#i fucking hate it when books make me sob like that i was inconsolable for hours

[bug-with-rabies]

I sobbed in class reading this and one of my english teachers was like “What part of Unwholly are you reading?” because I saw sitting at her desk and I just handed her the book and she nodded her head knowingly and went “Yeah I get it…”

Pastor Dan: I would die for you, Lev.

Lev: You will.

[herofics]

hi! you don't have to do this request if you feel uncomfortable (im sorry if it did)

could I have todoroki and bakugo after a stressful day lashing out at reader because reader kept being "difficult" by asking them to do somethings and refusing to do them themselves (if it makes sense)? but it turns out that reader has bad anxiety and other mental health issues that they didn't tell them about. so maybe this was the last straw for reader who ends up admitting themselves before they become a danger to themselves? and after some weeks they return to UA? you can change some stuff in here if you want! I don't want to make you uncomfortable

I’m not uncomfortable with this, no worries. I felt like this was a bit more time sensitive than a lot of the other requests I have, so I tried to write this quickly. Also I didn’t do Todoroki, because I feel like this wouldn’t really fit him. He so strongly doesn’t want to be like his father that he would never snap at the reader like that. But I do have these HCs about the same subject. This isn’t my best work, but I found it good enough to post

“Oh my fucking god! Shut the fuck up and leave me alone!” Bakugou yelled straight in your face.

You immediately stopped talking and just stared at him in disbelief for a few seconds, before marching out of his dorm room and towards yours.

Bakugou was so fucking pissed. He felt like you had been bothering him for hours, even though it had actually been a maximum of ten minutes and he just snapped. He had been so stressed lately and he had things to do, he just couldn’t deal with you right now. So he yelled at you, which he regretted almost immediately as you marched out of the room, but he couldn’t be bothered to go after you. He just slammed the door shut after you and threw a book across the room while yelling incoherently.

You got all the way to your room before breaking down. You barely got the door shut before your legs gave out and you were on all fours on the floor. You felt like you couldn’t breathe, like there was a weight on your chest you just couldn’t get off.

You crawled towards your bed and sat down with your back against the edge of it. You just started sobbing inconsolably. You found yourself thinking “What’s the point if even he hates me?” and “Maybe I should just die”. Those two thoughts made you realize that maybe you needed help. You should’ve probably gotten help quite a while ago, but better late than never, right?

The next day you didn’t come to class, which had Bakugou wondering where the fuck you were. He didn’t exactly feel like apologizing, but he found himself getting worried, since he didn’t see you all day.

When he got back to his dorm room, he found a note taped to his door. He ripped it off and opened it.

“Hey Katsuki, I’m going away for a while to make sure I’m not going to hurt myself. Take care, see you in a few weeks”

Bakugou’s face fell. Was this his fault? Had he almost driven you over the edge? He would’ve never forgiven himself if that was the case. If you hurt yourself because of something he did, he would hate himself forever.

He tried to call you right away, but it just went to voicemail.

“Fuck” he hissed, and hit the door with his fist.

A few weeks passed, and the pit in Bakugou’s stomach just wasn’t going away. He had been trying to contact you every day but he never managed to reach you. Or maybe you just didn’t want to talk to him, but he hated to even think that could be the case.

Finally that same evening, he noticed you walking back to the dorms from the window of his room. You greeted your classmates that were hanging out in the common room, but wiggled your way out of the whole situation quite quickly and headed to your room.

Bakugou could hear you walking in the hallway past his room, but he didn’t have the courage to open the door and face you. How could he? He had been so awful to you. He just hit his pillow a few times, before placing it over his face and yelling obscenities into it. Your footsteps passed, before returning after a few minutes.

“Katsuki?” he heard from behind the door, which made him immediately perk up.

When Bakugou opened the door, he had an expression on his face you didn’t think you’d ever seen before. Guilt. Clear and undeniable guilt.

“I’m so fucking sorry” he muttered, before pulling you into a bear hug.

“You’re suffocating me” you murmured.

“Sorry” he said and let go, still keeping his hands on your arms.

“I appreciate your apology, but I think we should also talk a bit” you said, motioning for him to let you into the room.

You both sat down on his bed and he kept holding your hand. You weren’t really sure if it was more for your comfort or his.

“I just want to make it clear that you did upset me, like a lot, but you’re not the reason I went away for a while. I just had a lot of shit going on in my head and what you said, made it all kinda come crashing down, so I decided I needed to do something before I did something bad” you explained.

“I know I can be a total asshole when I lose my temper, and I didn’t mean to upset you like that” he said remorsefully.

“I know” you sighed. “I’m pretty tired and I need to unpack my clothes, but you can come with me if you want to”

“Sure” he said, following you out of the room.

Bakugou had seen the destruction and dismay his actions could cause, especially in his friends and the people he loved. While he had learned a lot after coming to UA, he still had a long way to go before he could face some people on equal ground.

[the-insomniac-emporium]

Serenade (Daniela Dimitrescu/Reader) Pt. 6

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T for language, brief violence, and a line that hints at past physical abuse (depending on how you choose to interpret it) Warnings: Mild TW for implied/referenced abuse Notes: Okay so this was supposed to be somewhat therapeutic? But it ended up taking longer to get to that part than I intended, so... Don't worry though, next chapter will be fluffy and also involve more, like, actual Daniela scenes. Previous Chapters: Pt. 1: Nocturne, Pt. 2 Overture, Pt. 3: Accelerando, Pt. 4: Toccata, Pt. 5: Poco a Poco

Chapter 6: Elegy

(Elegy: A piece of music in the form of a lament)

When you dream, you do not dream of being locked in a tower, awaiting a kindly knight to come save you. When you dream… you dream of your old home, infested with monsters, nearly unrecognizable. Of being forced to flee, leaving everything you loved behind. Of escaping to a remote, quaint little village, only to end up trapped once again, as friendly faces morph into gaping maws and fangs dripping red. When you dream, it is less a nightmare, more memories retouched, covered in a fresh coat of paint.

Waking up is but a brief source of comfort. One hand goes to your head, rubbing gently, as if you could wipe away all traces of your past. A quick glance around your shared room leaves you confused, but serves as a welcome distraction. Though there are six beds in the room, yours is the only occupied one, the others having all been vacated and made presentable. The only explanation that fit with what you knew was that everyone had gotten up, and gotten to work, without waking you. Panic filled you as you connected the dots, knowing that missing work was a death sentence.

Rushing, you rise to your feet, throwing your dresser open to search for fresh clothes. While the castle’s staff was almost entirely female, the Dimitrescu family didn’t enforce traditional gender presentation, allowing maidens to choose whether to wear a dress or a button-up and trousers. Remembering the wound on your neck, you pause, glancing in the dorm’s singular mirror to inspect your injury. Most of the blood had rubbed off in your sleep (and would likely be a nightmare to clean from the sheets). There were, however, a few spots where dried blood mingled with the protective scab. Considering how late you already were, you didn’t believe you would have time to clean up.

As much as you hated the thought, the best you could do was go for a button-up, hoping the collar would hide the worst of your disastrous appearance. Your hair was another matter entirely, far messier than it normally was, and you struggled to brush/comb it enough to be mildly presentable. Good thing Daniela won’t see me today, you think, remembering her insistence on skipping today’s lesson.

Then you remember the rest of your conversation with her; the yelling, being dragged to your feet, and the pain in her eyes. For a moment you feel woozy, pausing in the middle of buttoning your shirt. Your eyes focus on a spot on the now-closed dresser… and suddenly you wish you had paid more attention when you first woke up. There’s a note stuck to the furniture, clearly addressed to you.

Heard you had some trouble yesterday. We’re just glad you’re alive! A certain someone has been a lot nicer since you started playing the piano, and we’re grateful. To show that, we decided to split your morning duties among ourselves, so you can sleep in. If you’re reading this, then it’s still before 4 AM. Feel free to just relax for a while, or even get some more sleep! We’ll be by to make sure you’re up eventually.

Sincerely,

Daphne, Rosalia, Ygritte, Alexandra, Juniper, and Riley

“I… have… freetime?” You mumbled, still a little drowsy, but now also shocked. This was a complete first for you. Maybe even a first among the servants! Sure, you had been given breaks before, but having a couple hours to do whatever you wanted? No one had ever pulled strings like this for you before. It made your chest feel warm, and you just about forgot the whole mess with Daniela. “I’ll have to find a way to pay them back, even if they think they’re paying me back.” With that said you relaxed a little, no longer rushing getting dressed, though still leaving your neck the way it was. You figured you’d stop by one of the maidens’ restrooms before you officially started your shift.

In the meantime, you knew exactly what you’d be using this time for: finding those damn piano books you had been promised!

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“Let’s see… dust, more dust, a dead spider, even more dust, and- oh shit, the spider is not dead,” you said, barely holding in a yelp as the arachnid scurries away from you. If you had known the attic would be so unclean, you might not have bothered to come up here. So far your targets had alluded you without giving so much as a hint towards their location. The library had seemed a likely location, but you had heard Daniela’s voice within, and anxiety had sent you dashing away. Up here, in an area clearly used for storage above all else, was the next best guess, as far as you were concerned. Still, you hadn’t seen anything worth your time yet.

Just insects, really. Not even terribly interesting ones. Well, there had been a shiny beetle of some sort, but it had crawled into a crack in the wall mere seconds after you saw it. Other than that, though, nothing but creepy crawlies. Creepy flyers?... Both, for sure. One fly in particular kept buzzing around you, weirdly interested in what you were doing.

Somehow you didn’t understand what that meant until a firm hand had wrapped itself around your neck. The grip was tight, putting more than enough pressure to make your vision blur. Thankfully, or perhaps unfortunately, the culprit didn’t intend to just choke you out. Instead they lift you and toss you aside- casually, at that. You hit the wall with a terrible crashing sound, certain to leave bruises, and narrowly avoid toppling into a stack of heavy crates. So much for enjoying some free time, you think. Stunned for several seconds, you find yourself left helpless as your attacker approaches.

“You’re not allowed to be up here,” a voice snarled, familiar enough to leave you terrified. Of course you had to run into the most violent of the Dimitrescu sisters. “Looking for a way out, hmm? Or are you stupid enough to think we’d leave a weapon where a wretched thing like you could find it?” Cassandra asked, pausing only to send a swift kick your way. A grunt escapes you, leaves you coughing, but it doesn’t hurt as bad as hitting the wall. Despite wanting to curl up and give in, you tried to drag yourself to your feet. Surprisingly, Cassandra makes no move to stop you, perhaps enjoying the sight of you struggling.

“Lady… Daniela… gave me permission,” you said between painful breaths. By the time you’re back on your feet, the vampire before you is watching you with narrowed, albeit curious, eyes. Normally it would take a lot of courage to face her. But you’re exhausted, in pain, and you’ve taken nearly as much hurt from someone who called themselves your lover. It’s not brave to stare down Cassandra, it’s foolhardy. It’s idiotic, really, and yet you find yourself unable to care. “I’m just looking for a couple piano books I’ve been told about, so I can use them to help teach Lady Daniela.”

“Oh? You’re her instructor?” Cassandra asked, a strange smile overtaking her expression. Something in the atmosphere has shifted, dangerously, but you can’t figure out why. Clueless to your self-betrayal, you nod in response. Instantly Cassandra’s smile turns into an open-lipped snarl, and she reaches out to grab you by the shirt, this time slamming you into the wall with her own hands. “Then you’re the reason she kept me up yesterday, crying non stop! I’m going to rip you apart, you vermin.”

The look in her eyes is, most definitely, the scariest thing you had ever seen. It’s feral, inhuman, and unstoppably determined. But when tears fall from your eyes, it’s not because you know you’re about to die. No, it’s because the last thing you think you’ll ever hear is the news that your partner had been sobbing for hours… and that you were the reason why. Your heart aches, both physically and emotionally, as you brace yourself for the bloody end.

Instead, the grip on your clothes loosens. You don’t dare open your eyes to see why.

“What the fuck do you want, sis?” Cassandra asked, sounding like she had turned her head away from you. Before you know it you’ve been let go, and you slide to the ground, too surprised to hold yourself steady. When you look up, you see an irritated Bela pulling Cassandra away from you, whispering something you can’t quite hear. They argue for a minute, under their breath, keen on keeping you out of the loop. Eventually the younger of the two storms away, but not before making a dent in the wall with her fist.

“What a child,” Bela said, rolling her eyes at the display. Then she’s walking back towards you, extending a hand in an offer of assistance (one you gladly accept). “That girl has the foresight of a magic eight ball, I swear. If she had actually killed you… ugh, I can hardly stand to imagine how inconsolable Daniela would become. Then I’d have two insufferable sisters. Regardless, do tell me why you thought it would be a good idea to come up here unaccompanied? It is normally off limits for servants, after all.”

“I-I, well… I mean, firstly thank you for saving me, I had no idea-” Bela holds a finger up in a ‘shut up’ motion, then puts it away as soon as you pause- “right, you don’t care. Look, I was just trying to find the piano books that Lady Dimitrescu mentioned, but I’ve looked all over and I can’t find them, so I should really just go,” you explain, eager to get out of the attic. To your surprise, Bela gives you an odd look before turning away. Then she takes no more than five steps, shifts to the side, and opens an old cabinet. Inside you can see a dozen books of sheet music, notably from several different decades, all worn but still in decent condition. “How did-?... I thought I checked there.”

“Well, you must have been distracted. Nonetheless, you know where they are now, and you owe me twice over. With that in mind… come with me. We have things to discuss,” Bela commanded, walking away before you could protest. All you can do is grab the sheet music, tuck it under one arm, and follow her to who-knows-where.

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

“I’ll have to have you make my tea more often,” Bela mused, letting the mug keep her hands warm. The two of you were sitting in some sort of study, a room that you had never been inside before. From what you could tell it belonged solely to the eldest Dimitrescu daughter. Inside were several shelves, each filled with well bookmarked collections, a desk next to a massive window, a couple simple chairs, and a few instrument cases. All in all it was an aesthetically pleasing room, organized but not exactly neat. You could certainly imagine Bela spending entire days in this chamber. “Now, why do you think I brought you here?” Her voice brings your focus back into the present moment, as well as sends a spike of anxiety through you.

“Based on what nearly got me killed earlier… Does it have to do with Daniela crying?” You asked, doing your best to indicate just how bad you felt about the subject. No matter how cruel she could be, you did honestly care about Daniela, and even wanted a real, healthy relationship with her. Desire, or willingness, wasn’t the root of the problem by any means. Something told you that Bela understood this, maybe even respected you for it.

“Guess there’s more in that pretty head of yours than air and symphonies, hmm?” Bela replied, laughing a little as she did. It was a far nicer sound than Cassandra’s maniacal giggling, for sure. “Now, I don’t know all the details about what happened- just that there was an argument, clearly a bad one, and Daniela barely made it through dinner before locking herself in her room. Luckily for you, our mother doesn’t seem to know about your little ‘fight’. She’s not sure what upset Dani, and I doubt my sister would tell her, so your secret is safe. Assuming that I blackmailed Cassandra well enough, that is. Anyway, I can’t help you, and by extension my sister, if I don’t know the full story. In case it wasn’t clear, that’s your cue to start talking.”

You’re surprised, admittedly, by a number of things. But Bela seems impatient, so you go over the details of the previous night with her, occasionally pausing to let her ask questions. The whole time her focus is on you, unwavering. There’s also a noticeable lack of judgement in her expression, even when you voice your regret about how you handled the situation, and what is there seems directed more towards Daniela than yourself. Once you finish, Bela releases a deep sigh. One of her hands goes to rub her forehead as if warding off a migraine.

“Well, I can’t say I’m terribly surprised, as much as I wish I could. Daniela’s always had her head in the clouds, and it’s left her tripping over her own feet more than once. Still, this is certainly one of her bigger messes…” Bela said, shaking her head in disbelief. “I’m going to have to talk to her about this, aren’t I? There’s no way she’s going to process this correctly on her own.” This time she seemed to be talking to herself, gaze locked on her tea as if it might suddenly offer to speak to Daniela in her place. When the tea stayed silent, understandably, she returned her focus to you. “You seemed upset, earlier, about this ridiculous situation. I am going to assume, from that, you are genuinely interested in my dear sister. Normally, this would be the part where I drain you of all blood, and possibly keep your skull as a memento... mori. Yours would look lovely on a window sill, I think.”

She pauses, head tilting a little to the side, clearly evaluating your artistic value.

“However, Daniela appears to care about you, far more than her usual fleeting infatuations. So, for now, I have decided not to eviscerate you, you’re welcome,” Bela cooed, teasingly, enjoying the way you shifted uncomfortably in your seat. Still, you were glad that you would apparently be surviving the day. “So I’m going to give you some advice, which you will take, and you won’t even owe me anything extra for this. Daniela is in love with the mere concept of love- and she has been for as long as I can remember. Romance novels are practically the only books she reads. It’s… embarrassing, truly. More than that, I get the impression that she couldn’t even begin to describe what love actually feels like. She’s digested so much of that written drivel that it warped her senses. Of course, the, ahem, situation we find ourselves in, here at the castle, has undoubtedly added to this effect.

“To get to the point, Daniela’s terribly, hopelessly clueless when it comes to things like what she wants from you. And so I take it upon myself, as her older sibling, to ensure that you understand. Moreso, that you are not dissuaded. If this is an actual chance for her to experience real romance, then it could make her happier than I’ve ever seen her,” Bela explained. The look in her eyes was incredibly soft, to the point where it made you realize just how much this odd little family cared for each other. “Don’t give up, don’t let her occasional infuriating antics push you away. Given enough time… I think the two of you could, I suppose, compliment each other quite nicely. But if you break her heart? I will pull yours from your chest and eat it raw. Understood?” Gulping, you nodded quickly, ignoring the feeling of heat rushing to your cheeks. It was one thing for Bela to want her sister to be happy, but another thing entirely for her to acknowledge your “suitability” for the position. “Good. Now return to whatever it is you maidens normally do. I have a sister to talk sense into.”

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

Hours later, you stand alone in a display room, dusting various relics from bygone times. A trophy here, a bizarre art piece there, strange, unlabeled tools you can’t quite imagine are for wine-making. It’s a fascinating collection, really. But your mind is focused on other, far softer things. All you can think about is what Bela had told you, about how Daniela really is interested in you, and how she thought the two of you could make it work. After the chaos earlier in the day, this was exactly what you needed. Just some time to yourself, working quietly, thoughts all to yourself. Even your bruises bother you less, the pain fading out into the background. Considering where you are, though, it is not at all surprising that your peace cannot last. As soon as you finish your task you move towards the exit.

The door swings open, outwards, at your touch, only to reveal a familiar figure reaching for the doorknob. Both of you gasp, taken by surprise, before your gazes meet. Of course it’s Daniela. Who else would you bump into right now?

“I thought about what you said,” she blurts, suddenly, eyes wide and hands shaking. “We need to talk, yeah?”

[whumpingcrow]

Ink Poisoning - Chapter 7

Fire and Ice

CW: bbu and everything that relates to that, discussion of noncon drugging, drugs/alcohol, injury description, blood mention, hypothermia/frostbite/basically whumpee left in the cold for too long, whumper playing caretaker, intimate whumper, noncon/dubcon kiss, general noncon/dubcon discussion and themes, sick whumpee, ptsd flashbacks/nightmares (let me know if i missed anything!)

"Jesus Christ, were you trying to kill him?"

"Shut up. Come here, help me keep him up so I can take the belt off."

Hands, warm hands on Gio, grabbing, taking, hurting. He shrinks away from them, he cries out, it hurts, everything hurts, his world is painted bright red with pain all the time, breathing is painful, moving is painful, existing is painful.

"He doesn't look so good, Nicko, I think we gotta go to the hospital-"

"He's fine. Here, hold this."

The world spins and jostles Gio around, and then he's off of the burning cold of the ground, enveloped in heat that's almost too much. It makes all of the dull aching that seems to have frozen overtime thaw out, and he begins to sob, chest heaving, gnawing pain clawing up his throat, and he can't even stop himself. He can't open his eyes, can't move at all, he's only able to cry, and it's just like the first round of training. He thinks, for probably the thousandth time, "I'm really going to die this time, this is really it for me, I'll never heal, it's over it's all over" and he cries and cries and cries.

"It's ok, Gio. You're alright now."

Now he's somewhere else, he doesn't remember leaving the freezing cold nightmare of outside, where he was lonely and shaking until his muscles felt like they were gonna give out and his skin felt like it was falling off. He must be in a bed, now, wrapped up in thick, warm blankets, laying on something sinfully soft. Panic rips through him, but everything is muted just slightly and all he can do to communicate his fear is a measly whine. He can't even open his eyes, they're held shut with a velvety exhaustion, the same one that holds him to the bed that he knows he's not worthy of. He wants to sit up, be awake, but trying to move is too hard, his skin feels like it's all shredded up where it brushes against the sheets. He wants to wake up, he hates to be asleep, he doesn't want to have any more bad dreams. He whimpers again.

"Giovanni, I'm here. I'm right here." He flinches when fingertips trace against his temple, then they are in his hair and he moans miserably. It hurts to be touched, mostly because it isn't enough. Life is agony and he feels like he's dying, he needs more than just a gentle hand in his hair. He needs a hug. He doesn't know if he remembers how to ask for that without sounding pathetically broken, so he doesn't try. He feels scalding hot tears streaming down his cheeks and falling into his hair. "Ugh, I'm so sorry, darling. I went way too far."

Gio doesn't understand. Too far? No, no this is about customary. Text book. Whatever he did, he can't remember now, was bad, bad enough to leave him in this condition, and so that means it was justified. He's never been told sorry before, he's never heard anyone who's hurt him admitting that they went overboard.

"Oh, please stop crying, Gio, you're breaking my heart." The hand is away from his hair, and Giovanni wills the tears to stop. He doesn't want anymore pain.

It takes all of his remaining energy to take in a shaking breath and force himself to whisper "I'm s-sorry, sir." It's rehearsed, even if it's broken up and weak, and he hopes that he says it good enough.

He hears a sigh, then the mattress sinks down a little next to him and the blankets are moved around a little. The cool air of the room slips under the sheets and it makes him shiver. That hurts, too, and he holds his breath until his lungs are tight so that he doesn't cry anymore. Then, strong arms are wrapping around him, drawing him against a body, warm and breathing and surprisingly gentle. He knows that this isn't right, it's not normal for an idiot boxie like him to be held, to be pressed up close against another person underneath covers for no other reason then to be held. Still, it's all he can do to not start bawling in relief as he buries his face against the chest in front of him.

He falls asleep again, nightmares full of blanked out faces and pain he doesn't ever think he'll forget plague his sleep, and every time that he starts to tremble or whine softly, Nicko pulls his wiry frame closer and pets through his hair and whispers that he's ok. He should have been doing this the entire time, he thinks, every time he heard Gio crying in his sleep or waking himself up to gasp and sniffle softly, he should have pulled him up into the bed and held him like this all those times. Now, as he's holding Gio's battered, frostbitten body against his own, he can't believe he was making them both miss out on the comfort. All it takes to calm Gio down enough to sink back into silent sleep is for Nicko to remind him that he's in harmless (for the moment, at least) arms, and then he whispers "you're ok, Gio, I've got you" into his tangled, blood soaked hair, and then he settles back into Nicko's grip and his breathing evens out. Nicko is baffled that it's that easy. He's also shocked at how, even though he hated Gio with everything that was in him hours ago, now he finds himself wanting to never let him go, to be this comfort to him forever.

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Nicko was inconsolable when he came back inside. Rory was the first person to try and talk him down, try to convince him that it wasn't Gio's fault and to let him back inside, but he wanted to listen to her least of all. Instead, he took a few more shots of burning tequila and yelled at her, told her to get out of his house. At first she didn't take him seriously, only grabbed onto him and pulled hard at his clothes, insistent that he "just calm down" because "it wasn't that big of a deal", but once he grabbed her shoulders and told her to get the fuck out of his face, she left in a hurry.

After that, his roommate, Ben, who he'd barely noticed when they passed him in the hallway, came out to the kitchen and sat next to him, pretending he wasn't trying to find Gio out in the dark, snowy backyard as they talked. It took about thirty minutes of Ben trying to timidly suggest that maybe it wasn't entirely Gio's fault before Nicko calmed down. Then, there was another long stretch of time where he carefully made Nicko feel like shit for hurting Gio in the first place, and hours after he tied Gio up there, Ben and Nicko went outside to retrieve him.

He was in much worse condition than Nicko thought he left him in, and he was a little afraid at how not aware he had been. Giovanni had been bleeding from his nose and mouth for who knows how long, and now dark marroon blood was cracked and dried and probably fucking frozen on his face and down his entire front. Even Nicko's belt, that was much too tight around Gio's frail neck, to the point it was bruising him, was covered in blood. His ears were a burning, bright red from the bitter cold, so were his cheeks and the tips of his fingers and toes. other than that, he was ghostly pale. More so than usual, which was concerning. But the most concerning thing of all was that he was passed out, head tipped back against the post and face blank and just unmoving. Nicko wondered if he passed out from the belt, he had thought that he would reach up and take it off himself once Nicko was inside, and he was disappointed in himself for doubting Gio's obedience. He was suddenly all to aware that this kid would do anything he thought Nicko wanted, or at the very least try with everything he has before exhausting himself. Rory, too, but only because he thinks he owes it to Nicko to listen to her as well. And here he is, soaked in his own blood and no doubt bruised from where Nicko kicked him right in his stomach, and he'll be sick from the cold, and he was so high before hand he probably had no idea what was going on.

He was probably so scared. He probably always is. That hadn't even occured to Nicko before, he was seeing him only on the surface, as the boxie he got for cheap to fuck around with, not as a human, not as something so broken and so easily frightened. He felt an overwhelming surge of guilt right then and there, especially when Ben said:

"Jesus Christ were you trying to kill him?"

I don't remember. Maybe I was.

"Shut up. Come here, help me keep him up so I can take the belt off." He had to keep his cool, he had to act calm and unbothered, couldn't let it show how much this shook him up.

Giovanni sounded just pathetic when they tried to situate him, even though they were both incredibly careful. Nicko was thrown off, he'd only heard Gio make noise when he was absolutely out of control with panic, horrified or when something had been hurting him for a long time, and even then it was quite. Well, except the time the Giovanni begged him with such desperation to stop touching him, horrified by his hands on him, the implication of him touching him somewhere else entirely. Nicko had been angry with him too, then, and he was starting to really feel the weight of his remorse.

"He doesn't look so good, Nicko, I think we gotta go to the hospital-"

Oh God, do you think he needs that? Oh fuck, I messed up.

"He's fine." Nicko insisted, mostly because he was horrified of what people would think of him if he brought Giovanni into the emergency room in this condition. They would know he did it, his knuckles were bruised and covered in Gio's dark, dried blood. He hadn't had time to wash it off in between his need to get more fucked up, yelling at Rory, and trying to allow himself to be calmed down. But he had to worry about getting Gio inside first, try to gauge just how bad the damage was. He slipped the belt off from around Giovanni's poor, bruised throat, he gasped feebly in response. Nicko barely caught him with a hand on his shoulder as he collapsed to his side in exhaustion. "Here, hold this."

The belt was passed off, like a baton in a race, and Nicko wasted no time gathering Gio's small, trembling frame against his chest and standing upright with him in his arms.

He didn't bother cleaning either of them off, Gio was much too exhausted for that. It was probably a better idea to get him warm first anyways.

Nicko's heart aches for him as he fades in and out of his dazed, disconnected state, crying when he's present enough to feel his pain.

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

Rory doesn't come back after that. Giovanni is sick for the next few days, he barely leaves Nicko's bed the entire time, Nicko works on bringing him back to health, he only drinks a little in the evening, just to be relaxed with Gio while he holds him and tries to sooth him enough to sleep. He's got a fever, hot to the touch and shivering all the damn time. It feels like the cold from outside has buried itself under his skin.

Except for when he's asleep.

When he sleeps, he's burning from the inside out. The mixture of his fever and coming off of the drug that had made him feel so fantastically far away, he remembers the nightmares. Sometimes he wakes up gasping, Shooting up in bed, shoving the too heavy blankets and Nicko's suffocating arms off of him with desperation to get away from the heat, in his dreams he's surrounded by bodies, too close and too hot and hands touching and taking and torturing. Other times, the burning inside is different, it's from dreams where he's all alone, everyone is leaving him, they don't want him he's just not good enough for them. Then, he wakes up and he's grabbing fistfuls of Nicko's clothes, pressing himself closer, closer, begging in a watery, wobbling voice, "Nicko please, please stay. Please don't go. Hold me, don't let go of me please."

So Nicko pulls him closer, and through the drunken, heavy veil of sleep, he finds himself placing soft kisses in Gio's hair, stroking little circles against his ribs, over his sharp shoulder blades, shaking with each gasping breaths.

Nicko misses Rory. He doesn't feel that bad about making her leave, not as awful as he feels for what he did to Gio, but he misses her, nonetheless. He misses a warm body, a touch more than panicked desperation. He finds himself wanting to touch Gio all the time, wants to tattoo him again, or toy around with him while he's completely there, when he can look sort of apprehensive and bothered and mouth-wateringly flustered. He's easy, and Nicko adores it.

When Gio starts to get better, it's relieving to everyone. He had said he didn't want to see Salem, not in this disgustingly sick and disoriented way. Once he gets a little more clearheaded, Salem is glad to see him in the kitchen when he gets home from school. Much too his- and surprisingly Nicko's -disdain, he's usually spending his time out of bed cleaning. He goes until someone insists he stops. They get worried when he gets pale and sways in front of the sink where he's been trying to wash the dishes. Salem often takes him to his room, which Nicko allows, and lays down on the floor with him, music playing softly through his speakers. Nicko, when he finds him in worrying pallor like that, takes him to his bed and asks him to lay down, to rest for a little while. Sometimes he joins him, sometimes he doesn't.

Gio starts to miss Rory when he feels better. He doesn't like how he feels with her drugs out of his system, for no one around to playfully treat him how he deserves; less than a person, more of a toy. Nicko is suddenly too nice and gentle, and Gio doesn't know if he likes it that much. He really doesn't like sleeping in his bed every night, he's too frightened now, especially when he's sober. He misses that amazing feeling he had the last time he saw Rory, even though the high and the new concussion and the fever made him forget almost everything that happened before Nicko came in and hurt him. He knew it was something bad, he was glad he wasn't really there to experience it.

One night, after waking up from another awful, empty and lonely dream, he turned over on the mattress, trying to find Nicko in the dark by dragging his hands across the sheets. He found his warm body, he shivered at how he was slightly overheated from his panic and his need to be close to someone in the obedient way he was supposed to, to be good for Nicko. He pressed himself close, timidly pressing his lips against Nicko's throat until it pulled him back into consciousness. He didn't seem upset about being woken up, simply finding Gio's thigh under the blankets and wrapping his sometimes threatening fingers around it and squeezing it with a pleased hum. Giovanni had tears on his face, they got onto Nicko's neck where Gio was getting closer and closer to Nicko with need and aching and yearning.

"What are you doing, Gio?" He asked. His voice was a hoarse rumble through his chest, Giovanni ran his hand over Nicko's bare chest, and he panted against Nicko's skin. Suddenly Nicko was aware of how bothered and worked up Gio was, and he pulled away from him. His eyes took a second to adjust, and from the streetlight outside, he could vaguely see his darkened, bruised eyes, shining with tears, staring at him wide eyed.

"You're my favorite person, Nicko." Gio was whispering, almost afraid to be admitting it. "I... I want to be close to you all the time. I don't want to bother you but it hu-hurts when I can't be."

He was so earnest when he said it, Nicko didn't think he was lying. He had no reason to, really. Nicko could see through the dark that his wide, permanently panicked eyes were flicking back and forth from Nicko's eyes to his mouth.

"Rory was right," Nicko started, his voice low and gravelly, "you're so cute. Especially when you say things like that."

Giovanni flushed at the words, and he was glad that it was dark enough that Nicko probably couldn't see him blushing hard. "You really think so?" He asked, voice wavering, like he was expecting Nicko to say "no you fucking worthless idiot. Not even a little bit do I think that".

Instead, he reached out and ran his thumb over Gio's cheek, across his jaw, and finally over his bottom lip. He smiled when Gio began to tremble at the touch, breath hitching in a beautiful way that was almost unnoticeable. "Yeah, Gio," he answered, "yeah, I do."

And then, before either of them changed their minds, Nicko pulled him close and kissed him.

Gio melted right into it, pressing his body flush against Nicko's, opening his mouth just a little as an invitation. He was perfect, he was made for this, for kissing and touching this way. But then Nicko felt guilty for thinking that. He had to remind himself constantly, every single time that Giovanni was looking irresistably adorable, that he was trained into being this way. Nicko couldn't even be sure that Gio really wanted it, or if he just thought he did because he knew it was what Nicko wanted. He was reminded again of what he'd realized when he saw Giovanni outside, saw that he hadn't even tried to get the belt off of his neck: Gio would do anything for Nicko. He had just admitted that Nicko was his favorite person, after all. Guilt started eating away at him yet again, so he pulled away from Gio.

"It's late." He mumbled, turning away from Gio altogether. "You need to get your rest so you can feel better."

He was answered by silence, and it made him sigh heavily. He didn't want to upset Gio, but even more he didn't want to use him, not when it didn't mean the same thing to him. "G'night, Giovanni."

Again, Gio was perfectly still and perfectly quiet. When he thought Nicko was asleep, he started to cry softly. He let his tears slide down his cheeks and wet his hair and the pillow. His fingers were pressed tightly to his lips. He wanted the ghost of Nicko's mouth on his to stay there forever. Eventually he exhausted himself, falling asleep crying, aching and burning for Nicko.

[shimmershae]

My thoughts on Episode 3--Hunted.

 Most of you lovelies already realize this, but my thoughts tend to zig and zag quite a bit, lol.  So.  To save some of you the headache and spare you from seeing spoilers you’d rather not see yet, I’m again placing them behind a cut.  

First things first.  I have totally turned into Yvette Nicole Brown with her TWD notebooks, lol, and I’m not even sorry.  I just felt like it would be fun to go back when the final episode is in the books and see how well my thoughts from these early episodes line up with what I’m feeling when we say our (not-so) final goodbyes.  

But that’s enough about that. Let’s get to this thing.  

It really is insane how very much I love Melissa McBride.  Just hearing her doing the previously on TWD recap voiceover makes me ridiculously happy.  

Cole!  Dude!  We hardly knew ya.  

Not gonna lie.  That first shot of Maggie in all the chaos reminded of a shirt I’ve seen.  It says--”Well, well, well.  If it isn’t the consequences of my actions.”  

I have to hand it to Angela and the rest of her team.  These opening scenes--on all 3 episodes--have been BOMB so far.  They really hook you in right away.  At least IMHO.  

I realize I’m behind the game on this little tidbit, but how much do I adore the fact that Dog is now in the opening credits?  

Okay.  Alexandria might look like it’s been on some kind of post-apocalyptic bender but all our girls are looking beautiful as ever.  Maybe it’s Maybelline, lol.  

I love to see Kelly and Carol still gravitating toward each other.  It really speaks to each woman’s heart.  Carol wants to make amends so badly and Kelly just has the most lovely, warm, forgiving heart.  

Carol’s point about Alexandria still needing the horses to help with the heavy lifting and pointing out the walls and rebuilding won’t matter quite as much if they’re limited by their  hunger and what they can physically lift on their own isn’t wrong.  But I’m sure the same viewers that were okay with Daryl and Co. going out on Maggie’s suicide mission (using the same reasoning) and saying it made sense for the bigger picture will pretend not to recognize that the same element is there in Carol’s desire to go out there and look for the horses.  You know.  Because it was Carol’s idea and not that of their fave(s).  

Aaron, Man.  Or maybe I should say Angela.   You just had to put a pit of dread in my belly mentioning Buttons like that.  RIP, Buttons.  You deserved better.  I’m still traumatized.  

Look at all the babies bonding.  Look at RJ getting to sit at the big kid table.  

“My mom always comes back.”  She damn well better.  Those babies need her.  Until she does, though, Uncle Daryl and Aunt Carol (and Aunt Rosita and everybody else) are going to be there.  

Anyway.  Poor RJ.  He barely ever gets any lines, lol.  

Hershel and Judith are obviously the mini-adults in this group and baby Rhee is already more cynical and jaded than his sweet daddy was until they reached Alexandria and the wheels started to come off.  

So.  Does Maggie just think everybody’s already dead here or what?  Hmm.  

You know.  Any building can be creepy AF when the lights are off and it’s dark, lol.  Any building.  

So much darkness so far this season.  I’m going to have to invest in some blackout curtains.  I just know it.  

Where are all those stairs leading?  Why am I thinking of Hitchcock?  Am I mixing up my scary, suspenseful movies?  Probably.  

Of fucking course, Maggie dropped her flashlight.  Thank goodness she had that lighter at the ready just before Ghost Face Reaper took a swipe at her.  

Is that Father G with a screwdriver impaled in his thigh?  Listen.  These people deserve a Mega Bottle of pain killers and a week just vegging out in a soft, luxurious bed.  

All these horror movie tropes.  Some of them are cheesy, yes.  But I’m totally here for it.  

LMAO.  That’s it, Maggie.  A good old punch in the nuts works every time.  

Alden really is having a terrible, horrible, no good very bad day.  

Negan is still Negan.  Self-serving and looking out for number one.  But I believe the man really does feel the group is his group too.  He’s like that long lost, sketchy uncle nobody wants to acknowledge much less invite to the dinner table, but that bond?  However thin?  Is there.  

I am both hating that Maggie is being forced to work with the man that murdered her husband (my baby Glenn) and finding it fascinating the lengths she’s willing to go to survive.  This your plan, Angela?  

Rosita and Carol!  How sad is it that the last really significant scene I can remember the two of these women sharing was way back?  Before Rick and Co. attacked Negan’s outpost and Maggie and Carol were subsequently taken?  If only the show had done more of these kind of scenes.  

How much do I love all the girls working together?  Gimps would never.  They’d all be stuck back at Alexandria minding the kids and the community.  

Shallow aside--Rosita is so pretty in this scene.  

Rosita being worried about Carol honestly makes my heart hurt, because it’s about damn time more of them actually did.  Her saying Abraham is trying to tell her something in her dreams is interesting.  Angela sure loves her dreams, doesn’t she?  

Where are Daryl’s dreams, hmm?  No.  Seriously.  I guess they want to give some viewers plausible deniability until the bitter end.  

“Really?  We’re just gonna go toward the screaming?  Cool.”  Hahaha.  You know.  Even the smart people in horror movies sometimes bite it, Negan.  Just saying.  Maggie really does need to “stop running up the staircase” when she could just run out the front door though, lol.  

Poor Duncan.  I think you could have been another Tyreese, Jerry type for me.  

WTF does this show have against horses?  Those poor creatures.  

Kelly is totally me right now.  I’d be freaking inconsolable.  

Carol needed that hug.  Thank you, Magna.  From the bottom of this tired fangirl’s heart, thank you.  

Why give us that beautiful, golden shot with the horses when you’re planning to stab us through the heart later and twist the knife.  Oh.  Yeah.  That’s exactly why.  

Oh snap!  Father G’s delivery when he tells that Reaper “I’m not.  God isn’t here anymore.”  Cold as ice.  

Judas.  That the Reapers’ work.  Or.  Damn.  Either way, that’s harsh.  

Back to what Alden was saying.  All these oprhaned children.  Who’s going to take on Adam if he dies?  That poor kid has had a rough go of it.  Knowing that, makes you wonder what Alden was thinking volunteering for the suicide mission.  

Omigosh.  There went Agatha.  Terrible way to go.  Right, Beatrice?  

I’m sobbing.  Carol with the horse.  That hurt my baby so much but she hurt herself for her family the same way she has been doing since the Prison.  Melissa Mcbride?  When she cries, I cry.  Every effin’ time.  Aaron being there just made it hurt more.  But at least someone was there to see how and really take in how she continues to break pieces of herself off to keep her family as whole and safe and happy as she can.  

Rewinding a minute--that Magna and Carol conversation.  I get Magna’s reasoning too.  I do.  But Angela is just making everything so dire right now so that the sun when Connie is ultimate found shines a ltitle brighter.  

Those babies know they’re eating horse.  I could never.  

That’s got to be a different Coco.  She’s even smaller.  But she’s gorgeous.  

Fucking finally.  Angela having the other characters notice after an eternity of being blind to it, just how much Carol sacrifices of herself for them.  It’s so long overdue and I imagine Rosita’s even more worried for Carol now.  It’s a shame it’s taken 11 seasons.  My baby’s had blood on her hands trying to keep her family safe and whole and happy and fed for a long damn time.  So heartbreaking watching her try to scrub the blood away.  

Sweet, sweet hug that Kelly gave Magna.  She’s such a sweetheart kid sis to all of them, isn’t she?  

Interesting place of refuge.  A gutted church.  A visual symbol, Angela, of where Maggie and the rest of our people are now perhaps?  

“It’s easy for you, isn’t it?  Being reckless with sombody’s life...”  Maggie.  Maggie.  Those words would have hit so much harder if we hadn’t spent the majority of the last 2.5 episodes watching you ignore sound advice just because it came out of the mouth of somebody you (justifiably) hate.  

But will Alden be there when Maggie and Negan get back?  That is the question.  Or will he eventually Lucille himself?  

That little bit of lineup Negan music to remind the audience of Negan lovers and sympathizers that he once took great pleasure in murderously swinging a bag at people’s heads was a nice, subtle touch there.  Like agree with her or not, Maggie  is literally left to rely  on the hope, however small it is, that Negan has changed just enough that he won’t try to finish a job he taken on years before--killing what’s left of her.  

Oh lawd.  Next episode sees the return of a character literally nobody asked for.  How excited am I not?  

Dog better not be harmed or so help me.  

Now for Angela’s weekly explanations of WTF she/there were thinking because they been doing this plausible deniability thing so long some people out there watching with biased, muddy stan glasses can no longer separate head canon from canon.  

Is Maggie worried at all about Daryl or does she just assume his superhero powers are in full effect in this episode?  

“You can’t really say it wasn’t going to happen anyway.”  Not Angela pointing out that simply laying the blame for literally everything bad that ever happens at Carol’s feet isn’t the answer.  Say it louder for those in the back.  Alpha was going to do what Alpha wanted to do.  

“There is love there.  There is respect there.  However, there’s also frustration...”  You damn skippy.  Friendships and human relationships are complex AF.  Like Carol. She’s honestly one of the most complicated characters on this show and any show, IMHO.  That’s what makes her so memorable and such a lightning rod for discussion.  

I know I might be in a minority, but I really feel like they need more of those little scenes between the kids to keep things real.  

Kang saying she always feels like she’s going to get murdered in a staircase or parking lot is relatable, funny, and sad all at the same time.  It’s a girl thing.  

Why is Carol’s story giving me Dark Knight vibes?  Like I feel like she’ll gladly shoulder the burden of their distrust, their hate, or their judgment as long as the hard choices she makes keeps them safe.  And she’s still ultimately going to come back to save their asses even when they forsake her.  Just like Bruce Wayne/Batman.  Am I reaching too far, lol?  Because sometimes I do that.  

Anyway.  This is the third episode of the season and the third episode in a row that I mostly enjoyed.  I don’t know if I’m just so relieved and happy to have all the characters and my show back or what, but overall?  I’ve been pleased with the episodes and found something to love in all of them.  

There’s a much stronger horror vibe woven throughout Season 11 so far.  I feel like it’s a return to the roots of the show and I like that.  Literally none of the characters are making perfect choices and this viewer is here for it.  My only complaint so far is there hasn’t been enough Carol but what we’ve been given has felt like a gift and significant in a way that Gimps’ version was not.  Also?  I really hope the trend of the ladies working together and supporting each other continues because they rule the TWD world, lol.  

Hope you enjoyed at least some of my TWD word vomit.  

Until next episode.  

[marril96]

Out of the Woods

Chapter 1: Runaway

Characters: Rowena, Sam, Dean

Pairing: Rowena x reader

Summary: An explosive argument leads to you running away and puts Rowena in danger.

A/N: Huge thanks to @hotdiggitydammit for helping me with the summary!

Editor: @miss-moon-guardian

*****

You and Rowena were screaming at each other, which wasn't nearly as common as people tended to think. You didn't care that you were in the middle of nowhere. You didn't care that Sam and Dean were looking at you, that they were focused on nothing but the two of you screaming your lungs out in each other's face like rabid beasts.

Let them watch.

After all, they were the ones who'd gotten you into this mess.

"I didn't wanna come here in the first place!" you yelled, wildly flailing your arms around to emphasize each word for there was nothing you could possibly say, could possibly do, to encompass just how much you didn't want to be here.

"Nobody held a gun to your bloody head!" Rowena argued.

Right. Because it was that easy. Because saying no was a walk in the fucking park.

"Was I supposed to let you come alone? With-with those two idiots—" you pointed at Sam and Dean, who both scowled, but you didn't care "—who've endangered your life more than once? One of whom is fated to kill you?"

"I don't need a nanny!" she snapped as she always did when you were protective. Because why acknowledge she wasn't as all-powerful as she thought when she could keep playing tough girl? "I've survived well enough on my own for over three centuries!"

"This is different!"

Back then she wasn't acquainted with hunters who'd managed to piss off God himself. She hadn't been fated to be killed by one of said hunters, who, for some reason you couldn't comprehend, happened to be her best friend. Hadn't suffered at the Devil's hand — more than once — and had the scars forever etched into her soul.

Back then she didn't have anyone who cared about her.

She didn't have you.

To your surprise, Rowena echoed it exactly. "Of course it's different! I didn't have you to nag at me every time I got a bloody paper cut!"

You stared. Swallowed a lump that had formed in your throat. Did she really just say that? Everything you'd done for her — all the love you'd showered her with, the tears you'd wiped away — and she had the audacity to trivialize it. To make you out to be a nagging wife.

"Wow." Because what else was there to say? She'd made her feelings clear, and quite loud. Louder than any fuck you she could have shouted. "You suck, you know that? You're a shitty girlfriend. I don't know why I even bother."

Two could play this game. You'd learned that from the very best.

Hurt flickered over Rowena's face; she instantly smoothed it out, covered it up with indifference you'd gotten to know well. "You're not exactly a walk in the park, either."

"I've done everything for you, and it's not enough. Nothing is ever enough with you."

Not the sleepless nights. Not the hugs and words of love. Not the promises that it was okay, that she was okay, that she was safe from the monster who'd hurt her — promises you'd kept to the very last word.

Not you.

You were never — would never be — enough.

"Maybe you're just doing a shoddy job," she said in that nonchalant tone she used to hurt people, to show them she didn't care.

It stung like a slap to the face. "Fuck you, Rowena!"

"Right back at you, dear."

You screamed. Stomped your foot like a child. Your nails bit into your skin as your fists tightened. Turning on your heel, you started walking in the opposite direction.

"Where in hell are you going?"

"I can't be around you right now." You looked to Sam and Dean, to their faces that told you they would rather be anywhere but here. You could relate. "I can't be around any of you."

If you were to stay for another moment, you would do something you would regret. Your magic was already boiling, fingertips sparking, eyes flashing purple. You needed to breathe. Needed to calm down. Needed to, for the first time in five long, long years, be away from your girlfriend.

"You can't just walk away!" Rowena said. "We aren't finished!"

A bitter chuckle escaped your mouth. "Why? Because that's your thing?" You meant for it to hurt, to make her heart ache as much as yours did. To pay back what you were owed for she was the last person you expected this kind of treatment from. "Don't worry, I'm not stealing. Just borrowing a page out of your book."

If she had a reaction to your words, you didn't see it. You just kept walking. One foot in front of the other, eyes straight ahead. You didn't look back until you were sure you were far enough away that the only thing to return your glance were trees.

Making sure you were alone — truly, blissfully alone — you wept. You sobbed and cried like an inconsolable child as your heart pulsed and pounded in your chest. A hammer beating against your ribcage, crushing it, tearing it apart.

You didn't want to be here. Didn't want to join the Winchesters on yet another case no different than the others before them — the ones they'd begged Rowena to help with as shamelessly as this one. The softie she'd become, she said yes, as she did every time they called. What Sam Winchester asked for, Sam Winchester got. Regardless of your objections.

You knew Rowena had changed. Understood her need to redeem herself for her past misdeeds, to make up for every life she'd taken and ruined. Helping the Winchesters gave her a sense of peace, of happiness. Of hope that maybe, just maybe, she wasn't irreparable, that the evil she'd inflicted could be negated with good.

The fact that she was putting herself in harm's way didn't seem to dissuade her.

So you went with her. If you couldn't talk her out of it, at the very least you could go with her to keep an eye on her, to make sure she was okay. Rowena welcomed your company, and had made it clear to the Winchesters the two of you were a package deal. Not that they minded. After all, two helpful witches were better than one.

Today was no different than any other day. A seemingly difficult case. Murdered women thrown out like trash, their naked bodies littered with bruises and welts, reminders of the brutality they'd succumbed to. No suspects. No leads. Nothing but a pentagram cut deep into each victim's chest.

A witch perpetrator, it was suspected. Or one that had been hunting witches — or women they'd suspected of being so — branding them loud and clear for the entire world to know their sin like a twisted scarlet letter.

Your bet was on the latter.

It only made you hope for the bastard to be found sooner.

At the same time, it made your nerves go off like fireworks. If there was an insane hunter out there, it wasn't safe for you and Rowena to work this case. What if one of you were to be taken? What if one of you were to be brutalized in the worst ways possible and thrown away like trash?

You both bore resurrection sachets, but still.

You'd already been through the aftermath of a similar ordeal with Rowena once. It would destroy you (and, despite how nonchalant she acted, demolish her) to go through it again.

Rowena, ever the contrarian, disagreed. Or rather, she didn't care. She wanted to help. Wanted to make the bastard who'd been doing this pay for ever putting his hands in a witch. You would be okay, she assured you. She wouldn't let any harm come your way. If he were to even look at you wrong, she would make sure the ordeal that waited for him in Hell would be Heaven compared to what she would put him through.

As if that was the point. As if that made your worries — for her, for her wellbeing — subside for even a sliver.

But, as always, Rowena was stubborn, and were you, and soon you were screaming in each other's face.

And now here you were, crying your eyes out in the middle of an unknown forest, your back against a tree, nothing but a sea of trees and overgrown weeds around you.

Gods. That woman would be the death of you. As impossible as she was, as much as her words hurt, you couldn't make yourself hate her. You never could; not back when she was a heartless bitch, when she cared about nothing but herself, and certainly not now, four years into the relationship you never thought would happen.

Rowena had changed. She truly had. But, gods, sometimes it was a struggle to handle her. She was difficult to love. Impossible, almost, but you managed it. Sometimes, like now, you wished you hadn't. Because hating her would be easier. It would make her words sting less. Would make her disappointment in you, her lack of appreciation for all you've done for her, hurt less.

Being in love was a bitch.

Being in love with Rowena was one of massive proportions.

That was what you got for falling in love with someone who used to brag about being unable to feel anything remotely close to affection.

That woman was long gone, but remnants of her still lived on. A perfect weapon Rowena happily utilized, aimed it straight at the heart for maximum damage.

If you weren't enough, who would be? What was it that she wanted you to do? You'd given her your all, and more, so much more. Had pushed yourself to your limits for her sake. Mistakes were made along the way, and learned from. You'd always strived to do better, be better; a better carer, a better girlfriend.

Clearly not the best. Lacking. Not enough. Never enough.

Knees trembling, you allowed yourself to slide to your knees. You buried your face in your hands, muffled the sobs that kept tearing from your throat. Willed them to silence.

You couldn't understand Rowena like Sam. Couldn't make her PTSD go away. Couldn't make her better, happier. There was nothing of value you could give her. A few soft words, kisses, and hugs could only do so much.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were doing a shoddy job.

But still, you tried. You did your best. Gave your all; blood, sweat, and tears. You weren't perfect, nobody was, but if that was what Rowena had an issue with, well, it was her problem.

You could only give her so much.

Was it too much to ask for the smallest shred of gratitude in return?

*****

Tags: @werewolfbarbie @oswinthestrange​ @songofthecagedmoose​ @apurdyfulmind​ @getthesalt-sam​ @metallihca​ @salembitchtrials​ @jay-eris​ @hellsmother​ @elizabeth-effie​ @shadowgirl-vsb​ @rowenaswife​ @wonderifshelikesroses​ @xfireandsin​ @liddell-alien​ @hotdiggitydammit​ @lae-lae​ @darkhumorsblog​ @angel7376​ @cherrypierowena​ @evil-regal-vampiress​ @hellbentredhead​ @angel-e-v-a​ @a-queen-and-her-throne​ @carryon-doctor-lock​ @fangirlxwritesx67​ @mintymarshmellows​ @midnight-lestrange​ @osterhagen​ @impala-1979​ @gracib16​ @feelsandotps​

[taeyongdoyoung]

summary: the forest is your only escape from the everyday troubles with your family until you find danger lurking behind the trees. or rather, danger finds you. your fateful encounter with the vampire ravn leaves you wishing for a different life. you strike an unexpected deal with the stranger that will soon turn into something more…

pairing: vampire!ravn x reader

side characters: seoho and leedo

genre: vampire!au, ANGST, romance, humour, fluff

warnings: blood mentions, major character death (kinda?), swearing (like twice), i’m back on my shakespeare shit, insecurities, secrets being revealed, slight making out, biting

word count: 2.7k

author’s note: this chapter is heavily based on beauty and the beast in case it wasn’t obvious so far

part one 🌙 part two 🌙 part three 🌙 part four 🌙 part five 🌙 part six🌙 part seven 🌙 part eight 🌙 part nine 🌙 part ten🌙 part eleven 🌙 epilogue 

You had successfully managed to stop the bleeding but Seoho was still unconscious. You were so worried. Even though your first encounter with the wizard was quite unpleasant and revealing of his hatred for humans, you still didn’t want him to die. 

Not only because he was Ravn’s best friend, but because he had come for you alongside Ravn. To save you from Leedo…This poor man had risked his own life. And you couldn’t just let him bleed out. The guilt would kill you. So, you just sat there next to him, waiting for Ravn to come back with herbs and medicines. After what seemed like eternity of pressing his wound, Seoho suddenly opened his eyes.

“Oh my God, how do you feel?” you inquired anxiously.

“Better,” Seoho murmured. “Stay back.”

“What? But I have to keep pressing the-“

He shook his head.

“I’ve got this.”            

You did as he asked and gave him some space. Then, he placed his hand on his stomach and some strange light emitted from it. You watched in disbelief as Seoho healed himself with his magic. A couple of minutes later, he was perfectly fine. He was even standing!

“If you could have done this all along, why did I have to bother trying to save you like an idiot?” you were getting frustrated.

“I couldn’t,” Seoho explained. “I needed sleep to recharge my energy. Casting a spell to find you was quite exhausting.”

“So, my actions weren’t entirely useless, then?” you had to make sure.

“No, I’m grateful,” he smiled weakly.

“So am I. You both came for me,” you whispered thankfully.

“And about what you said to Leedo about Ravn. It was all an act, right? You wanted to deceive the werewolf?”

“Of course,” you confirmed. “You have no idea how badly I wanted to go back to Ravn. But this was the only thing I could think of. I lack in physical strength, in case you haven’t noticed.”

Seoho chuckled lightly.

“I misjudged you terribly. You’re not like other humans.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You actually care about Ravn, don’t you?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Speaking of him, where is he?”

“I asked him to get herbs and medicine from the castle. But seeing how well you’ve recovered, it seems to me I’ve sent him on a fool’s errand.”

Seoho looked away guiltily.

“It wasn’t entirely pointless,” he argued. “At least you kept him from making me his dinner.”

You laughed despite yourself.

“He wouldn’t.”

“I’m quite delicious,” Seoho joked. “Anyways, now that I’m fine we should go to him,” Seoho suggested. “Unfortunately, I’m drained by the healing magic, so we’ll have to walk.”

“It’s fine,” you were determined. “I don’t mind.”

“You don’t understand. I have a bad feeling,” he said. “I can’t explain it but...do you honestly believe Leedo would let this whole thing go just like that?”

“I’m not sure what I believe anymore. But let’s get going and make sure Ravn is okay.”

🌙🌙🌙

Ravn’s POV

The second I entered my castle, I stormed into the kitchen for herbs and medicine and whatever I could find that would possibly help Seoho. I couldn’t believe how shitty these past few weeks had been. First, Y/N got kidnapped by a freaking werewolf and then, I miraculously found her but said werewolf stabbed my best friend. It was so messed up.

I gathered a couple of things that seemed useful for Seoho’s wounds and meant to hurry out of the castle. Only…fate had different plans. I heard yelling and screaming coming from the outside world. When I looked outside of the window, I realized I was surrounded. By humans, mostly. And they were all led by Leedo. Of-fucking-course. Shitty weeks just got shittier.

They were all carrying wooden stakes made of juniper. Which had the ability to kill a vampire like myself. Splendid. What bothered me was how Leedo and the humans knew what could hurt me? I had only told Seoho and Y/N about the damn wooden stakes. Seoho would never tell another being my secret. Which meant Y/N had…No, I couldn’t afford the time to think about that. So what if she had betrayed me to Leedo?

I was probably going to die within minutes. It didn’t matter anymore. And she was alone with Seoho. Had she planned this all along? To keep me prisoner in my own home, surrounded by embittered people Leedo had turned against me? And Seoho was too far away to save my sorry ass. Or vice versa. I had left him there all by himself, trusting her completely…Only to walk right into a trap. It seemed too damn suspicious and I hated myself for doubting her intentions but it was the most plausible explanation. Why else would she insist on me going to the castle? Alone…

In that moment, I realized I had only two options. Option one was to stay inside for as long as the gates could hold. But without blood, I would practically starve to death. Option two was to go out there and try to fight the humans and Leedo. But with all these wooden stakes, I would undoubtedly get killed.

And even though they were all coming to murder me, I didn’t want to kill them. It would make me exactly the kind of monster people described in fairy tales. However, I was no coward and I had no intention of staying inside to die of starvation. I would leave my castle and fight. Not for myself, I no longer cared if I survived. I needed to save Seoho. If it wasn’t too late already.

So I went outside and fought as hard as I could. But they were too many and too bloodthirsty (not like me but still). And I was alone. Everyone I cared about had abandoned me. In the end, it was Leedo who stabbed me with the wooden stake. The humans were too slow to capture me but the damn werewolf had managed. In my final moments, I thought of her. Even if she had betrayed me, I wanted to see her one last time. Tell her…I didn’t know what exactly, I just missed her. But it was too late…

🌙🌙🌙

Reader’s POV

When you and Seoho finally reached Ravn’s castle, it was too late. The beautiful garden was on fire. The place seemed like a ruin. The gates were wrecked. You and Seoho exchanged a worried look and hurried forward without saying a word. Only to find Ravn’s lifeless body, wooden stake through his heart. No, no, no. You couldn’t believe it. He was…dead. And not in a vampire sort of way. You knelt down next to him, sobbing inconsolably.

“No, please, you have to wake up,” you cried out.

“He’s gone,” Seoho pointed out coldly.

“Can’t you do something?” you screamed desperately. “Heal him! Please!”

“I can’t resurrect vampires, Y/N,” Seoho responded. “If I could, I would have done so already.”

You kept crying, shaking Ravn’s body helplessly.

“What happened?” you asked Seoho, hoping he would have the answers.

“My best guess is that Leedo gathered some humans and they surrounded the castle. I can still smell them, they must have left minutes before we arrived.”

“How did they know that wooden stakes can…” you choked out.

“I don’t know, Y/N, you tell me,” Seoho accused you.

“Seriously? You think I told Leedo something?”

Seoho shrugged.

“I wouldn’t put it past you.”

“Unbelievable,” you scoffed. “Maybe they read about it in a book, have you considered that for a second?”

“It’s not in the lore.”

“I’m so exhausted of being blamed for shit I didn’t do,” you groaned. “I just lost the love of my life and you still won’t believe my sincerity.”

“You love him?” Seoho eyed you suspiciously.

“Of course I love him, you asshole,” as you said that a treacherous tear fell down your cheek and onto Ravn’s cold, lifeless face. You kept crying harder and even kissed him, as Seoho simply stared at the scene unfolding right in front of him. “I love you, Ravn, please, come back to me,” you were repeating the same words like a mantra. As if they could turn back time. As if it mattered. You had never told him you loved him. You had hinted it, naturally, but never said those three little words. And now that he was gone, he could no longer hear them. You wondered if he had known. It would break your heart if he had not. “I love you,” you kept saying without thinking. Your eyes were closed and you were just lying on top of Ravn, refusing to let go. Until Seoho interrupted you.

“Y/N, look! His chest is rising and falling,” he exclaimed.

You pulled away briefly to see for yourself if what he was saying was actually the truth.

“That’s impossible,” you mumbled as you witnessed Ravn’s slow breathing.

“Keep doing whatever you’re doing, you damn sorceress!” Seoho chuckled bitterly.

You stared at him in confusion but did so anyway, repeating your confession, as tears continued to fall from your face and onto Ravn’s. But he was still gone, eyes closed and unmoving. However, as you held him tightly, you realized something had changed. Ravn was no longer cold! It was so strange. His hands were warm…they almost felt…human.

“Seoho, touch his hand!” you screamed in disbelief.

The wizard did as you suggested and then, took a couple of steps back, as if to assess the situation.

“This can’t be real.”

And yet it was. You couldn’t understand what was happening but you felt like the only sensible thing to do was continue telling Ravn how you felt for him. After a couple of minutes, what you had been hoping for took place before you. A sight so dear and yet so unfamiliar. A sight that felt like home. 

🌙🌙🌙

Ravn’s POV

When I opened my eyes, I felt…different. But I didn’t have much time to analyze what was going on because I was flooded by Y/N and Seoho’s excited kisses and hugs.

“You’re alive!” they squealed excitedly.

“What…how?” I asked, overwhelmed by all the affection I was suddenly receiving.

“Y/N saved your life,” Seoho explained calmly. “She kept sobbing and saying how much she loved you. I don’t understand it myself, but I suggest we talk about it somewhere else. If the humans and Leedo come back for us, we might not be so lucky next time.”

“Seoho’s right,” Y/N agreed reluctantly. “We have to get out of here!” she grabbed my hand and pulled me up. “Let’s run!”

Seoho shook his head.

“No need, my magic has been recharged,” he shared. “I can teleport the three of us anywhere you wish.”

“Anywhere?” Y/N questioned hopefully.

“In fair Verona where we lay our scene,” I suggested which earned me another eager hug from Y/N.

“Shakespeare nerds,” Seoho rolled his eyes, but grabbed our hands and teleported us anyway.

Once we were thousands of kilometres away from Leedo and the humans who had “killed” me, safe and sound in a cosy Verona hotel, I decided it’s high time we discussed what just happened.

“Okay, first of all, I have to be honest with you, Y/N,” I started. “I’m sorry for briefly doubting your intentions before getting killed. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay,” she waved me off. “I’m used to it.”

“What, so when I doubt you, you throw a tantrum, but when Ravn does, you’re like, it’s no biggie?” Seoho was obviously dissatisfied by Y/N’s reaction.

“Let’s not interrupt him!” Y/N scolded my best friend. “He has something important to say. Right, Ravn?”

I nodded solemnly.

“I kept a secret from you,” I confessed. “Seoho knows about it already.”

Seoho agreed, immediately realizing what I was referring to.

“There is this myth that some vampires can be ‘healed’ of their vampirism if they are truly loved by someone pure at heart. At the time, I thought it was silly but when I met you and felt this…immediate connection I hadn’t felt before, I couldn’t help but hope. And now that I’ve had time to process, I’m pretty sure it came true.”

Y/N and Seoho stared at me, waiting for me to reveal the whole truth.

“I’m human now,” I finally announced.

“You’re what?” Y/N exclaimed at the same time when Seoho mumbled ‘I knew it’ under his breath.

“How else would you explain my warm skin, my breathing and the current craving for pancakes and pizza I’m having?”

“Aw, that’s so cute,” Y/N rubbed my stomach softly. “I’ll call room service in a minute.”

“So, you don’t mind?” I asked self-consciously. “You still like me?”

“Like?” she laughed. “I love you, silly! Vampire or human, it doesn’t matter to me.”

“I love you, too,” I said. “Even if you were a worm, I’d still love you.”

“You guys are gross,” Seoho, who was still there. “I’m heading out to get something delicious for all of us.”

“Yay! Ravn can eat human food now!” Y/N exclaimed happily as I shook my head, amused by everything. I was alive. My dream had actually come true. And I owed it all to her.

🌙🌙🌙

Reader’s POV

Once Seoho had left you two alone to get food, Ravn immediately embraced you tightly and started crying. You were so shocked you could barely move.

“Hey, what’s wrong, Ravn?” you asked him, confused.

“I’m sorry. I was such an idiot for doubting you, my love,” he spoke passionately, overwhelmed by guilt.

“It’s all in the past,” you attempted to reassure him and stroked his hair. “I would never hold it against you. I understand why you and Seoho would mistrust humans after the Xion situation.”

Ravn shook his head and pulled away from you, causing you to flinch at the loss of physical contact.

“That doesn’t excuse my unjustified suspicions. You’ve been nothing but kind to me and I…failed you.”

You gripped his shoulders firmly and looked him straight in the eye.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, darling, and just try to enjoy life, okay?”

Ravn gulped nervously.

“I don’t deserve you,” he kept saying. “I never did. Not as a vampire and certainly not as a human. You deserve so much better.”

“But you’re the best there is,” you told him and ran a finger across his cheek. “I couldn’t ask for more. You make me so happy, Ravn. You have to remember that.”

“You’re certain?”

“Both our time is limited now,” you reminded him. “Let’s not waste it.”

You climbed on top of him and began kissing him eagerly. He moaned under your touch and pulled you closer. You bit the bottom of his lip teasingly and he chucked into your mouth.

“What am I to do with you, my thirsty vampiress?” Ravn tsked gently.

“I suppose you’ll have to satisfy my hunger, my poor human,” you joked in return, earning another genuine laughter out of him.

Ravn swiftly reversed your positions so that he was now towering over you as if to help you recall who’s really in charge. Then, you continued breathing each other’s air and grasping one another as if for the first time, and in a way, it was. At least, your first time with Ravn as a warm creature with a beating heart.

“I missed you so much,” you confessed in-between kisses. “When I was trapped, I only thought of you and how badly I want to be back in your arms.”

“I know, my love,” he soothed you. “I only thought of finding you and bringing you to safety, I was so worried.”

As you were sharing your most profound emotions and getting lost in the other person, you completely lost track of time and at one point, you were interrupted by Seoho’s return and the enticing smell of pizza and pancakes.

“Ugh, my eyes!” the wizard complained, disgusted by your intimacy, even though both you and Ravn were still fully clothed!

The two of you jumped away from each other, startled by Seoho’s arrival.

“You’re back,” Ravn simply stated the obvious.

“Come on, I’m starving,” he put the food on the table.

“That makes three of us,” you smirked and gave your boyfriend a meaningful wink.

To be continued…

[zigtheeortega]

out of time

✿ pairing: sienna x danny

✿ word count: 3354

✿ warnings: death, loss

✿ author’s note: well, i thought i’d just flesh out what we didn’t get to see, since i highly doubt they’ll expand on it since it’s off screen. it’s not my best work, but it was written out of spite so hopefully that makes up for the lack of quality LMAO. anyways, i tagged everybody who liked this post and added it to the end since there were quite a few! [sidenote: i wrote this post after i’d started this fic so if you see similarities, that’s why] i really hope you like it and that i did both sienna and danny justice!

•─────────✦✿✦────────•

She sprinted down the hallway, pager still beeping erratically on her hip, the weight of the numbers enough to make her feel like she was slugging through wet concrete.

No, no, not him, please, not him, she chanted to herself, vision blurring with tears before she had the chance to let the negative possibilities set in.

He’s gonna be okay. It’s okay. We’re okay.

Thankfully she was only one floor away, taking the steps two at a time, shoes squeaking against the waxy floor. Sweat formed on her brow as she shoved through the stair’s exit door, pushing past every intern in her way.

Normally she’d stop to apologize, but not today. She didn’t know how much time she had. It could be minutes, and she wasn’t going to waste even a second apologizing when someone’s life was on the line.

She saw the small crowd forming outside of the room and barrelled towards them without a second thought, tearing her way to the front.

When she saw Spencer’s terrorized gaze, her chest tightened involuntarily. Her body covered the entrance to the room, so she could barely see into the room, but she did catch a glimpse of something that made her blood run cold.

A purple pant leg strewn across the floor, ankle relaxed, unmoving, peeking out behind Spencer’s side.

“Sienna, stop. You can’t go any further,” Ethan murmured, gently holding her in place with his arm.

“But I have to – Danny – he’s –” she struggled against his grip, lip wobbling.

“Please,” he said, more of a statement than a question, like he was holding back, too, the strain in his voice enough to stop her in her tracks.

She watched, helpless, as Spencer and Rafael scrambled to seal the room, Bobby convulsing on the ground, Travis passed out, and Danny getting weaker and weaker by the second.

It was like turning on the news and seeing tragedy after tragedy – she always felt absolutely helpless. Her empathy always felt like a curse in those moments. She couldn’t stop herself from feeling everything, whether she wanted to or not.

She wrapped her arms around herself, digging her fingernails into her side, rocking from foot to foot. She couldn’t tear her eyes away from Danny’s frail form on the ground.

“Hey, I came here as fast as I could,” a voice huffed at her side. She turned, met with Jackie’s concerned gaze, hands on her hips as she panted, tiny sweat stains dotting her teal scrubs.

“It’s… All of them, Jackie, –” she couldn’t find the words to quite describe the soul crushing weight of the situation.

Bobby, Rafael, Spencer, and Danny… people that had been her emotional rocks through the lowest points of her life.

Bobby was her unsung hero. He’d keep guard while she cried in the supply closet so she wasn’t disturbed, in return for a dozen of her chocolate chip cookies. After the first few times, she brought him baked goods weekly regardless of whether she had a breakdown or not.

Rafael was her empath twin, as weird as it sounded. She’d branded them that as a joke, between giggles, on her late night break at the cafeteria. Despite it being stated jokingly, it was true – they found themselves confiding in each other each time they faced a difficult situation, bonding over the fact that their jobs took a lot more out of them than the normal person.

Spencer was her late night confidante, the person who she’d crawl into bed with at 3 a.m. after having another detailed nightmare where she was cursed with endless terminal patients. There weren’t that many people she’d platonically cuddle and sob until she was a snotting mess next to.

And Danny… he was the future. He was a vision of what she’d always wanted.

It took her too long to break away from Wayne’s hold. She knew he was toxic, but she didn’t want to admit it – how was she supposed to admit that she’d been wrong for that long?

With Danny, she was comfortable. He got her in a way no one else did. He had the potential to be every single role that her friends played simultaneously.

God, and she’d told him she needed time. She hadn’t properly healed from Wayne so she needed some time before she moved on and –

Now it’s too late, she thought to herself as she watched them wheel out Travis and Danny in glass cases.

And Bobby in a body bag.

“Holy shit,” Jackie breathed, eyes widening. “Fuck – Oh my god, Sienna –”

The tears were already flowing as she slammed her face into Jackie’s chest, body wracked with inconsolable sobs.

She’d never hugged Jackie like this before, as she hated physical affection unless it was… PG-13.

Jackie stiffened, but wrapped her arms around Sienna’s shoulders, patting her back, slowly melting into the embrace.

“We’ll visit him as soon as we can,” she said in her ear, holding Sienna up as she nearly crumbled.

––––

Danny’s body was still, the only movement his heaving chest as he took shallow, labored breaths, his normally warm skin tone muted, drained of color.

“Hey, it’s me,” she called as she closed the door behind her, voice shaky, tote bag at her side. “I hope you can hear me.”

No response.

“Uh… I brought some of our favs. Secret of Ninradell and some music to play so hopefully it makes your dreams a little sweeter – ” she forced a laugh, trying to keep her brave face. “I brought some cookies that I baked last night – uh, I’m sorry they’re not fresh – I –”

Her voice cracked, and she rolled her lips together to keep her chin from trembling. She dragged a nearby chair closer to the glass box, sliding into it, never taking her eyes from his face.

God, why did it have to be you? She thought to herself, covering her mouth with her hands as she cried, her soft sobs muted by the loud machines monitoring his vitals.

She popped open the cover of the hardback, highlighter in hand. “I’m gonna read this to you, if that’s okay? I’m highlighting passages that remind me of you,” she smiled sadly, watching his eyes roll underneath their lids. He was dreaming.

“I know you hate when I mark up books. That’s the librarian speaking, huh?” She giggled, remembering the time he told her about his job in the campus library, and his deep hatred for the Dewey decimal system.

She began reading, trying her best at different accents, failing miserably, but it distracted her from reality if just momentarily.

Her year had been full of blow after crushing blow, both professionally and personally. Losing Wayne, breaking the news to terminal patients, dealing with the toll it took on her mental health, as well as dealing with an intern that was using her – she wasn’t stupid. She just would rather suck it up than have someone upset with her that was supposed to look up to her. Stupid, but she couldn’t handle the thought of disappointing another person.

Hours later, voice hoarse, pages and pages marked up, her hands stained with neon yellow ink, she was drifting off to sleep where she sat – but a groan startled her awake.

“Uhhhhhh,” he moaned, visibly in pain, writhing uncomfortably.

“Danny? Hey, I’m here,” she rushed forward to the box, pressing her hand up against the side, hoping he could feel the warmth of her hand through the glass.

“Sienna…?” He asked, eyes fluttering open and closed. He couldn’t focus on her face.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving.”

“Good,” he croaked, weakly flopping his hand to touch the glass.

He didn’t know it, but those two words were enough to strengthen her withering resolve. She fell asleep cradling the glass, arm slung over the top.

–––

She was ripped from her sleep by intense beeping from the machines surrounding Danny, and she glanced down, peering through the glass at Danny’s quivering form, switching between violent shakes and gentle shivers.

She slammed the emergency button and quickly went to work trying to find the source of the issue, waiting for the nurses to come as back up.

“Danny. Danny, stay with me. Listen to my voice. Hold on, alright? Nurses are heading here now, and we’re going to take care of you,” she said calmly, betraying her shaking hands.

They set to work immediately, trying to keep him from slipping into unconsciousness, all four nurses working swiftly, nimble fingers and precise movements, never getting into each others’ way.

Sienna watched from outside as they worked, glass box open, desperately wishing she had a hazmat suit. Ethan and Jackie observed, giving calm commands.

“Sienna!”

She turned, eyes red rimmed from crying and lack of sleep, startling Elijah as he rolled to a stop next to her.

“Jackie asked me to send an intern up to bring you a hazmat suit… but I thought I’d bring it myself, to check on you,” he said, eyebrows furrowed, handing the folded hazmat suit from his lap to her arms.

“Don’t feel like you need to talk to me right now, alright? I’ll wait out here, if you need me.” He gave her a sympathetic smile as he patted her arm.

“Thank you,” she mumbled, hastily throwing on the hazmat suit and ripping at the zipper, growing more and more frustrated as it caught on her clothes. “Come on. Come on, come on –”

“Here, let me help,” Elijah offered. “Bend down and I’ll zip it up.”

She followed his instruction and squatted as Elijah glided the zipper upwards, patting her back softly when he was done.

And like before, she had no time to thank him. She didn’t want to miss one second with Danny.

She burst into the room, not disturbing the hive-like efficiency of the nurses.

She watched as they poked and prodded and worked tirelessly to keep him conscious. There was an undeniable tension in the air, stretched so thin it could snap at any moment.

The strained atmosphere of the room didn’t come from the doctors – it came from the nurses. Sienna knew how much Danny meant to his coworkers. He was always the first to resolve conflict and make people feel at ease.

They were tight knit; losing Danny would be a crushing blow.

“Please, Jackie, tell me what’s happening,” she said between panicky breaths, unable to contain her anxiety. “I need to know.”

“We’re trying to stabilize him… but we’re not sure what’s causing him to go into shock in the first place,” Jackie said, brows furrowed.

Three long, painful minutes later, his heart rate returned to normal, his whole body in a feverish sweat.

“That took a lot out of him,” Sienna whispered, watching a nurse press a damp, cool cloth to his forehead and neck.

“You know we have to get rid of your bag, right? It’s contaminated,” Jackie grimaced, motioning to the nurse that was zipping it into a sealed bag, about to throw it away.

“No, you can’t – I didn’t even get to finish reading Ninradell to him last night,” Sienna pleaded, rushing forward to the nurse.

“You can’t take it out of this room,” Ethan shook his head, his statement dismissive, but his tone of voice sympathetic.

“Can I at least finish reading it to him? I promise I’ll dispose of it properly. I just… I need some more time with him.”

“I don’t think –” “I’ll stay with her,” Jackie nodded, holding Ethan’s gaze. “Don’t worry, I’ll page you if anything happens.”

With one firm tilt of his chin, he left the room, presumably towards Spencer and Rafael.

“We think he can hear what’s going on around him, so it’s actually a great idea to read to him,” Jackie said, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “It might help pull him through this.”

Jackie grabbed the bag from the nurse wordlessly, handing it back to Sienna. “You can take a break,” she said to the group of nurses anxiously huddled next to Danny. “We’ll watch over him.”

One of them started sealing the box, but Sienna stopped them with a frantic “Wait.”

“Keep it open. I’ll seal it later,” Jackie ordered gently.

She slipped into the seat next to him, holding firmly onto the edge of the glass.

Jackie must’ve noticed she was debating whether or not she should touch him, so she confirmed it for her. “You can touch him. Don’t be afraid.”

“But I am,” she said, voice cracking, tears threatening to spill. It was tiresome how much she’d cried over the past twelve hours.

She was thankful he’d held on for that long, but she had no idea when it was coming. From his steadily declining health as well as appearance, it was inevitable.

“I’m so scared,” Sienna whispered, refusing to look at her, eyes trained on the rise and fall of his chest.

“You have every right to be, babe. I’m so sorry,” Jackie said, striding over to rest an arm around her shoulders.

“I… told him I needed more time to be me, you know? I needed to figure out more about me because with Wayne and with surviving last year and the stuff with Spencer and Mrs. Martinez and – and –” she cut herself off, trying to regain her composure.

“You lost sight of who you were.”

“Yeah, that’s exactly it. Everything I thought I knew was thrown out the window and it’s like I haven’t even had time to recover,” she said, her voice still wavering.

“I did the same thing last year. But you can’t beat yourself up about it. You never in a million years would’ve guessed that this could happen.”

Sienna took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to unravel the tight coil in her chest. “But he was the only thing making coming to work worth it. I like him a lot and I just… told him to wait.”

“If he had a problem with that, he would’ve moved on.”

She glanced up, met with Jackie’s soft expression, sympathetic and kind – so much different than the tough exterior she was used to. “Don’t blame yourself, Sienna. It’ll break you.”

She knew she was right, but the nagging voice at the back of her mind wouldn’t allow her to let it go. 

She cracked the book open, flipping to the last page she’d read from, about two-thirds into it. But before she could start reading, Danny stirred.

His hand twitched, his fingers flexing like he was grabbing for something. Without a second thought she grasped his hand between her glove-clad palms, the book clamoring onto the ground.

“Sienna…” he whispered, trying to open his eyes, but they fluttered shut, like a weight pulling at his lashes.

She wanted desperately to see his bright eyes again, to hear him to reassure her that it’d all work out. That she’d be okay. That he’d be okay.

“Hey, I’m here,” she said, lightly squeezing her hand.

He moaned, presumably in pain, wiggling like he couldn’t stay still.

“How bad is your pain on a scale 1-10? I’m gonna count up and you squeeze my hand to stop me, alright?”

He gave a weak tilt of his chin, a single nod the only thing he could muster.

She began counting. “One… two… three…”

Nothing.

She kept counting, feeling a weak squeeze when she said “Nine.”

“I’ve never felt this bad before,” he whispered, Sienna having to lean in to hear him.

“Danny, if it’s a ten, you need to tell me,” she chewed the inside of her lip, already racking her brain for the best pain medicine that wouldn’t react with the mystery poison.

“It’s not at a ten…” He stirred, wincing, managing a weak smile. “Because you’re here with me.”

He sighed, like it took a lot out of him to say two sentences.

“That was so sweet,” she said, glancing up at Jackie, knowing her haunted expression would ruin the moment if she let him see it.

Jackie looked equally as upset, her jaw set, fists clenched at her side.

“Stop it, Dr. Varma… you’ve done –” he took another deep, shuddering breath. “You’ve done so much for me already.”

“So have you. You’re a trooper,” Jackie nodded, looking up at the ceiling. Sienna couldn’t tell if she was trying to hold back tears or keep herself from thinking about it. “Thanks for holding out for us, Danny.”

“I don’t know how much longer I can, though,” he said, gripping Sienna’s hand, opening his eyes unexpectedly.

She shook her head, holding his hand to her chest. “No, don’t think like that. You can hold on for a while longer. I believe in you.”

“Sienna… You’re my favorite person,” he breathed, looking up at her with a spark of life in his eyes, a contrast from the gaunt look of his face. His dark circles gave the allusion that his eyes were sunken in, a skeleton of who he was less than 24 hours ago.

It scared the hell out of her how quickly he changed – and how content he looked with slipping away.

“You have to let them test on me,” he squeezed her hand. “It’ll help.”

“No, you’re gonna be fine –”

“It’s okay,” he reassured her, a soft smile adorning his lips, pale and cracked. “You’ll be okay.”

He craned his neck, trying to hold his head up. Sienna slipped her hand underneath the nape of his neck, supporting him. He tilted his head forward, lightly pressing his damp forehead against her hazmat suit.

She leaned forward, pressing hers against the loose protective fabric, feeling the warmth of his skin through it. 

“You can’t go, I – your family hasn’t even gotten to visit you –” She choked, the warm tears dotting the thick plastic screen, streaking down to fall farther into her suit.

“They couldn’t get here in time,” he said, matter-of-factly.

They sat there like that for a while. Her concept of time was thrown out the window as soon as she got the initial page, so it could’ve been ten seconds or ten minutes.

“Thank you for reading to me.”

She laughed, sniffling. “We spent all night talking about Ninradell, so it was only fitting I stayed up all night to read it to you.”

Another little while passed. Talking took so much out of him, that he had to take a few breaks between his speech so he wouldn’t pass out from exhaustion. “Don’t blame yourself,” he said, cutting through the silence. “You couldn’t have stopped this.”

She stared at her hands, clasped around his own, drained of color. He’d closed his eyes, so thankfully he couldn’t see her pained expression.

“I know. I can’t help but feel responsible for everything, even when it’s out of my control… I’m so sorry,” she said, voice breaking for the millionth time. She could barely form words without choking on them.

She cursed herself for not being stronger. Overwhelming emotion was enough to render her speechless, meanwhile Danny was pushing through searing pain in order to leave her with words she’d carry with her forever.

He’d mustered his last bit of energy to tell her to be kind to herself.

The machine behind him beeped. His heart rate had slowed to a crawl, and he was gone before Jackie could spring to action.

And when his hand went limp in between her palms, she let out an inhuman wail that no one, not even Spencer, had heard before.

––––

tags: @saintniceguy ; @part-of-the-circus ; @vandalasal ; @dudebro-lahela ; @averysheart-raleighsdick ; @cptnvers ; @bringing-back-socks-with-sandals ; @la-huerta ; @ironysyndrome ; @anotordinarygoldfish ; @pumpkinbutt ; @browneyedmissy ; @soo-empty ; @anonymous2094 ; @lumpyspaceprincessismybitch ; @lady-stirling ; @papinaveensbitch ; @writinghereandthere ; @unusualvisionsblog ; @beccadavenport ; @messofakind ; @violinet ; @serafinedupont ; @raleiighcarrera ; @pixeljazzy ; @pixelsandkink ; @altairadtaz

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Baby You Were My Picket Fence [Chapter 1: Bad To The Bone]

You are a first grade teacher in sunny Los Angeles, California. Ben Hardy is the father of your most challenging student. Things quickly get complicated in this unconventional love story.  

Song inspiration: Miss Missing You by Fall Out Boy.

Chapter warnings: Language.

Link to chapter list (and all my writing) HERE

Let me know if you’d like to be added to a taglist! :)

This kid is going to be the death of me.

“Eli Fitzgerald Hardy, DO NOT drop that frog!” The words launch from your throat like loosed arrows. Do you sound scary, commanding, authoritarian? You hope so.  

His defiant glare glints wildly beneath dark russet curls. His lips twist into a maniacal grin, revealing small white teeth. His grip noticeably loosens around the wriggling green frog. Maisy, paralyzed by fear, is wide-eyed and whimpering softly in her chair. Eli is standing, looming over her. The room is unnervingly silent as the other students watch in horror.

“Eli, don’t!” you plead.

It’s too late. The frog tumbles from his opened hand. The panicked amphibian lands in Maisy’s frizzy red hair and instantly becomes tangled there. Maisy is screaming, you are screaming, everyone is screaming. Well...everyone but Eli. He points and cackles as you sprint to Maisy’s side and try to pull the frog out of her hair.

“Honey, don’t cry, it’s going to be okay!” you shout over the children’s shrieks as Maisy sobs, her face a frantic shade of pink, her freckled cheeks glistening with tears. At last you manage to free the frog, swiftly carry it to the open window, and let it leap from your palm into the bushes. You wipe your hands on your skirt, your brand new skirt, the skirt now marred with tears and amphibian slime and muddy frog footprints. And have I mentioned that you fucking hate frogs?

“It...was...on...my...HEAD!” Maisy heaves, waving her hands in disgust. The other children are trying to comfort her.

“Maisy, sweetheart, the frog is all gone now. Here, let me fix your hair for you...”

You get Maisy cleaned up and settle the class. Then you turn to your worst nightmare, your arch nemesis, the smug lurking face that keeps you up at night. He’s smiling in the shadowy corner of the room by the coat closet, prowling there like a wolf.

“Eli, come over here please.”

“Yes Miss Teacher.”

“I do have a name,” you say, but halfheartedly. No matter how many times you’ve introduced yourself since the school year started three weeks ago, the students always lapse back into calling you Miss Teacher. One of the many hazards of first grade.

Eli obediently approaches, but his smile never dies.

“Now, that was a very unkind thing you just did to poor Maisy. We don’t want to scare our friends. And we don’t want to bring outside animals into the classroom. They could have germs, or they could bite someone—”

“Frogs don’t have teeth,” Eli points out astutely.

You sigh. “Be that as it may, we cannot drop frogs on our friends. And I think Maisy would really appreciate an apology. Isn’t that one of our class rules, making sure we apologize if we hurt our friends’ feelings?”

You turn to the other students for support, and they nod enthusiastically.

“Can you do that for me and Maisy, Eli?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “Maisy, I’m sorry I dropped the frog on your head.”

“That’s alright,” she replies, wiping her drying eyes. Such a prodigiously sweet child. They hug, the conflict seemingly forgotten. But Eli shoots you a mischievous smirk; he may have Maisy fooled, but you’re a bit shrewder. He’s not really all that sorry, and he’s likely already planning his next act of terror.

After you escort the kids to art class, you sit behind your desk and flip through the emergency contact notecards until you find Eli’s. The first person listed is his father. This is unusual; mothers are almost always the primary contact, especially in this neighborhood. Trophy wives stay home with the babies, dads trot off to their law firms or production companies to rake in the six-figure salaries, those are the unwritten rules. But dad is first on Eli’s card: Benjamin Whitaker Hardy. Actually, there’s no mother listed at all. You drum your fingers thoughtfully on the desk.

You dial Mr. Hardy’s number with your iPhone. It rings, but no one answers. At the tone, you leave a message.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Hardy.” Benjamin Whitaker Hardy, what a pretentious fucking name, he’s a too-important-to-deal-with-his-own-kid corporate desk job guy for sure. “This is Miss Y/L/N, Eli’s teacher here at Dolphin Cove Elementary. I’ve been wanting to speak with you regarding some of Eli’s behavior in class, and I haven’t had much luck with the notes I’ve sent home.” Probably because Eli’s trashing them or burning them or casting voodoo spells with them or whatever demons-in-training do. “I’m hoping we can connect sometime soon and find a solution that works for everyone.” Perhaps an exorcism? “I look forward to hearing from you! Goodbye for now.”

You hang up, sip your Coke Zero, and check your watch. You have fifteen minutes of freedom remaining. You glance out the window to see if the frog is still in the bushes. Blessedly, there’s no sign of it.

After art is reading and writing, then it’s time for the kiddos to go home. You make sure no one forgets their folders or backpack as you corral your class into a semi-orderly line and follow them out to the pickup area. Buses and cars wait patiently as students trickle out of the building and scramble to the vehicle doors, shouting excitedly about the events of the day. “Mommy, I got a gold star in social studies!” “Nana, I had pizza for lunch!” “Mom, Maisy got a FROG dropped on her head!”

Winston—a shy, gentle boy with huge black-rimmed glasses and chubby arms full of library books—stumbles as he sprints for his bus. “Ow!” he moans, spilling his books across the sidewalk, clutching his left knee.

“Uh oh! Win, dear, let me help you.”

You rush to the boy’s side, lift him upright, and brush the dust off his pants. Oh fuck, if he goes home scraped and dirty I’m going to catch hell from the nanny. As you kneel next to Winston, there are footsteps behind you, and then a deep, unfamiliar voice.

“Hi, hello, sorry, Miss Y/L/N...?”

The mysterious voice is jarring: British, sophisticated, impossibly smooth. You are frozen for a moment, then you whirl and rise to your feet. He’s young, really young. Far too young to be a parent in a district where most people don’t start having kids until their late-thirties. He’s blond, green-eyed, fit. And he doesn’t look anything like an attorney or film producer. He looks like a goddamn J.Crew model. Wait, what did he say? Oh yeah, my name.

“Yes, I, uh...that’s me!”

He’s restless, shifting his weight from foot to foot, wearing an expertly-tailored black suit, impatient, arrogant even. “I think you left me a message earlier. I’m Eli’s dad.”

You blink at him. “You’re...his father? Not his tutor? Not the nanny?”

Benjamin Whitaker Hardy narrows his eyes at you. “No.”

“Oh.” This is not going quite the way you’d planned. “I’m sorry, I just...he doesn’t have an accent, and there’s not much of a resemblance, I didn’t make the connection. I hope I haven’t offended you.”

“Yeah, he takes after his mother.” Mr. Hardy peers irritably around the pickup area, his hands in the pockets of his suit jacket. He’s clearly inconvenienced by this conversation. “Sorry I couldn’t pick up my phone earlier, I was at a...” He waves his hand flippantly. “A work thing.”

You find your words in a rush: “Well I wanted to speak to you because your son is clearly extremely gifted and highly intelligent, but he caught a frog at recess and then dropped in on a classmate’s head and it was all pretty traumatizing for the girl, and he has an unfortunate habit of doing things like this, on Monday he tried to glue Winston to his chair, and last week he told Brayden that hamsters don’t go to heaven when they die and Brayden was inconsolable for hours, and then there was the time—”

“Okay, okay, I’ll talk to him.”

That’s all? Really?! “Mr. Hardy, I don’t mean to be overbearing, but this is quite a persistent problem and I’ve been hoping to speak with you at length about it and I really think it warrants a more detailed discussion—”

“Right,” he cuts you off in that posh British accent. “I actually have to run, but I’ll be in touch.”

I bet you will be. “Look, Mr. Hardy...” You lose your manners, just for a second. “I’m sure you’re a very busy man—there are lots of fantastically important people in this city—but you’re also a father. And I get the sense that your son is dealing with some very serious challenges at home that are causing him to act out here. I can’t fix that alone. I need your help.”

Mr. Hardy stares at you, stunned, simmering. Eli bolts out of the throng of students and collides into his father’s suit-clad legs, clasping them and giggling. “Hey, buddy!” Mr. Hardy gushes in a strikingly tender tone, ruffling Eli’s hair. Then, incredibly, his face softens as his jade eyes flick back up to you. “I get it. You have a job to do. And I bet you’re pretty great at it.”

He extends his hand, which is strong and perfect and meticulously manicured.

“Ben,” he offers.

“Y/N,” you reply, shell-shocked, as you grasp his hand.

“I really do have to rush off, though,” he says apologetically, already turning towards a black Lexus.

“Okay. Yeah. We’ll chat soon.”

“Cheers.”

You watch as Ben and Eli jog to the Lexus, disappear inside, and speed off, weaving hazardously through minivans and Land Rovers and buses. You tap your shoes—electric blue flats—against the sidewalk, pondering as laughing children breeze by.

“Awesome,” you whisper to yourself. “The dad is probably a demon too.”

[hetacon]

I Have Worth Now

Word Count: 1,504

Pairings: Logicality, implied Platonic/Paternal Analogical, implied Platonic/Paternal Moxiety

Warning: Stress, mental breakdown, crying, Logan curses once, kissing (Lemme know if I need to note anything else)

Note: Before we get started, Logan is a little out of character but I promise it is for a legitimate reason. I will explain my creative interpretation of this decision at the end, promise. I still tried to keep to his character the best I could. Anyways, enjoy!

______________________________

“What does your schedule look like this year, Patton?” Logan asked, eyeing over his own school schedule before looking up.

Patton, his best friend since middle school, smiled and showed Logan the piece of paper with all of his classes on it. Logan scanned over it and nodded.

“I’m curious as to why you chose creative writing,” Logan mentioned.

“Oh! Well, I just like getting my feelings out on to paper you know? It helps make sure I’m not cooped up with everything tucked away,” Patton explained before looking over Logan’s schedule that was put in front of him. He made a face. “Are you going to be ok with all of those AP classes?”

“Of course. I’ve handled them before and so I think that I can handle these now,” Logan chuckled a little. Patton thought for a moment before beaming and hugging Logan.

“Ok, I trust you! Let me know if you need help with anything! I might not know about calculus but I can give you a break anytime you need it.”

“Yeah, I know,” Logan nodded. “I’ll be fine though.”

That ended up being massively untrue. It was senior year, and while many of the advanced classes that Logan had taken in previous years were manageable, this year took a drastic turn. Patton didn’t even notice until Logan wasn’t spending time with him anymore. It had been weeks since they had a decent conversation more than greetings and formalities. And Patton was sick of it. So after school a month in or so, he went to Logan’s house to talk to him.

As usual, Patton was let in without question and was told that Logan was in his room. Patton found Logan doubled down on studying, reading his AP economics textbook. He took off his glasses, rubbing his eyes before looking at the page again.

“Logan?”

The aforementioned’s eyes immediately flicked over to Patton and he could almost sense relief from the look.

“Is something wrong, Patton?” he asked, giving a genuine look of concern. Patton only shook his head.

“That depends on how you’re doing right now really..”

“I’m alright, thank you. Just preparing for a test tomorrow.”

“We haven’t spoken for weeks, I’m worried about you and whether or not you’re handling this alright,” Patton said, going over to the desk in the corner of Logan’s room. He sat down on the floor in front of Logan, placing his hand on the latter’s knee. “Logan, why do you do this?”

This was only met with a look of confusion.

“What do you mean?”

“Why do you take all of these classes? You don’t need them, you’ve already met all of your requirements for college. Yet, you’re still taking AP classes in things that won’t affect anything if you took regular courses.”

Logan looked down at him, thinking for a moment. “I don’t have time for this Patton, I need to study,” he replied curtly before turning to his book again.

Patton frowned and grabbed it, snapping it closed. “You are not avoiding this. We are going to talk about this, it’s important, Lo,” he huffed.

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I miss you and you barely talk to me now!”

“I need to focus on schoolwork for impressing colleges. It’s our senior year, Patton. Grades are important.”

“To who?”

“To me.”

“Why?”

“I..”

Silence.

Patton looked to Logan, expression softening. He took a hold of Logan’s hands. “Lo, why?”

Nothing and then-

“What do I have if not my intelligence?”

“... What?” Patton asked, looking up to him with a sad realization.

“There’s nothing to me if I’m not intelligent or making use of it.”

“Do you really think that that’s all there is to you?” Patton asked, trying not to tear up. Logan only nodded and Patton held his hands tighter. “Oh Logan...”

Logan couldn’t bring himself to meet Patton’s eyes.

“You’re a wonderful, funny person. Your intelligence is not all that makes you Logan, it shouldn’t need to be the key trait either!”

“I don’t want to take them..”

Patton looked to him for an explanation, letting Logan just talk.

“I don’t want any of these classes. I never have. School is so stressful but I only am worth..” Logan started.

He paused, took a deep breath, and then rephrased. “I only feel like I’m worth something if I take all them. Everyone expects it of me. My parents expect me to be a fucking NASA scientist or a doctor or anything prestigious! I.. I don’t want to...” he admitted. “Patton please don’t make me, god don’t make me,” he whispered, tears starting to run down his cheeks. He let out a loud sob and Patton was quick to hug him close.

With a little coaxing, Patton got them to Logan’s bed, lying down as Logan cried into his shirt. Patton stroked his hair and let him cry it out. Logan was inconsolable for an hour. Patton just made sure he didn’t move from his hold on Logan, letting him know that he was there the entire time. Logan went silent afterwards as he just buried his face into Patton’s chest.

“You’re taking 7 classes and an extra course after school, right?”

Logan nodded.

“Are your last two classes APs?”

Another nod.

“Can you do me a really big favor and consider dropping them if you don’t need them? And then coming with me to creative writing during 6th?”

“I understand dropping classes but why the second request?”

“I have something I want to see. I think it could be good for you.”

“Alright, I can see. I’ve wanted to drop them since school started, I’ve felt obligated to keep them. Promised myself I wouldn’t give up on a class and chicken out.”

“How come, Lo?”

“Because that shows I’m not... I’m not able to push through and pass the classes..”

“I actually think it would be really smart of you to drop them rather than keep them. Logan, I know you liked learning when you were little but clearly something has made you hate it. If you keep pushing yourself, you’ll hate every single day for the rest of your life because you put people’s image of how intelligent you are over your own mental health and your feelings. I promise that you’ll feel better after the guilt passes ok? And if you don’t, I’ll do anything to make it up to you,” Patton smiled.

Logan looked to him and got up, going to the door.

“Where are you going?” Patton asked him.

Logan turned to him from the open door. “To tell my parents what classes I’m dropping.”

Patton couldn’t help but beam.

Logan actually dropped them with no resistance and decided to drop the extra class too. After that, Patton had the creative writing teacher make an assessment of Logan’s writing and Logan found it extremely therapeutic. It was too late to join the class but the teacher was more than generous to let Logan sit next to Patton in the back and let him write whatever he felt like.

Surprisingly, Logan took a gap year with Patton and became an author to the surprise of everyone, resulting in a lot of guilt for Logan. He realized, however, that Patton was the only person, he learned, that he actually wanted to be worthy of.

After finishing up a draft for the night, Logan went over to Patton resting on the couch and wrapped his arms tightly around his husband’s waist, pulling him into his lap.

Patton couldn’t help but laugh a little as he hugged back just as tight, feeling Logan relax at that. “Hi, Loggybear~” he hummed happily.

Logan raised his head and kissed Patton gently. Patton giggled more.

“I love you, you know,” Logan told him, smiling back.

“I love you too!”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Intervening before I went insane.”

Patton huffed. “You wouldn’t have gone insane and you know it.”

Logan gently kissed his lips again and Patton returned it happily, wrapping his arms around Logan’s neck.

“I would have and you seem to understand me better than I know myself. I would’ve hated my life if you hadn’t told me to stop striving for everyone else’s expectations of me. But because of you, I have a fulfilling job, a wonderful husband, and the best son I could ask for,” he smiled, kissing Patton again before breaking away. “You did all that, honey, not me.”

“Awwww, Loggybear!” Patton beamed, hugging Logan tighter, peppering his face with kisses. Logan returned the ones that landed on his lips and stroked Patton’s cheek, closing his eyes.

“I feel like I have worth now, Patton.”

______________________________

Hey guys! So as always, I’d love to hear what you guys thought of this! Feel free to leave me comments, I always appreciate it! Anyways, as I promised, I have an explanation for Logan’s OOC behaviors in this drabble. I’ve just started my senior year of high school and it’s been alright. However, out of the 5 classes I am taking, 4 of them are AP courses. I originally had 6 classes. The one I dropped was also another AP. So out of 6 classes, 5 were APs. I dropped the 6th class after the first day because I am already so overwhelmed by this year in general.

Recently I’ve realized that the one thing that I am only ever consistently praised for is how intelligent I am. I have received this compliment ever since elementary school and I always try to do my best. However, with my parents having such a view of who I am as a person, I only ever feel like they care about whether or not I take advanced classes and pass them. This has caused me to take on courses that I honestly don’t wish to and while I have always done really well in them, it takes a lot out of me. I am constantly stressed, I often don’t get as much sleep as I need to due to all the work, and I am just generally struggling. Along with dealing with some personal issues regarding my parents, it’s been hard to manage ever since going into high school.

That’s why I wrote Logan the way I did in this drabble. I know he is a tad OOC but that was a conscientious choice on my part. While as a side, he is the physical embodiment of logic, human AUs are different. Humans have emotions. Very complex, underlying, and confusing emotions. So it is not difficult to say that Logan would obviously be a little less guilty about having emotions in this type of world as he is not a part of Thomas but his own person. He’s known to be the most intelligent one and while in the series, he takes pride in it as it’s his job, the idea of this drabble was to draw an emphasis on just how this small bit of praise on how intelligent I am has caused me to struggle with seeing myself as anything besides my intelligence. Everything I have done in school is a result of this and I have heightened anxiety about missing anything when it comes to academics: due dates, days of school, and even extra credit assignments. I want to be an artist for a living and yet I feel that by wanting that, I’m disappointing people by wasting my intelligence.

Overall, this is just my way of saying that writing Logan in such a way was meant to help me come to terms with taking it easy on myself by dropping a class and wanting to have a creatively focused career rather than an intellectually focused one. It was meant to be therapeutic but regardless, I do hope you like it. And again, feel free to comment! I love you guys, thanks for reading!

[glenncoco4]

Not without him.

A/N: A new day, a new story.

 XXXX

“Mrs. Deeks, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

It’s not the first time she’s been called that, every time bringing a smile to her face. But not today. 

She gives the stranger a barely there smile, nodding her head in appreciation. 

Once the service starts, the tears start rolling. Every time they mention her husband’s name, she has to choke back a sob. Oh, Marty. 

When Sam steps up and starts talking about how different the two were, how at first they butted heads and how eventually he figured out the true meaning of not judging a book by its cover. “That guy….that guy was my brother. He was the little brother I never had and I’ll miss him every day.” He then turns to Kensi, sadness so visible in his eyes. “Kensi, he loved you so much. I’ve never seen someone so over the moon, head over heels in love with another person the way that Deeks was in love with you.” He gives her a sad smile. “I’m not sure if he ever told you this, but on your wedding day, he showed up at my house in the dead of night, worried. He didn’t think he was good enough for you. He thought that you deserved someone so much better than him.” The ex-Navy SEAL lets out a heavy sigh. “I had to knock some sense into that boy of yours. He loved you so much, more than anyone ever could. You two deserved each other, without a doubt. I’m so sorry.”

Sam steps down as another one of Deeks’ friends steps up to the pulpit. The words that are said about her husband bring a sad smile to her face because he’s all those things and more. She knows it’s not normal for a wife to speak at her husband’s funeral, but something inside her is telling her that she needs to do this. 

“Martin Deeks.” Tears begin to roll down her cheeks. “Most of you know that we didn’t get along all that well when we first met.” Her mind flashes back to their first few years as partners and how often they would butt heads. “I couldn’t quite figure him out and I guess that was part of the mystery. But once I found out who he really was and what an amazingly beautiful human being he was, I couldn’t help but fall in love with him. He was and still is my best friend. Not a day went by that he didn’t make me feel like the most beautiful and most important person in the world. He was the most amazing husband and partner that I could ever have dreamt of.” She can’t hold back the sobs any longer and the last words that leave her mouth brings the crowd all the way down. “I’m gonna dread not seeing you every day, Marty Deeks. I love you to the end of time and back.” Before she can catch herself, she falls to the ground, leaning against the wall too heartbroken to care about anything going on around her. 

 XXXX

She’s packing up their things, going back and forth between their desks. Looking at the frame in her hands that she just picked up off his desk, a tear falls from her eye. The image that’s looking back at her is one that she remembers clearly. It was one that Deeks snapped of them while they bathed in the sunlight on one of the beach loungers on their honeymoon. She’s curled into his side as he places his lips on her forehead, kissing her. She lets out a small laugh, remembering that that was one of the few times that they had actually put clothes on. “I can’t do this any more, guys. Not without him.”

They have a sadness in their eyes. Callen nods his head, understanding completely why she can’t carry on doing this kind of work anymore. Nell is inconsolable as Eric does as much as he can in comforting her. 

“We understand, Kens. Just remember that we love you and that we’re here for you.” Sam wraps his arms around her, squeezing her tight. He knows exactly how she feels. Exactly how it feels to lose your everything. “I wanna tell you that it gets better, but it doesn’t.”  

She grasps at his shirt. “Just do one thing for me.”

“Anything.”

“Catch the motherfucker that killed my husband.” 

Determination set in his eyes, he pulls back from their embrace, holding her by her arms. “I won’t rest until I do.” 

 XXXX

Walking through the compact aisle, she stops when she reaches her row. “Excuse me. I’m right there.” She point to the middle seat as her row mate gets up and lets her in. 

Letting out a worrisome sigh, she takes a seat and looks out at the tarmac. 

Callused fingers entangle with hers, bringing her out of her troubled state. “Everything’s gonna work out, baby.”

Her eyes meet those that are a deep ocean blue. The ones that she fell in love with so long ago. “I-I know. I just hate lying to them. Especially Sam and Nell. I mean with Nell just losing her mom and Sam’s whole situation, I just…..”

He turns, giving her his full attention and cups her cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth in a soothing motion. “Don’t you see? That’s exactly why we have to do this.”

She furrows her brow, not really following where her husband’s thoughts are headed.

“Baby, we have to do this so we don’t end up in a Sam situation of our own. I can’t lose you.”

“Me either.” She lets out a content sigh as he presses a kiss to her forehead. 

He lifts up the arm rest that separates them, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to bring her body into his. Placing a kiss to her temple, he lays his head on top of hers. “I love you, Fern.” 

“I love you, too, Max.” 

XXXX

They pull up into their driveway that belongs to their new house and it’s gorgeous to say the least. “Home sweet home.”

“Hetty did a good job.” She’s still a bit sad at the fact that they had to leave their life back in LA but as long as she has him, she has everything she needs. “She said that most of our stuff couldn’t be transported but she did manage to get Monty, all of our photos and other things that couldn’t be replaced.” 

He takes her hand, placing a kiss on the inside of her wrist. “As long as I have you, I have everything I’ll ever need.” Smirking, he looks at their bay window where their pup is looking out at the action going on in the neighborhood. “Just don’t tell Monty.”

That earns him a laugh and a kiss. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, too, Ferny.” They both cringe as he tries to work out a new nickname for her. “I’ll work on it.”

 XXXX

Her husband’s up stairs probably imagining all of the acrobatic sex they’re going to be having in their new steam shower, while she’s exploring their in home gym. Thank you, Hetty. 

She’s checking out all the equipment and the high tech treadmill when the door bell rings. “Who could that be? We literally just got here.”

Making her way through the kitchen towards the front of the house, she opens the door and is not prepared to be greeted by the face she’s met with. 

“Wikipedia?”

As Deeks descend the stair and sees the figure of the person that has his wife speechless, his eyes grow wide in shock. “No fucking way.”

[seenoevil-ff]

7 ✝ A Funeral

“It is * * * Death alone that can suddenly make man to know himself.” –Sir Walter Raleigh, The History of the World (1614).

Nunc lento sonitu dicunt, morieris

Now this bell tolling softly for another,

says to me, Thou must die. – John Donne, Meditation 17 (1624)

XAVIER

The stifled sobs of my mother rang in my head repeatedly.  

She screamed and pounded her balled fists against my brother’s chest, outraged. Her arms flailing, the stench of blood permeating the air. While I was just unable to move from my position, I stared blankly at the lifeless body of the man I knew to be my father.

That he was dead. Carver Brown was deceased.

I wasn't all sure what I had just done but apparently it was enough for my mother to be as broken as she was. My eyes watered, I could feel my heart rate quickening again but this time I was in a state of panic. There were sirens surrounding us when my mother finally wandered over to my father’s body. Cheeks stained from her tears, she palmed his face as she sobbed uncontrollably. Her body shaking while attempting to form a coherent sentence. 

I did this. 

I clenched my jaw tightly as tears fell down my cheeks, my brother silently crying out. My hands trembled uncontrollably as I stood to my feet to walk to the front doors of the headquarters. Even though it was understood that jail was never an option again, I was prepared to surrender. The past two days have been turbulent – while I had a lot to be thankful for with the birth of my son there was so much to follow afterwards. A big event followed by a series of crippling and impactful events.

“Yo..Xae what you doing man?” Maddox questioned, lifting his head. His eyes widened when he noticed exactly what I was planning to do.

“I’ve fucked up.” I mumbled while staring at the numerous police cars parking in front of the building.

“Don’t say that shit bro, you snapped…you fucking snapped.” 

As hard as he tried, there was no excusing my actions. He knew it. Murder was the most serious of the crimes I’ve committed, never getting caught there was a rush but the victim was my own blood. I didn’t feel he would be served any justice unless some kind of punishment was delivered to me. I had barely any fight in me to go against the system built to kill men like me.My mother was so broken by her grief and guilt, she didn’t even realize the reality of the situation. Her husband was dead, her only child was going to be imprisoned.

“You really are unrecognizable with this weak shit at the moment.” I heard Zane comment.

“You did this….” I whispered back to him.

“It was rightfully so, you heard with your own ears yet you want to be blind to the truth. Go ahead and kneel.” His words echoed until I could no longer hear him.

The police burst through the doors with guns drawn. “NYPD! On the ground now!”

The SWAT officers stormed in to restrain me as one pinned me against the wall, giving the others a chance to handcuff me. Detectives that I recognized and knew on first name basis walked right past me to my father’s body. When Maddox protested he was threatened with jail time and a murder accomplice charge, there were no questions asked because they couldn’t wait to book me for the crime. They had a win. When we arrived at the 19th precinct, I was processed and held after my rights were read. I chose not to speak so for all they knew I was mute. Even when the detectives threw out photos of Carver’s carcass I was still unbothered or appearing that way. The entire time I was held in that small cell there was only time to think about what was said. My thoughts also drifted to Rakim along with his purpose for initiating this. There were ample of ways to kill my father but he chose this route. 

Revenge was now my goal.

For now I simply utilized some of the solitude to grieve my father that had raised me. Over the years, Carver was a difficult man to live with sometimes but he did have his moments as a loving parent. Closing my eyes, I allowed myself to reminisce, back to when I was only four years old.

“So you really are just going to give up like this? What the fuck did we talk about yesterday?” I heard Belial speak.

My eyebrows furrowed as I opened my eyes, “How did you get in here?” That was all I could ask, keeping as calm or normal as possible. She stood with her body leaning against the wall, arms folded with her lips pouted. A chuckle left her lips as she tucked her hair behind her ear.

“So your father is dead and you decided to take the wrap for it, never thought you would kneel for Rakim…” Belial decided to sit on a bench, crossing her legs. 

“I killed him…” I mumbled. “I killed him because something in me had to do it, he told me something… and I just lost it.”

“Damn right you did. I don’t fucking like the guy that much but why take liberty to stab him anyhow? He was shot, you could have done nothing. Remember you have son, nobody will be able to bail you out of bullshit constantly.”

“I really don’t need you preaching right now, Reina.” I added heavy emphasis on her former name, the name that had long since been shed from her. A scoff then a cackle left her lips, her movements became paces. When her heels stopped clicking in the small space, her head turned in my direction. 

“Far from a preacher, but wasn’t it you promising or wanting to not make the same mistakes that you supposedly left in the past?” she inquired.

“I did.” I remarked.

“Then stop fucking up.” With those words she turned on her heels and was gone again, disappearing to whatever circle of Hell she had come back from.

Much time had already passed since my imprisonment. Apparently it had gone so quickly that I found myself meeting the morning sunrise. The holding area had become busy and noisy so sleep was no longer achievable. I chose to sit in my cell to await my time while thinking of my last move. There was absolutely no doubt in my mind that Rakim would feel the vengeance for my father. If he didn’t know death or destruction before, he would know it now. I guess one thing his mother didn’t fucking teach him was manners—better still she hadn’t taught him the consequences of not respecting your elders. He will know my name and my wrath in every degree. That was my promise. 

When the cell doors opened with a loud clank, the deputy called out my name. “Brown! You’re free to go. Someone loves you enough to pay that big ass bill on your head.”

Someone loves me enough is right.

MADDOX

In just twenty four hours, my entire family begun to fall to pieces.

Shiloh nearly lost her life giving birth to my nephew, my brother goes missing only to appear again at a meeting, our father is murdered, and now my mother is completely inconsolable. This was an eventful couple of days and now I sit outside of the precinct awaiting my brother to exit the front doors. My eyes darted on occasion while I closely observe my surroundings—at this point we had to remain alert. Rakim had gotten the upper hand just like he wanted. Lucifer’s death would weaken us or just maiming him would. Never would I have thought my own brother would finish the act but there was way more to this story. 

All we needed was answers.

The first words I could hear from Xavier was him cursing out the officers as he exited.That brother of mine, my blood, you couldn’t help but love him. There was a slight tension between us because of what occurred, he felt he needed to isolate instead of closely analyzing the situation without ripping himself to pieces.

I watched him and the continuous bickering until I stepped up closer to the front entryway to grab the back of his shirt. With a gentle tugging, I pull him to my side in a headlock. 

“If you didn’t already pay attention, the entire precinct and task force have a hard on for you. Quit while you’re ahead.”

“Everybody hates Xavier, everybody…the list is growing bro. I breathe and it’s an issue.” He chose to find humor in the situation but I knew him very well.

I closely studied his demeanor. 

He was more quiet than normal so the remaining question was what exactly was happening inside of his head. I didn’t know what to say or do because I was grieving myself. But I didn’t blame him for what happened, because our father had already been badly wounded… there was no way of knowing if he’d make it if the stabbing didn’t occur. Always have I been the one to comfort and protect my brother — in this situation I didn’t know how.

Once we pulled up to our mother’s home, he hasn’t budged from the passenger side door. Recognizing his stubborn nature, I chuckled then stepped out to leave him to his devices. He’d eventually enter the house on his own. Scarlett immediately met me at the door with her eyes bloodshot red. 

Her voice was solemn as she called for Xavier and for a brief moment I saw that connection. Mother and son were in an emotional war. She loved him, he loved her and hated himself, apart of her was uncertainty as to who he was. 

“Mama... you both need to talk. You both need this...” I urged. 

“Yeah… you’re absolutely right.” Her voice cracked as more tears threatened to fall. 

She was indeed trying her best not to cry again. Scarlett gathered her strength and began walking toward the car. Xavier opened the passenger door to immediately pull her into an embrace, causing her to sob once more. After a brief moment the pair walked back toward the house. It was time to prepare to bury our father. It was indeed a funeral of the century..

AMANI

I had definitely lost track of whether it was day or night. 

The cold beads of sweat that had formed on my forehead caused me to shake slightly. Lately I had been having a lot of those, nightmares, I couldn’t exactly remember or understand what they were about but it was something about today. Today was the day I felt my life was going to change drastically. I breathed in the smell of marijuana smoke, huffing as I curled my naked body under the covers. I was waiting to hear a voice, to hear some familiarity. If it had been Rakim — I would have rather played dead. 

“You do know… your bourgeois ass can’t sit in the bed all day.” A voice I recognized stated.

I turned my head while clutching the sheet close to my body to cover my breasts and the rest of my frame.

“Who said I would sleep all day? Maybe I want to be fucking left alone?” I shot back. It was the attitude of “I’m supposed to keep watch over you.. take that up with my brother.” 

It was Terrell. 

I couldn’t help but chuckle. A soft smirk appeared on my face as he began to swallow hard, it was always fun to watch these niggas sweat over a woman like me. I dropped the sheet and began to run my fingers through my messy tresses. 

As a captive and Rakim’s alleged guest, I may as well put on a little show. I strutted toward the bathroom with my hips swaying ever so seductively.

“So you’re going to watch me get dressed as well?” I purred. 

His expression was priceless and a bit of a turn on as I twirled in the mirror. My fingers brushed against my puffy folds, sliding them against my clit. 

“Uh... nah.. Ima let you handle your shit. I’ll be outside the door, we can’t be late.” Terrell’s face turned beet red as he rushed out of the room, leaving me to wash myself in peace.

My daily routine was that I would awake to someone watching me as though I were a child. So why not have a little fun in the process and taunt my “babysitters”? Rakim has his work cut out for him if he thinks I’m not going to defy him. He isn’t my father nor my man but that sense of having control apparently strokes his ego, my defiance excites him for some reason. I can only imagine that’s why he keeps me alive..

A black some what form fitting Vera Wang dress, a large black hat to sport with matching heels seemed approapriate enough for church. It had been years since I can recall setting foot in one but the process of a funeral I knew all too well. When I exited the bedroom, I saw all of the men gathered in the hallway. They were definitely good looking, fine as wine despite the attitudes they carried. Rakim flashed a bright grin, revealing his pearly whites as he wrapped his arm around my waist firmly. 

“As my date, I have a proposition for you...” 

“And that is?” I replied.

“To look just as beautiful as you are... you’re going to make someone a very happy man.” 

The statement somewhat confused me, my brow lifted and my face twisted. There had to be a reason for this feeling I was having. We arrived at the church to see an entire line of cars. The turn out for a man named Carver Brown was indeed grand. When we stepped out of the car, it was Rakim who coached us to remain incognito. I refused to put on shades because these people didn’t even know me or anything about me. Once my eyes fell upon whom I believed was Carver’s wife, I lowered my head to walk toward the church, her cries growing louder. 

The closer I stepped to the church, that feeling began growing and the visions that clouded my head wreaked havoc within me. There was a little boy, with bright eyes, a smirk, a man draped in black with skin as pale as the moon...terrifying eyes. There was this laughter and an infant that I didn’t recognized. I had ran face first into someone which caused me to stumble. 

“Oh... I’m so sorry!” I spoke. 

When I looked up into those eyes..I felt weak.

“I...I...uhm... excuse me.” I mumbled.

“You good.” He replied.

When the doors of the church were opened to those who remained after the family. I no longer wanted to sit with Rakim. I was much too curious. The pastor began the ceremony, the choir singing their hymns but I noticed that the man I bumped into began to fidget and shake. The outbursts of cries from his family and some close friends caused me to feel something that I was truly unable to feel since my mother had died. The shredding sadness, that same pain resurfaced—I felt grief for people I didn’t even know. 

When it was time for eulogies, everyone was broken down and the funeral soon came to a benediction. It was time for them to bury... as everyone stood and it was time for the pallbearers to lift the casket, there was gunfire. I ducked and covered myself as everyone in the pews behind me scrambled. The moment my body hit the floor, my eyes made contact with an infant, with those eyes... the same eyes as the man I had bumped into prior before entering the church. 

Before I could even move, I felt someone sheild me from the barrage of bullets that came flying toward me.

ZANE

Back to reality. 

I didn’t even know this girl....but I wanted her. I dove head first into the gunfire just to save her which was something I never truly cared to do. I roughly shoved her into the pews with the other bystanders to fire back at Rakim and his goons. Maddox was hot on my trail as others followed my lead, little did he realized he had entered the church out manned and over powered. The disrespecting of Carver’s homegoing indeed sparked an outrage. It was my family that was in danger, my family being disrespected.

There was no other choice but to fight back. 

“Yo pull back man!” Rakim barked as they began to take cover and run from the church. No one was leaving until I put a bullet in them. The last bullet to discharge had pierced whom I assumed to believe was Rakim’s shoulder. 

“Ah!” The smell of his poisonous blood filled the air, I definitely got him but there was no way this bullet would kill him.

Until next time...

I finally turned to face the beautiful woman I saw behind me, but she was already gone. My eyebrows furrowed as I finally ran from the church to see if she would be spotted in the streets. 

Nothing. 

“Fuck....” I mumbled. Something in me said I would see her again but I was still curious... 

“Who was she?” Xavier and I finally spoke aloud in complete sync.            

[speakersdisaster]

well ok then: more of vynlar’s backstory

“Okay, I give up,” sighed the tutor as he closed his lesson book. “What have you been drawing, Vynlar?”

Vynlar, who’d been entirely disconnected with the outside world all day, jumped as he felt a mage hand jiggle his shoulder. When the tutor repeated his inquiry, Vynlar quickly added finishing details to his masterpiece and proudly held it up for the man to see.

“A thing from a dream I had last night. Pretty awesome, right? Her name’s Galladia! Her sword was the coolest.”

The drawing depicted an impressively comprehensible image of a humanoid with an orange skin tint, hair made of fire, and bright lights emanating from her skin. Indeed, the longsword she wielded was very cool.

Instead of gushing compliments, the tutors face paled. He read that aasimar had guides who revealed themselves early into childhood, but he had no idea how to handle the situation, or if this even was that situation. He had expected another drawing of a flower, not angels, nope! He mentally jogged through calming exercises before addressing Vynlar.

“I-It’s quite a drawing, Mr. Srivastava,” he responds timidly with a bow as he remembers this six year old is technically a celestial. “Would you tell me what happened in this dream?”

“It was pretty weird,” laughs an oblivious Vynlar, squeezing his cheeks with his hands as he props his head up on the kitchen table. “There’s this huuuge flash of light and a bunch of weird visions or something, but then I see her looking all scary, but the cool kind of scary. Like a knight! Man, I want a sword like that. How come you ask talk about the sword? It was—”

“Maybe later? Please focus, sir.”

“Okay, okay. There’s some stuff about Lanather and how she’s, uh… his knight. But anyway, she said I was his chosen! Because I’m an ‘aasmer’ or whatever you people call me. I think Dad used to be a… y’know, a guy who worships Lanather. I don’t know about now, but still, I bet this’ll get his face to stop being so grumpy.”

“You mean Lathander?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“Great, okay, alright. Very good!” exclaims the tutor as he hurriedly starts tidying up teaching equipment. He had sort of hoped Vynlar would be Chauntea’s aasimar but supposed her partner would do. “I’d say this is cause for celebration, wouldn’t you? We’ll take the rest of today off, Lathander’s Chosen. You tell your father about this, okay? You make sure he knows!”

***

Heeding the advice, Vynlar waited excitedly for his father’s return from work. His step-mother, Daratrine, watched over him with mild concern about his excitement but knew Vynlar wouldn’t provide an explanation to her before Jakob. Instead she loomed subtly and pretended to seem interested in a catalog from an antique shop. At around 9 PM, Jakob finally returned.

“Good evening,” he deadpans with a flat smile as he enters through the doorway. Vynlar, who’d been passed out on the couch, quickly springs to life and bolts towards the door with his drawing from earlier.

“Check it out! I think she’s my friend now. Her name’s Galladia; wrote it in the corner, but you can’t read the god words. See how cool her sword is? She told me all sorts of cool stuff in my dream last n—”

Jakob busied himself with removing his jacket without even looking at the picture. “Weird dream, I take it? Dreams aren’t… oh. Oh.”

All of the information dumped onto him about aasimar after Vynlar’s birth suddenly rushed back. He sighed, vaguely irritated that he’d now have to deal with whatever bullshit angelic guides would bring, while Vynlar rambled about the details of his dream and how much he wanted a sword.

“Oh, oh, oh! I almost forgot the important thing! You know Lathander? Didn’t you used to worship him and stuff? Well I’m his chosen.” Vynlar struck a heroic pose as he awaited praise. He didn’t get any. Instead, Jakob’s neutral expression abruptly fell.

Atmosphere now entirely different, Vynlar meekly dropped his stance. “Dad? How come you look sad now?” 

“So it really was his idea of a joke, wasn’t it?” Jakob scoffed to himself and started removing his shoes. “I knew it.”

Vynlar had no idea what that meant, but he knew that his father was upset and that invoked an overwhelming wave of empathy.

“Joke? I-I’m not joking, Dad, I really dreamt all that! Don’t be mad.” He frowned, eyebrows knitted together, and approached Jakob for a hug only to get rather violently shoved away.

“No, you—you stay away from me.” Jakob hadn’t been a particularly loving father, but that was the first moment Vynlar felt the pure hatred in his voice.

“From death, life? Well, isn’t that cute!” He pointed a needlessly accusatory finger in his son’s direction. “You ask that guide one thing. Does Lathander really think it was a fair trade to leave me alone because, oh, at least I have you? No, you’re no fucking blessing; you’re a curse. You hear me, Lathander?! If you were going to take one of us, it should’ve been...” 

As his blind anger began forming into panic, he fell against the wall with labored breaths. “I didn’t want any of this. I’m just a shopkeeper, I didn’t—I didn’t want any of this.”

Bad days for Jakob had always been spent with him crying and not speaking to Vynlar or simply isolating himself in his store; not vicious outbursts like the one he’d just witnessed. Disoriented by the shove and terrified by the series of events that unfolded before him, Vynlar staggered backwards until he was steadied by the hands of Daratrine. The infuriated expression she wore panicked Vynlar further until he felt that it wasn’t directed at him. 

Uncharacteristically, she delicately grabbed the young aasimar’s hand and walked him briskly out the front door, right past Jakob. Vynlar stumbled along, physically unable to ask where they were going. Two made their way to Daratrine’s destination silently for a few minutes until eventually reaching the beach. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, immediately calmed by the proximity to her previous home, and then ungracefully fell backwards into the sand.

“This is where I go to be away from people. No goes to the beach at night; too scary. But you are safe with me.” Her face smoothed, no longer contorted by anger, as she looked up at Vynlar. “Do you want to cry?”

Vynlar had been too shocked to react properly to any of this and stared at his step-mother, dumbfounded, no words reaching his lips. It only took a few seconds of dead silence for him to burst into tears and wobble into the sand next to her.

“Tears are an acceptable response to the experience you just had. I would cry too.”

In response to that, Vynlar curled up into a ball and sobbed inconsolably, trying to construct sentences and failing each time. It took a while, but he was finally able to say:

“I don’t understand.”

“Of course you don’t understand,” Daratrine responded, awkwardly attempting to pat his disheveled, fluffy hair down. “You are a child. He is a sad little man. Nothing he said was meant for you to hear.”

Vynlar’s tears intensified once more as she stopped speaking. “But he really hates me. I thought he’d be happy!  What did I do? I don’t know how to fix it if I don’t...”

Daratrine said nothing for a while. What could she say? Vynlar wasn’t her kid, not really, and he had been hesitant to even speak with her up until that moment. Sighing quietly, she spoke carefully, trying to avoid overstepping boundaries.

“He has a burden he carries that you should not have to share the weight of. You are not responsible for his problems, Vynlar—and you are no curse.” She removed the cloak she was wearing and blanketed it over the child. “You aren’t going to forget what he said to you back there, but perhaps also remember me saying what you just heard.”

Vynlar cried through her attempt at consolation—cried long after it, too. He was only six years old, so she thought he’d earned those tears. Daratrine understood that the best thing to do was lay down next to him and let him exhaust himself. Thus, the two of them stayed on the sand until all of Vynlar’s energy to cry was replaced with sleepiness.

“Do you want me to carry you home, Vynlar?”

He nodded, throwing the hood of her cloak over his head to mask his reddened puffy face.

***

��Galladia’s sword is cool,” she softly acknowledged once they were home and she was in the process of exiting his room.

Vynlar nodded and sniffled weakly.

“Don’t worry; I will make you cooler sword. Better sword.”

[courtofbooksanddreams]

The 20 Times I Cried While Reading A Court of Wings and Ruin

I have never cried while reading a book as much as I did for ACOWAR - and that’s saying something considering how emotional I can be when it comes to books. It seemed like every chapter I was holding back tears and by the time I made it to the end of the book I felt like a husk of the person I had once been. This book drained me, emotionally, mentally, even physically with its moving scenes and finality and I felt to truly do justice to the impact of ACOWAR, rather than favorite moments (of which there are many), I needed to give credit to the scenes that left me inconsolable at three in the morning. And while this post could be more accurately titled the “82 times I cried while reading this book”, I spared myself and you from that emotional trauma and narrowed it - really, I did - to the moments I physically, tears on my cheeks, sobbing, cried, while reading ACOWAR.

So grab some tissues, some tea and a pillow, because here are the 20 reasons I cried while reading A Court of Wings and Ruin by Sarah J Maas.

1. The Time Cassian and Azriel Saved All Our Asses.

Because I was so desperate for Feyre to get back to the Night Court, to her family, to see if my Illryian bats were okay and then they came for her, healed and ready to defend their Lady, and finally took her home. 

2. The Time in which I was Feyre.

Because I joked with my friend that I would probably start sobbing the first time Rhys showed up and I was right. Because they were finally back together again after being apart after so little time to enjoy being mated and I’d so overwhelming missed Rhys even though I’d only been away from him for 120 pages. 

3. The Time Rhys Told Feyre Exactly What She Needed to Hear

Because Feyre deserved to be told that, deserved to know that the person she loved more than her own soul was proud of her for what she had done for herself even though the scars still lingered, was proud that she was fighting after she’d been so ready to give up. Because how many times have I wanted someone to say those words to me when I feel like what I’ve done isn’t good enough?

4. The Time Azriel Reminded Us We are All Strong in Our Own Ways

Because its important to never underestimate the people around you. Because sometimes the love we have for others can lead us to do extraordinary things we didn’t even know we were capable of. Because we all need to be reminded that our weaknesses truly can become our greatest strength. Because this story told more about Azriel than the entirety of ACOMAF. 

5. The Time I Lost My Shit Because I Was Right and Rhys Wanted to See a Future He Didn’t Believe He Would Ever Have

Because I knew as soon as I read the first Bone Carver scene that the boy Feyre was seeing was their child! Because I wanted the two of them to have that future and practically felt Rhys’s heart break when he figured out who Feyre was seeing and asked to see him even though he knew he would never likely get to see their son in person because he’d already resigned himself to giving all of himself in the war and wanted just one chance to see the future he never dared allowed himself to wish for. Because they deserve that future and I NEED to see their children in the next part of his series or I will loose my shit SJM, I will loose it!

Okay. I’m fine. 

Moving on.

6. The Time Rhys Made Feyre a Star

Because Rhys truly meant it when he said he would make Feyre his equal. Because for the first time, Feyre would be presented as High Lady. 

7. The Time Feyre Returned the Favor.

Because Rhys needed to hear those words as much as Feyre did. Because Rhys has spent his entire existence pretending to be something he’s not and for the first time revealed who he truly is at the risk of being ridiculed. But he was brave enough to face it - the truth - and Feyre’s validation was enough to start making him believe he might be worth something.

8. The Time Before Everything Went to Shit

Because the first time I read it I truly didn’t know if they would ever go back to Velaris again, who would be left to go back to Velaris. Because I knew, I knew Rhys already believed he would never see it again. Because Rhys knew he was going to die and this was the last time he ever thought he would see his home again and wanted five seconds to appreciate the happiness he’d been so close to achieving and the city he’d treasured his entire life. 

9. The Time Rhys Reminded Me Why I Love Him

Because there is no better feeling in the world than someone telling you they are grateful to have you. Because Feyre spent most of ACOTAR and ACOMAF believing she wasn’t worth very much at all but Rhys makes her believe that she is, that she is worth all the stars in the sky to him.

10. The Time I Was Unprepared for The Suriel to Break My Heart

Because I didn’t know the Suriel had come to mean so much to me. Because the Suriel helped Feyre when no one else did and helped her because she was kind and it believed she could be the change the world needed. Because a terrifying monster of death just wanted to see a better world and was killed by hypocrite who’s only ambition was to further her own power.

11. The Time Tamlin... Tamlin Made Me Appreciate His Existence.

Because I hated Tamlin and after the meeting with the High Lords believed there was nothing he could do to redeem himself in my eyes. Because he saved her, even though he hated her for what she’d done to him, his court, and hated Rhysand and the Night Court, - whether it was for his own selfish love or because he knew it was the right thing to do, he still saved her. Because the one person Feyre thought was her weakness, ended up being her strength. 

12. The Time The Archeron Sister’s Forgave Each Other

Because I hated Nesta and Elain just as much as Feyre resented them in ACOTAR - their attitude and selfishness toward Feyre and that they would allow their sister to hunt in those woods so close to the wall. Because as much as Feyre resented them, she never stopped loving them, wanting to protect them. Because despite her anger, Feyre forgave them and all three sisters realized the value of being together, of cherishing the ones you love because you never know when they might be taken away from you. 

13. The Time Mor was the Bravest of Them All.

Because while I may not be bisexual or lesbian with the ability to comprehend how her situation truly feels, I understand how it feels to have something you want to protect that is truly yours. Because I, too, hold things close to my heart in fear that those around me will tarnish them with their judgement, misunderstanding and prejudice. Because Mor deserves to be happy, after everything she has been through, she deserves to be happy.

14. The Time Rhys Gave a Speech and Shattered Me Completely

Because no matter how many times I read this scene, I still end up crying. Because this was Rhys’s goodbye to his family, the family he had fought so hard for and now was forced to give up. Because he believed he was going to die. Because he believed they were all going to die but it was okay because they were fighting for a cause worth dying for. Because he was grateful, no matter how small of a time he was granted with those he loved, to have known them at all, to have been given this time with Feyre. Because they were a gift, one he never truly believed he deserved. 

And I’m crying again. Dammit.

15. The Time I Allowed Myself to Hope

Because I truly believed they were all going to die and this was the first time I allowed myself to think they might have a chance. 

16. The Time Feyre’s Father Allowed Me to Hope Again

Because the last person I fucking thought I would be proud of and crying over was Feyre’s father. Because a father who’d failed so miserable in taking care of his daughters came back to fight for them. Because Drakon had came and they stood more than a fools chance of winning this war. Because Rhys was crying and I think it was the first time he might have allowed himself to hope too.

17. The Time I Understood the Value of Nesta

Because I hated Nesta, hated her stubborn, dismissive, and rude attitude, hated how she treated Feyre, Cassian and those around her. Because I finally understood her, understood it was all a mask to hide behind, because may she felt too much, rather than too little. Because Nesta was willingly to die with Cassian. Because she didn’t want him to die alone. 

18. The Time.. Chapter 76 - 77

Because I can’t even bring myself to type up any of the scenes. Because Rhys knew, he knew he had nothing left when he allowed Feyre to use his power. Because I knew what he was doing, what those I love you’s meant - seen it coming through the entire book. Because it was the one thing I’d asked SJM not to do with this book and she tore me apart and I was left sobbing at three in morning. Because I had to watch Feyre fall apart, beg the other High Lords and Tamlin, watch her plead with him as he had once done with Amarantha for her, only to have SJM put me back together again with three words. Because Rhys is my over dramatic Lord of Darkness and I wanted to kill him for believing he deserved to die for everything he had done. Because Rhys means everything to me and having to watch him die was by far the worst thing I have ever had to read.

19. The Time Rhys Finally Believed He Could Have a Future

Because Rhys spent most of his life believing he would never have a family like that at all. Because he didn’t think he was the kind of person who would, who someone would love enough to want that with him. Because Rhys finally allowed himself to see his future for the first time, the future he’d never dared allowed himself to wish for. Because Rhys got his dream and might’ve felt like he deserved it. 

20. The Time It was a Gift. All of it.

Because I can see it, see them flying over Velaris with the stars and the moon and the lights of the city. Because it felt like a goodbye, even though I know I will see them again in future books, Feyre and Rhys’s story is over and I don’t have the words in me to express my gratitude for that what they have done for me. Because they deserve to be happy, after everything they have been through, and now they have the chance to, to reshape the world with their dreams and create a future that is wholly their own.

Because this story was a gift and there will never be another one like it. 

[brandytusk]

So a couple days ago, on Feb. 11th, it was my anniversary with my husband. I didn't really make posts about it anywhere, didn't really update Facebook. It wasn't that I wasn't excited? I just grew tired of my family's opinions, and I had some coworkers who were noticeably jealous. I wasn't hiding shit, I just didn't didn't feel like addressing acquaintances constant question of 'how long now, omg' and then immediately comparing it to something that has already failed them or someone they knew. As a sort of passive-aggressive warning: 'eventually you'll get tired'. I highly doubt it. I still remember the day I figured out what romantic love was, and that I was having it. It didn't immediately feel like a good feeling -- it first felt like an unhealthy attachment, like I just could NOT let go of someone. He was going on a date with his then-boyfriend he hadn't seen in a long time, and I was fucking batshit upset in the kitchen that when I called his place, he didn't answer. When I called, one of his parents picked up. I was completely delirious, inconsolable. I wasn't being included, I was being abandoned and left alone and I was insanely lonely. Loud, ridiculous sobbing, and I just sat on the kitchen floor like that for a while. I remember my stepmother making an offhanded comment about my behavior (teenager, dramatic, haha I deserved it) that "I had a problem" and that my behavior wasn't "normal" and I should be "happy" for my friend because they were catching up with their boyfriend. And ooo, I hated it. But I got real quiet, and my family left me alone, and I crawled away to the basement where my bedroom was. I just completely cracked. I was terrified that I wasn't happy for him, my husband, then-friend at the time. I really figured something was off, and I spent a lot of time thinking about it. Like a lot of quiet 'I see the universe' kind of looking-at-self kind of anxious overthinking. And then I figured out I was in love with somebody, and then I knew what THAT business was about. It was a kind of not the best feeling, especially when he was seeing someone at the time? I couldn't do anything. He was happy. It was like someone was peeling off layers of my heart everytime I spent time with him after that, and nothing was filling the space back up. That lovesick, in love crap actually feels...pretty terrible. It was its own special bubble of depression and anxiety for which the only cure was to get affection from the person I was obsessed with. Worse still, as he was also my best friend at the time, I figured "Hey! Maybe I can get over this if I start encouraging him to sleep in the same bed with me during sleepovers and I can accept life as it is by getting cuddles!" Which, while it became a thing, and during the summer we'd stare up at the ceiling and talk about fantasy worlds we were forging together until the next morning when we would hear birds chirping, I figured out I had another hormone-driven problem entirely, and the bed arrangement was the most torturous idea I had ever created. Good behavior happened, because any decent person wouldn't be aggressive about it...but lord, my imagination would keep me up. When his then-boyfriend moved away, and they moved on from each other...and my best friend became my boyfriend? When it finally all sort of, clicked together in the way I had hoped? I became a whole person. The layers got put back, like heavy blankets I could cuddle under. I could be comfortable again. No one HAS to need anyone, some people are fine alone with their hobbies and it's peaceful, but I? Did, need that. I wanted only one thing, for years, and I waited. And I tried to be impressive (man I was annoying apparently, he told me recently I had been a tryhard, whoops) and I waited. And then he actually wanted me, back. We are still making worlds together. We're still staying up til late, late into the night. He always falls asleep before I do. Sometimes he sleep-worldbuilds, and while impressive, he never remembers what he said. When he is away, I still sit on the floor completely miserable because he isn't around -- only now we're old enough to afford cats to pet and we have jobs to buy our own video games. He used to draw sexy characters on the school bus in an art book, and now he draws sexy characters at home. He's gotten better at anatomy over the years, and I get nudes now! Super plus. I get buried by my own mind, and he's there to tell me he stays awake thinking he's lucky to have me. I needed to hear that. I think about it still. He has been an exhilarating madness prickling under my skin. He's made me nervous, he's made me question myself, he's made me want to impress, to improve -- would I do it again? Every overdramatic, miserable second of it. These people who are 'shocked' I've been with him for so long, without official marriage papers, a person I still call husband without paper? 'Longer than my marriage! Longer than a friend's...' etc. Stop comparing. You'll never have it as good as I do. I have trouble loving myself, and I am proud of only one, single thing: There is nothing better than to be so completely obsessed with someone, so in tune with someone, they are your right foot to your left. When all other reasons are gone, they are the last reason remaining that makes you step forward into the unknown. Nothing better than to wake up next to someone who's hair glitters to you when morning sunlight comes in through the window. Nothing better than to press my head into his warm stomach at night when we curl up to sleep. I didn't give up then, and I can't give up now. I love him with such ferocity I would sacrifice everything and anyone if it benefited him. To all the salty bitter fuckers I have to deal with on a daily basis: You're looking at it right. Some bisexual girl does have it better than you. Some queer is more dedicated, more driven. Some queer is happier than you every morning they wake up and look into the sleepy gaze of their grumbling significant other, who has by the way, never been a morning person. And who I try to position in his sleep so he gets the sun in his eyes as often as possible when he wakes up so I can see all the hidden hazel-gold in them. They're doe brown otherwise, big and begging. You are never gonna see the gold unless you put him in the light.

[nursebrain]

Flower Ask

I guess I’m supposed to let my followers send me bouquets of questions but there’s only like 3 of you so that’d be sad. So i'mma just pretend I bought myself a bouquet.

Daisy: How old were you when you had your first kiss? I was 13. My boyfriend was going to summer camp and I wasn’t going to see him for a whole month so I thought I’d send him off with a kiss.

Carnation: If I handed you a concert ticket right now, who would you want to be the performer? Adele. 100%. Hands down. She’s amazeballs.

Jasmine: What colour looks best on you? I think I look best in a cool tone burgundy. Which is a struggle to accept because Mum always said “no one looks good in red” and basically banned red from my wardrobe.

Foxglove: Name three facts about your family. 1. My parents both moved across the country as young adults, away from their families. As a result I only really consider my family to be my parents and my brother. 2. My brother and sister in law have the most adorable son that I am so, so proud to be an auntie to. I love him more than most people/things/tacos. 3. My parents are divorced; both have new partners and have been in loving, healthy relationships for many years.

Allium: What’s the best thing you can cook? I don’t really cook. I have a husband to do that for me. I make a pretty fucking tasty meatloaf tho.

Orange Blossom: If you could pick the gender and appearance of your child, would you? Appearance, no. Gender… If I am lucky enough to have children, I hope that I have a boy and a girl. If I never have a daughter, I will be devastated because of how strong my relationship is with my mum. I just want the chance to have that with my own daughter.

Calla Lily: If you died right now, what song would you want to play at your funeral? If I Die Young - The Band Perry I’m pretty much a walking cliché.

Pointsetta: Favourite holiday dish? Mum’s dressing. Holy fuck. Perfect sweet/savoury combo.

Oxlip: Would you ever get into a long distance relationship? No. My love language is physical touch.

Primrose: Favourite kind of soup? Wonton soup. Actually that’s probably the dish I do best too.

Daffodil: What’s the most thoughtful present you’ve ever received? This is tough to explain. My childhood best friend once gave me a packet of Mr Noodles and a bottle of water from her parents’ house. Growing up I spent a lot of time eating dinner at her house and they’d always make Mr Noodles when I was over because it was my favourite. You’d ask what was for dinner, they’d say “Eryn’s favourite soup”, you’d know it was noodles. My mum would try to make them for me and I’d always whine that it wasn’t the same, they didn’t taste right. We figured out that it was because my best friend’s tap water was from a well so it tasted different, sulphuric. So, I took my noodles and bottle of water home and made myself dinner that day and it was like I was 6 years old again. My best friend gave me a piece of my childhood. She gave me a gift no one else could have ever known to give me.

Rose: Are you currently in love with someone? Yes.

Amsonia: Would you ever become a vegan? I don’t think so.

Peony: What’s your favorite hot beverage? A really beautiful, spicy, fragrant Chai latte.

Tulip: For your birthday, what kind of cake do you ask for? My mother in law makes me the most delicious carrot cake.

Myrtle: Do you like going on airplanes? Physically being on the plane, yes. Take off, landing, turbulence, fuck yeah! Actually going through the process of getting on the plane really stresses me out though.

Hibiscus: Did you ever play an instrument? If yes, what? Once upon a time, I could sort of play an acoustic guitar.

Zinnia: Who was your best friend when you were six years old? My darling C. 20 years later and I still love her like a sister.

Poppy: What colour was your childhood home? It was a bungalow with white siding and red brick along the front.

Hydrangea: Starbucks order? Venti flat white with soy

Violet: Do you like where you’re from? What an odd question. I mean, being born into a middle class Caucasian family in Canada, I have literally nothing to complain about.

Locust: What was your favourite book as a child? The Velveteen Rabbit or The Paperbag Princess

Rhododendron: What’s the scariest dream you’ve ever had? It was a fever dream and I was probably 7 or 8. I was dreaming in a watercolour with calm line drawings of the sea. I was on a boat fishing and suddenly the colours became very dark and menacing and the calm line drawings became jagged scribbles and I was terrified my boat was going to sink. I woke up screaming and I’ve never felt such panic before or since.

Queen Anne’s Lace: Would you rather wrap a present or carve a pumpkin? Definitely wrap a present. There’s something so satisfying about scissors snicking through wrapping paper and folding perfectly square corners.

Magnolia: Favourite kind of candy? Swedish berries or blue raspberries

Aster: Would you rather be hot or cold? Cold. Easier to put a sweater on than peel my flesh off.

Marigold: Do you listen to what’s on the radio? Not if I can help it! Love that my new car has Bluetooth.

Heliconia: Do you like when it rains? I prefer the rain. As long as it’s a true, earnest rainfall. I hate the piddly misty stuff. I want a downpour.

Azalea: What’s a movie you’ve cried while watching? The Stoning of Soraya M. I sobbed inconsolably from about five minutes in, to about 20 minutes after.

Dandelion: Do you think you’re important? To my family and friends, yes. To my community, no. My greatest contribution is as a nurse; but there are many who are better, smarter and kinder than I.