prince was inappropriate wit-”

“He tried to kiss me.” Zendaya clenched her jaw as she took in the new information. “I stopped him, but he tried.”

“When.” It wasn’t a question, Zendaya was demanding to know. With the way her fingers now fiddled with the dagger on the table, you had a feeling you knew where this was going.

“Love, he-”

“Just tell me when he tried to disrespect you like that.”

“Just now, when he walked me back here,” you explained, looking down at your feet. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have let my guard down like that. I didn’t think he’d try something like that, especially right at my door.”

“Wait, love, are you crying?” The harsh tone Zendaya had taken was now long gone, replaced by a low one, like she was worried about scaring you. You reached a hand up to your eye, feeling the tears gathering there. You didn’t know why you were crying, or even when you’d started crying.

“I guess I am…” you trailed off, not sure what else to say. 

“Love, I didn’t mean to make you cry, I’m so sorry,” Zendaya got up, going to your side and taking you in her arms before you could really process it. “I didn’t mean to push you, I realize now how uncomfortable that must’ve been for you. I can have one of the other guards give him a talk, make it seem as if one of the maids came upon the scene.”

“I told him I’ll need to have a chaperone with me on any further outings. I didn’t know how to just tell him I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to marry him. Hell, I’m not even sure I’d consider being friends with him anymore,” you lightly swore even as you choked a bit through your crying. “I wish I could just end this whole engagement and run off with you.”

“(Y/n), you did what you were trained to do. I don’t blame you for any of this. Requiring a chaperone was the safest option you had. I’ll be sure to be by your side every time you see the Prince now, and if not then I’ll have some of the other guards I’m close with on standby. We’ll make sure you’re safe and you feel safe, that’s the most important thing to me,” she told you, pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“You’re not upset with me?” You asked, the little nagging voice in the back of your head still insisting that you were to blame.

“No, my Princess. I could never be upset with you. He was the one that tried it, but you stopped him and immediately put distance between the two of you. Even if he had kissed you, you aren’t to blame,” Zendaya told you. You nodded. “Come now, Princess, let’s get you ready for bed. I want you to rest, you’ve had a stressful day.”

“Can you sing to me? It will help me sleep,” you decided to try. It was rare that she’d sing for you, but you loved her voice. Zendaya gave a heavy sigh, but nodded.

“I’ll do anything to help you, my love.”

**********

For the next few days, Prince Thomas made himself scarce. You’d heard some of the chambermaids talking about how he’d received a visit from someone you knew trained under Zendaya, but you didn’t know exactly what he was told. You didn’t know if it was the (unproven) threat or if he genuinely felt bad about your reaction to the almost kiss, but you were glad for the newfound space. It allowed you time to actually breathe and process everything that was going on around you.

Rihanna provided you with a list of the potential candidates to take your place as Prince Thomas’s fiancee, with most of them vaguely knowing the Prince or having previous relations with him. You vaguely knew many of them, having encountered them in your years of hosting and visiting other kingdoms, but you couldn’t say you knew them well enough to picture Prince Thomas with any of them. You tried doing your research on the other Princesses, having some trusted aides go off to find information and report back to you. You needed to be more involved with this, this was your future you were talking about. You weren’t going to sit idly and let this just happen to you.

Since many of your lessons had been reduced due to the other nobles needing to prepare for the ball, you finally decided to use your free time for good. The library had records of alliances between the kingdoms, tensions, and the histories overall, so you spent your time pouring over these volumes, trying to find kingdoms that would make sense to pair with the young Prince of Xerin. Of course you had to worry about the Prince getting along with whatever Princess it was, but you also had to worry about their Kingdoms coming to an agreement. If the newfound engagement didn’t work out, Xerin may attempt to reign your kingdom back in with a renewed proposal.

You recording any findings and speculations you had in a leatherbound journal that Sir Chadwick had gifted to you years ago, but you always found too pretty to actually use. You were sure Sir Chadwick would approve of your use for it. You didn’t notice the guard switches as you worked, letting your mind become filled with only the politics of your neighboring kingdoms. You couldn’t help but wonder if this was what it was like for the great academics of your kingdom, occasionally called in to help advise where even the advisers did not have the historical knowledge to help.

Sometime after the sun had already set, leaving you sitting in the candlelight as the moon and stars shone through the sunroof, you heard the door to the library open. You glanced up, blood running cold as you saw the young Prince standing there, looking like he didn’t know if he should leave or not. You knew there was a guard stationed outside while the shift changed, waiting for Zendaya to come back to her post. You also knew the guard knew Prince Thomas wasn’t supposed to be allowed near you without someone else present, so why did he let the Prince in alone?

“Princess (y/n)-”

“Prince Thomas, you should go. I don’t know why my guard let you in, but-”

“I need to talk to you.”

“And that can be done with a chaperone present. I’m sure you’d rather have this talk later rather than have me call for my guards now,” you insisted, standing your ground even as you looked back down at the book in front of you. Surely he wouldn’t be dumb enough to continue even after you’d threatened to call the guards.

“I just wanted to apologize.” Apparently he was dumb enough, but if you could get this over with as soon as possible, maybe he’d just leave you alone.

“You have two minutes and you need to remain over there,” you ordered, using your firmest voice. It wasn’t one you used often, but it demanded respect. He nodded, and you sat up straight, clasping your hands in front of you.

“Right, thank you. I wanted to apologize. I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you, perhaps I- no, I did grossly misinterpret the situation. I didn’t intend to disrespect you, but I know I did, so I’m willing to do whatever it takes to gain your trust. I promise I won’t try anything like that again, but I do truly enjoy spending time with you. You don’t have to forgive me now, but I just wanted to let you know I deeply regret making you uncomfortable,” he rushed out, still slow enough for you to understand. You stared blankly at him, not sure how to take this. You’d never had another royal apologize to you, especially not so… sincerely. 

“I shall think about it, but you should leave now. Lady Zendaya is the next shift and it wouldn’t do you well to run into her,” you told him.

“Thank you for hearing me out, Princess.” He gave a slight bow before turning to leave the room. You nodded, waiting for the door to close before finally allowing yourself to relax some. You tried to get back into your research, but you just couldn’t get yourself back into the right frame of mind. What was the Prince’s game here? Surely there was something he hoped to gain from apologizing to you. Was it just access to you? There was no way he could’ve genuinely fallen for you in the short time you’d known each other. You stared at the book in front of you, tapping your pen against the desk, but you started getting lost to your musings. Before you could spiral further, there was a soft knock at the library door.

“Come in,” you called out, rubbing your eyes. Maybe you just needed to reset a bit before you got back to work.

“My Princess, I brought your dinner from the kitchens. You’re lucky the cooks realized you weren’t at dinner so they made something for you. Sorry for being late,” Zendaya apologized, trying to balance the tray they’d sent your dinner on. She placed the tray on the table, finally taking a good look at you. “How’s the research going, my love? I heard you’ve been in here all day.”

“I just can’t focus anymore,” you huffed, putting down your pen. Zendaya walked to your side of the desk, petting your hair as she dragged your meal in front of you.

“Eat, darling. It’ll help you feel better and you need to take a break anyways,” she insisted. You nodded, figuring she was right. “Have you learned much?”

“The political landscapes of the kingdoms truly is insane, I don’t know how the nobles navigate it,” you admitted. Zendaya could tell you didn’t feel like talking, so she gave you a recap of her day. For the days she had night and morning watches, she was supposed to spend her afternoons sleeping, but she rarely spent the entire afternoon asleep. She talked about the archery training she was undergoing, wanting to strengthen her skills with the bow since she rarely used it. After she was done talking, you finally decided how you wanted to broach the topic. “Love, the guard before you was Sanders, right?”

“Yes, why?”

“I believe he needs to be demoted for a while. Before shift change, he allowed Prince Thomas to enter unaccompanied even though the guards were told of the new requirements,” you explained, going to grab Zendaya’s hand. You could tell she was about to get a bit heated. “Nothing happened. Prince Thomas stayed by the door, apologized, and then exited in under five minutes, but he should not have been allowed in the first place.”

“I will let my superior know, love. Well, after I get done with Sanders,” she muttered the last part as though you wouldn’t be able to hear it muffled by your hair.

“Love, don’t hurt him too bad.”

“So I can hurt him just a little.”

“Try to make it look like an accident. I wouldn’t want you to get punished over something petty like this,” you explained. “Though I’m sure I could get you out of it, I don’t want people to think I’m playing favorites.”

“Please, everyone already knows I’m your favorite. It’s not hard for people to see your heart eyes when you look at me,” she teased, as though what she said wasn’t truly accurate.

“It’s not my fault when you’re genuinely gorgeous,” you pouted, looking up at her. She laughed, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

“Finish eating, then we can clean up here and I’ll tell one of the handmaidens to draw you a bath. You’ve been working for too long, love, you need to rest. I don’t want you to get burnt out.”

“Fine, but I need to figure more things out if I want this plan to work.”

“We can’t force him to fall in love with one person in particular. We just need to present him with the options and encourage whichever one he wants,” Zendaya said. “The plan won’t fall apart if you rest for the night. Please, my Princess? For me?”

She had you there and she knew it. Whenever she directly asked you for something, you could never say no to her. She smiled at your little pout, leaning down to kiss you soundly until you stopped pouting. Before you could truly give in to her methods and smile into the kiss that you only wanted more of, the sound of the door fully closing interrupted the silence in the library. Zendaya pulled back,  the both of you immediately looking at the door. “Did you close it when you came in?”

“I did. Stay here,” she ordered you, drawing her sword as she went to go investigate. You stayed in your seat, biting at your thumbnail as you watched her leave the library, pulling the door completely shut behind her.

**********

Tag List: @uncookspaget, @ddesert-rosee, @gangganggg

Permanent Tag List: @treatallwithkindness, @laic2299, @delaber

[songbirdsingingthings]

Chapter Six - Skipping to First in the Ever Growing Line

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

Previous Chapter ~ Next Chapter ~ Series Masterlist ~ Main Masterlist

Word Count: 2.5K

You hadn’t left your father’s side for a week and counting. Every waking moment was spent fretting over him - whether he was warm enough, whether he had enough to eat… whether he ate at all. You no longer made much of an effort to attend balls, much to Nemuri’s chagrin, and it had been a few days since you took a proper bath. Izuku was feeling just as drowned as you were - while you were serving as a caretaker of sorts, Izuku took on all of the work your father had to do on a daily basis; check the budgets, arrange business meetings, manage the family’s finances… it was just so much to do. Every time you heard your father croak or make a move to get up, you were always on your feet to aid him with whatever he needed. This kept you up late into the night and into the wee hours of the morning. You busied yourself with reading whatever you could to keep you awake. They whirled you away into their worlds of fantasy, romance, and adventure so rich and lovely that you wished to be swept up and dropped right into them. 

It was late, very late, and your nose was buried into the latest novel you had come across all the while making note of every time your father’s breathing was irregular and shallow. That’s why it surprised you when Mei stepped in quietly to say that you had company. You peered over at the little clock that was sitting atop the nightstand and looked back at her with a “are you serious?” look. She merely nods and motions with her head to follow. You don’t budge from your seat, instead pointing at your father who was asleep. With a silent motion, Mei pointed at you and then out of the door, then she pointed to herself and the chair that you were sitting in. You understood and, unhappily, rose from the wooden chair, patted her shoulder, and made your way down the long sweeping staircase. You were sure your hair was a mess and that your dress was all wrinkled, but you didn’t care. It was almost 1’oclock in the morning after all. What surprised you was that you didn’t have just one visitor, but four. All dressed in sharp suits and looking fresh as a daisy, the four young men looked up at you and gained a different response. There was Lord Iida who not only carried a briefcase, but also a vase of beautiful flowers. Well, his butler held that. Your gaze flickered to Shouto’s, and for a brief but fleeting moment, held them. And then there was Lord Kirishima and Lord Bakugou - the boys you had known for almost forever. Katsuki would tease Izuku relentlessly when you were younger, so he did the same with you, but it was all in good fun. Lord Kirishima became Lord Bakugou’s closest confidant - and you did expect that there was more to that relationship than they were letting on - and another one of Izuku’s friends. You cleared your throat as you stopped in front of them, gaining their undivided attention.

“Gentleman, to what do I owe the pleasure of this… lovely, yet early, meeting?” Your words come out a bit more harshly than you intended, but nevertheless you continued to stare the four of them down without your confidence shaking.

“Deku mentioned that he was in need of some help, Half-pint, ” Katsuki said, stepping forward. Katsuki had always been taller than you, hence your loving nickname that left his mouth so often. “Y’know where we can find him?” You didn’t have the urge, nor patience, to listen to why your brother needed four of them exactly, so you just led them to the study instead. You knocked twice and opened the door, revealing a frazzled Izuku sat at his desk, his sleeves pulled up to his elbows and his hair a frizzy mess. He looked up and his weary eyes met yours, and then the rest of your company.

“Midoriya, it’s been a while!” Kirishima said gallantly, walking over to him and putting a friendly hand on his shoulder.

“Seriously Deku, no words for a couple weeks and then we get a letter saying ‘need your assistance’? It would’ve been a shame if that got into the wrong hands and rumors started to float around.” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. While the three of them conversed, Lord Iida stepped towards you, his butler in toe.

“I thought that you might be under a significant amount of stress lately, so I offer aid in any way necessary. He explains, earning a soft nod for you. “I also thought you might enjoy these flower arrangements - shall I have my butler place them in your parlor?”

“Yes, thank you Lord Iida. They’re lovely.” You decide not to mention how the arrangements were made up of white lilies, the flower that represents death. Lord Iida bows before you and in return you give him a quick curtsy. You slowly begin to step out of the room and you almost make it down the hallway before Shouto stops you.

“Y/N,” He breathes, his voice light but heavy with concern. You don’t correct him when he uses your first name. Instead, you turn to face him slowly. You see him open his mouth to talk but then hesitates.

“Would you like me to fetch a servant for tea? Because other than that, I genuinely do not know how I can be of service to you,” You sigh, bringing up one of your hands to daintily rub your eyes. I need to get back to reading, otherwise I’m going to fall asleep, you think to yourself. Shouto frowns and takes a step towards you.

“I want to be of service to you.” He admits. His eyes are soft and tender as they look at you, making you wish you had the strength to turn around and march back upstairs to your bedchamber. However, you were running on almost no sleep and hadn’t eaten in awhile, making you weak to his pretty face. Despite your fatigue, a small laugh escapes you.

“I’m not quite sure how that might work,” You say, letting one of your hands settle on your hip. “The young gentlemen of your social class, to my knowledge, have never been subjected to the studies of taking care of someone. That task normally falls upon the women of the household. And, from what I was able to see at your estate,” Shouto tenses at your words, remembering how your whole relationship dynamic swiftly changed when he brought you to his home, “you are up to your knees in servants awaiting your beck and call.” While your words might’ve seemed severe, they were true in all stances. Shouto knew this.

“I’m aware, I still want to help you.” His voice is no longer hesitant, but earnest and insistent. You give in.

“Alright then,” you murmur, motioning with your head that he could walk beside you. He took that opportunity quickly and the two of you settled into a comfortable pace, taking your time walking down the long hallway that ran through the left side of your house. The two of you are silent for a minute before Shouto decides to speak up.

“How much sleep have you been getting?” You expected this question, but that didn’t make it easier to answer. I should just tell him the truth, the bags underneath my eyes are evidence enough you think.

“Two, maybe three hours a night.” You hear Shouto suck in a breath and you peek over to see his eyes widen in concern.

“How much have you eaten today?” He asks more quietly, like he’s scared to hear the answer.

“Enough,” you say, hoping that will quell his questioning.

“Y/N,” He breathes, grabbing hold of your arm. Your nonchalant look seemed to cause exasperation from him. “You need to take care of yourself.” You shrug his grasp off.

“I need to take care of my father.” You say instead.

“Where are your kitchens?” He asks, provoking confusion to flash across your face.

“Is there a reason to visit them?” You ask, raising an eyebrow.

“We can get something to bring to your father.” And with that, the two of you began the ‘journey’ to the far corners of your home.

“Do you happen to know where everything is kept?” He asks you, peering over pots and pans that were hanging on the wall. You stifle a laugh at his incomprehension of how a kitchen works.

“The utensils and cookware resides there,” you point towards where Shouto was standing. “There is dried fruit in the cupboards over there and next to them are the fresh vegetables,” you motion to your left. “And the ice house is outside, which stores the milk, butter, and other perishables.” Shouto nods as he looks to where you had motioned, taking note of where everything was located.

“Perhaps we should bring him some dried Y/F/F,” He suggests, strolling over to the cabinet. With a small smile on your face, you shake your head.

“I have to disagree, Father can’t stand the taste for some reason,” You explain. Nonetheless, he digs through the cupboard and finds a little basket of dried Y/F/F. He places them in front of you on the small table.

“But you can. They’re your favorite.” He says, causing you to fluster.

“How did you know that?” You wonder, eyeing him.

“I would’ve loved to say intuition, but Izuku had mentioned it when I came into your parlor. That day when you so charitably entertained Lord Mineta?” A wistful smile fell across your face, thinking back to that time. Shouto had saved you from what would’ve been a most horrendous outing with that suitor, if you could’ve even called him that. “He said something about the fruit tarts on the table he and your father were sitting at, and mentioned how Y/F/F was your favorite. So, eat up. Then we can take something to your father.” You obliged his wants, taking a dried slice of fruit out of the basket and biting into it. The flavors seemed to wrap your taste buds in a warm, and much needed, hug that prompted your smile to grow bigger.

“Thank you,” you say genuinely. A small smile flickers across Shouto’s face at your words as he leans back on a countertop.

“Lord Iida’s flower choice was certainly interesting.” He says bluntly. You bark out a laugh and make haste to quickly cover your mouth, but the damage was done.

“I’m sure he meant no ill intent,” you try and reason, causing Shouto to roll his eyes.

“However he managed to become the suitor at the front of your ever growing line of them is beyond me.” You can hear the hints of jealousy in his voice, bringing you back to your conversation before you heard about your father’s condition. You choose to wave it off though.

“Ever growing line, huh?” You say, plucking another piece of fruit from the basket.

“You must know that you are the most desirable young lady that is out in the season.” He states. You cock your head to emphasize the point that you were in the dark about the subject Shouto was talking about, so he continued.

“Y/N.” The way your name leaves his lips causes your heart to leap. “Not only are you of high social status and come from an honorable and cherished family. You are kind,” he takes a step towards you. “Intelligent,” another step. “Beautiful.” He is now very close to you, maybe only about a foot away. It was when you looked up into his eyes that you knew. He was the one you must marry. Shouto was the only young man you have ever truly imagined a future with. He was not a bore like Lord Ojirou or disagreeable and sickening like Lord Mineta. You could be yourself around him. If you married Lord Iida, you would have to put on a show similar to the one you performed with his mother - the perfect little lady who was quiet, abiding… unspoken. Shouto liked your spunk and your loud little family. He treasured the small facts he learned about you with such care. He loved you.

“Shouto…” You whisper. To hell with the notion of marrying Lord Iida. You could deal with the social repercussions of that later, along with Shouto’s father’s clear disdain of you. That was all just white noise when you looked at the man in front of you and the tender look on his face. It was taboo to engage in serious romantic affairs before engagement, and even then, it was rare for a couple to show public displays of affection. But, you found yourself absolutely drawn to his lips. You leaned in just like the heroine from your book had, making sure that your eyes fluttered shut before you met his… but they never did. Thanks to the clamour coming from down the hallway, the two of you sprung apart and busied yourselves with something in the kitchen when the kitchen maids came in. Fighting a flustered expression, you made yourselves look up and meet your maids’ eyes.

“Oh Lady Yagi, we did not expect you to be here!” One of your maids piped up, curtsying to you and Shouto.

“It’s quite alright, Lord Shouto and I were just preparing something for my Father and didn’t want to bother you,” you explain, earning nods from the little group.

“Please, allow us!” They say, quickly working their way around the kitchen to whip up a small and nutritious meal. Cheese and crackers were placed atop a small tray along with a glass of chilled water. “Shall we take this upstairs to the senior Lord Yagi?” One of them asks, earning a shake of your head. You gently take the tray from her hands and smile.

“If you’ll allow it, I’d like to take it to him,” you say, your voice placated. The maid nods and curtsies again, letting you and Shouto pass through the small hallway together. Silence graces the two of you again but it’s different this time. It was no longer awkward and tense, but comforting and hopeful. The two of you would keep sneaking glances at the other, sometimes catching each other in the act.

“Can we discuss this…?” Shouto asks, his tone now shy again. You nod, not trusting your voice, and give him a smile. “Maybe on the promenade tomorrow morning?” You knew it was ridiculous to get as excited as you were about promenading with Shouto - for heaven’s sake, you already knew that he harbored feelings for you! But his invitation made it all the more real.

“That would be lovely.”

[self-loving-vampire]

Ultima IV: Quest of the Avatar (1985)

Ultima 4 is a very historically-significant game, as well as being where the Ultima series cemented itself as something truly unique. Where the previous games in the series (as well as the RPG genre in general) often dealt with defeating some kind of evil overlord, Ultima 4 has no antagonist and instead calls on you to perfect yourself and embody a set of eight moral virtues.

Summary

You start the game by answering several moral dilemmas to determine your class and starting location. You are then transported to the fantasy land of Britannia to embark on a spiritual quest to become the Avatar of virtue and read the Codex of Ultimate Wisdom in the Abyss.

To do this, you must master eight virtues and understand the three principles involved in them.

The game has been widely ported but I will be reviewing the free version available from GOG.

Freedom

Ultima 4 is an extremely open game in many ways. There are eight possible classes and each is rather different, with a unique starting location. Most importantly, all of the many tasks the game asks you to complete prior to the final descent into the Abyss can be done in any order you desire.

You can maximize your virtues in any order, explore dungeons in any order, travel the world as you wish, find the runes in any order, and etc.

So all in all, this game is very non-linear when it comes to exploration and objective order.

Note, however, that due to the way this game is designed it is not actually very replayable. Even if the initial experience is different for each class and you can complete the game’s many objectives in any order, those objectives are still the same and they all do need to be completed by the end. There are no alternate ways to complete any objectives.

By the end of the game, you will be playing largely the same way regardless of what your initial class was or what order you did things in.

This is made worse by the fact that ranged weapons completely dominate the game. There is little reason to use melee if you have the option to use ranged weapons.

Character Creation/Customization

Besides your name, gender, and choice of class, you cannot really decide anything about your character. Once in-game, you also don’t have that many options for upgrading your party besides obtaining better equipment and finding magical orbs in dungeons.

That said, the game does get some points for the variety of classes and for how radically some of them can affect your experience, particularly in the early game. 

The most striking example is the Shepherd class, which you get for having humility as your favored virtue during the character creation questions. Shepherds are terrible at everything. They can’t use magic at all (most other classes can to varying degrees) and are awful at combat, having a very limited selection of weapons and armor available. They also start in a ruined island populated by monsters. It is basically the game’s “hard mode.”

You can answer these same questions and find your class here (the link says Ultima VI but it’s really the same ones as far as I can tell, or at least close).

Story/Setting

The game world is reasonably large and memorable, but to be honest the setting of the Ultima games has always been on the more generic side, even if some of the games in the series are pretty immersive. The virtues introduced in this game are really the primary spice on the game world.

It is a medieval fantasy setting with all the staples: Fireballs, orcs, dragons, liches, skeletons, and so on. It does have a few less common creatures as well (like balrons and zorns).

A generic fantasy setting is not necessarily bad, but it is not particularly good either. It is just the baseline as far as I am concerned, and can be boring on its own if you are not drawn in by anything else a game offers.

In this case, the setting is not really the game’s selling point so much as its unique objective. It is also still a massive improvement over some of the earlier games in the series, which feature things like space travel and time travel.

Another point in favor is that the towns scattered throughout the land are not just generic fantasy towns, they are dedicated to specific virtues. Those virtues seem to be particularly alive in the minds of their inhabitants in this game as well. The virtues are so embedded in the setting for the rest of the series that it does give it more of an identity.

The story itself is, as previously mentioned, unique among all RPGs I know of. While there is a lot of combat and dungeons to explore, there is no big antagonist for you to defeat.

Your behavior is tracked from beginning to end. You will need to do things like donating money to the needy, donating blood at the healer, and letting non-evil creatures (generally animals) flee in order to become the avatar. I also do not recommend “grinding” out these virtues unless you really need to, as I found that as long as you know how to raise them you can easily achieve avatarhood in several of them just by playing the game normally, talking to everyone and visiting Hawkwind every time you’re in the castle.

In addition to maximizing your virtues and then meditating at the proper shrines, your quest will see you travel throughout the entire world to collect the artifacts you will need for your descent into the abyss. 

You will need the eight stones of virtue (most of which are within dungeons), the Key of Three Parts, the three artifacts of the principles, the word of power, and more. You will also need to recruit seven party members to aid you in your quest, each representing one of the virtues (you are the representative of the eighth).

Immersion

I know it’s probably not that bad by the standards of its time, but I can’t say the game’s immersion is all that good. It does gain some points in some areas such as the way the manuals work and how you need to actually do things like keep track of the phases of the world’s two moons (clearly not something you’d see in our world!) to make proper use of moongates, but overall it is definitely not on the same level as other RPGs I have played. As was sadly the case for the technically-limited time period the game was made in, the world does not really react very much to your actions even though your virtues are tracked.

I do like the initial character creation questions, however. Trying to answer them honestly based on your own moral principles can be a good way to get started. It is also good that the whole virtue angle requires you to actually roleplay the quest of the avatar in order to win.

Gameplay

Playing the game is extremely simple as long as you reference your keys as needed and read the manuals (perhaps it is even too simple, with only one type of non-spell attack action and relatively few and uninteresting equipment options). Talking to every NPC you meet is also recommended, as they not only have a lot of advice but also several vital clues that you will need if you plan to complete the game without a walkthrough, as the whole thing is rather obscure about certain aspects of your quest.

The magic system is a mixed bag. You have to gather and mix reagents to cast spells. The reagents must be mixed ahead of time and are consumed. You must also know which reagents to mix. The spell manual that comes with the game explains most of the combinations, but there are some that you must discover on your own within the game, and they are for some of the most potent spells too (such as Resurrect).

On one hand, I like how the game invites you to actually learn its magic system in order to make use of it, with many reagents having consistent qualities that can let you guess what kinds of spells they may be used for. On the other, it can be a bit time-consuming to manually mix these reagents every single time you want to prepare a spell.

However, the thing that really kills the second half of the game is the combat.

The combat is initially a bit simple but functional. You can press one of the arrow keys to move in one of four directions, you can press A followed by a direction to attack in that direction, or you can press C to cast one of your prepared spells.

With such simplicity, combat in the early game doesn’t take very long, especially since as far as I can tell there are less/weaker enemies early on (though there’s enough encounters to make it a bit of a pain still). However, as you gather more companions (and you must have a party of 8 before venturing into the final dungeon and completing the game) combat starts to drag on as you have to manually command each of your eight party members.

It’s especially bad in that one party member in particular (Katrina the Shepherd) is, to put it bluntly, a complete burden on the party as you might expect from a shepherd. She will be missing every single attack against the stronger enemies that populate the late game, and not hitting very hard when she does hit due to the awful weapon selection shepherds get. I wish you did not need to recruit everyone.

This would have been a bit of a pain on its own, but not that bad. No, the real problem is one single spell: Sleep.

A handful of late game enemies (such as gazers, but especially reapers, and balrons) will spam this one spell without mercy, even if your entire party is already sleeping.

This is a spell that can incapacitate multiple characters, potentially half your party or more, for several turns. The Awaken spell is pointless as a counter to it, as it affects a single target and the enemy can spam Sleep every round while you will quickly run out of Awaken even if your spellcasters somehow manage to avoid the sleep themselves.

Your characters do not wake up if they take damage, and there seems to be no limit to how often the enemy can use Sleep.

This is still manageable when fighting only one or two of these enemies in reasonably open ground, but in tight spaces where sleeping characters can block the way for the rest of the party or in dungeons where you face half a dozen or more of these enemies in a single room it can make for an experience that is just painful.

It is not even that this makes the game difficult either, the enemies do very little damage even when they are not spending all their turns casting Sleep over and over again, but it does make some dungeon rooms feel like they exist merely to waste your time.

The single worst offender was this room at the bottom of the Abyss.

10 Balrons that you can’t even reach due to a wall of force (central blue square) in the way. They can Sleep half your party despite this, regardless of where anyone is in the room. I timed it and it literally took me about 20 minutes just to walk everyone east at this one turn. There are other rooms that have this same issue as well.

While there’s annoying things like that, the game is actually extremely easy in terms of combat, at least once you get over the initial hump.

Aesthetics

As noted in the setting section, the game is on the more generic side aesthetically. That said, the simple graphics are at least readable for the most part (magical fields and the like aside) and the unique main quest gives the game a very distinct feel.

Accessibility

Surprisingly high due to its simplicity. Combat is about as mindless as you could ask for in an RPG other than making it completely automatic like Ultima 7 did, and there are not actually that many keys to remember.

However, there are still a couple of things that modern players will have to adapt to. Chief among them are consulting the manuals throughout the game and taking notes.

The game has no quest log to record all the clues the game’s many, many NPCs provide you with. You have to actually write those things down together with things like the mantras for meditating at the shrines, the visions you get as you achieve partial avatarhoods, and etc.

Your knowledge of the virtues will be tested at the very end.

Conclusion

I would not blame anyone for jumping ship once the late game begins, as things become slow and repetitive at that point. However, I believe that this game is worth trying regardless (especially now that it is given out for free).

This is an RPG unlike any other I have seen, demanding its players to not only live up to heroic (and largely secular) moral principles but also encouraging them bring them out of the game and applying them to their lives and become better people.

While its combat can become a bit of a pain later on, the game’s ideas remain interesting at the very least. It is also possible to import one’s Ultima 4 save into Ultima 5, and then from that game to Ultima 6. Both of those games also have rather interesting premises that I will talk about in time.

In the end, I think you should at least try it if you are interested in the history of RPGs. This is the point where Ultima really “gets good” and ditches the nonsense that plagued the early games, though Ultima 7 is still likely a much better starting point for modern players.

The game ends with a call to action. The Quest of the Avatar is a lifelong journey that does not end with the game. You are told to return to your own world and put the virtues you have learned into practice and live as an example to your people, to truly be the avatar.

In the future, other games in the series will challenge and twist these ideals in various ways, but I like the heroic idealism on display here.

[stones-x-bones]

It’s Only Fire (Night 1) || Mina and Bex

TIMING: Current (takes place the night after this) PARTIES: @drowningisinevitable and @inbextween SUMMARY: The storm rages. CONTENT: Domestic abuse mention, Brief Medical blood (stitches, paragraphs are marked), Parental Death mention, Internalized transphobia

Mina came to slowly, not sure where she was or what was going on. She felt dry, her scales tight instead of her skin. She hadn’t fallen asleep in the bathtub, then, but she wished she had. She might have been more comfortable. But she wasn’t at the lake house, and she wasn’t at home, and she blinked her eyes open slowly, trying to figure out where she was. She’d never been here, she slowly realized, her body freezing as she tried to assess the situation. Slowly, she remembered what happened with Frank, how Bex had shown up, the feeling of being submerged in water before everything faded away into cool nothingness. She looked at her hands, at the way her entire arm, entire body was covered in silvery scales. Shaking, she forced the claws to rescind, but there was little else she could do. Her body was trying to heal. This was the only way it could figure out how to do that. There was an old jacket over her, and Mina attempted to cover herself a bit more with it, before she settled again. Bex was asleep leaning against the couch. There was rain pouring outside. Nothing about this was peaceful, and yet Mina couldn’t help but relax a bit. Her body refused to hang on to its rigidness. She rubbed her thumb against Bex’s hand, still clutching hers in sleep. She couldn’t help but relax, despite everything.

There was so much Bex needed to do still. She’d been trying to go over it all in her head, even as she slept. Mina would need more water when she woke up, but there was none running in the old, abandoned house. Maybe the boat had collected enough to pour into the old tub. She’d have to wipe it down first, though. It was dusty. Maybe they could just go sit out in the rain. She could help Mina back down to the dock, but that ran the chance of someone seeing them, finding them. Of Frank finding them. They needed to figure out where they were, too. Mina was in no condition to walk, though. Not with her foot the way it was. Bex had no idea where they were, she hadn’t kept track in the haze of rain and blood and a dying lover. She wished she could be in Mina’s dream again, see her, touch her, know if she was okay. If she was going to wake up. What else would she need when she woke up? Food? Medicine? A fire? Bex had forgotten to light the fireplace. Would it matter if Mina never woke up? Would any of this? Had she been too late? 

As if on cue, her eyes slowly opened. She’d forgotten she’d climbed onto the floor next to the couch. Her back was stiff and her side ached and her legs ached, but it didn’t matter, she hardly noticed. Mina’s thumb was rubbing circles on the back of her hand and Bex’s head shot up. “Mina!?” she rasped, looking at her on the couch. She couldn’t tell if her eyes were open, puffy and red and dry. She needed more water. Bex didn’t have enough water. “Hey,” she said, her voice still quiet with desperation, “i-it’s okay. You’re safe.” She moved enough to reach up and brush back still wet hair. They hadn’t been out that long, but the cabin was growing darker which meant night was already here. They’d need light. “It’s okay. We made it.” It would be okay. She’d made it in time. She had, she had. She had to believe she had. 

“Bex,” Mina said, her eyes closing, the word a sigh of relief. This was nice. She was in pain, so much pain, but Bex was there, and it was almost like her dreams, except she was almost certain this was real. The pain wasn’t in her heart, for once, just everywhere else. This was real. It had to be. The alternative was death, and this hurt too much for that. She’d expected a lot more nothingness in death. “Hey. ‘S okay,” she mumbled. And it wasn’t a lie. This was okay. It was okay given just how awful this situation was. Really, it was more than okay. “You saved me.” And maybe that shouldn’t have surprised Mina as much as it did, but she’d thought it was the end, when she’d realized just how trapped she was, bleeding out in the middle of the forest, unable to get in touch with anyone, to say goodbye. Now, at least, she’d get a goodbye if everything went south.

Mina still didn’t feel all that great. The water helped, but cold iron was cold iron, and there was a lot that could still go wrong. She was one bad move away from something opening up again. She’d need stitches. She’d need a lot of things. She moved her legs a bit, her foot not even feeling like a foot anymore as she struggled against the blankets around her. She pulled the jacket a bit tighter even as she leaned into Bex’s touch. She didn’t bother looking around as she asked, “Where are we? Do you know?”

Bex let out an enormous sigh of relief, beside herself with it. She couldn’t even stop herself from leaning forward and kissing the side of Mina’s head and pressing her forehead against her as tears prickled her eyes. “Thank god,” she muttered, sinking back to the ground. Mina was safe. Mina was okay. Mina was going to live. It would be a hard recovery, but she’d live. Bex was no medic, but she knew at least her side and her foot would need stitches. She hadn’t found anything here to do that with. Needles weren’t things she carried with her. They’d have to be careful. They’d have to wait here longer. Mina was in no condition to walk. She could barely move her head. Bex noticed her shifting the jacket over her, shifting uncomfortably under the blankets. Whatever she was trying to hide, there was no point to. Bex let go of her hand, then, and untucked the blankets, shuffling towards the end of the couch to peel them back and look at her foot. It didn’t look good. If she hadn’t had super healing, she would’ve lost the whole thing. 

Stiffly, Bex used the arm of the couch to stand. Her legs didn’t feel quite as exhausted now that they’d rested, but they trembled even as she started towards the table where their bloody clothes lay in a mess. She picked up the one towel she’d found, red with blood, and looked towards the front door. “I don’t,” she answered quietly, before heading over, hobbling terribly as she grabbed her side. Opened the door and the sound of the rain intensified ever more. She flinched back a moment, before climbing down the deck stairs to soak the towel in the water that had collected in the boat. Came back inside, wiping her face off as she kneeled in front of her again. “Where does it hurt the most?” she asked, methodically. She could still see scales. She couldn’t stop staring at them. 

It was hard for Mina not to shy away as Bex lifted up the blankets, checking over her injured leg. She wasn’t used to being seen, not like this. She felt exposed and raw, like her wounds, on display even when it was just Bex. And it was just Bex, and Mina had planned on telling her, but the way this had gone wasn’t how she wanted to do it. She felt like a fool. She’d had so many opportunities to do things on her own time, and, instead, she’d let it come to this. She tried to shift back a little more, but her leg hurt. Any attempt to make it more human would have to wait. She tried not to panic when Bex walked away to grab a towel and started for the door, and Mina knew she wasn’t leaving, she knew that, but a part of her felt irrational and scared. She couldn’t follow. She wouldn’t be able to follow, if Bex decided to walk away, to get herself hurt. Frank was still out there, possibly heading back to the clearing to see about Mina’s body. If he found that she was gone, he would start looking. If he found Bex… Mina felt her blood boil. She’d kill him. She’d kill him. She’d kill him.

Bex came back, though, and Mina breathed a sigh of relief, not even realizing that her heart had been pounding. She looked the younger girl over, her eyes falling to the bandaging on Bex’s side. They matched, didn’t they? Mina felt it, that rage again, coupled with an overwhelming sense of helplessness. There was nothing she could do, in this state. There was nothing she could do. “Everywhere hurts,” she said, unable to stop the words from coming out, and she frowned. She still felt the urge to blurt out truths. “My side is the worst, I think, because of the knife. He-- he ripped it--” She didn’t want to keep talking about this, but her body decided that it could speak, could hold a conversation. “He ripped it out after digging it in again before he left.” Bex wasn’t looking her in the eyes, though. She was looking at Mina’s scales, at the inhuman aspects of her that she tried so hard to not be. And Mina knew that wasn’t even the part that Bex cared about. She swallowed tightly. “I-- I’m sorry.” She reached her hand out before catching sight of the webbing and flinching at herself, letting it fall limply back to the couch. “I’m sorry.”

There were a million and one questions Bex could ask right now, but she wouldn’t. She wouldn’t. Instead, her eyes scanned over Mina at her answer. She felt her anger building with each word that poured out of her mouth. Bex had never hated someone the way she now hated Frank. Look what he’d done to Mina. Seeing the things he was capable of doing, as if painted on a canvas. He’d used Mina as his canvas and she wanted him dead. One hand curled into a fist as it held tight to the soaked rag, dripping onto the floor. She cleared her throat and reached up to pull the jacket off enough to access her side. She didn’t say anything. She was worried if she spoke, she’d cry again. Or yell. Or scream. She wished she could drive a knife into Frank, see how he liked it. She peeled away some of the bandages from her side before pressing the wet towel to it and rewrapping them over top it to hold it in place. Better than nothing, she supposed. She didn’t know what the proper first-aid care was for people who had scales and webbed claws and fins. She didn’t look anything like the creatures at the Common, the ones Mina had said were mermaids. So she wasn’t that. 

Bex stood back up and put the jacket back over Mina. She went back over to the table and rifled through the clean supplies she still had left. She could look again around the house. She hadn’t been too thorough the first time, and the boat house might even have more supplies, too. Maybe a bucket to catch some water in. She was so thirsty, even as rain continued to pour outside. She could only imagine how thirsty Mina was. How dry her skin-- scales-- looked. She picked up her soaking wet phone off the table and opened it. It wouldn’t even turn on. Finally, she turned to look back at Mina. “Don’t be sorry,” she said, but her voice wasn’t soft. She looked around. “I’m going to go look for more supplies,” she stated, and started moving towards the back of the house. As happy, as relieved, as overwhelmingly relieved as she was, she didn’t want to be in the room for this conversation right now. It was going to happen regardless, but maybe she could stall. Just for a bit.

Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Please don’t leave me. Mina wanted to beg. But she hadn’t been raised to beg, and there were so many things about the way that she was raised that she still clung to, however useless, however horrible they were. That was what had landed her in this situation, at least somewhat, to begin with. Her desire to cling to things, even if they were horrible. Even if they hurt her in the end. That was why Bex had to find out like this, instead of the words coming from Mina’s mouth. She pressed the soaking towel further into her side, allowing her skin to soak up the water, the relief overwhelming against the burns that simultaneously felt too hot and too cold. She almost felt dizzy from it. It was kind of funny; it was raining outside, and she was becoming dehydrated, her body using the water it had to try and heal. 

“I am sorry,” she said, quietly, more to herself than Bex. She was sorry, terribly sorry. She couldn’t not be sorry. She felt guilty and sorry and useless, forced to stay on the couch while Bex looked for something to make her more comfortable, but Bex was injured, too. Neither of them should be up looking for anything, really, but here they were. Mina turned to the door instead, as if waiting for Frank to come busting through it. If nothing else, she could probably throw herself at him and attempt to do as much damage as possible before he got to Bex. She was going to kill him. She was going to kill him if it was the last thing she did. If he’d just gone after her, it wouldn’t have mattered, but he’d threatened Bex, and Mina was going to kill him. Her fists clenched, and she hadn’t even realized that her claws had slipped back out until she heard the tearing of fabric and looked down to see that she’d dug a hole in the couch. She relaxed her hands, flexed her fingers, and tried to will away more of the scales that covered her body. It worked a little, patches of skin showing through. She looked to where Bex had disappeared to, still listening for sounds to come through the door. She was trying to remain as alert as possible, even if it was still hard to focus.

Bex headed into the back where the kitchen-- or what used to be a makeshift one-- was and started rifling through cabinets. She made note of the bedroom in the back behind the kitchen. She wondered if it would get any use, how clean it might be. She focused back on the kitchen.  A few old tin cups were still inside, as well as a single pot. It was coated in dirt and cobwebs, but it was raining hard enough to wash anything off. No food, though. The sink in here also wasn’t working, but considering how old the cabin was, she assumed the water came from a basin that needed filling. Oh, that could work. Setting the cups down, she came back out to grab the tarp she’d snagged from the boat house and headed for the front door. She didn’t look at Mina as she passed, pulling it up over her head as she stumbled out into the cold, rainy night. She shivered, remembering her drying shirt in the bathroom. It didn’t matter. She came around to the side of the house, and sure enough, there was the water basin. She struggled with it as the water made the cap slippery. Cursed once or twice as she lost grip, and cut her palm, and why wouldn’t it open? With one last heave, it finally gave way and she popped open the lid and enjoyed the sounds of rain water hitting the inside of the plastic tank. It would take a bit to fill, but by morning, maybe there’d be enough to fill the tub for Mina. Until then, she’d have to make do with pots and pans. And the old boat out front that was already overflowing with the rain water. If she’d been stronger, she would’ve been able to lift the boat and dump it into the basin, but as it were, even if she hadn’t just dragged a body through the forest, she wasn’t strong enough.

She turned away from it and headed around the back of the house. A shed. She clomped over to it, barefoot, and pretended like she wasn’t alone outside, wrapped in a tarp, in the middle of the woods. She had to keep going. She drew in a breath and shouldered the door open, stumbling in. Rain pattered against a tin roof like tiny little bullets and she shivered again. She’d need to start a fire, otherwise she was going to catch a cold. First thing first, wood. She laid the tarp out, dry side up, and started stacking logs from the back in it. Then, some tools. Something sharp. Just in case. There was another first-aid kit, this one was much larger. It’d been mostly pilfered, but there was one shining beacon of hope. A needle and thread. Bex hugged the box to her chest a moment before dropping it into the tarp. She didn’t know how to do stitches, but she’d watched her nannies stitch patches and dolls back up as a kid. It would have to do. The only thing the cabin didn’t provide her with was dry clothes. Mina’s were almost completely ruined, but that was a problem for later them. Right now, they needed to focus on getting Mina healed enough to walk in the first place.

Tying the tarp up, she began the trek back, dragging it behind her. Kicked in the door and left the supplies sitting in the living room while she went to grab the pot and cups. She set the pot and one cup out to catch more water, before dipping the other into the pool of water that had gathered in the boat. It wasn’t drinkable but it was something.

When she came back inside, she was soaking wet again, shivering, as she set down the cup next to the couch before she turned to start unfolding the tarp and unloading the supplies inside. She didn’t say anything else to Mina, sitting with her back to her as she threw pieces of wood into the fireplace. She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t sure there really was anything to say. Mina had chosen to stay silent about herself, and now Bex would grant her that silence to break.

The panic building in Mina’s chest only grew as Bex moved throughout the cabin, going into the back and outside and back in and not saying anything for so long. It was bad enough when she went outside where Mina couldn’t follow. She considered getting off the couch and dragging herself outside to make sure that she was okay. It was with significant self-restraint that she stayed put. That and pain. So much pain. But pain and panic were mixing themselves together into an awful, wretched mess, and it was all she could do to keep breathing normally.

In. Hold. Out. Mina kept up the process for as long as she could, willing herself to calm, but it was hard. It was so hard. She didn’t want Bex out there by herself, and she didn’t want to feel so useless, and she didn’t want something to happen where she couldn’t do anything. But she understood it. For one, she would have been deadweight for Bex to carry around if she’d been outside, too, and for another, she knew that Bex didn’t want to be around her. Mina knew it wasn’t because of what she was. She knew that. She knew. It was because she hadn’t spoken up. That didn’t stop old anxieties from springing up, especially when Bex came back in and refused to look at her. It wasn’t because of what she was. It was because of what she’d done. If Mina kept telling herself that, she might believe it. She wanted to believe it. Bex stayed with her back to her in front of the fire, though, and it was harder and harder for her to believe that. It was hard to think, between the panic and the pain.

“I--” Mina started, words choking themselves in her mouth. It wasn’t because she was trying to think of an excuse, either. There was so much that she wanted to say, though, and all of it was fighting to come out first. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. That I didn’t tell you. What I am. I should have. I should have. I almost did. I tried to, so many times, but none of them were right, and I wanted it to be right, but it just wasn’t, and then I couldn’t tell you anymore, and then we just weren’t talking, and it all became nothing. I didn’t think I’d ever see you like this again, and now I-- I’m so sorry.” She was breathing hard, and she tried to control it again, but it was difficult. The words didn’t feel any better to get out. She still felt sick from them, like they were lies, but they were all truths. All she could manage at that point was the truth, even if she hadn’t been injured.

Once the fire was started-- a huge accomplishment Bex would have celebrated under any other circumstance-- Bex started shuffling back through the supplies she’d gathered. Garden shears were set on the table, as well as a miniature hoe, sharp and slightly rusted. It would hurt, that was all that mattered. She tossed the lighter on the table next to them once the fire was large enough to start spreading itself and she picked up one of the iron pokers and moved the logs around. Set it down on the table and went back over to the couch, picking up the cup she’d set for Mina. With a fire, she could boil the water to disinfect it. Hooked the handle on the end of the poker and stuck it in, holding it there. She still didn’t say anything. Mina was apologizing, stuttering through her words. Bex could hear the pain in her voice, the physical and the emotional. She blinked away tears and wiped them on the back of her arm. Once the water began to boil, she carefully pulled it and set it on the table before removing the poker from it. She’d let it sit a moment to allow the brass cup to cool. 

Her eyes finally fell on Mina again. There were still scales on her arm, now in little patches, as if she were trying to make them go away. Bex wasn’t sure why she’d do that. “We don’t have to talk about this now,” she said, moving, again. She couldn’t stay still. Her body was buzzing. She was so tired but she didn’t want to stay in one place too long. She started gathering the tarp up and hobbled over to the kitchen table behind the couch, tossing it over to help it dry faster. She went back into the pantry in hopes of finding some food, maybe old non-perishable cans she could pry open. But instead all she found was an old bottle of alcohol. She didn’t know what kind. It looked homemade. She pulled it down and opened the top and poured some down her mouth, choking a moment. Wiped her face before heading back out and setting it on the table, pulling out the needle and thread she’d found. “I need to at least stitch your side up,” she mumbled, swallowing. It was quiet a moment before she finally said, “there was never going to be a right time.”

Mina would rather they did this now. She wanted to do it now. She was in no position to ask for them to do it now. She hung her head a bit instead and said, “Okay, we don’t have to do it now.” It was an effort for her not to say that she wanted to do it. All these months and now she wanted to talk, a little voice inside her head asked. Not likely. Instead, Mina watched Bex move around the small cabin, and she was dying to move, but she couldn’t do that. She was stuck, stationary, picking at threadbare strands of the hole she’d torn in the couch. She looked at the needle and thread that Bex brought over. “I can probably still do it myself, if I need to,” she said, pushing herself up. She’d never been doing this poorly when she’d given herself first aid before, but she didn’t imagine it would be too hard. She could manage, if Bex didn’t want to touch her, didn’t want to be near her. 

“I know,” she said quietly. “I wanted there to be, though. So bad. I just kept telling myself that if I waited until the right time, it would be okay, but time was working against me, and I was working against myself, and I…” Mina sighed heavily. She put her head in her hands for just a moment, her breath coming out in shuddering puffs before she managed to calm down, she rubbed her hands down her face before she looked back at Bex. “I told you I was a coward,” she choked out. “I’m sorry. I didn’t— I didn’t want anything to change.”

MEDICAL BLOOD/STITCHES STARTS HERE

“I’ll do it,” Bex said simply, grabbing the needle and thread and some other supplies. More gauze, a blanket to soak up blood if needed, and the tin of water she’d disinfected. It was cool enough to touch now. She held it out to Mina. “It’s not much, but you should drink this.” Thought better for herself and went back over to the table and grabbed the bottle of whatever it was, taking a sip before setting it down next to her as she sat on the floor by Mina’s side again. “You’ll have to sit up for this,” she instructed, mechanically. If she started talking about anything else, thinking about anything else, she was going to lose it. Lose everything. Now wasn’t the time. She needed to stay together. She needed to stay focused. The wound in Mina’s side mirrored her own, except bigger. Deeper. More painful. Ridges of burned skin had caked along the outside of the wound, and the inside was a mush of brilliant red and horrible looking black, where the iron had burned. Because Mina was fae. And she’d never told Bex. 

“Do you think I really wanted to tell you about myself while we were standing next to a stove? That it was ideal for me to tell you I was trans while we spread fucking creaming cheese over bagels?” She said, her voice low. She started peeling away the bandages and towels around the wound. “Do you really think I wanted you to know about my magic? That I hadn’t thought of every possible way to sit down and tell you at the perfect time? That I hated every moment I wasn’t able to tell you until it came out in a stupid message because I was tired and not thinking?” She drew in a shuddering breath and dropped the needle into the alcohol. “Do you really think so little of me that I’d change just because you’re not human? I knew the whole time, Mina,” she said and her wall finally broke. She was crying and she was angry and she was scared and she was sad. “I just wanted you to tell me. I don’t know what I did to make you not trust me, to make you think I would’ve cared, that it would’ve mattered, that I was closed minded enough to let things change just because you’re not human.” 

“Then I need you to give me just a moment before you start,” Mina said. “The needle isn’t going to be strong enough to pierce through the scales.” She focused a bit more, shifting the areas around the wound back to a mess of human looking flesh. She couldn’t decide if it looked worse that it felt or if it felt worse than it looked. Both were bad. Both were very, very bad. She sat up, trying to be as gentle with herself as she could manage. She wasn’t used to this, to being gentle with herself. It was difficult. If it were up to her, she’d do this herself, try and fix all the problems that she’d cause to herself by herself, but that wasn’t about to happen. The wound wasn’t bleeding again, but it looked angry. She remembered how it felt when Frank dug the knife in before pulling it out. She had no idea how much damage he’d caused. She was almost too afraid to find out. 

“I know you didn’t. I know,” Mina said. Unable to stop herself, she added, “I almost told you then, but you’d just told me something so big, and I didn’t want you to think I was comparing. Before that, before we started hanging out, I was scared to tell you because you were so human, and you didn’t know anything about this world, and I— You were scared of it. I didn’t want you to be scared of me.” She took a breath. She felt laid bare, more now than she’d ever been. “And then you became a part of this world, and I still didn’t tell you because I didn’t know how. I’ve never had to tell anyone. They usually figured it out. Or someone else told them. Or they knew. Or they asked. I’ve never had to do it before. I just kept hoping you’d ask. And I knew you’d find out and it’d get worse the longer I waited but I—“ There were tears in her eyes, and she didn’t stop them as they fell. “I trust you,” she said, trying to keep the whimpering sob out of her voice. “I trust you. I don’t trust me. And I just wanted someone to not look at me and see this. I didn’t want to be this.” She couldn’t stop. Mina wished she could just stop. “I hate it. I hate it so much. And with you I wasn’t this. And I knew you knew something. I knew. But you didn’t see this every time you looked at me, and I just wanted to have that for as long as I could.”

MEDICAL BLOOD/STITCHES ENDS HERE

Bex waited and watched and tried to not cry again. She lifted her hands, then dropped them. She couldn’t do it right now. She was trembling again. Hot tears were blotting her eyes and she couldn’t see straight. She was so tired. Her body was begging her to sleep. To rest. She had to keep going. She sniffled back a sob and turned her head away. An angry expression drew itself onto her face, as if trying to brace against the pitiful sounds Mina was making as she sobbed. Every word was more painful than the last, because Mina couldn’t lie. “I was never afraid of you!” she finally snapped back, but her voice wasn’t angry. She wished she could make it sound angry. But she was just hurt. She was aching. She’d tried to give Mina all of herself, the parts she hated, the parts she loved, and Mina hadn’t even given her one thing. She was always so closed off. She didn’t talk about herself. All Bex had wanted was for her to trust her enough to tell her. “And you think I didn’t hate myself? That I still don’t hate how I am? What I am? The way I was born? I know it’s not the same. I know. But I get it! I understand hating every part of yourself for so long you become afraid that everyone else will hate you for it, too! But I trusted you with-- with everything. Every part of me! And you couldn’t even-- you couldn’t--” she was hiccuping with her grief now. She didn’t know why it hurt so much, but it stung. It dug at her heart. It tore it from her chest. Was this how Mina felt when Bex had left? Did she still feel like this? Bex shook her head furiously and stood up, moving away from the couch. “I didn’t want to ask!” she wiped furiously at her eyes, trying to dry up the tears before they even came. It wasn’t working. She slumped against the table and slid down to the floor again. “I shouldn’t have had to ask! I’m not other people, Mina! I wanted you to trust me enough to tell me! To trust that I cared about you enough! To trust that I wasn’t like that! To trust me the way I trusted you!” 

The room suddenly felt suffocating. She wanted to leave. She always wanted to run when things like this happened. She wanted to run and scream and cry. She had to hold in her magic. If she destroyed this little sanctuary they’d have nowhere to go. She clenched her body hard, curling her knees to her chest. “I wanted to be different to you,” she said, quieter now, strained, “I wanted you to be safe.”

“But you might have been, if I’d told you in the beginning,” Mina said. “Can you imagine? You didn’t want to think about magic or scaly chickens or dream worlds or any of it, and if I’d just said, oh, by the way, I’m not human, I’m actually a nymph that looks like a bloody fairytale mermaid and-- I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t. I was scared.” She was still scared. She was so scared because she’d already lost Bex so many times (it seemed like she lost her every time she closed her eyes), but this would be her own fault. She did this to herself, and she knew she did. There wasn’t anything she could do to make this better, was there? She could only explain and apologize and hope that Bex didn’t walk out into the rain alone again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s not-- I know you get it. I know, but I--” Mina sat up a little more, unable to stay laying down, and she couldn’t get up and pace or more or do anything. She put her head in her hands for a moment before shaking it. “I didn’t know how to do this. I still don’t. I’d try to, and it was like the words were choking me, every time. Because you’re you and I care about you so much and I didn’t want it to change, not in any way, and I knew you wouldn’t be like-- like them, and I knew you wouldn’t hurt me or hate me, but I was so scared. I don’t know how not to be scared. It wasn’t about you, Bex. Please, please. It wasn’t about you.”

As Bex moved away and curled in on herself, Mina could only look at her helplessly. She’d done this. She’d made this happen, and things would have been so much better if she’d just spoken up. In the end, it wouldn’t have mattered how Bex reacted; it’d still be better than this. Anything would be better than this. She would have dragged herself over to Bex if she thought it would help, but she knew it wouldn’t. Bex was trying to get away from her. “I was taught that it wouldn’t go well, to be this, and if it did, it would fall apart in the end. I’m not a-- I’m not--” She didn’t want to keep talking. “I’m not a person.” She closed her eyes tightly. Her voice came out strained and low, “I don’t get to feel safe or to be safe for anyone. I’m sorry that I don’t know how to be that for you.”

“We’ll never know now, will we?” Bex said bitterly. She hadn’t meant to make it sound so harsh, but the something angry in her chest was digging itself back up. She bit her tongue. “I’m not even saying you had to tell me right away, of course you didn’t-- but you had so much time to say something. So many opportunities and the only reason I can think of you to not say it was because you were afraid of me, of how I’d react! It is about me, Mina! It’s as much about me as it is about you, whether you wanted it to be or not! It’s about me because I’m the one you chose not to tell! Just like Morgan and Kyle! I had to find out in some-some stupid, egregious way!” She threw up her hands before putting her face in them, dragging them through her hair. It was slick and wet and she was shivering again. She moved closer to the fire stiffly, letting it try and warm her body. She remembered how Mina had told her it wasn’t the cold water that mattered, but the cold air once you got out. She wrapped her arms around herself. “Nothing would’ve changed,” she muttered, refusing to look over at her. It’d changed now, though, hadn’t it? It had all changed so much. 

“Yeah, well, I was taught no one would ever love me like this, either, but--” Bex started, but stopped. Sputtering, bewildered, she snapped her head up to look at Mina. “Not a--” she remembered how he looked in her nightmare, she remembered the way in which he’d said her name, demanded her loyalty, her attention, her everything. Her skin prickled and the hair on her arms stood on edge. “What do you mean not a person? Of course you’re a fucking person! Just because you’re not human doesn’t mean you’re not a person! If that’s what your dad taught you, then I might just hate him more than Frank right now. I saw the way he looked at you, the things he was saying, I saw--” she realized what she was saying too late. Her jaw snapped shut tightly, but it was too late. Bex put her head in her arms. “You’re not the monster,” she mumbled, into her forearms, “he is.” 

“No,” Mina whispered, “we won’t.” She knew Bex heard her. There was nothing else to hear but the pouring rain and the crackling fire and the sound of the two of them breathing, struggling, trying desperately not to cry. “Afraid of-- Fuck, Bex, of course I’m afraid of you! I have been terrified of you from the moment you stood in my office and you let me hold you and you told me you didn’t want to go home. I’m so bloody scared of you, and of everything that you make me feel, and of the thought of losing you and all of it. And the only way I know how to deal with fear is to freeze up and hope it doesn’t hurt as bad in the end as I think it will, or I run and I know that whatever I’m running from will always catch me in the end.” None of it mattered, of course. Everything that she’d been afraid of had happened, and it was her own fault. All of it was her fault. She looked at Bex shivering near the fire, and that was her fault, too. “You should take one of these blankets. I don’t need more than one.” She started untucking them, moving them until there was only one covering her. 

That was something that Mina couldn’t understand because she’d never met anyone more deserving of love than Bex, even if Mina didn’t know how to do it. Even if she did it wrong. “I was taught that I wasn’t a person because of what I am, but I know that’s not right. I know that. Morgan’s a person, and Deirdre, and Kyle, and— I’ve learned that. I have. But I’m not a person because of who I am, not what I am.” And, oh, that was the truth, wasn’t it? It wasn’t about being a nix, not like she’d thought for so many years. She still didn’t want to be like this, to be Fae, but maybe that just added to it, her lack of personhood. People didn’t think the way she did. People didn’t see someone and think about all the different ways they could kill them. Even Adam wasn’t like this. She was just as bad as Frank. She was just as bad as her dad, for all the excuses she made for him. And maybe he could have gotten better, and she held onto the idea that he could have gotten better, but neither of them were people. Not really. “Saw the way he…” Realization flooded Mina like the rain outside, and her eyes went wide. “The dream. You were in my dream and—“ She choked on the words. That had been Bex. That had been real. She had missed her, and she meant it, and it didn’t matter because Mina had well and truly messed everything up. 

“So was it not worth it?” Bex asked, still confused, “Was facing your fears not worth it? Was I not worth it?” She didn’t know what else to think, really. Maybe Mina was a coward, but so was she, and hadn’t she been able to face her fears? Hadn’t Mina made her want to face her fears? Wasn’t that why she’d run away? Because she was afraid of her mother hurting Mina. And yet, here they were. Frank had nearly killed her. Had her mother sent him for this, too? Or was this just him? Would she ever know? Bex grabbed her head. She wiped furiously at her tears unsure if they were angry or sad or just her natural response to seeing Mina now. “That long?” she asked quietly, not looking up at her. “You liked me that long?” She wasn’t sure what answer she wanted. She wasn’t sure it mattered. Were they always doomed to this? To this pain? This heartbreak? She couldn’t remember when her feelings had first changed. Maybe she’d always felt this way. Maybe she never should have let herself. 

“Stop!” she said suddenly, shifting to move. “Stop moving. Stop.” She crawled over to the couch and yanked one of the blankets off, wrapping herself up as she shivered. She leaned her back against it, curling her knees back up to her chest. “What do you mean, who you are? What, so you’re not a person because you’re kind? Or caring? Or full of compassion? Because you want to protect people? And take care of them? Because you’d risk your life for someone? You’re not a person because you want to make other people happy? Because that’s who you are, Mina. Not-- not who he told you you were. If that were true, then you wouldn’t try to reason with hunters who want to kill you, or defend people who call you monster, or try your damndest to never hurt anyone. He’s a liar.” Closing her eyes as the realization dawned on Mina and she couldn’t hide herself anymore. Couldn’t hide her feelings anymore. She loved a girl. She was never going to be normal, no matter how much she wanted to be. She wiped her face on the blanket. “I didn’t mean to. I don’t have a lot of control anymore, not that I ever did,” she said with a hollow chuckle, “but once I was there and I saw your nightmares and how scared you were I couldn’t just...do nothing. I thought maybe it would just hurt less if I wasn’t real.” She sank a little, her body deflating. “Now I don’t know what hurts most.”

“I’d do it over and over again,” Mina said immediately. “I’d do it better, if I could, but I wouldn’t give up any of the time I spent with you. That was worth it. You’re worth it. I’m just sorry that I… that I don’t know how to do this right. I keep hurting you without meaning to. I wish I was better. I wish I knew how to be better.” But that was something that couldn’t be taught. It was something that she was supposed to learn through trial and error, and she could be told all day long how to do that, how to be better, but none of it mattered in the end if she didn’t figure it out herself. And she’d tried. She’d tried, in the end, to find the words, to be better, but it hadn’t happened. And now there was this. “I didn’t know what it was. I just wanted to protect you. You were so kind, and you looked so sad, and I just wanted to protect you. I don’t know when it changed. I don’t know when you--” Please let me stop talking-- “when you became the most important person in the world to me.” When she ruined it.

If Mina was feeling even the slightest bit petulant, she might have moved around a bit more, just to prove that she could, just to prove that she wasn’t helpless, but instead she went still at Bex’s tone. She slowed her breathing, tried to slow down her frantically beating heart, tried to stop the tears falling from her eyes. Slowly, cautiously, she finally picked up the water that Bex had brought for her, gulping down part of it. She was tempted to pour the rest of it over her head, but she refrained. “People don’t constantly think about all the different ways to kill the other supernaturals that are in the room with them. It’s always there. It’s never particularly quiet. I’ve never killed a werewolf, but I can tell you how. I can show you the best way to take down a glastig. I can tell you the best ways to make sure that a zombie never comes back to life. And I’ve never killed anyone, but I’ve led people to their deaths, and I watched them die. People don’t do that. People don’t have to be reminded that it’s wrong to think about things like that. People don’t try to solve problems with knives and fists and blood. People don’t have to be told what it means to care about someone so much that it hurts because they’ve never felt that emotion and didn’t even know that it was possible and--” Mina clamped her jaw shut, choked the words down. “I don’t-- I don’t know if it hurt less, not knowing that it was real. It just hurt. It always does, though. I-- I’ve tried to avoid falling asleep as much as I can. I didn’t like thinking that you just missed me in my head.”

“I didn’t need you to do it right, or even better,” Bex said, “I just needed you to do it. That’s all.” She didn’t think it could’ve been better, that either of them could’ve done anything better or right. Just different. There wasn’t really a better. There wasn’t really a right. That was the point, wasn’t it? That’s what Morgan had tried to tell her. “I can forgive you for hurting me accidentally,” she went on, quieter now, “for not meaning to.” Her arms folded around her knees and she buried her face in them, too. She couldn’t hold them back any more. Her tears made what little bits of her pants weren’t already wet, so. Her shoulders shook with silent grief. “I didn’t need you to protect me, I just needed you to be with me. That’s it,” she choked, “that’s all.” And she hadn’t been when Frank kidnapped her, and she hadn’t been in every moment she’d chosen not to tell Bex what she was. And now it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter. They’d lost something they never even had, all because they were both cowards. 

“But they do,” she argued weakly. “They do.” And she hated it. She hated that those were things Mina knew and things Mina thought and things Mina had done. Her soul weighed heavy. Was that why Mina had been so heavy? Bex clenched her body tighter, her muscles stiff. “You’re not the things you think, you’re the things you do,” she recited quietly. She couldn’t remember where she’d heard that, maybe it was something she’d read. She had no life experience but she had read books and they’d taught her what the world was like, or how to start a fire, or how to make a tent, or how to stitch someone up, or what supplies you need to survive in the wild. Mina’s life was so distant from hers. They were never meant for each other, were they? Two souls so similar yet different. She’d been fooling herself to believe she belonged in Mina’s life. In this life. In this world. But fuck did she want it, and she didn’t know how to deal with not being able to have something she wanted so much. She’d spent her whole life avoiding wanting things because she couldn’t have them. And then she’d wanted, and now it was broken. She was broken. “Those things aren’t who you are. They’re-- what you’ve done. Those don’t determine the kind of person you are, and even if you did them or still do them, you’re still a person. People do do those things, Mina. They do them all the time.” She finally allowed herself to look over at Mina and she felt her heart drumming painfully in her chest. “People have to be told they can love someone all the time,” she croaked, “because if that wasn’t true, then I wouldn’t be a person, either.”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t forgive me,” Mina said, her voice as quiet as Bex’s was. And she didn’t expect Bex to forgive her at all, and it wasn’t like she deserved any sort of forgiveness. She’d been stupid, and she’d been selfish, and, in the end, she’d been cruel to both of them. It shouldn’t have mattered how Bex reacted. Mina should have told her anyway. “I’m well aware that you don’t need me to protect you, Bex.” Mina laughed, the sound bitter. “I can’t protect you. I think you’ve had to protect me far more.” Bex had dragged her nearly lifeless body from where Frank had left her to here. She’d taken on a warden for Mina. Mina couldn’t even back her up on telling Nell not to kill someone. She couldn’t protect Bex from foolish werewolves or angry mothers. She couldn’t stop Frank from attacking her again and again and again. She couldn’t do any of it. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there. Especially-- especially after. I’m sorry.”

Mina just shook her head. “I don’t feel like a person, most of the time, even when I try to. I used to think I wasn’t a person because I was Fae. I didn’t think we were people. I was taught to hunt down my own kind, and I wasn’t good at it, but they trusted me.” That was the thing about Fae; they trusted their own. They always seemed to trust their own until it was too late. Until there was an iron dagger in their back. “They trusted me, and I led them to their death, and I rationalized it that we weren’t people, but then I came here, and I learned that was wrong, and I learned that I was wrong, and it’s not because I’m Fae.” Who she was, what she’d done, it did matter. No matter what Bex said. If she was the things she’d done, she was still awful. There was nothing that could change that. She looked at Bex, really looked at her, and she felt like she was in pain. She felt like she was dying. She was dying, still.It was just a bit slower than she had been earlier. She moved closer to where Bex had curled herself up, not getting off the couch but moving to where she could touch Bex if she wanted to. If Bex wanted to touch her. “You’re a person. You’re the only one that matters to me.”

Bex was silent for a moment. “I don’t think I know how to not forgive you,” she mumbled into the blanket, as she tucked it around her chin. The warmth inside was becoming humid, as her clothes and her body started to dry, but she still shivered every now and again. She wasn’t convinced it was because she was cold anymore, though. “That’s because you’re stupid.” The statement was simple, punctuated, as if it were the only fact and there was no other statement truer. “You think you have to do everything by yourself and you don’t let people take care of you or help you or look out for you. Of course I’ve had to scrape you up off the sidewalk more times than you have me. You’re stupid and selfish and think you have to do everything on your own instead of letting the people who care about you help. That’s why you left Morgan’s. I understand that.” She grew somber. “I’m stupid and selfish, too.” It was all they’d ever been taught to do. This is your duty, this is who you are. Be this way and no other way. Do this and nothing else. You are nothing, you are no one. “We’re just stupid.”

Jerking back at the unexpected words, Mina could only stare at Bex as she called her stupid. She knew she was stupid. It wasn’t the first time she’d been called stupid. She called herself stupid frequently. She knew that’s what she was. But it was strange to hear Bex call her that with such surety. More than that, “I’ve never been called selfish before.” She hadn’t. Of all of her faults that had been pointed out to her through the years, she’d never gotten that one. In fact, selflessness seemed to be the one thing she’d always gotten right, according to the hunters she’d grown up around. She’d always taken the hit for others, and she’d never tattled on the people that hurt her. “I’ve always done things on my own. I’ve always had to do things on my own. I--” She was more confused than hurt, her eyebrows pulling together as she looked at Bex, unsure. “It was selfish for me to leave Morgan, yes. I just couldn’t be there anymore, and I left when I felt like I’d die if I stood still for too long, and now I’m afraid if I go back, I’ll just want to leave again, and I can’t do that to her.” She shook her head. “I don’t think you’re stupid. I think you were scared. I think you’re still scared. And I get why you were upset with me, not talking to you because I-- It doesn’t feel good. To have those decisions made for you.”

Bex didn’t know what to say anymore. She didn’t have the answers to Mina’s unspoken questions. She didn’t know how to make Mina feel like a person, because she didn’t know how to do that, either. She wanted to, she wished she could. So badly. She wished just reaching out and grabbing Mina by the shoulders and shaking her as she shouted “You are a person!” would fix everything. But it wouldn’t. It wouldn’t. Bex didn’t wipe her face this time. “You weren’t taught anything,” she muttered bitterly, finally, realizing what her heart wanted her to say, “you were made into a tool. A thing. His thing.” Her hands gripped her arms so tightly she felt nails digging into flesh. “Just like they did to me. They took away everything that could’ve made me feel like a person and now I don’t know how to be one.” She felt her lip quiver. “I don’t know how to love like one. But I do. I love you and it hurts and I don’t want to. It’s not fair. I want to stop loving you and I tried-- I tried so hard-- but it won’t stop.” And maybe she didn’t want it to stop. Maybe that was why she couldn’t. She settled, quiet again. Mina was close enough for her to reach out and touch, but her eyes stayed glued to the floor. She was so tired. “I don’t know how to fix it.”