#last time i tried to use a needle is when i was 8 years old how did this happen

[muffinthedestroyerofgods]

This is my new son Tax Evasion. I love him so much and i will make more.

[lightandheatao3]

The Bunker - Criminal Minds

Chapter 15: The Door

Summary: Spencer Reid wakes up in a locked bunker to find half the current BAU and two of its departed members unconscious on the floor. The old team is back together but the reunion is not what any of them would have wished for. An Unsub from their past has decided it's time they all stop keeping secrets, even if it means exposing them by force.

Hotch and Derek have been pulled back into a world they tried to escape. Emily, Rossi, and JJ are doing their best to keep it together. Spencer is falling apart.

AKA a found family is reunited and forced to go through the most nightmarish version of family therapy imaginable.

Set months after the end of Criminal Minds: Evolution. Evolution referenced, but not necessary to understand the story.

Chapter Summary: Spencer is not looking at the hatch in the door. He isn't thinking about what's inside.

Read chapter 15 on AO3 or under the cut. Please check AO3 for content warnings. All comments and reblogs are extremely appreciated <3 I would love to know what you like about the story :)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14

Spencer's eyes flung open only seconds before the alarm.

The horrible, high-pitched sound assaulted his senses. He squeezed his eyes tight against the light and rushed to cover his ears, wincing as his useless left hand scratched across his cheek.

The last traces of his dreams washed away in the noise. A flash of a needle, a glint in Ethan's eyes, all lost to the ringing in his ears.

It hadn't taken long for the purpose of the new speaker encased in the camera housing to reveal itself.

The single endless day they had been living beneath the fluorescents was now delineated into 24 hour segments, marked by the blaring siren. The concept of days had returned to their lives.

Each day began the same: Alarm, food delivery within 5 minutes, an attempt at reasoning with their jailer through the door which was inevitably met with silence, a spark of hope, a crushing blow, a chip of his willpower carved away.

When he first put the loaded syringe in the hatch, beneath the general feeling that he was utterly pathetic for being in the situation to begin with, a part of him had really thought himself a little bit strong and selfless for the great sacrifice he was making. With each new delivery leaving the narcotics in their place, untouched, he was feeling less noble and more like a stray cat cornered in an alley.

Rossi broke him out of his reverie by shoving a banana into his good hand and saying, "Maybe if you eat today you'll have enough energy to do more than just stare at that fucking door for hours on end. You need a better hobby, kid."

"I ate yesterday," he said defensively, not bothering to dispute the other accusation.

"Try more than two bites this time," said Rossi pointedly.

After breakfast was calisthenics, usually run by JJ or Derek, with the latter taking the lead this time.

JJ's hair was thin and patchy where she had been compulsively pulling it out. The back of her arms and her knees were scabbed from picking at the skin. She told him once years ago that she used to do it as girl, only stopping when she moved out of home. It had been getting worse. Even she was starting to need coaxing to participate in activities.

Spencer stepped to the side while the others continued running laps around the room. He leaned against the wall, panting, his vision swimming.

"Come on! Another 60 seconds," yelled Derek, tapping him on the arm as he ran past him. "Get your ass in gear."

"Absolutely fucking not," he said, groaning against the nausea.

Derek slowed to a stop. The others followed with sighs of relief.

"You have been spending way too much time around Rossi," he said, strolling over and shaking his head.

"Go fuck yourself," said Rossi, flipping Derek off, still panting from exertion.

"See, coming out of him, it sounds natural. 'Fuck' was probably his first word. But you? It's just wrong." Derek put a hand on Spencer's shoulder to stabilize him, as he was swaying somewhat. "You alright?"

"Fine," he said, dizziness abating as he took some deep breaths. "You know, swear words serve more than a linguistic function. Imaging has shown that swearing correlates to increased activity in the amygdala and prefrontal cortex, meaning it has an impact on emotional regulation and impulse control. It's even been shown to have an analgesic effect. Studies have shown that, on average, swearing accounts for 0.5% to 0.7% of total word usage, which can-"

"That number's gotta be like 5% minimum for Rossi," chimed in JJ.

"Did I do something to piss you all off today?" asked Rossi, throwing up his hands incredulously.

Spencer flipped through the last few days (days? the time between alarms) and cataloged every word that came out of Rossi's mouth. Once the list was compiled, the equation was simple.

"Extrapolating from data over the past six days, approximately 1.4% of your total speech is profanity," said Spencer, looking at Rossi. "That is double the median average."

"What can I say? I'm an overachiever," said Rossi, unbothered.

"What percentage are you up to?" JJ asked Spencer.

He repeated the mental process the same as he had for Rossi, freezing as soon as he landed on the unexpectedly high number. It's not as if he had an issue with profanity, but he preferred to be sparing so as not to dilute the impact or precision of his words. Upon reflection, his vocabulary had shrunk somewhat during their confinement. He pursed his lips, then turned to Derek. "I have been spending too much time around Rossi."

That earnes him and Derek both a middle finger.

"I'm going to wash up," said Emily with an affectionate eye roll at all of them, turning to the bathroom and laying first claim on the sink and soap.

The day marched on.

"You're getting better at that," said Hotch, observing his loose, fumbling grip on the little ball their captors had gifted them. "It looks like you're improving."

He sat cross-legged, facing Derek, his back to the door. Physical therapy, the other man called it. A waste of time, thought Spencer, but he played along. Having something constructive and helpful to do each day brought a spark to Derek that he couldn't bear to take away.

The program was cobbled together based on Spencer's anatomy knowledge and Derek's practical understanding of movement based on his own experiences as a young athlete and having recovered from injuries in the past. He was more knowledgeable in the subject than Spencer had realized. The program wouldn't be out of place at an actual physiotherapy clinic.

Unfortunately, the biological reality of a severed nerve could not be rewritten by optimism and force of will. The best case scenario of a surgical repair in the immediate aftermath of the injury would likely still have left him with loss of function.

They were well past the best case. He'd be lucky if he could ever form a proper fist again.

"I'll be back to doing sleight of hand in no time," he said to Hotch with a tight smile.

It was worth it for the hint of pride that flashed across Derek's face.

The rest of the day, they took turns in leading activities. With endless hours to kill, the biggest enemy was boredom, and they fought it valiantly.

Emily had taken to reading a new chapter aloud each day from the trite self-help book on radical honesty that the Unsub had left them. It had some genuinely interesting provocations, but intertwined with oversimplifications and new age schlock. Emily took on the most melodramatic tone she could muster even in the driest, dullest segments.

Spencer had taken to sharing his most recent lecture series for the Advanced Criminal Psychology course at the university. Of course, the others were already highly educated on the topic, so he took the opportunity to invite feedback and spark discussions on theory and interesting case studies.

Rossi, on the other hand, had been breaking up his litany of what JJ liked to call 'sleepover party greatest hits' in favor of increasingly esoteric card games. He presented the progressively more convoluted play alongside far fetched stories of when and where he learned the games, and Spencer was pretty sure he was making up most of it as he went along.

This one he insisted was called Dead Man's Hand and involved a complicated series of bluffs and calls. How one wins the game was as yet unclear, likely because Rossi was still deciding on the rules.

"Reid," said Hotch firmly from across the circle in a tone that indicated he'd said it several times already.

"Huh?"

"It's your turn."

He looked down at the cards clutched in his good hand, then put them on the ground. "I fold."

"Wrong game," said Rossi, raising an eyebrow.

"Yet, I'm doing it anyway."

"You were staring at the door again, man," said Derek lightly.

"I was admiring the architecture," he deadpanned.

He itched all over, deeper than he could possibly scratch. He felt the syringe as if he were connected to it by an umbilical cord.

"I know this sucks," said Derek, "but you've already made it this long. What's one more day? You're str-"

"If I hear one more time that I'm stronger than this, I'm going to f-" he hissed to a stop, suddenly conscious of his excessive cursing. He took a breath. "I'm going to respectfully ask that you keep the facile support group platitudes to yourself."

Derek put his own hand of cards down. "If I acknowledge the drugs, you get mad. If you think I'm avoiding the topic or placating you, you get mad. Is there anything I can say, or not say, that won't piss you off?"

"Probably not," he said petulantly. "Is there anything I can say that will get you to stop treating me like I'm a bomb waiting to go off?"

An invisible ripple spread across the room. The game was forgotten. He hadn't meant to argue, but it bubbled out of him and he didn't know how to make it stop. They were always watching him. Always checking in, commenting on and correcting every errant behavior.

Derek sucked his teeth, jaw clenched. He looked away, then looked back.

"A week ago, we thought you were dead. Sorry it's taking a minute to get over it."

"I know," he said, instantly regretful.

"There's still a stain from where your blood soaked into the concrete," added JJ quietly, a distant look in the direction of the off color patch where the porous concrete couldn't be fully cleaned.

"I know. I know," he said quickly. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," said Emily gently. "Nobody is trying to single you out. We're all struggling. Maybe, if we're honest, focusing on you can be a good distraction. God knows I don't want to think about my own issues a single second longer than I have to. Your problems just have the advantage of being harder to ignore."

"That's some very healthy radical honesty you're practicing," joked Rossi. Spencer appreciated his effort to break the tension.

"Shut up," scoffed Emily.

Spencer looked back at the door. After a long while, he said, "How long are we going to do this? It's been six days. They stalked us for at least a year. We can't discount their capacity for patience."

"So we have to be more patient than them," said Emily. "This was your idea."

Malicious compliance was the strategy. They tried following the rules. They tried open defiance. They tried self-destruction. This was an opportunity to do something new. Play her game by the letter, but don't let her win. Wait her out, as long as it takes, until she's forced to change tactics or make a bolder move. Do not, under any circumstances, allow their captors to believe that they can physically coerce them into specific actions.

It was less a plan than a loose tactic, but it was something. Nobody wanted to be gassed again, but they would take that over letting her win the battle of wills.

Which would be fine if it wasn't his rapidly waning willpower that they were depending on.

"There's still the option to just flush it," pointed out Derek.

"No," said Hotch, drawing all eyes to him. "As much as I want to, we all know what's going to happen if we do it. That kind of explicit defiance of an articulated rule will trigger retaliation, and it will be worse than the last time."

"I know you don't want to hear this," said JJ, reaching out to put her hand on his, though he could barely feel her touch, as it was his bad hand, "but you are stronger than this. You have to be."

He held her gaze. She was right: he didn't want to hear it. He wanted them to say 'Give in. Get high. That's a completely logical course of action.'

"I'll be fine," he said firmly. "Absolutely fucking fine."

"Watch the language," deadpanned Rossi.

He laughed despite himself.

His skin itched. His mangled arm was searing with nerve pain. He couldn't help another glance at the hatch.

Maybe he had it in him. For them, surely, he could endure.

He went to pick up the discarded cards, intending to make a concerted effort at the ridiculous, barely coherent game. It would be interrupted any minute by the second daily food delivery anyway. Maybe this would be the one where the Unsubs finally gave up and took the narcotics away, though he didn't have high hopes.

Before he could get to the cards, the world was plunged into darkness.

He froze for a moment, disoriented, struggling to process what he was, or rather wasn't seeing.

The lights were out.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Winter Wolf: Part 14

Pairings: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Swearing, fluff, angst

Word Count: 3,523

A/N: Finally got the muse to finish this story! YAY!

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10 / Part 11 / Part 12 / Part 13

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Who’s the cutest little princess in the whole wide world?” Bucky cooed from your bathroom as he gave Anastasia a bath, while you caught your notebook up on the last two years of your life. You smirked to yourself as your daughter giggled away and splashed in the water in her blow up bath tub in the shower. “You are! Yes, you are!”

“Thought I was the cutest in the world.” You called out, playfully as you leaned to the side the slightest bit to see your husband with your eyebrow cocked.

“Not anymore!” He cooed, teasingly with barely a glance over at you. “Ana wins that, hands down now. You didn’t age so well in the dinosaur years.”

“You’re rude!” You laughed as you chucked a pillow at him, easily hitting him in the side to which he completely overreacted to make Ana laugh harder.

“What was that?!” He asked her as he shook his head and pushed himself off where he had purposely fallen to his hip. “Did Mommy just hit me, go boom?! Oh, yes she did, and Daddy’s gunna remember that shit later tonight, too. Yes he will.”

“Are you receiving company?” Tony asked as he knocked gently on your open bedroom door. You froze the slightest bit and closed your notebook as you looked over at him in shock.

“Umm... yes? How am I supposed to answer that, Tony.”

“I know I ruined your birthday.” He started as he opened up his tablet and held it out to you. “And I also didn’t get you a wedding gift. But I figured I’d at least try to kill three birds with one stone with this as a way of apologizing for what I put you through, after everything you have done for the world.” You nodded and scooted across the bed to take the tablet as Bucky did his best to get his daughter out of the bath peacefully for bed so he could see what was going on. You looked at the screen and almost instantly felt the scalding heat you felt the day you watched your home burn to the ground.

“My plantation.” You whispered as you looked at the charred remains. “It’s still there?!”

“It’s technically a historical site.” Tony said as he glanced over at Bucky as he leaned on your door frame. “You owned the biggest plantation in Georgia during the Civil War. It was on the market for a while back in the late 1800’s, early 1900’s but then was taken off...”

“When I moved to London to go to school.” You said with a nod. “I was a doctor... my Lord.” You whispered with a shake of your head.

“Well the property went to the government some time in the 1920’s, and was deemed historical. So they maintained the property and the other houses and stables. But they never rebuilt the main house...”

“There’s an old willow tree a ways to the right of the house.” You said as you closed your eyes and tried to look past the last day you were there in your mind. “It was nearly as tall as the house and I could see if from my bedroom window. Is it still there?” You opened your eyes and looked over at Tony, who slowly shook his head and shrugged.

“I’m not sure. It took me a while to track this place down, because no one knew who the owner was after the war, and I haven’t been down to look yet. Figured you’d want to go first.” You nodded your head and looked back down at the photo as Bucky sat down on the bed beside you with Ana.

“It had a huge wrap around porch.” You told him as you showed him the photo with a small smile as more memories flooded your mind. “John made us rocking chairs that sat right here so we could watch the sun set. Mine had a hole in the right arm from when I stabbed it with my knitting needle after a disagreement one night. And it had these big white columns in front that held up the roof and the small porch up there. Look, baby... this is where Mommy lived.” You said to Ana as you traded Bucky her for the tablet when she tried to get away from her dad.

“We can leave in the morning if you’d like.” Tony said as he pushed off the door frame. “Jet’s ready. Just let me know when you are, whenever you are.”

“Tony.” You called out before he could walk away as your daughter used you as a jungle gym. “Thank you.” He gave you a tight nod and a small smile before he turned and walked away, leaving you to catch up on your memories with your husband.

“So you owned a plantation?” Bucky said, because it was partially news to both of you.

“I inherited it when John passed.” You said with a nod as you wrangled your toddler into your lap. “It’s strange, until I saw that photo, all I could remember of that place was the day I was shot and left. But now, I’m seeing the giant wood burning stove in the kitchen, and the stone fireplace in the parlor. I can see the staircase that ran up the right side of the main hall, that led all the way to the back with this... oh, God it was the most hideous carpet in the world, but it belonged to John’s mother and he loved it.” You scoffed and shook your head as you got up to put Ana in her jammies. “I am not sorry to see that carpet burned down. I wonder if the fire went all the way down to the basement.” You said as you paused at Ana’s dresser and turned around with your brow furrowed. “There’s... there’s something in the basement... I can’t remember...”

“Well, do you want to go look tomorrow?” He asked, pulling you from your thoughts so you could get your daughter dressed. “I mean, I wouldn’t mind seeing this ‘biggest plantation in Georgia’ that my wife owns.”

“It was a big plantation.” You agreed with a huff. “Pain in my rear to work and hotter than all get out most days.”

“Oh, and we’re turning Southern with it.” He laughed as he scooted up on the bed to relax in his spot. “You worked the fields?”

“I did.” You said with a slow nod as you picked up your clothed daughter and walked over to the bed so she could have her night time bottle before bed. “I was a woman before my time back then, and still a Yankee at heart you could say. When John and I married, I convinced him to free our slaves, and made sure they all worked for pay. He was very well off, he could afford it, and they all worked even harder if at all possible once the overseer was let go. But when the war happened, money got a little tight, and we lost quite a few hands to typhoid but the work still needed to be done. So yes, I worked my fields until the war was dropped on my doorstep one night.”

“You know, you get more and more impressive every single day.” He said as he set Tony’s tablet aside to lay down beside Ana so he could look at you. “I am so honored to get to call you my wife, doll.”

“Even though my memories come in snippets and I’m dinosaur old?” You teased as you picked up your notebook to update some past notes.

“Absolutely.” He laughed as he reached across the pillows to rub your back. “Makes you mysterious.”

“OK, we’ll go with that.” You laughed as you handed him the remote so he could put on the ‘Good Night Moon’ show Ana loved before bed while you wrote. You hummed and shook your head as you opened your notebook and clicked on the plantation memories page. “Mysterious, he says. Crazy I say.”

“Go write your notes!”

——

You were glad to see that the massive live oaks lining your driveway were still just as gorgeous as ever, but it absolutely disgusted you to see that your front lawn had been turned into a giant gravel parking lot. A deep growl rolled from your chest, and Steve gently reached over the front seat to grab your wrists, while Bucky put his hand on your knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

“We can fix it, sweetheart.” Your husband said softly as Happy, Pepper’s assistant, parked his rental car beside the one Tony, Pepper, and their lawyers were in, since parking the jet on your property was apparently not an option. Your growl turned into grumbling as you got out of the car, but turned right back into a much deeper growl when you turned to see a six foot tall, chain link fence around your old home. But all noises simply stopped when you saw your willow tree.

“I’m gunna fucking kill someone.” You said as you ripped away from Bucky and Steve and stormed over to your tree, where a young couple was carving their initials amongst the decades of others, including your and John’s original carvings. “Back the fuck up!” You roared as you let your claws fly just as Steve wrapped his arm around your upper torso and yanked you back.

“Just back away from the tree.” He said quickly to the terrified kids with a shake of his head. “Go on.” The second they were clear, he set you down, and you retracted your claws to walk over and run your fingers over the destroyed wood.

“No...” You said with a shake of your head with tears in your eyes as you looked around until you found the faint, misshapen heart that was almost gone with age, and distorted letters carved by your late husband.

“We’ll see if we can fix it, baby.” Bucky said softly as he touched the small of your back. “Look, the older ones are already fading.” You nodded your head slowly and looked up at the higher names, that were a little less distorted than yours, but were fading as well.

“You must be Mr. Stark.” A peppy older woman in period clothes said as she headed over to the group. “My name is Abigail, I’ll be your guide of the Jackson Plantation...”

“I’m sorry, the what?!” You said as you whipped around to look at her with rage in your eyes, which made Tony step between the pair of you with a tight ‘all business’ smile.

“You’re gunna want to clear the property.” He said evenly with a nod. “Now. For everyone’s safety.”

“Oh! Oh, I’m afraid I can’t do that...” Abigail said as you stormed away from the group to look at a metal plaque on your side of the fence around your house.

“Oh, this is not good.” Bucky said with a shake of his head as you read the lies someone had made up about your house, before you simply ripped it off the post and easily crumbled it in a ball before Steve could get to you.

“Wait, you can’t do that!” Abigail shrieked as you ripped the fence open with more grumbling and headed up to your house with Steve, and Bucky right behind you.

“I’m warning you once more.” Tony said as he simply watched your guide’s horrified expression. “Clear the premises...”

“I’m calling the police!” She cried as she pulled her cell phone from the pocket of her dress.

“I am the fucking police here!” You roared from the front steps as you rounded and glared at her. “This is my fucking land! You are trespassing here!”

“This is property of the National Parks Services...” She tried with shaky hands, which made the Wolf rear her ugly head at the woman’s weakness as a sinister darkness filled your eyes.

“And that’s where you’re fucking wrong.” You said as you slowly walked back down the steps toward her. “This land belonged to my first husband, John William Scott, who was a confederate soldier that died in the war. The plantation, which was named Green Pebble Hill by his aunt, Cecelia Ann Scott MacDonald when she was a child because of the moss covered pebbles in the stream in the back fields by the way, was left to me, (Y/N) (Y/M/N) (Y/L/N) Scott, his sole heir because I’m not able to bear children due to my mutation. Find his will, I know he had one. It’s dated May 16th, 1864, the day before he left to join ranks before the war even started.

The house was burned down by Yankee soldiers in July of 1865, four days after I got a letter saying my husband was killed, not by looters in 1868 like your historically inaccurate sign claims. Burned down by men who were instructed to kill me when they found that I was helping both their soldiers and ones of the confederacy. I was shot in the left lung for helping wounded men, no matter what color their coat was, because that is what good people do. But thanks to my mutation, I can’t fucking die! My body just rejected the musket ball as they burned my home to cinders. Now, get these people off my fucking property immediately or you will learn all about the hell I’ve been through the past one hundred and twenty four years since I first learned how horrible people could be just for the fucking sake of it!” She nodded her head frantically as you turned on your heel to head back up to your house, grumbling under your breath. “Stevie, help me with this.” You said as you carefully walked up on the porch again. “There’s a safe in the basement. It has that letter... I think the will...”

“Babe, be careful.” Bucky said as you grabbed a long, charred, weather warn piece of wood that made up part of the wall of your first floor and lifted it up so that your best friend could see a similar piece of wood that was attached to it on the far side of the house.

“OK, I see it.” He said as he jumped down and ran to the other side as tourists began to flood toward the parking lot to leave.

“(Y/N), we can get a construction crew...” Pepper tried, but Bucky quickly looked back and shook his head at her.

“Just leave her. She’s being buried by new memories, and she’s battling the Wolf. No one can stop her right now.” 

“Get ahold of your boss.” Tony said as you and Steve chucked the wood away from the building. “I want contact information to whomever believes they own this land. We’ll be taking it back from them now.” Abigail nodded her head again and continued making phone calls as you and Steve made a path down to the basement that seemed relatively untouched thanks to it’s all stone frame.

“It’s...” You said as you jumped down into the basement after twenty minutes of clearing the rubble of your upper two floors and hesitated. You closed your eyes and tried to picture yourself putting the letter in the safe as Steve jumped down in front of you to help. You turned around in your spot and went through the motions of the memory, before your head shot up and to your left. “Over here. Under some flour sacks.”

“I need a light!” Steve called out as you took a step in that direction but stumbled the slightest bit over a small pile of stones. “Wait, (Y/N). We’re getting a light.”

“Here, Tony said just put it on.” Bucky said as he carefully leaned over the edge and dropped Tony’s Ironman helmet down to Steve. Your best friend held it out to you and you squeezed it on to your head before squinting at the bright screen that popped up in front of you.

“Man, what did I do with only lanterns down here?” You asked yourself as you awkwardly stepped over the stones, around whatever had started to grow in the dark space, and over to the sacks of flour that was your safe’s cover with the help of the night vision from Tony’s suit. Once they were thrown to the side, you picked up the three by three cast iron safe with a grunt, and carried it back over to Steve.

“Alright, hold on. Let me get out first.”

“How do I get this thing off... Oh.” You gasped as the mask opened and shrunk down to sit like a thick necklace. “That works.”

“You find it?” Bucky asked as Steve found solid ground and kneeled down to help. You passed it up to him and climbed out yourself as Tony, Pepper, and his lawyers talked to the cops that came to deal with the ‘disturbance’ with Abigail, her boss, and a pair of local representatives from the National Park Services.

“OK, wait just set it here.” You said as you pointed to the ground by the back steps as you kneeled down beside it. “Shit. When is his birthday? Or was it the day we met.”

“Don’t think of it that way.” Bucky said as he came around to the back of the house to see what was inside this little mystery box. “That’s not gunna help here like it doesn’t help you find your cell phone at home, remember? Walk through the last time you used it like you did in the basement. Picture yourself with the letter in your hand.” You nodded your head and closed your eyes as you held out your hand with the letter in it. “Down the stairs, to the left. You moved those bags and kneeled down. You reached out and turned the dial to...”

“Thirty-two.” You said as you opened your eyes and leaned forward. “Seventeen. Nine. His birthday backwards.” A smile spread across your face as the locked popped open, and the metal door creaked as you pulled it open. “Thank you baby. I never would have remembered that. See, the letter.” You said as you carefully pulled it out and unfolded the telegram. You looked over the slightly faded ink with a small sigh, before wiping off the top of the safe and setting it down. “Oh, look. His will. I didn’t know I had the original. Oh, look at this.” You laughed as you pulled out an old photograph of you on your wedding day. “I made that dress by hand. And this picture took forever to take. Cameras weren’t what they are back then.”

“God, you haven't change a bit.” Bucky said as he sat down beside you to look, as Steve crouched down on your other side.

“I aged like a fine wine.” You teased as you added the photo to the stack. “Oh, and this is John. Oh, sweetheart.” You sighed as you slowly shook your head with a fond smile. “Bless his heart, that man couldn’t grow a beard to save his life.”

“He’s... a lot older than I expected.” Bucky said as he took the photo from your hands, delicately.

“Ten years senior.” You said with a nod as Steve excused himself softly to let Tony know you had the original will. “That was normal back then. I married him when I had just turned seventeen so we were together... like seven years before he passed.”

“Wow.” He breathed as he handed you back the photo.

“What else do we have? Confederate bonds. What’s this? Oh, gold. Could have used that. Oh, my jewelry...” The pair of you sat for another twenty minutes or so, going through old memories and things you had kept safe when John left. You were ecstatic to find the deed to the property along with his father’s will and a couple other documents related to his family.

“OK, I have to say this is blowing my mind a little bit.” Bucky said as you pulled out a pistol wrapped in an old t-shirt to make sure there was nothing left underneath it. “Like... this is your stuff. Not your relatives, yours. You actually touched these documents before today.”

“Gives being older than dinosaurs a whole new meaning, doesn’t it?” You laughed as you started carefully putting everything back in the safe.

“And you own this land.” He said as he looked up at the massive, 2000 acre property in front of him.

“I do.” You said with a nod as you closed the door of the safe. “Legally and soon, officially.”

“Damn.” He said with a shake of his head. “Yea, we’re raising Anastasia here.”

“I’m absolutely OK with that, my love.” You said as you stood up and picked up the safe. “I just have to prove who I am to the US government after spending nearly one hundred years trying to avoid doing just that. That’s gunna be the real fun.”

Part 15

[nighthoundsworld]

As I now feel like the main pioneer for the Next Avengers fandom I’m gonna start something (that’s probably not gonna be consistent) called Head-canon that’s probably 1000% true and todays Topic is on the very awkward subject for our Next Avengers ✨PARENTS✨ specifically Mothers

#1 James and Francis are complete Mamas Boys without a doubt so this post will be about them. Now not saying they don’t love their dads because they do………but come on now if I had a mom that looked like this I’d be a mamas boy as well

(James)

#2 James wears a Red hourglass necklace around his neck and never removes it because it was the last thing Natasha gave to him before she went to fight Ultron and ultimately died (This is the new canon because I said so, so if our Next Avengers come back in mainstream media expect this to be a thing)

#3 The Day Steve and Natasha left to fight Ultron which lead to their deaths Natasha was forced to inject James with a syringe that had sleeping medication because he wouldn’t stop screaming and crying and wouldn’t let go of Natasha mind you that at the time James was only 3 which grew his fears of Needles

#4 The only Picture James has of his Parents is them dancing at their wedding, it’s the only picture he has and he stops himself for looking for more because every second he spends looking at that picture reminds him of what he lost and what he’s never able to get back

#5 Although James is Captain America’s son and he’s held at such a high regard and given such respect he acts more like Natasha. His hairs the same shade of red, He leans more towards the spy in him than the goodie two shoes solider, his hero costumes primary color is a red and Black jacket with a star etc overall he leans more towards Natasha in the personality department

#6 James biggest secret that no one knows but him is he knows Ballet, he practiced in secret for years and perfected the craft and everyday he ends his day by looking at a Russian Ballerina Music Box and watches it twirl as he thinks about her

(Francis)

#7 let’s get this out the way right now Francis was not planned 😂 LOL He was an accident Baby that Clint and Bobbi made on their 3rd Honeymoon but never the doubt the idea of Abortion never once crossed their minds as they agreed that little Francis was gonna be there’s 100%

#8 Francis being the only one who actually was able to live a portion of his life with his Parents Bobbi tried her hardest to give him some sort of normalcy in hiding with the Freedom Fighters (or whatever they were called) she taught him all the basic things and even made a small area for him where she’s read him bed stories every night and promise him a better future

#9 Bobbi’s nickname for Francis was “Her Little Birdy” or “Franky”

#10 evidently when Bobbi’s death came Francis was 10 years old. A group of Ultron bot’s found their base and she led the fight to stall while Clint helped everyone evacuate. She gave Francis her Goggles and made him promise that no matter what never loose hope in fighting to save the day before Eventually Clint was forced to carry Francis away leaving the boy to watch as the last time he saw his Mother she was fighting for her life in which she ultimately lost

#11 Francis keeps a picture of Bobbi in his pocket at all times so he never forgets his Mom’s face along with the fact that he never takes off his goggles the least he’ll do is just rest them upon his head hiding them within his hair

#12 he customized his Bow so that it can turn into a Bow Staff along with two separate Batons the same Bobbi used as he trained himself with the art of the Bow Staff in honor of her. He also carved out a small Mockingbird within his Bow for her

#13 every year on her Birthday he leaves flowers and one of the children’s books she read to him at her Grave where he talks to her and gives her a recap of what happened in the past year promising her he’d never give up fighting for what’s right

Overall these two are complete Mamas Boys and again like I said I don’t blame them look at who their moms are

[modern-inheritance]

Modern Inheritance: Over the Edge (Pre-war)

(A/N: WIP title. It's not really abuse, but wanna say that there's a very very brief moment of rough-handling of a kid. No hitting, only a brief shake to a kid the size of, let's say a 7-8 year old human. Also, we get to see Islanzadí for the first time in pre-war, with this taking place probably a month or two before The Promise and Arya's oath with Brom. She's struggling with the turmoil after the Fall, the loss of Evandar and not really having the time to mourn him due to the sudden rush of responsibility and new duties {that sounds like a theme for this bloodline huh} and she is barely keeping her head above water. Because of that, she tries to tell herself that it's okay to focus solely on her duties as queen, because, through trickle down and big picture, her doing well as queen keeps Arya safe from Galbatorix and the Forsworn. That's what she tells herself. If she believes it is up to you as the reader at this point.)

~~~~~~

MODERN INHERITANCE: OVER THE EDGE

Out of nowhere the door to the queen’s study slammed open with a horrendous bang. Däthedr, Fiolr and Islanzadí all jumped as one.

“What is the meaning of this int–” Islanzadí’s thunderous voice was immediately silenced by the equally stormy eyes that snapped to her. Despite his frail nature, Oromis’ presence filled the doorway, looming over them like a threatening anvil cloud. 

“Leave us.” The Rider’s voice held unmistakable steel. The two elf lords flicked their gazes to the queen, unsure of who was in control. Slighting one would be dangerous, though which was more threatening at the time was yet to be decided. “Leave!”

A great rumble shook the roots arrayed beneath their feet and a massive golden eye suddenly glinted outside the window overlooking the courtyard.

Däthedr and Fiolr were out of their seats and bowed just low enough to show apologetic respect before they fled, kicking up moss in their haste.

Silence but for the soft whooshing of Glaedr’s great lungs outside the walls filled the room. 

Islanzadí slowly settled back into her chair. “Can I help you, Oromis-elda?” The brittleness that accompanied her clenched teeth and the hard line of her shoulders was not masked in the slightest. Islanzadí was livid at the intrusion and far beyond angry at the subversion of her authority, in front of her advisor no less! 

“Do you have any,” Oromis paused to collect himself. His own rage was very close to boiling over. “Any inkling of just where your daughter is?” 

The queen blinked. Arya? When was the last time she had seen her? Surely not that long ago. Breakfast, probably, scampering out the door. Or did she see her in the Menoa tree while on a walk? No, that was yesterday, she had a meeting with the Council after that, so it had to be yesterday. 

A heavy stone of guilt dropped into Islanzadí’s stomach. Could she really not tell him when she last saw her own child? The days had been going by in a whirlwind, filled with meetings pushing for more resources for the border, more spellcasters to maintain the barriers, power struggles in Ceris–

Islanzadí had no earthly idea where her own daughter was.

“I…” 

Oromis reached behind him and marched into the room. “Spare me the attempt, Islanzadí.” 

A small yelp of indignation followed him, or rather, was dragged alongside him. Arya let out a half feral yowl at the Dragon Rider pulling her by one gangly arm, silverskin glowing a muted flush of pink anger at her cheeks at the unintentional roughness. 

The elfling’s hair was wild, though that was nothing new. Her braid was half undone, the tie at the base loosened. Knees scuffed, elbows bruised, knuckles scraped, pine needles stuck to her clothing with sap. Yes, that was her Arya, scowling up at her from where Oromis had planted the child in front of him with his hands on her shoulders. 

“Tell your mother.”

Arya’s scowl deepened. Stars. She looked so much like Evandar during combat when she did that. Her brows met with the same lightning pattern, jet streaks of midnight above endless emerald green. “Nothing happened.”

Another growl rattled the window hard enough to send it gliding inwards on hidden hinges. Glaedr snapped his massive jaws, a sharp crack loud enough to make the gathered elves flinch. Outside, a trio of pines juddered from the impact of his tail before he subdued the lashing.

‘Hatchling!’ His voice was thunderous in their minds. At the dragon’s mental touch Islanzadí felt the sensation of wind pushing against her body, a momentary inkling of confusion, then a fear of failure, fear of the outcome, and then…relief. And rage. ‘We have warned you!’

Against all odds, Arya snapped her own teeth, a defiant snarl rattling her thin chest. “I’m not scared of you, Glaedr!” 

The golden dragon audibly balked. That stung more than he cared to admit. Especially coming from one so small.

“What is this about?” Islanzadí snapped. That surge of fear felt through Glaedr’s memories twisted her stomach into knots. Besides the usual scrapes, though, Arya seemed unharmed. “I have work to do. You interrupted a meeting that was planned weeks in advance!”

Outside, Glaedr shifted. 

Arya bared her teeth. With a hollow mental wave of her hand to put it aside for later thought, Islanzadí noticed the girl’s canines had fallen out. When had that happened? Not too recently, it seemed. The tips of wickedly sharp ancestral teeth were already poking through, giving the child an almost comical appearance with both top canines barely coming in while the lower set were nearly level with her incisors. 

Oromis’ eyes flashed at Islanzadí’s words. His grip on Arya’s shoulders tightened. “We found your daughter after she leapt off the Crags, Islanzadí.”

Islanzadí’s heart dropped, the wind knocked from her lungs. “What?” 

‘We were flying and caught the hatchling after she jumped off the Crags of Tel’naeír.’ 

Arya…jumped from the cliffs? 

Islanzadí was around the desk in an instant and seized her only child by the arms. “What were you thinking?” There was only panic thudding in her chest, the image of a small body crumpled in the beds of pine needles flashing to her mind. “Have you gone mad?! Answer me!” 

“Islanzadí!” Oromis’ bark was sharp and swift. It was only when Arya stifled a squeak did Islanzadí realize she was shaking her. 

The queen released the elfling as if stung, hands hovering an inch away from the pink blotches blooming on silvered skin. “Arya…?” 

Arya lifted her gaze from where she had dropped it to the ground. 

Was…was that fire in her eyes?

Defiant but calm. Determined. The lanky child squared her shoulders as best she could under Oromis’ grip and met her mother’s conflicted storm of golden lightning and locked them eye to eye.

Arya’s voice was soft, deadpan. “I wanted to fly.” 

Fly. Said as if it were entirely normal for elf children to take to the skies after a quick breakfast. Islanzadí stared at her child, unsure if this was some sort of elaborate ruse to hide a darker motive, some childish cry for help, or if her daughter genuinely had planned to leap off a thousand foot cliff and sprout wings.

The queen closed her mouth, suddenly aware that her jaw was hanging open a good half inch in dumbfounded bewilderment. 

“...Fly?” 

Arya nodded. Never broke eye contact. Never changed her expression. “I wanted to test the spells I made. The Crags are the highest and clearest launch point.”

A dull headache began to throb behind Islanzadí’s forehead.

Why? Why did it always have to be her child. Couldn’t she find something normal to do? Couldn’t she see that Islanzadí was struggling to keep the entire elven nation together just over a handful of years after the Fall? Arya was known to be remarkably observant but how could she not understand, after her father–

The fear for her safety was quickly turning to white hot anger at the center of Islanzadí’s chest. Of all the foolish things….

The queen inhaled and held her breath for a long moment before letting it out in a tight huff. “Arya. You are far too old to be pretending you can fly, and far too young to be meddling with experimental magic!” Arya opened her mouth but Islanzadí cut her off. “No. Enough of this. You know how important the meetings today are.” Islanzadí rose from her kneeling position and knocked the knees of her dress free of dirt. “You and I will discuss this at length in the evening. Now go to your quarters.”

Again, Arya tried to speak. She even took half a step forward, something flashing and flaring bright in her emerald eyes. “I–”

“Enough!” Unmistakable. The voice she used in court. Commanding. The voice of a queen. “To your quarters!” Islanzadí threw an arm in the direction of the door, pointing sharply. “Now!” 

The elfling’s mouth snapped shut, jaw clenched.

Islanzadí couldn’t tell if it was horror, pain, or anger that surged to her throat when her daughter straightened into a smart attention, knocked her knuckles to a disheveled shoulder as she had seen countless times before, and bowed. 

“As you wish, my queen.”

Hollow, detached. Quietly and barely masking the seething underneath it all.

Arya was at the door when Oromis called out. “Arya.” She turned to him, never once looking back to her mother. “Lessons early tomorrow. Bring your books and your training blade.”

“Yes, ebrithil.” The murmur held more respect than anything she had said to Islanzadí. “I will be there.”

Once the door was closed, Islanzadí took a moment to rub her temples and just breathe. She could still feel Oromis staring at her, anger not yet gone, thunder still in his eyes. 

“What?” She didn’t mean to snap. She bit her tongue. The Dragon Rider merely shook his head. “Speak, Oromis! I do not have time for games! I have two more meetings, not counting the one you interrupted, and I have a stack of reports on attempted border incursions by Wyrdfell waiting for me.”

“You don’t have time?” The words stung hard against Islanzadí’s ears with flabbergasted accusations. Oromis must indeed be outraged if he was acting this emotional with her. “You do not have time for your own daughter?” 

The queen whirled back to her desk and stalked around it. “My daughter should know better than to jump off cliffs and think she will fly!” She shoved a stack of papers to the side roughly and sat. “She knows how important these weeks are. Arya is capable, she should be able to take care of herself.”

“That is not the matter at all, and you know this!” Oromis followed her, bracing slim hands on the back of one of the chairs. “Islanzadí, Arya is hurting! She is still trying to come to terms with Evandar’s death–”

“Get out.” 

“Islanzadí–”

“Get out! You will not lecture me on how to raise my child by invoking the name of my dead mate!”

For the first, and quite nearly the only time, Islanzadí witnessed Oromis Thrándurin in a true, uncontained rage. 

The unmistakable rumble of dragonfire swelled in the crippled Rider’s chest. Islanzadí shrank back instinctively as the elf seemed to grow before her, white teeth flashing, fingers cracking through the chair’s wood as if pierced by ivory claws. 

Oromis’ voice was harsh with crackling flame, roaring at her above the din. “Then raise your child, Islanzadí Dröttning!” His thin chest heaved, as if the effort of holding back true fire taxed him to the limit. “Arya needs her mother. Not a queen. Go to her. She is a child! She only wants to be held by her mother and told that it will all be alright while the world is falling apart!” 

The words had Islanzadí shooting to her feet yet again. “Yes! The world is falling apart! And right now, the only thing keeping us safe are magic barriers, far too few uninjured spellcasters, a handful of cities lending all the strength they can to fortify them, and spells that are millenia old and in desperate need of repair!” The queen threw an arm out, gesturing to the expanse of Du Weldenvarden mapped out on the wall of pine. “Everyone is hurting! And I am the queen of an entire race that is hurting! I do not have time to lie to my daughter that everything will be fine when we cannot know for sure! My time is spent endlessly fortifying our defenses, trying to make sure we last to the end of the month in case Galbatorix decides to send his entire collection of Wyrdfell to sweep the forest with dragonfire! Time not spent with her is time spent keeping her alive!

“Arya will just have to learn how to live with some sacrifices. I will not hold her hand when it means the possibility of losing this entire nation.” 

Oromis once again looked every year his age. 

“Are you finished?” He asked softly.

The queen lowered herself into her chair, hands shaking. “Get out. And take Glaedr with you.”

Oromis again shook his head, as if in sad disappointment. “You will lose her if you continue like this, Islanzadí.”

Islanzadí did not look up from the piles of reports on her desk. 

When the door finally clicked closed behind him, the queen of the elves buried her face in her hands, and cried. 

Oromis was not halfway down the hall when the soft sound of sniffling caught his attention. A small droplet splashed on the back of his hand, warm like a spring rain in the dead of winter. 

He looked up. “Oh, little hatchling. Come down from there.” He gave a small, sad smile. “Please?”

Another quiet sniffle, the rustle of woven pine boughs, and the lanky elfling dropped from one of the skylights in the hall’s ceiling. Arya wiped her nose on the back of her arm, scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her palms and stifled a hiccup before squaring her shoulders as she had earlier. 

“Arya. Were you listening?”

She nodded. Blinked. 

“Oh, little hatchling. I’m so sorry you heard that.” Her eyes shone with tears when she met his gaze, throat convulsing as she swallowed another stuttered gasp of misery. Oromis opened his arms, chest aching. “None of that, now, Arya. It is okay to cry.”

Arya sniffed again. “F…fighters don’t cry.” 

“My dear girl, everyone cries.” But she was already in his arms, face pressed to his ribs and eyes squeezed shut. 

He let her sob out her frustration and pain there in the hall, tucked into his embrace and in a little sheltered bubble of silence where no one would be able to hear her tears. She pulled away when she was done, rubbing at her face, trying to hide the evidence again as the two of them retrieved her training blade and books before beginning the long walk to the Crags. She would sleep under the stars there, an unspoken agreement forged by the many times Glaedr had awoken to the elfling tucked against his paw, or curled under the roots of a tree at the edge of their cliffside dwelling. 

“I’m…” Oromis flicked his gaze to the child at his side. Arya heaved a few deep breaths, forcing herself to calm fully. “I’m going to fix it.” 

“Fix what, little hatchling?” 

“The world.” Arya nodded in affirmation to herself. The Rider at her side couldn’t help the small grin that tilted his lips. Leave it to the youth to declare such things with so much confidence. “I’m going to fix the world. Then Mum won’t have to work so hard, and you and Glaedr won’t be so sad all the time.”

The matter of fact mentioning of his and Glaedr’s pain hit like a stone loosed from a sling. He pushed it back, did his best to keep the soft smile on his face. “Do you have a plan for this?” 

“Yeah.” 

Oromis nearly missed a step when he glanced down. Arya’s face had transformed from the light frown to a near frighteningly wild smile, teeth bared in fierce determination. Her eyes were alight with brilliant fire, brows lowered in challenge. 

“I’m gonna fight.”

~~~~~~~~

[possibly-a-secunit]

Hi I just need to scream here for a bit bc I been holding it together irl and need to get this out

Tw for death of a loved one, abuse, drug addiction, mental illness- possibly more

My mom died last year. November 15th. I will never forget the phone call from the woman she was staying with.

"Your momma died last night."

What do you say to that?

"Oh."

I loved my mom, and I still do. But her dying has forced me to look back on my life and, unfortunately, revisit all the trauma I experienced at her hands. Not ALL of my trauma, mind you, but... Enough. She was supportive of me as a person and that made the abuse very difficult to process mentally. She didn't care that I was bisexual, she was too. When I came out as trans at 14, she supported me fully, going so far as to buy me a new wardrobe even though I didn't live with her at the time. When I fucked up and got pregnant at 16, she moved me back down near her and was the most amazing Mima my daughter could have ever wanted.

But she was also a manipulative abuser, and an addict. I was physically abused in place of my siblings, blamed for things going wrong in her life, accused of sleeping with her drug dealer boyfriend and doing crack, and, coming to a head at the ripe old age of 14, she tried to kill me. I was put into foster care after bouncing through a few family members houses, and I didn't speak to her for about a year. When we did speak, it was very limited and I was hesitant.

When I found out I was pregnant, she was one of the first people I called. I moved in with my grandma and Megan rekindling my relationship with what I thought was a changed version of my mother. Little did I know.

The entire time I was gone, she continued abusing my siblings, her and the guy she was seeing mutually abused each other for YEARS, she continued doing drugs and drinking, and then we all moved into a house together. She did meth. She saw people in the trees. She was only happy if she was drunk or high, but even that was 50/50.

The slightest thing would set her off, and she would go feral. One of my siblings moved in with their dad, the other stayed with my mom and my daughter while I moved to the next town over to get away from the drugs and toxicity of my hometown, start a career, and get financially stable enough to have my daughter. (Remember, I was a teenager).

The cops were called one night when the fighting between my mom and her husband got really bad, and my brother and daughter both ended up staying with me in my tiny apartment, until my brother also moved in with his dad.

After that, my mom got clean! She stopped doing drugs AND drinking, and even smoking cigarettes! She moved in with me, started an LGBTQ pride based small business, donated her proceeds to organizations like the Trevor project, got her license and car fixed... it was nice. She worked her way up to be a support counselor for LGBTQ victims of abuse of any kind, worked with organizations to set up needle drops for people with addictions to dispose of used needles and obtain clean ones and Narcan, and fentanyl test strips, all for free.

And then, one day, she just... Gave up. She struggled with schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, depression, and other mental illnesses I'm sure I had no idea about, and I think that it was just... Too much.

She relapsed. She drank, she smoked, she shot up, she snorted. She got kicked out of the recovery house she moved into, moved back in with me, fought with me and was subsequently kicked out of and banned from my house, attempted to drive to her exes house an hour and a half away drunk, crashed her car, moved back in with her ex, broke probation and got arrested more than once.

When she went to court, her options were:

A: 5 years in prison, out in as little as 3 on basis of good behaviour

Or

B: 2 years in prison, 8 on probation.

And you know what she decided to do?

She fled the state. She fucking left. She bounced around the country with money from who fucking knows where, stayed with other addicts she had met along the way and saw all the things she wanted to see. National landmarks, mountains, and even the snow for the first time.

And then, she died. She was 45 years old.

And now... It's her birthday. She would have been 46.

If you stuck around all the way to the end of my tragic story, I'm sorry. There is no happy ending. There is no justice. I just needed to get this off my chest. Her life was a rollercoaster of tragedy from beginning to end, crashing through and derailing other people's rides in the process. I'm 23 now, and I'm doing... Okay. I struggle with my own mental illnesses, as evidenced by this very blog. I don't really know how to end this, but... If you think this story is bad, you should hear about the rest of my life.

- Ransom.

[sunderedazem]

How did Corrain handle his trauma as being a survivor of the Sacking of Coruscant?

OH! SO- actually, Corrain *isn't* a survivor of the Sacking of Coruscant. Corrain grew up in the creche of a Jedi enclave located in the Glarus Valley on Alderaan (if you go there in-game on pubside, it's overrun by Sith). He has other trauma that surrouds that, however - all of the Jedi Masters and Knights from his creche are killed by Sith in the Alderaanian Civil War, and he arrives to the planet just as the last two of his mentors die, leaving all the younglings in his and House Organa's care.

Orgus therefore tasks him with getting the younglings to Tython after they take care of thr Death Mark laser, and Orgus takes the opportunity to go after Darth Angral. And we know how that turns out.

So...Corrain's trauma with losing *every Jedi Master or teacher he's ever had* doesn't happen during the Sacking, when he's barely 8 years old - it happens when he's 18/19ish, and is *extremely* raw through all of chapter 2 of the knight storyline. It makes his Fall on the Emperor's Fortress all the crunchier, hehe. (I have a ficlet about it started in my Moonrise Legacy series on ao3 :D)

My Consular, Kalvonut, is on Coruscant during the Sacking though - and that's one of the main reasons he chooses to dedicate himself to healing with the Force, so he can save others if he is ever caught in a situation like that again. It doesn't help much that he was 16/17 during the Sacking either - he remembers the events of that day VERY clearly. It's something he and Orgus bond over before he becomes Yuon's Padawan, and it's one of the main reasons he also doesn't become a Jedi until so late in his life (he's 27 at class story start, in contrast with Corrain, who's only just 18). Kalvo knew he wasn't ready for the responsibility of being a Jedi until he could come to terms with what happened to him, so he put his training progression on hold until he was certain he had come to terms with everything. The Council was very proud of his deliberate decision here (though Jaric was somewhat disgruntled by how Orgus used Kalvonut's example to needle him about Dread Master Traumas, lmao).

The Sacking of Coruscant did have a silver lining, in a twisted way - it was one of the few times Kalvo was grateful for being a Sith Pureblood. His species in this case enabled him to trick a contingent of attacking Sith into leaving him and a group of horrified younglings alone, under the impression that he was uh. Murdering them. That allowed him and the younglings to escape, and also enlightened him to the possibility of using his appearance in his favor, especially as a diplomat. This is what sparked his interest in diplomacy - the idea that maybe Imperials would take him more seriously than they would other Jedi. It's a bit of a vain hope, but it helps him come to terms with how the Republic views him, and helps him to start rejecting that Republic View of things which he'd internalized. The Jedi are also proud of him for this, and Yuon in particular tries to help him find traditional pureblood customs to take part in - this is how he ends up with gold facial jewelry in spite of otherwise being a pretty frugal fellow (i have a few HCs about jewelry having Strong Meanings in Sith culture, hehe).

Thank you for the ask!!!! <3 <3 <3 i really appreciate it 🥺💙

[a-chuffed-floating-panda]

A love in the eye of the hurricane ch15 (unedited)

(Originally posted 8 August 2022. slightly better edited chapter)

Jamyang was right in her observations about Gawa being someone to get her arrows early. She’d seen her talent nurtured by the teachers at Taktsang throughout the years she visited.

Gawa’s attempt at brushing her compliments aside never worked. She tried. Jamyang would give her the kudos for that.

She’s visited quite a few times now that she thought about it. She’s filled out fifteen sketchbooks and journals with notes and watercolour paintings neatly stacked by her bookshelf. Her sibling and best friend teased her about it, but it’s among her prized possessions.

It’s in the late winter, when she’s sixteen winters and eight moons, that Gawa got her arrows at thirteen winters and four moons in the meditation caves of Mt. Agari. 

The master herself- Gawa hated it when she called her that- had invited her to be one of a small dozen of people that got to tattoo a yantra on her during the ceremony. Jamyang received the invitation in the middle of a lecture, which she later had to sneak out of to properly react to the news.

Cintsha, the flying delivery panda, gave comforting licks and nuzzles when she started panicking at the fact that she was invited to tattoo someone. Like, needle, ink and skin. Perman-no, something that lasts for years. If she messed up, then it would serve as a constant reminder until it blurred out or faded with old age.

She could draw well, paint even better, but tattoo someone? And Gawa, of all people? The thought alone started a fight between a chowder of crococats in her stomach. Jamyang wished it was the baby lemurs fighting. Those were easier to deal with; Even when they fought over custard pie, it was easier to deal with them than the crococats.

“What is it?” A hand touched her shoulder. “You left rather abruptly.” She glanced up to see Sister Jetsun’s gentle grey eyes. 

Cintsha growled when she scratched behind his ear, a weak spot of his.

“Gawa invited me to be one of the people to tattoo her during her ceremony.” She said, handing the letter over to her and placing Cintsha on her lap. Petting him to calm down.

“Is it that you don’t want to go?”

“Of course I want to go!” Jamyang didn’t get why the corners of Sister Jetsun‘s mouth quirked up. “But to tattoo someone?”

“You’re going to tattoo your students when you become a teacher, you know.”

“I know.” She huffed, “But that’s not now, and besides, it’s different.”

“How so?”

“Gawa isn’t my student. She’s my friend.” 

“Jaya’s your friend too, so is Nyima, Ghamo, Sangye…”

“It’s the same thing! If they’d asked me to tattoo them during their ceremony, I’d panic too. I’d want it to be perfect.” 

Sister Jetsun was quiet and Jamyang angrily petted Cintsha.

“You get to sketch the tattoo you want to do with paint, so think of it like you’re painting the paintings you send her every month.” She handed the letter back. “You have time to practise, too. I could show you if you want.”

Jamyang was quick to accept the offer.

She practised outside of the temple grounds since her practise required animal skin as a canvas and she didn’t want to break the rules at the temple. Sister Jetsun showed her how to apply the paint, how to hold the bamboo needle and how to tattoo. 

“You need to pay close attention when you’re tattooing.” She said, “a good outline and line work are the fundamentals of any tattoo. Most people tattoo with a specific rhythm so that it won’t be too uncomfortable for the person being tattooed.”

“What sort of rhythm?” Jamyang had painted the outline of a tree, Sister Jetsun had painted the outline of a lemur.

“There’s many. I use the 3, 4 rhythm from the poems.” She dipped the needle into a bowl filled with black ink. “It’s easier to get good line work when you’re following a rhythm or something consistent of sorts, in my opinion.” She said, “When I first tattooed someone, my lines were so inconsistent and spotty, it caused them more pain than needed when I had to redo them.” Sister Jetsun smiled wryly at the memory. At least that’s what Jamyang thought she did.

It was her turn to dip her needle into the ink filled bowl.

“But there are those that don’t need a rhythm, wanna try?”

She stared at her sketch for a couple of seconds, her fingers gripping at the bamboo absentmindedly. It’s just animal skin. You can mess up here. Why are you so nervous? 

“Yeah. Yes, I would like to try.”

Jamyang ended up messing up on the shading, and some of the line work regarding the branches. 

“Don’t be too upset. This is good for your first try.” Sister Jetsun nudged her shoulder with her fist. “Her ceremony will be during the first month of next year. Not as if the seasons change here, but it’s late summer. You have months to practice.” Jamyang stressed over her practice work, regardless of Sister Jetsun’s attempt at comforting her.

She snuck the animal skin into the temple by hiding it in the sleeves of her robe, sped over to her room, folded and hid it in between the books on her bookshelf.

The blacksmith she visited, recommended by Izumi and Oshima, gave her the most confused look when she said she wanted to have a sword made.

“Are you sure?” His voice was gruff, but his confusion made it soft. He waved his fingered at her. “But aren’t you a nomad? You’re not supposed to have swords, are you?”

“It isn’t for me, it’s for my friend.” She said. “They’re going to have their master test soon.” Technically true, they were called ‘tests’ at Taktsang. What came after was the ceremony. “And I wanted to get them a gift for when they pass.”

He thumbed his chin. “Your friend is a sword user?” Jamyang nodded, “They are.” A sword user, bo staff user, chain user and kama user, she listed off in her head. Gawa could use many more weapons to a high level of mastery- “I’m not a master Jamyang, I just know how to use them”- whereas she was content with her staff, senbon, shuriken and jian; they’re hidden in a secret compartment under her bed. She would get reigned with terror from the Elders if they found out about them.

“Well,” he said, and picked up a piece of paper and a brush. “This is an unusual request, but I accept it. What type of sword do you want?” Jamyang fumbled, having expected to argue with the blacksmith to commission the sword, but she pulled out a note from her bag after collecting herself.

“I want a changdao. It’s like the odachi or the nagamaki.” She further explained at his confused expression. “I’ve written the details here.” Jamyang handed him the note.

“Hmm, this can be quite ex-,”

“I have the money to pay the full price and a little more.” She’s sold- some visitors at the temple saw her paintings and wanted to pay, and she’s collected alms while out on trips.

Most of the money from alms trips went to the temple, but Sister Tsering allowed her to keep a small share of it. She’s always done that.

“You came prepared, huh?”

“I did.” Jamyang didn’t know how many times Izumi had assured her that this would be fine! Don’t worry about it Jamyang! 

She didn’t want to think of how many times it possibly was, either.

“How old are you?” He looked up from her note.

“I’m fifteen winters.” Jamyang paused for a moment, wondering if she should clarify; there were a few individuals who didn’t get it.

“… winters?”

“I’m technically sixteen. I was born in the late spring, but at the temple we count ages in how many winters and moons you’ve lived.”

“Ah… okay.” He looked back down at the note. “You’re the youngest that’s come to me requesting something like this. Your friend is your age then?”

Gawa was approximately three years and four moons younger than her, being born in the late summer (technically early autumn, but seasons didn’t change in the mountain range by the temple) a week after the smoke festival. Did he need to know that? Jamyang thought that he didn’t.

“They are.”

Sister Jetsun said she was becoming good at it, but Jamyang thought she was decent. ‘Decent’ still meant that she could mess up, and she didn’t want to mess up.

So she practised more. More than she probably needed to, but practice was practice. Good times to make it become muscle memory.

After a lot of deliberation with herself and many sketches, Jamyang chose her tattoo of choice to be a lotus flower, because she wished her friend well on her path to enlightenment, with some additional mantras of her liking. Gawa was nyingma-pa, so the mantra of Guru Padmasambhava was an obvious choice.

Maybe the mantra of Chenrezig, the green dölma and Öpakme too? Adding onto the mantra of Guru Padmasambhava, she could always add his seven-line prayer too.

Jamyang stared down at her half-finished sketch. How was she going to fit all of it in?

Jaya found her agonising over it in her room, put her sketch aside for her, and dragged her out.

“But I’m not done-,”

“You can finish later. We’re drinking some tea and going gliding after that.”

“… jasmine tea?” She rolled through the choices of tea in the cabinets in the kitchen. Jasmine was the current favourite.

“Of course,” she rolled her eyes. “who do you think I am? I know how you like your teas.”

Jamyang didn’t tell her she steeped the tea for a little too long. There was a bitter underlining flavour every time she drank some of her tea.

But Jaya looked so proud of herself, and she didn’t want to ruin that. It wasn’t too bitter. She could easily ignore it.

“It’s better than last time, right?”

Jamyang smacked her lips together after her last sip. “… yes.” Jaya steeped it for way longer the last time she made tea. It was barely drinkable, but she powered through for Jaya’s sake. But It was better this time. “It’s better this time.”

Jaya’s grin was worth some slightly bitter tea.

They flew over the clouds, and Jaya talked her into doing a risky loop. She didn’t really want to, but Jaya pouted at her from her left and Jamyang ended up doing it.

No one was immune to her pouts. 

She started a smoke trail behind her, did a big loop- Jaya ‘whoo-ed’ behind her- and spun in circles and spirals, just like apa had taught them the first time he came to visit. According to ama, she and Yara apparently got their gliding skills from him.

Jamyang didn’t see it as a skill or something special to brag about, but it explained why she and her sister learned complex gliding tricks quicker than their classmates.

She couldn’t explain it either when she was asked by her classmates how she did a trick Sister Gyalwo had done during their staff classes when they were eleven winters. 

She’d shrugged her shoulders when Norbu had asked her once. I don’t really know how to explain it. She answered. But what do you do when you fly? The thangka’s on the walls to the dining hall had just been repainted and she’d looked at them as she answered. I lean into the wind as I fly, and I don’t keep myself straight all the time. As I fly, I lean a little to the right or left. I only keep myself straight if I have to fly forward. You know the technique that’s taught at Tanah lot? I use that too, but not to the full extent, just a little. Norbu had that frown on her face that told she didn’t understand what she just said. I think I get it. 

Norbu got it after a few tries under her tutelage. Jaya, on the other hand, flew straight into one of the temple towers when she first tried it. She still almost crashes the other times she tries her way of flying, but she got by unscathed somehow.

“That was awesome!” Jaya exclaimed when they landed. “That was just- I, you were- woah!” Jamyang ducked her head at her gushing. “Thank you.” Jaya grinned and punched her shoulder. 

“Do you feel better now?” There was still an anxious buzz under her skin, but it wasn’t as bad now as when she agonised over her sketch designs. “I do, a little.” Jaya took it as a victory and dragged her over to the tower edge and sat down, urging her to sit down with her.

How could Jamyang refuse her?

“You’ll do fine, you know.” She leaned her head against her shoulder. “You’re doing the thing again where you think too much about something that you don’t need to think much about.”

Jamyang swallowed. She knew that already. “I would’ve been like this had it been you or any of my other classmates as well. I want to do well regarding the people I care for.” The thought of messing up any tattoos, something that lasted for a very long time, terrified her.

“I’ll wear whatever you tattoo on me with pride, even if you mess up too, because you, my best friend, were the one to tattoo it.” Jaya said. “I know that many people think the same.”

She would do the exact same thing if Jaya messed up a tattoo on her as well. It wouldn’t be upsetting because it was Jaya who did it. Jaya’s her best friend. It was something to laugh about and embarrass her with when they would get old. “You’re thinking loudly again.”

Jamyang sighed, leaning her head against hers. “Do you have a design in mind?”

“Yeah, sorta. Still haven’t figured out how to fit it all in, but I have the idea.” 

“Tell me about it, enlighten me if you would.” She collected her rampant thoughts, a simple lotus flower with the added mantras of her choice, but she didn’t know how to fit the mantras into the design, and nothing so far seemed to fit.

“Take a break then.” It sounded simple to do, but she tried that and only stayed away for three hours. “I’ve tried.”

“Well then, I’m helping you take a break. For three days, if I see that you’re working on something related to the design, then I’m shredding it to pieces.”

She wetted her lips as her hands fidgeted nervously on her lap. Jaya always held up her end of the deal. 

Jamyang looked up at her bookshelf. The spot she’s been hiding the animal skins in was full. The wedge between the Pearls of Laghima and The Stories of the Thunder Dragons was as clear as a stuffed lemur trying to steal more food.

She has been thinking of a couple of designs. It was tempting to pull out her sketchbook and start sketching the idea, but Jaya would figure it out. She’s had these mandatory check ups with her throughout the day to see if she’d been trying to figure out the design by checking her hands for blisters, paint splatter and charcoal dust.

Jaya didn’t need to know that most of the wedge between the books resulted from her mindlessly poking with her bamboo needle at animal skin for 1-2 hours at night after her training sessions.

There was no thinking of designs. She’d come to seeing weird shapes and patterns on the skin, and it was a good mind destresser. Almost like the walking meditation that’s taught at Wat tham suea or the ‘wu-wei’ state that Aden talked about.

Never think when you’re doing something, only do. The act is at its finest when you’re not thinking of the useless movements; he said one time when he visited and found her reflecting over a painting.

Think of your breath while you do something. Be mindful of each inhale. It feels a lot like meditation, doesn’t it? Palden’s voice, her teacher’s voice, echoed in her mind; Sister Tsering had been encouraging when she said that she’d expressed her want to have more teachers, a few others, not so much.

Palden wrote in her recent letter that she was going to be at the mask festival at Tanah lot, hoping that she would be there so that they could spar. Apa and ama wrote they would be there as well. 

Opame had also invited her last year to come next year, so Jamyang couldn’t exactly refuse. Instead of lotus flowers, Jamyang thought about what mask she was going to make. 

Oak wood maybe? Ooh, colourful mandalas around the eyes sound like a cool idea.

She woke up to little Jampo, a brownish flying panda that was gifted to her by Gawa as a birthday present for when she turned nine, curled up into a ball on her chest. Jamyang didn’t know the specifics of her birthdate, so Anzan ended up choosing May 27. As the date to celebrate her and Yara’s birthdays.

Ama had told them they were born minutes after midnight on the 28th, so he wasn’t too far off.

“Good morning.” Jampo nuzzled into her touch when she scratched his head. Hugging him close to her chest, she sat up, smiling to herself when she felt his paws reach out to grip at her shoulders.

As she stepped out of her night garments and into her daily wear - not that different from when she was younger- a mix between the robes foreign scholars and pilgrims were given to wear when they stayed at the temple and the heavier robes she’d been given as she got older; she set Jampo down on her desk and tied an orange piece of cloth around Jampo’s neck. 

He huff quacked his satisfaction of her choice.

She hadn’t been too fond of the training robes when she was a child, only wearing them when she had to. The reason was silly, now that she was older. Jamyang remembered getting looks for wearing the ‘scholar’ robes when she was younger, but then Yara wanted to wear them too and then Jaya tried them, then she saw Dolkar and Norbu alternating in between the robes when they didn’t have classes. 

Jamyang did not forget how Nyima walked into the classroom, wearing the scholar robes when they were six winters.

And then other students and teachers started wearing them too; she’d stared incomprehensibly when Sister Tsering wore them in class once.

“What would you say if I got Jaya to create a robe for you?” Jampo looked up at her, tilting his head, intrigued. “You know, robes like the little cubs wear? You get to float without doing the work.”

She floated in her training robes. That was the sole reason she didn’t like them. Her robes were big on her and it took a good thirty to forty seconds to float down when she had to jump to reach the highest shelf in the library. 

And the robes they had given them to wear now were heavy. She preferred the lighter robes from Chagri, the Northern temple in the south and Taktsang much more. But she was diligent and wore the robes given to her, even if Elder Yeshe and Sister Diki would look at her out of the corner of their eyes the times she wore a dhonka or a simple collar buttoned shirt instead of the flowy over robes that had to be belted down with a sash.

She wore the robes, dresses and underskirts, but the fact that she often disregarded the flowy over robes was apparently too much.

“Chirr.” He sat down.

“Yeah?” She buttoned her shirt up and tied a sash around her waist. There wasn’t a need to. She could perfectly go without it, but it was where she hid her pouch of senbon and shuriken. Jamyang looked into her mirror. It was a good look as well: a loose orange button-up shirt, a saffron underskirt and a red sash.

Ghamo said it was a boyish look the first time she wore that combination.

It’s a compliment. I mean nothing bad. 

… thank you? You’ve told me I’ve looked handsome from time to time. You don’t need to tell me again… I think you look pretty today. There I gave you one too.

Ema and Nyima laughed for a good ten minutes the first time it happened.

“Chirr chirr.” He climbed up her arm, perching on her shoulder.

“Jaya has made robes for her lemurs before. She’s even made a hat for Jannu. You’d look good in a robe.”

“Huff-quack.” 

It was in the late afternoon that she paused at the door entrance on her way to another tower.

Six familiar bison lazed around on the pagoda plaza. The one wearing a saddle approached her. “Hello Asahi.” She received a huff and a lick that meant ‘hello to you, too.’

“Where is she?”

Jamyang found her in the hall dedicated to the twenty-one dölmas, studying them and writing something down.

“Hey,” she greeted. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Grey-blue eyes looked up from her notes, a grin flashed her way, and Jamyang found herself engulfed in a hug.

The world apparently didn’t want Gawa to reach a height taller than her shoulder.

“You didn’t tell me that you were coming.” She rested her chin on top of her head, glancing down at her left shoulder blade, where she wanted to place her lotus flower tattoo.

“I found something that could possibly solve a mystery, so I hurried over to see if I was correct.” She answered. “The mask festival is in three days. We were supposed to meet up then, but meeting up a little earlier isn’t wrong.” Jamyang should probably let go of her now. Giving one last squeeze around her waist, she let go.

Gawa’s hands lingered on her forearms before going back to her sides.

“Tell me, what did you find?” She looked at her forehead, where her arrow would eventually be, imagining how she would look with it.

“You know sage Bhuti?” Jamyang nodded. Of course she knew him. How could she forget? The strong, indescribable feeling she was left with after the meeting was something that would stay with her forever.

His presence was that of a strong wind, and she repeatedly touched her hair during the meeting because she would feel something tussle around with it, only to find it untouched. Her fingers would twitch in her lap, holding back the urge to touch her hair after Gawa said the room was wind proof.

She left with the feeling like she wasn’t supposed to have met him. It was difficult to describe the feeling, but the closest she could compare it to was finding an old book or scroll with secrets long thought to be lost.

Jamyang knew Sage Bhuti was someone truly magnificent. “No one knows exactly what his reincarnation or  possible incarnation line is. It’s lost history to the caves.” She held up her notebook, the recent page filled with colourful drawings and hastily scribbled down notes. “But I think I’ve found a lead!”

Looking closer, Jamyang noticed that the colourful drawings looked incredibly similar to the dölma murals on the surrounding walls.

Jampo found them later that day, flying straight into her head, biting at her hair because she forgot she was supposed to meet him at the other tower.

Jaya, who’d followed him, got a weird look on her face when she saw Gawa braiding her hair.

Jamyang didn’t really understand the theories that Gawa was talking about, but she tried listening to them, regardless.

She thought it was a possible line of dölma reincarnations, which Jamyang had never heard of before; she found no records of it either. And because there were twenty-one dölma’s, they- the dölma’s or whatever omniscient being or spirit it was, because it was still a theory-, would cycle through different rebirths, hence all the colours.

Jamyang couldn’t refute that.

Gawa spent her time hopping back and forth in between her bison and Uma when they flew to Tanah lot.

“But how are you so sure, though?” Gawa pulled another notebook out of nowhere, flipped through it and pushed it right up in her face, almost shoving her off Uma.

“Look! These are names! It’s written in manyogana and tangut and I’ve not finished decrypting it yet….”

Tanah lot was a beautiful temple, bigger than she’d expected when she first visited. The main temple was carved into large offshore rocks, with the other parts of the temple being built out into the ocean throughout the years on wooden structures and wooden poles. 

Jamyang remembered thinking that it looked like a glowing spidersnake’s web when she first visited; she flew Uma up during her first visit so that she could paint the whole temple, Opame had approved with a serious nod and complimented her generously.

Similar to her own home having stairs carved into the mountain to connect the temple for visitors, Tanah Lot stayed connected to each other with wooden bridges.

Jamyang looked down into the sea below, her brows furrowing at the long, suspicious looking shadow she saw following her and Uma.

Weird, she hadn’t seen that before.

The shadow slithered beneath the waters at high speeds. The sight should probably have alarmed her, but it didn’t. 

Jamyang continued to look at the slithering shadow, watching as it sped ahead towards the temple and… ducked? Swam down? Jamyang didn’t know. A tail peeked out of the water for a second and the shadow disappeared.

Was there a cave underneath the temple? Did the shadow take refuge there? Could it be a lair of some sorts? It tempted Jamyang to swim down and see for herself. It was a terrible idea. She didn’t even know what the suspicious-looking shadow even was!

Someone zoomed past her, leaving a so nice dust trail behind them. She coughed and quickly went to disperse the dust, looking for the perpetrator who was currently mid loop right above her. 

Jamyang rolled her eyes, recognising who it was. Seconds later, Opame dropped into her saddle.

“Great greeting.”

“I know, right?” She grinned. “Welcome!”

“You haven’t taught me that yet.”

“Oh, but I will.” Jamyang wasn’t sure if she should fear her gleeful tone. “You and Yara are the first ones to understand the secrets of our flight techniques, without needing it to be explained.” She’s still grinning. “I will teach you. Be patient.”

The mask festival was very self explanatory. It’s a festival centred around masks… and spirits.

Lost spirits, to be specific.

There are many spirits at sea, Opame said when she’d first shown her around. They’re lost and angry, and confused because they don’t understand why they’re there. She pointed at a mural depicting the sea and grey people hovering above it. They didn’t have faces. So we invite them to celebrate with us and give them faces so that they’ll be happy. 

Jamyang remembered the first mask she made. It was out of the wood from coconut trees and the abbesses and abbots had helped them shape it into masks and she’d painted it similar to the tsechu masks back home. 

She’d gifted hers to a boy around her age, that she met on one of the many bridges. The mask-he’d smiled at her and gave her a long hug before disappearing.

Hey, where’s your mask? We’re supposed to drop them into the ocean so that they’ll get them.

I gave mine away. She’d pointed to the bridge where she met the boy. I gave it away over there. He gave me a hug afterward. 

Opame had given her the most confused look she’d ever seen on her, but the abbesses and abbots had paid a little more attention to her and Yara during all of their visits after that.

She put her paintbrush down, waiting for it to dry so that she could finish the layers on the mandalas around the eyes. She was almost done. It was tempting to pull a book out, but then she’ll completely forget about the mask she’s supposed to finish painting.

Her eyes roamed the room instead, watching as people painted. Palden was painting with Koko-chan and Eastern Sister Nyima, ama and papa were painting a mask together. A faint smile tugged at her lips when she saw Jaya get red and black paint over her hands and struggle to wipe her hands clean. 

After making her round, her eyes settle on Gawa, who’s sitting at a long table in front of her. Her brows furrowed as she painted the details of a flower on the mask’s left cheek.

Jamyang imagined what she’d look like without her hair and a grey blue arrow on her forehead. She’s so young. Few of her classmates had the requirements to get their arrows. She wondered what Master Shiyi would tattoo on her arrows and what prayers the wise elders and sages would inscribe on them.

Jamyang pouted and mourned the thought that she wouldn’t be able to braid her hair for a couple of months until it grew out again.

A cold, playful wind greeted her when she floated off of Uma.

She chuckled, reaching out to it. “Hello.” It whirled around her, spinning and lifting her off the ground for a short few seconds before letting her go.

“I missed you too.” The wind ruffled her hair, whooshed around and shoved her towards the Taktsang temple grounds.

“Okay, okay.” She held the cloth wrapped changdao tightly under her arm, the snow crunched under her feet. “I’m going, see?”

Jamyang was pretty sure they threw some snow at her back. She laughed. “Entertain Uma while you’re here, okay?”

Passing the frescoes and thangka’s decorating the walls, she took a turn where a pair of stone stairs would lead her down to the cave where the tattooing would take place.

She left her gift with the lay monk that greeted her at the entrance and hurried down the steps, sneaking by the masses of people and sitting down in the front.

Anzan, in his white ceremonial robes, nudged her and Jamyang was happy that she, for once, wore her ceremonial robes before she got here. “You made it.”

“I did.”

“What made you late?”

“I almost forgot my gift and had to turn back and pick it up. It set me back by two hours.” He chuckled under his breath. “And An enthusiastic wind greeted me when I got here. It’d be rude to not greet them back.”

They giggle under their breaths, quieting down when Abbot Wang Jing and Abbess Zeya spoke.

Jamyang understood around 60% of what they said, because they spoke in drukyul and Okin, a language similar to fire speech, but completely different at the same time. She knew drukyul, but still struggled immensely with Okin.

Jamyang felt bad when she faded them out. She just wanted to get the tattooing over with. She had the design figured out, and there were wedges in between most of her books. 

Her fist balled up on her knees. In, out, in, out, calm down, you’ve practised a lot, you can do this.

Anzan gripped her elbow, pulling her up -and out of her musings- when the front row rose and marched up to the lotus throne dais where they were given bamboo needles, paint and a bowl of ink. Anzan’s grip on her elbow was firm as they made their way to where Gawa was sitting in deep meditation.

“Hello.” Jamyang startled at the greeting, almost spilling over her bowl of ink. 

“Hi.”

“I was wondering when you’d come.” Anzan grinned, silently laughing at her as he applied the paint across Gawa’s collarbones.

“Ah, I- I almost forgot something and had to hurry to pick it up.” She said, writing a line from Guru Padmasambhava’s seven prayers, her writing melting into his mantra, and then she started on the lotus petals. “It set me back by two hours.” Her fingers moved fast while sketching out the lotus flower, adding the green dölma mantra on one petal, scribbling the Chenrezig mantra under it and scribbling Öpakme mantra at last. Close to the design, the girl, Sonam Dechen, beside her was sketching out.

She’d seen one of the geometrical designs and she’d seen Choda’s yantra occasionally and had been inspired.

Writing the prayers and mantra’s in circles around the lotus flower- exception being the dölma mantra which she’d placed on a lotus petal-, with Guru Padmasambhava’s mantra and prayer being the most prominent.

“I’m happy that you’re here.” Sonam smiled for some reason as she continued sketching out her design. So did Anzan and the other people around them.

“I am too.” She ignored them, picking up her needle, dipping it in the ink bowl, and started reciting a poem from Nagarjuna in her head as she started poking.

She frowned as she worked around a small bundle of scar tissue. It wouldn’t be an issue to her tattoo. But it upset her that she didn’t know it was there. 

Did she get hit with an arrow on one of her missions and not tell me?

Her practice paid off. It was a very refreshing feeling. Jamyang finished quicker than the rest of those around her and put her needle down.

“Nice design.” Sonam complimented her, sneaking a peek at it while tattooing hers.

“I struggled to come up with one, but I’m proud of this one.” She didn’t tell her of all the animal skin wedges between the books on her bookshelf. No one needed to know that.

Abbot Wang Jing and Hayma were working on the arrow on Gawa’s forehead, Amanthi was working on the one on her left arm, Ji bong was doing the one on her left. She’s not sure of the ones doing her legs, but it looked to be Fuji and Lobsang. Or maybe it was Bankei, she wasn’t sure.

She sighed, using a wooden utensil to spread a clear gel over the tattoo. Ama had given it to her the last time she’d visited. It would help with the healing process.

Anzan had bowed deeply and picked up his items when he finished. So did Jamphel. It didn’t matter where you were sitting. They bowed deeply, collected their items, and left.

So Jamyang did the same, bowing deeply, touching her forehead to the floor, collected her items, nodding to Sonam, who nodded back at her and left.

The day after, around midday, she saw her walking out of her room. It was more of a stagger, really. Jamyang approached her and was hesitant in punching her shoulder, stopping right before it, and dabbed her fist to her shoulder instead.

“So, how are you doing?” Gawa looked up at her with groggy eyes, and walked into her arms. An act that caught her off guard. “I’m tierrd and my bozi hurts.” She slurred her words, unsure of where to place her hands. They eventually settled on her waist. Sure that it was a safe zone.

Master Shiyi’s yantra made the arrow on her head look a lot like a sea serpent. Out of all the monks and nuns, she’d only seen Hayma and Bankei with that specific yantra. They’d said there were more, but Jamyang had never met them.

“It’ll get better.”

“I, I knows.” It was concerning when she swayed in her grip.

“Do you want to rest more?”

“Absolutely not!” She pulled away from the hug. Jamyang hurried to steady her when she swayed. “Isso boring.” Was it the pain or the previous fasting that made her like this? She thought, huffing when Gawa punched the air to punctuate her statement. “Ow.” and cradle her arm at the abrupt movement.

“Do you want to get something to eat, then?”

“That, that’s shounds good.”

She’d given her a plate of rice cakes, both the sweet and savoury kind.

Gawa was still out of it as she nibbled on her food, so Jamyang took the opportunity and applied some of the clear healing gel onto her head and her arms.

Gawa turned her head with the slowest movements and stared incomprehensibly at her when she first applied the gel to her left arm, but she didn’t protest and continued eating her food.

Jamyang was gentle with her movements, but the areas were still sore and swelling.

“Ow.”

“Sorry.”

“Issokay.”

Notes:

Heyo. Sorry, I got caught up in trying to draw the roof of a pagoda and a window, so the time just slipped away from me. That's my bad. I am writing the second part of the interlude, ideas have bothered me as I wrote this chapter and I need to get it out of my system. So, what do you think? I giggled at the thought of Jamyang accidentally making it okay to wear different clothes as a child. And her not liking the training robes because she floated for too long is such a her thing to do. And yes, Gawa has six bison.   Words: manyogana: an ancient writing system that uses the Chinese characters to represent the Japanese language tangut: was used to write the extinct Tangut language of the Xixia dynasty Tanah Lot: One of seven sea temples in Bali  tsechu: are annual religious Bhutanese festivals held in each district of Bhutan on the tenth day of a month of the lunar Tibetan calendar

[tennessoui]

“Is that my shirt?” w a fun twist where omega anakin finds obi-wan with his clothes?

this takes place during "like saints, like monsters", about 8 months after anakin finds feral, broken obi-wan and commits himself to entering the most codependent and disgusting relationship the temple has ever seen.

(from this list of prompts)

(1067 words):

Anakin practically runs from the hangar back to their quarters. He’s been gone for far too long. He’s been gone for hours. How has Obi-Wan been doing? What has the alpha filled his day with while Anakin was filling himself with fancy meats and cheeses that all tasted like ash in his mouth?

He grips the canvas bag in his hand tighter as he takes a corner at a mad angle. He hadn’t meant to be gone as long as he had been. The Chancellor had just kept talking, and it had felt rude to interrupt him when he’d gone to all this effort to schedule a time for them to meet after months of silence, purely on Anakin’s part because he’d had his hands full with Obi-Wan, with guiding and healing and protecting his master. He hadn’t had the time for the Chancellor, which the Chancellor had been so very understanding about. It had made Anakin feel ten times worse, because the old man was so nice to him. So appreciative. So very kind.

So he’d told Obi-Wan last night that he’d be meeting the Chancellor for lunch, which meant he’d need to be away for at least two hours. Obi-Wan had…he’d been confused on what away meant, when it came to Anakin. And then by how long two hours was. They’d created twelve timers, one for every ten minutes, so that Obi-Wan could look and know how long it would be—based just on the alarms—until Anakin would be back.

But then the Chancellor had kept on talking, and Anakin loves his friend and appreciates what he’s done for him in the past, especially during those years where his master was gone and Anakin was both aimless and hurting and angry, but he can talk forever.

It’s been five hours. The bond between them is silent and Anakin has spent the last two hours fretting over it because why and what has happened and is his alpha alright is his alpha safe is his alpha worried about him—

Someone tries to stop him in the Temple, but he bypasses them with a quick and sharp, “Apologies, Master—” (it could have been a padawan, Anakin doesn’t know)— “I have to go!”

He’d taken as many leftovers as the very ends of propriety would allow. If he’s going to eat like a king, he’ll make sure his alpha will as well. It’s only fair. It’s only right. Omegas provide.

He shakes the thought from his head. Deplorable to think of his master in such a light, even so indirectly. His master needed him to be as objective and tranquil as he would be, situations reversed. 

Anakin ignores the needling voice insid of his head that points out that if their roles had been reversed, Obi-Wan would never have let Anakin go missing in the first place. And, failing that, he surely would have found him before seven kriffing years had passed.

It’s with shaking fingers that he enters the code for their quarters. It’s been too long. It’s been so long. Surely Obi-Wan has sensed over the bond that he’s almost back. That he’s close.

He’s trying to respect his old master, so he hasn’t prodded the connection himself. Obi-Wan had not big into using their bond to communicate, not like this new version of his master. The longer it’s been since the rescue—eight months now—the more Anakin has tried to wean himself off relying on the connection. It’s what the old Obi-Wan would have wanted. He knows that.

It’s just hard.

“Obi-Wan?” he calls as soon as he’s stepped through the doors. The living area is deserted. That’s not surprising, not really. His master dislikes being anywhere but their nest when he’s alone. He’s very rarely alone, but it’s still a pattern Anakin has noticed.

He crosses into the bedroom without a second thought, and there he is. There’s his master. A purr threatens to rupture his chest as he looks at the man. The man who has wrapped himself in their sheets and pillows and—

“Is that my shirt?” Anakin asks, confused. He steps into the room and Obi-Wan’s eyes fix on him completely.

His master growls and turns his face away.

“Oh, Obi-Wan,” Anakin murmurs, setting the food down on the floor and closing the distance between them. “I’m sorry. I’m late, I know it.”

The alpha growls again in agreement, as if he doesn’t know the very sound of his displeasure is tearing Anakin apart.

“You should have used the bond,” Anakin murmurs, reaching out between their minds to stroke over the connection.

Instantly, it lights up from his master’s end, and the alpha’s mind springs to wrap completely around his own. Forgot…how to, the man admits, the words tinged with shame.

Anakin inhales sharply, biting down on his own instinctual response to cry at the very idea that his master—who knows how to do everything and is the best Force-user in the Order—forgot how to access their bond.

I set more sounds, Obi-Wan says through the connection, as if picking up on Anakin’s pain and trying to make it better. Many. 

Using the Force, Anakin lifts the datapad out of the nest so he can swipe to the page with alarms and study it. It goes off in his hands, a loud, disquieting, blaring sound. His alpha has set an alarm for every minute for the next five hours.

Instead of disarming each one, Anakin turns the ‘pad off with a flick of his wrist and discards it onto the floor. “May I enter our nest, Alpha?” he asks, one knee already placed on the mattress.

Obi-Wan sniffs his old undertunic that he’s got bundled in his hands in front of him before raising his nose in the air to sniff at Anakin himself.

No. Is the alpha’s declaration. Anakin gawps. You smell…bad, Obi-Wan continues. I don’t want it.

Anakin backs away. He’s tried for months now to make sure that Obi-Wan knows and understands that his wants are and will always be respected, which means that even though all he wants is to clamber into the nest and take the place of his old tunic in the alpha’s arms, he must keep himself away.

“I’ll go change,” he says. Obi-Wan pointedly says nothing. “And shower?”

A rusty purr from beneath the layers of blanket and fabric is all he gets in reply

[mypoisonedvine]

vignettes of a bond || alpha!bucky barnes x omega!reader

I originally wrote this in two parts for my sleepover but after I realized how long it accidentally became, I've reformatted it, added/changed a few things, and made into a oneshot!

word count: 3.1k

warnings: smut, angst, knotting, violence

June 2nd, 1943, 11:43 p.m., James Barnes’ bedroom

“I wanna do it, before I go,” he whispered against your skin. “But I know it’s wrong. It’s too cruel.”

“No, please,” you whimpered, “I want it. I want your mark.”

Bucky pulled back for a moment and you examined your Alpha’s face carefully, knowing it might be the last time for a long time. “I couldn’t bond to you and then leave you. It wouldn’t be fair… you deserve to find somebody who can stay, and be with you, and protect you.”

“All I want is you,” you whispered. “Please, Alpha… bite me.”

You saw him hesitate for a moment before he leaned in and sucked at your neck, building the anticipation before he finally sunk his teeth into your skin and you cried out, one single tear rolling down your cheek. “Mine,” he growled against your skin as he lapped at the healing wound, “my Omega. Forever.”

“Yours, only yours,” you agreed eagerly.

It wasn’t the first time Bucky had taken you, but that night he really and truly claimed you, left you a desperate begging mess, stretched out over his knot as he filled you over and over.

The next morning, you were still sore between your legs as well as on your new mark, and it took everything in you to be strong as you saw him off at the train station, waving goodbye and praying that your Alpha would return to you soon.

November 9th, 1943, 2:24 p.m., undercover SHIELD facility

“You promised Bucky you’d take care of me,” you reminded him with a little smile, wiping a tear from your cheek.

“I know,” Steve relented, “but we both know I can’t do that. Not in this state. But maybe I can protect you if I do this. Maybe I can protect my country. I owe it to everyone, especially Bucky, to try.”

You nodded. “But I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll miss you too. Come see me before I ship out for good, alright?”

“Of course,” you agreed.

December 27th, 1943, 8:32 a.m., your front porch

“You’re lying,” you gasped as you shook your head. “You’re wrong, no, it’s not true.”

“It is,” Steve promised as tears welled in his eyes, “I’m so so sorry, I saw it myself, I had to watch him fall…”

“It’s not true! He’s not dead!”

“I know he loved you so much. He talked about every day, he couldn’t wait to come home to you,” Steve remembered, choking up noticeably. “But he won’t. He’s gone.”

“You don’t understand, I know, okay? I know.”

“You’re in shock, I understand, it’s hard to lose your mate—”

“You’re a beta, you wouldn’t understand,” you dismissed; sure, he looked like an alpha now, but it didn’t make a difference. “Omegas, we know when our Alpha dies, we feel it, it kills us. He’s far away, but he’s still there, I still feel him!”

Steve held you as you sobbed, your body crumpling into his arms. Sometimes you thought maybe he held you too tight on accident because he was still getting used to his new strength; other times you thought he did it on purpose.

February 3rd, 1944, 12:00 p.m., undercover SHIELD facility

“Even when I had nothing, I had Steve,” you recalled shakily, “and now he’s gone too.”

“Is that why you’re volunteering?” Agent Carter asked you. “Because you’d rather sleep for a hundred years than live without your mate and your best friend?”

“I’m volunteering because my mate and my best friend died for SHIELD,” you corrected firmly, “and if I’m not willing to also, then I’m admitting I think they went to waste.”

“Steve told me you didn’t think Bucky was dead,” Peggy remembered.

You winced. “I’m not sure. But I know he’s not coming home again. I came here to give whatever I could to help find him… I was asked to participate in a cryogenics research study. If it helps him, then I’ll do it.”

She was about to get up, apparently satisfied with your final interview, but you stopped her.

“On one condition,” you added. “If James Barnes is found, alive or dead, wake me up to see him.”

She nodded, stepping out of the room and leaving you alone again.

May 8th, 2012, SHIELD headquarters

“Can you hear me?”

You slowly blinked awake, your vision taking a moment to catch up with your mind. You saw tubes coming out of your arms; you saw Steve above you, looking like the day you saw him last.

“Did you find Bucky?” you asked instantly. Why else would they wake you up?

“No,” Steve answered, seemingly a bit disappointed that that was your first and only question.

“Then put me back to sleep,” you demanded.

“It’s been 68 years,” he told you. “You’ve slept for 68 years. It’s time to wake up.”

And you did, more than you ever wanted to, because you realized you couldn’t feel him anymore. Your Alpha was gone. Worse, he probably died while you were asleep; he probably died alone.

One more time, like he had 68 years ago, Steve held you while you sobbed.

August 1st, 2014, 2:11 a.m., Avengers compound, Steve Rogers’ quarters

You ran into Steve’s room barefoot and still in your pajamas, barreling through the door and right into his bed.

“Steve, I feel him!” you rushed.

“What?” he groaned sleepily, looking up at you as he blinked in confusion.

“I feel him again, he’s alive,” you explained. “I know it. He’s weak… he’s hurting… but he’s there.”

“That’s impossible,” Steve shook his head. “It’s been too long, he would’ve died of old age anyways.”

“Don’t you want to believe it? Don’t you want to think he’s out there?”

“Do I want to think he’s alone and I didn’t save him?” Steve hissed. “No, I can’t say that I particularly do!”

“But we still can, Steve, we just have to find h—”

But before you could finish, the feeling left you, and you were just half of something again.

“Oh,” you breathed.

“He’s gone again?” Steve realized.

You nodded, biting your lip as it started to quiver. He sighed and pulled you into a hug. “If I could just see his body, and know it was over,” you whispered, “if I could just bury him, have a funeral…”

“We’ll have one,” Steve decided, “after this mission. We’ll put him to rest. He deserves that, and so do you.”

You nodded into his shoulder. It shattered you into a million pieces but it was still the better option, to try to let him go in whatever small way you could. He would always, always, always be your Alpha, nothing could change that, but a funeral would at least bring some closure.

That would have to wait until after your next mission though… and it was going to be a big one: tracking the elusive Winter Soldier.

August 3rd, 2014, 1:14 p.m., Lower East side

You were a few blocks away, helping civilians escape the firefight, when you felt it.

For one impossibly brief moment, you felt him, stronger than you had in nearly 80 years. He was here.

You instantly got up and ran like you’d never run before, finding the Soldier and Steve locked in a brutal showdown— but his mask was gone now, and you nearly fell to your knees at the sight of him.

“Bucky!” you yelped, but you knew he wasn’t there or you would’ve felt his presence. Your Alpha was somewhere underneath the shell that wore his face, and you needed to find him.

You ran forward just as Steve made a break for it, getting to him just in time to stand between the Soldier and his mission.

“Alpha, please,” you whimpered, clutching at his chest. A metal hand backhanded you to the ground.

“Out of my way, Omega,” he growled, stepping over you, but you grabbed at his ankles even when he tried to kick you away.

“My mark,” you explained hastily, pulling your shirt down some to make sure it was visible. “It’s yours. Do you remember? You gave me this. This is your mark on me.”

He stared down at you, seeming to be contemplating it, and you scrambled back to your feet and faced him.

“I still feel you,” you whispered. “I knew you were alive, I knew you’d come back to me. I could feel you, right here,” you explained as you took his hand and placed it on your chest. “Could you feel me? Did you know I was waiting for you all this time?”

His eyes were watering but he still seemed confused— stunned, more specifically, as you placed your hand on his chest.

“I’ll always be yours, Bucky. I’ll always be your Omega, no matter where you are.”

A stun gun took you down, an array of masked men appeared, and before he could really see you for what you were, he was dragged away and taken to be erased again.

August 3rd, 2014, 9:04 p.m., Avengers compound, medical bay

“I can’t believe we let them get away,” Steve lamented, resting his face in his hands. “I can’t believe they took him again…”

“They’ll be back,” you promised sternly. “They’re going to figure out what I am to him. They’re going to realize I could break his programming. And they’re going to come for me.”

“And when they do?” Steve pressed.

“We’ll be ready. And I’ll get my Alpha back.”

August 3rd, 2014, 9:04 p.m., temporary HYDRA operations facility

"The woman on the bridge... the Omega..." Bucky mumbled. "She knew me... she had my mark."

"No she didn't."

He furrowed his brow. "She showed me..."

Pierce sighed, glancing over to the HYDRA scientist who looked back at him sternly.

"She's too dangerous to be left alive," the man sighed, shrugging in his lab coat. "We can't deprogram a bond like that."

"We'll take care of her," Pierce promised.

Bucky launched from the chair, snapping his restraints like paper. "Touch her and I'll fucking kill you!" he bellowed, tackling his handler to the ground.

Pierce just laughed as another scientist jabbed Bucky with a needle, dosing him with something strong enough to kill any other man but just enough to knock out a super soldier. Pierce stood up and dusted himself off as he watched Bucky go limp and be lifted back into his chair.

"I can see the fight in your eyes, Soldier," he taunted as he leaned into his face. "I know you really would kill me, if you could. The spirit is willing but the flesh is weak, right? But don't worry about your mate, we'll make it quick and painless. Hey, maybe beforehand me and a few of the other Alphas will show her a good time, poor thing's been without her mate for 70 years... I bet she's raring to go."

Bucky's arm twitched as his eyes started to fall shut, a tear falling down his blank and motionless face.

"Wipe him," Pierce instructed to the scientist, turning and walking away as the electric whirr of the machine charging up filled the room.

August 11th, 2014, 3:53 p.m., SHIELD headquarters

Steve was impressed with how accurate and imminent your prediction was; HYDRA was hot on your trail and desperate to eliminate the biggest threat to their Asset. Knowing they were coming made it easier, but it was still a brutal fight.

You and Steve tried to stay together, but they were smart, they used the perfect bait to lure you away.

"Tell me where he is," you demanded from the HYDRA agent as you held a blade to his neck, "then I'll kill you."

"Isn't it supposed to be 'or I'll kill you'?" he frowned.

You shook your head. "Not the way I operate."

Opposite to the reaction you were expecting, he grinned widely. "He's here."

Your heart stopped.

"On the roof. He's here to kill you."

You dropped the knife and ran straight for the stairwell, ascending them like they were nothing and calling out for your Alpha.

You found him there, waiting, gun trained on you. Raising your hands in surrender, you yelled to him again.

"Bucky," you called across the windy roof, eyes nearly blinded by the bright afternoon sun. "Alpha."

"I'm not who you think I am," he yelled back. "I'm not your Alpha."

It hurt to hear it in his voice, but you knew it wasn't him. Cautiously, you stepped closer. "Before you left, you told me you didn't want to mark me and leave me behind," you recalled. "But I wanted it. I wanted to be bonded to you more than I'd ever wanted anything."

He could clearly see you were coming closer, he even tightened his finger over the trigger of his weapon, but he was waiting. You kept walking to him, slowly.

"I've never regretted it," you continued, "not even when I thought you were dead, not even when I had to spent a lifetime-- more than that-- apart from you."

Finally you were face to face, and you stepped closer until his gun was pressed right into your chest.

"You can shoot me now and I still won't regret it," you promised. "I love you."

Shakily, he lowered his weapon. "Omega..." he breathed.

"Your Omega."

He pulled you into him and you sobbed as you felt him come to life in your arms-- the real him, your Alpha, your Bucky. He held you close and breathed against the top of your head and it was like a dream coming true decades after you'd forced yourself to let it go.

But you'd never given up. And now you had found him again.

Agents started to come onto the roof and Bucky spun the two of you around, firing with his right hand and using the left, metal arm as a shield for you.

He carried you and you didn't even know where he was taking you, but it didn't matter. In his arms, you were home.

August 12th, 1:03 a.m., Avengers compound, your quarters

You hadn't stopped coming or crying for at least an hour. Bucky had all but split you open on his knot all night and he didn't show any signs of stopping.

He apparently intended to make up for lost time. And you'd lost a lot of time.

"Just one more, I know you can give me one more," he groaned furiously rubbing your clit as his knot began to swell again.

You could give him anything, as long as he asked for it like that.

You'd lost count of how many times he'd told you to come for him, and how many times you did it immediately.

"I can see how full you are," he whispered as he rubbed your stomach gently. "So much seed in you that your body can't hold it all."

You looked down and yep, you were distinctly bloated from his come alone; it made you a little dizzy to even look at it.

"The idea of you alone during your heats, no one to protect you, it kills me," he explained with a growl. "I won't let you go again. I can't."

"Then don't," you sighed. "Never leave this bed, fill me with everything you have."

"Did anybody ever help you through them? The heats?" he asked. "I wouldn't blame you, they can be so painful... I just need to know so I can make sure you forget about them."

"No, Bucky, never— I never let anyone touch me."

"Steve could've helped you, at least some..."

"He wouldn't have, he loves you too much. And I wouldn't accept anything less than you, ever. You're my Alpha. We're bonded. There's never anyone else."

That didn't seem to satisfy him, his eyes darting away as he swallowed. Your gut sank with the realization he probably wasn't being totally honest about why he asked.

"Your ruts," you gasped. "Were you alone for all of them?"

He shut his lips tighter.

"Bucky, it's okay, just tell me. I was asleep for 70 years, I skipped most of them, but you... you had to live through them all."

"They gave me betas, and omegas," he mumbled, "but I don't... I don't really remember. I know they wanted me to. They threatened to hurt me if I didn't, because they knew I'd go crazy after so many ruts alone, but I can't remember if I really did it. I remember... I remember crying, and begging for you."

"Alpha," you breathed as you felt new tears run over the stains of your old ones. "It's okay. Whatever happened, it's okay now. We're together again. Everything's okay."

You wiped his tear away with your thumb, holding his face tightly, weaving your fingers into his long hair.

"I'll always be your Omega," you promised.

He leaned in closer to you, kissing your cheek before pulling back a little. "It's faded," he whispered as he ran his thumb over the mark on your neck. "The last time I saw it, it was still fresh."

"It's older, sure, but it's stronger than ever, Bucky."

August 14th, 10:12 a.m., Avengers compound, residential area kitchen

Steve's eyes went wide when he came into the kitchen for breakfast and found you there, steeping your tea. "Surprised to see you out of the love nest so soon," he smirked.

"It's been three days, I don't think that counts as soon," you scoffed.

"It does to him," Steve frowned. "He's asleep, isn't he?"

"Yep."

"I know he wouldn't let you out of his sights if he was conscious," Steve chuckled.

At that moment, you heard Bucky call your name and run out into the hall, only a bedsheet covering his groin as he appeared in the doorway. You spun around and smiled when you saw him come running towards you, embracing you with his free arm.

"You should've told me you were leaving, I got scared when I woke up without you," he admitted weakly.

"Oh, I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to make you worry!"

He pulled back and clutched your face in both his hands. "I'm waking up next to you every morning for the rest of my life, you understand?"

You nodded dutifully. "Yes, Alpha."

"One hand on the sheet, please, Buck?" Steve winced, looking away.

“Whoops,” Bucky groaned, reaching to cover himself as you laughed softly.

“Let’s go back to bed, baby,” you decided quietly, taking Bucky’s (free) hand in yours and waving goodbye to Steve, who was already making his way as far out of earshot as possible.

[earnestly-endlessly]

*flies in like magneto* can i get some exes to lovers™?

Do I have some exes to lovers fics for you? Yes I certainly do. It seems that the cherik fandom loves some exes to lovers cherik and I don't blame anyone because this ship really calls for all the angst. I hope you enjoy this list.

Exes to Lovers AU

Bound – FuryRed

Summary: Is there anything worse than someone else’s wedding? Well, perhaps your sister’s wedding- where the groom just has to invite his boss and that man just happens to be your ex-boyfriend; a person you had an extremely passionate and tumultuous relationship with that ended badly.

Charles hadn’t seen Erik for a year by the time Raven had told him about the wedding. He wasn’t looking forward to the occasion, particularly when Raven explained that they would be celebrating the event with a two-week extravaganza at a luxury hotel, meaning that Charles would be forced to spend a whole fortnight with the man who he’d given everything to; the man who had ultimately broken his heart…

Preheat to 350 (just for you remix) – ikeracity

Summary: Charles realizes he's in love with Erik. But there's one tiny little problem: he just broke up with Erik.

Thread Through a Needle – Black_Betty

Summary: Erik and Charles are broken up. Neither of them want to be.

Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) – kianspo

Summary: While working as a model for Raven and Emma's clothing line, Erik experiences a strong attraction to his shoot partner. These things happen, except Erik has a boyfriend, who does not take this at all well.

Linger like a tattoo kiss – ikeracity

Summary: Six months apart gives Erik a lot of time to think about what he really wants.

(Erik's POV from Carry Me Anew (Frost & Darkholme Remix) by kianspo)

Symphysis – ikeracity

Summary: After Charles and Erik broke up four months ago, Charles convinced himself he'd never see Erik again. But life has a funny way of bringing people back together.

Call/Response – phalangine

Summary: Charles and Erik have a real conversation for the first time since breaking up. Charles is looking to avoid confrontation. Erik is not.

Regression Therapy – Fantine_Black

Summary: O, God, he’d made a terrible mistake. Whatever he’d expected to find here, Erik was still Erik, a man he’d moved continents to avoid. In retrospect, that felt like a rather good idea…

Four years after Charles walked away from Professor Lehnsherr, the two meet again for a drink.

Because things are better the second time round, aren't they?

Forever is Only a Drunk Dial Away – bettysofia

Summary: Charles is sad and drunk and stalking Erik's Instagram.

Shop Space – Caradee

Summary: Charles and Erik break up but still meet at their favorite coffee shop and manage a completely friendly relationship. The kids who work the coffee shop don't understand it, Charles' overprotective twin brother doesn't understand it, and even Charles doesn't understand it. Then, Erik shows up with a new date, someone who seems to be everything that Charles is not.

How will the Professor handle the surprising heartbreak that comes seeing Erik with someone else?

Mutant House at Dead Kings College – mabyn

Summary: When it comes to romance, Charles has terrible timing.

Can You Feel My Heart – FuryRed

Summary: Erik Lehnsherr hates Charles Xavier.

It’s as true as the words written on the wall in the bathroom at the university that Erik attends. Erik sees them one day- accompanied by a crude drawing of Erik and Charles glaring at each other- and recognises the truth of the sentence, and smiles.

He hates Charles.

Probably…

Believe (One More Time) – luninosity

Summary: For the prompt, Charles and Erik dated during college and had a bitter break-up right before graduation. It's five years later and they both meet again at their class's reunion for a weekend. Someone was even stupid enough to have them room with each other for the weekend...

Old Flame Burning – TurtleTotem

Summary: It's ridiculous for Charles to dread meeting the best man at his sister's wedding, just because he shares a name with Charles's ex. It's not as though it could possibly be the same Erik.

Don’t speak to the bartender – Wild_Imagination

Summary: Logan is a bartender, it's a gloomy evening, and in his bar there's someone with a broken heart. But this is not a movie.

Right?

Somewhere I’m Going & Have Never Been Before – Yahtzee

Summary: In late December 1984, Charles falls victim to the terrible pandemic sweeping across the globe. He's sick, probably dying, and utterly alone in an isolated cabin...until he's not.

Walking in a Winter Wonderland – TurtleTotem

Summary: Charles hasn't seen Erik since their devastating breakup ten years ago. He's certainly the last person he expects to run into at a Christmas lights display.

Lean On Me – SpiritsFlame

Summary: Ten years ago, Charles and Erik split up, dividing their six kids between them. None of them expect them to meet at summer camp. And no one could have predicted the results.

It was a yellow umbrella spring – ikeracity

Summary: Three years after Charles left for Oxford, Erik discovers that Charles is coming back to New York.

Second chances are wonderful things.

My heart above my head – annejumps

Summary: Emma thinks her coworker Erik and her friend and fellow telepath Charles should get together. No one expects things to get so intense so quickly.

The Edge of What Doesn’t End – populuxe

Summary: When a mysterious object appears on the moon, Moira MacTaggert calls in two experts with very specific mutations to investigate.

Unfortunately for everyone involved, after years of breaking up and getting back together again, those two experts have finally broken up for good—and they’re the last people in the world who should be stuck together on a spaceship.

Exit Wounds – LemonadeGarden

Summary: It's been eight months since Charles and Erik had a fight that broke apart their marriage. When a mutant rights protest goes awry and Charles begins to get sick, past memories and present obstacles begin to blur the lines of their ideological differences.

Alternatively: Charles and Erik learn how to fall in love again in troubled times.

Note: Unfinished

11 Days, 8 Hours and 12 Minutes (or Bruises, Stupidity and Anger Management) – ximeria

Summary: For six months, Erik and Charles have been the disgustingly happy couple of the school. Considering their pigheadedness and general communication skills (or lack thereof), things are bound to go boom at some point.

Moon Song – ikeracity

Summary: Werewolf AU. When Charles is captured by hunters, Erik and his pack go after him. It turns out there might be some room for redemption left for both of them after all.

I will Never Stop Loving You – swoopswoop

Summary: Erik and Charles split up three years ago but Erik never really got over it and then one day when the man who walked out of his life three years ago is walking down the street towards him, Erik sees an opportunity to mend fences.

Please leave your message after the tone – ikeracity

Summary: Spending his evening getting shitfaced and pining over Erik seems like a totally productive use of Charles's time. Luckily, it turns out to be a better idea than it sounds.

When the Spell Breaks – kianspo

Summary: Erik, a high-profile lawyer with a successful career, meets a 21-year-old grad student in a bar, and within a few short months marries him. He and Charles are blissfully happy, until Erik's boss runs a background check on Charles and discovers he's been cheating on Erik. Charles denies everything, as there was no affair, but Erik doesn't believe him and throws him out. As Charles tries to figure out how to survive and stay at school that he can no longer afford and makes a lot of bad if not plain dangerous choices, Erik has to fight his own battle of discovering the truth and winning Charles back.

We have not touched the stars, nor are we forgiven (the things you love don’t last remix) – hllfire

Summary: Charles hands Erik the signed divorce papers, but Erik has changed his mind. Too late, it seems. All he can do is go forward with the divorce.

A year later, Charles comes back, and Erik can't help but wanting to see him. The only problem is things don't go like Erik had planned.

Suddenly There’ll Be a Blizzard (Let it Snow Remix) – kianspo

Summary: Charles was never at his best while jetlagged, but locking himself out in a snowstorm while barely dressed might be a new low. The last thing he expected was to be rescued by his high school nemesis, the man he hadn't seen in over ten years, who might have broken his heart for good once upon a time.

Write this number down (you can call it anytime) – pocky_slash

Summary: When Erik upsets his children, they have a habit of running away from home--and straight to Charles' school for cookies and consolation. Charles doesn't mind the visitors, but as they appear more and more frequently, he realizes that sooner or later, he and Erik are going to have to talk about what happened on the beach and what it means for their future and the future of Erik's children.

All we do is break up (and make up) – Stuckyl0v3r

Summary: "So instead of making the most out of this next months, because you don't know where either of you is going to end up, you decided to stay away from each other to get used to the feeling?" Hank summed up, stopping in front of the class. Charles nodded his head confidently and beamed at him, but somehow his smile didn't reach his eyes.

"Yes, something like that."

Well, that was the most idiotic plan Hank's ever heard.

Three wheels of cheese and a Great White – ximeria

Summary: Charles and Erik were friends with benefits in college.

They went their separate ways and 18 years later, they run into each other in New York.

The sex was never a problem back in college - and sex was all it had been. But now Erik is a divorced father and Charles has admitted to himself he needs more than just sex in a relationship. So in their usual round-about way they try to navigate becoming friends after so many years. The whole quest is aided by Raven, Edie, Wanda and Pietro (and a large number of shark jokes).

[alluringjae]

queen of hearts - sjn

summary: for the first time, one of your star students hasn’t been fetched right after class. but when she finally does, you weren’t expecting such a fine man to be her father.

pairing: johnny x female reader

word count: 5.5k

genre: fluff, romance, comedy | ceo and single dad!johnny + ballerina!reader + modern day!au

warnings: mentions of an absent parent, johnny being an overthinker, sexual innuendos (ten saying dilf hehe), slight explicit language, technical terms of ballet, a mini reference to mean girls

author’s note: sooo i came in touch with my former dance life, which led me to write this. there are links for the variations i used; their names are underlined when they’re mentioned. i am going to get technical with ballet terms here (even when my ballet knowledge decreased), so to any dancers reading, i really did my best, so please don’t come for me or do correct me for any mistakes.

although one character and her dance background, plus the name of the setting, are real, everything else about it is still a work of fiction.

i miss dancing, no cap.

leave me some feedback, constructive criticism or hellos!

Ballet student and teacher by day, a soloist of the Korean National Ballet at night.

This was your daily routine, and it wasn’t the typical 8-5. But it’s debatable whether or not it was worse, because you’re always going overtime. That’s the thing when you’re an overachiever. Nonetheless, you loved what you do. It’s the lifestyle you gradually built since your preschool days.

Mornings on the weekdays were mostly vacant since all the kids were still in school. You’d start at 10 am for a warm-up class for the company. Before you delved into teaching and assisting, you’d train right after your lunch break. Partnering class, en pointe class, 1-on-1 sessions with choreographers, self-practice, then the company night class, that’s the organization of your week.

Now adding the teacher title, you mostly handled kindergartners to 5th graders in the academy aspect of the company. Your first teaching class would start at 1 pm. It’s when the younger students who finished their morning classes zoom into your assigned dance studio. One class would last an hour and a half, then you have a 30-minute break in between another class with the older kids. Their lesson repertoire was more strenuous due to the added across-the-floor lessons and jumps. Water was always your best friend, water refilling stations located everywhere in the company building.

You wouldn’t say you’re a strict teacher, but you weren’t shy to correct anyone from wherever you stood. You’d lightly align their arms or back properly so your students were working on the correct body parts. Compared to the other teachers, a lot of students enjoyed your kind yet frank approaches. Your former students, who’ve already gone to the higher levels, missed your lively presence and wished repeatedly that they want you back as their teacher.

“Teacher (Y/N), I miss you so much! Teacher Ten is so intense. I get the jitters especially when we’re en pointe on the floor.”

“Teacher (Y/N), Teacher Sicheng and Teacher Seulgi scare the heck out of me during partnering class. Especially when I tried to lift my partner, I keep losing focus because of Teacher Sicheng’s never-ending comments!”

Not to be sadistic, but you’d simply laugh at their minuscule complaints. Even if they’re struggling in the academy, those comments were directed to fix their techniques if they wanted to breakthrough.

“Kids, you’re going to be fine! They wouldn’t say or do those things just because they wanted to. They’re here to push you to the next level, like how I used to do with you. It’s a cut-throat industry after all.”

This was always your reply, bittersweet and truthful. Not everyone makes it, unfortunately, so if you’re really striving, you’d do whatever it takes. Throughout your career, you’re relatively impressed with how far you’ve come.

Trainee at 17, Corps de Ballet at 18, Demi-Soloist at 21, and Soloist at 23.

You’ve been a soloist for 4 years. The final stage, which was to become a principal dancer, is your running goal. Becoming a soloist was praiseworthy enough because you’ve seen so many give up in the Corps, but claiming a spot as a principal dancer has been the ultimate dream. Since you’ve watched Swan Lake for the first time at 4 years old with your parents, that’s where you found a passion for dancing and the stage. Here you are years later, practicing numerous variations daily, performing in opera houses, and mentoring all these gifted kids.

Your last class with elementary kids, which began around 5 pm, reached its end once all the students curtsied in front of you and scurried to their mothers or their nannies. The remaining plan on your agenda today was the company class at 7:30 pm, which exceeds the average hour and a half. It’s worse during show season. There have been times everyone went beyond midnight to polish every scene from head to toe.

Currently, there’s no upcoming show for the public, though the annual summer recital for the students was around the corner. Selected members of the company were chosen to perform individually in it, which was both exciting and intense. It’s also because it’s an evaluation on whether you’d get promoted in status or staying put. You’ve partaken in 3 recitals in the past, two of which elevated you from the corps and demi-soloist ranks. The recent one, however, didn’t change your soloist ranking.

It was a major first in your career in ballet, and after finding out the result of the latter, it emotionally pained you. Recalling how much soul you put into that piece, the rejection from your artistic director clenched your heart. Though in time, you moved on from it and viewed it as a stepping stone. Also, Sicheng and Ten personally stormed your apartment to pull yourself together with wine and pizza after going on a short leave.

Since you were trainees, Sicheng and Ten were your best friends in and outside the company. Working daily to occasional barhopping, that’s your youth summed up. It wasn’t because you didn’t like the girls you’ve worked with (though a lot of them were fake and bitchy), but these two were frank and humorous as hell. Together, you’d help each other with your goals rather than be competitive. Over time, Ten leveled up to a principal dancer for 2 years running while you and Sicheng were still soloists. The way you’d watch Ten take all the big roles, that’s where you want to be one day.

Back in your last teaching class, the entire dance room was vacant. Since it’s mainly used for ballet classes, you’d either run through anything you’ve practiced from the company classes and polish it or warm up a little bit more.

Except for today, this was the only free time to sew a new pair of pointe shoes because your current ones were dead. Dead in a sense that the hard shell turned soft, which won’t be able to support you when you’re up on your toes. You’re not taking any risks of minor injuries especially when you’re in the current lineup of company members performing for this upcoming recital again. You have to prove to everyone that you deserve a position as a principal dancer.

As your legs sprawled in a half middle split, your sewing equipment laid in front of you like you’re about to perform surgery, a tiny girl stood by the ajar studio doors. In her neat bun and holding on to her small duffel bag, you’re convinced everyone has gone home already since it’s quite late.

You may have your priorities as a company member, but she was still your student.

“Minji!” You shouted her name, speedily waving your hand. You’re not one to have favorites, though you couldn’t help wonder how extraordinary she was. She’s always taking charge in demonstrating the lessons to everyone and improving every session in the 3 years she’s joined the academy. “Come in! Come in!”

At age 7, she’s gotten taller through the years, above the average from how you see it. She must have amazing genetics. Her legs sauntered in seconds to you. Sitting down across you, she marveled at your setup. Specifically, at the fresh pointe shoes.

“Are those yours, Teacher (Y/N)?” She perked up, caressing its soft fabric and playing with the mini bows of the drawstrings.

“Yes, it is, Minji!” You answered while trying to insert the thin thread through the small eye of the needle. “Why are you still here? Is your nanny stuck in traffic or something?”

“My nanny went on sudden leave, so my dad’s the one fetching me. But I think he’s running late from his job.”

Oh, this was a first to know about her father. In all the years she’s been your student, you rarely caught sight of him, even in recitals. Maybe he sat in an unknown section, but you’re pretty much acquainted with all the parents of your students. Even if some were snobbier than the rest because they wanted their child to have more stage time, you still got to know them out of respect. Quite odd, if you said so yourself.

After deep concentration, the thread triumphantly passed through the eye so you tied the two ends of the thread in a double knot. Seeing as Minji attentively watched you, you tasked her to cut the ribbons of your shoes according to the trail of pencil marks. This was so she wouldn’t cut it too short or too long. While she did that, you hammered your shoes against the floor to soften the hard front, bending the shank back and forth so the arch of your feet could move without difficulty later.

Minji wasn’t expecting such loud sounds, her entire body shaken awake. Her facial expression was priceless, explaining to her, “Once you get your first pointe shoes in a few years, this is one of the basic things you need to do so your feet won’t hurt too much while dancing.”

“Will you be there to teach me how to make my pointe shoes?”

“Absolutely! Come to me first then I’ll mentor you all that I know.”

The process of sewing and breaking new pointe shoes engraved your mind since your adolescent years, with changes along the way. Inspired by some tricks from your former teachers, but there were some differing rituals you followed. There’s no definite process of it, just as long you’re comfortable to dance after.

With your feet, you stepped on the hard boxes of the shoes to soften it more, creating a popping sound. Followed by sewing your elastic bands in. For your ribbons, you liked to burn the edges with a lighter so the thread of it won’t run. Kindly asking your cute assistant for the lighter beside her, you scanned the edges back and forth the flame. In seconds, the edges had a distinct mark, fully closed. From there, you slid your feet to your shoes to make final sewing adjustments. Sewing your ribbons took you another few minutes, plus adding superglue inside the shoe so the shoe won’t collapse when it unstiffens and scratching the shank with a cutter so you won’t slip later while dancing.

Voila, the final product is done! Hopefully, it can last you a week at least.

“Wow, Teacher (Y/N), it looks pretty!” Minji applauded, collecting the mess you’ve both made to dispose of later. You, on the other hand, gave her your thanks once you applied some bandages on your big toes and put on your toe pads. Slipping inside the shoes and tying them, you rose up back to your feet and headed to the bar to break them in. From plies-relevésto forced arches, the shoes gave you the sensation that they were an extension of your feet. The ease flowed through, meaning you were ready to practice your variations.

While you stepped your shoes in rosin for friction, your curious student moved to the front where the mirror lied to watch what you’ve prepared.

“What variation are you dancing to?”

“This is the Gamzatti variation from La Bayadere.” You replied, tapping the play button on your phone and racing to your position on the side. Talking a short ballet walk, you strongly prepared your arms before the music of the orchestra takes off.

This variation consisted of a lot of jumps and turns. Grand jetés, attitude turns, chaîné turns, you needed a lot of core control and proper spotting so you won’t get dizzy. The thrilling music lessened your nerves because you enjoyed learning this piece from one of the principal dancers, smiling and letting the music guide your legs. Once you nailed 3 consecutive grand jetés, the variation ended with a sus-sous and the wrists of your hands flicking upwards.

Holding it for 5 more seconds, you landed back on your feet with heavy breathing and a need for water. But before you could, small claps and cheers from Minji in front erupted. Momentarily, you’ve forgotten her presence because dancing solo puts you in your own space. You’d never let anyone take you away from it.

“Teacher (Y/N), that was wonderful! Are you performing that in the summer recital?”

Yikes, she’s right but she wasn’t meant to see it yet. Solo performances from the company members for the recital were top secret, only unveiled during the production rehearsal. Well, you didn’t think this through, but you didn’t mind.

“Can you keep a secret?”

Time ticked a lot faster today, only 10 minutes left until the company class on the ground floor whereas you were in the second. Just a few steps down the stairs away, yet Minji was still here. You only presumed that within your hour break, her father could’ve made it already. But maybe he’s stuck in traffic or at work.

“Minji, my class starts soon. Have you contacted your father?”

“I already texted him earlier, but he hasn’t responded. This happens often, he’s a busy man.” She bowed in front of you suddenly. “I’m sorry, Teacher (Y/N) for the hassle.”

“Oh no, please!” You shook your hands so she’d stop. Because this situation was relatively new, you were unsure of how to handle it. Or that was until you remembered what Ten texted you earlier. “Minji, the blinds of the main studio are going to be lifted so anyone from the outside can view us practicing. Would you like to watch until your dad gets here?”

With her insistent nodding, she situated herself in one of the seats in the front row. When you entered the main studio, your two close companions already carried a metal barre to the center and leaned towards it while observing you walking to them in your flat shoes.

“I see we have a bit of an audience here.” Ten glimpsed at the young girl, astonished by the many dancers prepping and chatting away with their cliques from the glass barrier.

“Her dad isn’t here yet, and you did say the blinds were up today. Might as well give her a show while she waits, you know.” You lifted your right leg to the top barre, stretching it with your arms.

“Hmmm, shouldn’t her dad be more cautious though? It’s getting late and it’s a Thursday. Doesn’t she have school or something?” Sicheng pointed out, discarding his muscle tee to straighten out his leotard.

“That’s not my business though. She’s just my student, and since she’s still here, I have to entertain her while she waits.”

Before your friends said anything back, the artistic director of the ballet company strutted her way to the center of the room. It’s a common rule here that once she entered, everyone must be silent to listen and race to any free spot in the numerous barres spread out if they haven’t.

“Alright, everyone. We’ll do the typical barre, then before doing across the floor exercises, I’ll be requesting those performing solos already in the recital to dance any variation tonight as another evaluation on who deserves to perform twice.” She eyed the pianist directly beside her. “Proceed first with two demi-pliés then one grand plié. Don’t forget to do the port de bras of each position.”

As the live piano music played, your focus was divided. Partly properly executing the exercise while your artistic director roamed each barre area, partly thinking about what variation to perform. This was a first for the company, and everyone was just stunned to hear the breaking news. It’d be nice to get an extra opportunity to showcase to people your potential.

30-40 minutes flew by quickly. As the guys carried the bars to the side to clear out the floor and the girls changed to their pointe shoes, the artistic director ordered all the performers of the recitals to stand in a line in front of her. Everyone else was seated around the room, so the interested eyes of everyone were on you. There were 10 performers, half are from the corps and the other half are either demi-soloists or soloists. You and Sicheng stood beside each other, internally shaking with nerves under the intimidating eyes of the artistic director. She used to be a principal dancer for the Stuttgart Ballet in Germany before moving back to Seoul, making her undeniably capable of leading all of you.

“Okay,” From her seated position observing the 10 performers, her finger pointed at you directly. “Ms. (Y/L/N) (Y/N), you perform first.”

Your nerves intensified and more sweat streamed out your upper body. Even if going first felt more relieving, no one was ever brave enough to perform individually in front of the esteemed artistic director. Principal dancers aside from Ten that you’re close with were intimidated when they have 1-on-1 or partnering sessions with her. But anyhow, in less than 2 minutes, you’d be done. This wasn’t the first time she’s had your full attention either, so you’ll treat it like the other individual performances you’ve had.

You smiled to yourself when the other soloists left you alone, while you gave the name of the variation you’re dancing to the pianist. Running to the side to put on a practice tutu, the artistic director asked, “What will you be dancing for us tonight, (Y/N)?”

“I’ll be dancing Queen of the Dryads from Don Quixote.”

The last time you did this variation was 3 years ago during the recital that didn’t change your position as a soloist. Even if this variation hurt to think about for a while, it was still one of your favorites to watch and do. Moving on, you could only muse how powerful and beautiful you felt at that time. This isn’t an easy piece to perform in your opinion. Yet according to the members of the company, this was their favorite solo of yours.

As the starting notes unfolded, you took a deep breath and elegantly walked into the frame. You only wished you wore your fake crown again for this. Minimal smiling and light arms, you imagined yourself as an actual queen who captured the eyes of many. In this case, your fellow seniors and juniors held their breaths at the captivating sight of you.

Off you go into a series of glissade jeté developpé on relevé at elevating heights, then a fouetté arabesque and another arabesque on relevé before ballet walking again to the side to dance across the stage. Sissonne to the front, right developpé to the front on relevé, pique to prepare for a single pirouette, you gracefully did a chassé to the front twice and stood on your toes with a sus-sous.

Doing it a few more times, the climax of the entire variation was nearing. Returning to the center, you took another deep breath and lifted your left leg for the Italian fouettés. Spotting to the front and back while maintaining your balance, the variation approached its end with lame duck turns, posing with your arms were positioned at a 45-degree angle, your back slightly arched and your left leg doing a tendu derriére. Your eyes reflected at the mirror in front, surveying your alignment. Once your 5-second hold was finished, you properly put your arms down and closed your back leg into 5th position.

The applause from everyone in the room roared, Ten and Sicheng wolf-whistling even for more support. It’s a usual thing every time any of you perform individually, and no one minded it. The artistic director grinned, giving a quiet clap from the front before calling out the next performer, who was from the corps. Bowing to everyone hastily, you paid more attention to spot your student by the window. She was smiling ear to ear, waving both hands at you.

“You did amazing, Teacher!” She mouthed. Hearing words of praise from members was one thing, but hearing them from students was another. You’re so used to watching them and giving them your compliments that you often forget that you’re a dancer first before a teacher. Seeing them all delighted, saying that it motivates them more, showed that you’re doing a great job teaching them. You’re a reflection of what you pass down, and all you want was for them to be the best they could be.

From her jolly expression, a tall masculine silhouette hovered a part of the window. Her instinct of giving a brighter smile when the hand of said silhouette patted her head then carried her duffel bag again, that could only mean one thing. Excusing yourself to the artistic director, you stepped out to bid your goodbye and maybe meet her father. Minji and the tall man were about to leave the building if it weren’t for your breathy voice calling them out.

“Seo Minji and Mr. Seo?”

They stopped their tracks. Minji was fast to react, familiar with your voice and racing towards you for a sweaty hug. Meanwhile, your focus shifted once the masculine silhouette came into full view. You finally understood why Minji’s growth spurt spiked up, noticing that he was taller than Sicheng.

The top buttons of his shirt were off, yet he kept his formal blazer on. His hair was a bit tousled, some strands falling in front of his forehead. He must’ve run here. Peeking through were some roots of his scruff growing. His eyebags were almost as dark as his brown hair. Yet by the way his Rolex remained spotless, you blatantly assumed that he was more than well-off. Especially when the ballet academy was one of the most prestigious ones in Seoul.

Out of all the parents you’ve met, none of them appeared youthful like him.

“Teacher (Y/N)?” Thanks to Minji, you moved your staring eyes away from him. This was another first, since meeting only the fathers of your students wasn’t your norm. Meeting young-looking fathers, to be specific.

“O-Oh,” You ate your words, suddenly blanking out. “You’re leaving me without saying goodbye, Minji? Not polite of you.”

“My father was rushing right after watching your performance, and I don’t know why.” She responded, her finger scratching the top of her head in confusion. Speaking of said father, his strong presence appeared right in front of you. The wrinkles of his forehead creased while his eyes barely looked at yours.

“Uhm,” His fingers toyed with his Rolex. “I apologize for my tardiness. I got caught up in work and all, plus her nanny le-”

“Mr. Seo.” You halted his rambling, already aware of the situation. Like father, like daughter. “It’s fine. Minji loved watching us practice while waiting, and she wasn’t a bother either. You have nothing to worry about.”

“Phew.” He swiped an imaginative bead of sweat from his forehead, displaying his relief with his playful nature.

At age 23, Johnny Seo started his own company in the fashion scene and it grew internationally in the coming years. Then when Minji unexpectedly joined the picture, he’s been multi-tasking to make ends meet. Lately, as a CEO, he has had meetings and conferences on a daily. So, his position as a single father was always tested. It worsened when he rarely has proper time to spend any time with Minji unless it’s the weekend or late in the evening. Breaking it down, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to meet you. It was more like he couldn’t when his schedules were packed from head to toe.

Having the guilt of taking your precious time, “Seriously though, I am sorry for being late. Her nanny resigned suddenly, and I have no time to find her replacement.”

“Mr. Seo, again, don’t worry about it. As her teacher and a company member, I am practically here 24/7 so it won’t be a nuisance at all if this happens again.”

“Thank you so much, Teacher (Y/N). That is your name, right?” He planted his palm on his forehead, stressed. “Being a single parent is hard. I am always forgetting things.”

A part of you couldn’t restrain from feeling sorry for his struggle. Taking care of a child should be the work of both the mother and father, not one of them being absent. You’ve feared this would harm Minji, but she’s a strong girl.

“The fact you didn’t forget to fetch Minji despite the late time is still something to be happy over. I’m not a parent or anything, but parenting, in general, is a challenge.” You added an insight, patting the head of the young girl beside you. “Cut yourself some slack, Mr. Seo. I’m sure Minji still loves you, right?”

Minji shouted a big yes, now clinging to the leg of her father. “It’s okay, dad. Really.”

Over the years, Johnny has been doubtful of his parenting skills. He was an only child, and he struggled to ask for guidance from his own parents due to the shame of having a kid at a young age. So, he’d ask for help from his other friends and co-workers. No matter how many times they’ve reassured him that he’s doing well, he’s an overthinker who always reflected on the bad scenarios. There’s also that pressure to find someone who can fill that absent position not just for Minji, but for himself too. No matter how many girls he’s asked out or been set up with, he failed in the love department badly.

It’s the soothing way you voiced out your truth that made all these negative thoughts running through his head freeze briefly. Over the past 3 years since Minji started ballet, she always had a great story about you to share. One of them was how ballet made her a lot happier because of your influence. If he had at least an hour of his day to meet any of his daughter’s mentors, it would’ve been you.

“Do feel free to call me Johnny instead.” He casually introduced himself, taking his hand out for you to shake. “Mr. Seo makes me feel like I’m at work right now.”

Despite his informal approach, you understood his intentions and returned the action with a promising smile. “Pleasure to finally meet you, Johnny.”

“Pleasure is all mine, Teacher (Y/N).”

Earlier, the nerves from performing in front of the artistic director died down fast. But for some reason, they rose back up when you’ve spoken to this man in a matter of minutes. As someone whose feelings don’t flourish in a single glance, why did this man specifically deliver you such a strong effect?

If it weren’t for Ten calling for your name by the door, you would’ve held on to Johnny’s hand longer, which would’ve been inappropriate. Letting go first, this was your cue to return to your class.

“I must head back inside, Johnny. Don’t sweat on fetching your daughter late, though she is still a student with school the following day. Right, Minji?”

Minji nodded as Johnny kept that mind, knowing where he has to improve next.  “Yes, Teacher (Y/N). Thank you again, sincerely. I’ll definitely see you again in the coming days until Minji has a new nanny.”

“That’s no problem with me at all, Johnny.”

Soon as Johnny held his daughter’s hand to exit the studio and you were re-entering the studio with an impatient Ten, he swerved swiftly as if he forgot something.

“Oh by the way Teacher (Y/N), I saw your whole performance awhile ago. I was blown away, you deserved the applause.”

Although you could only distinguish his silhouette, you didn’t suppose he watched you from head to toe. Most parents or nannies would’ve dragged their kids out of the studio once they find them like they were on a tight schedule, so this was novel to experience. That performance showed your prime too.

“Thank you, Johnny. See you again soon.”

Giving a final nod, you led yourself back to the studio, not bothering to acknowledge the erupting heat on your cheeks and entire body. Not to sound narcissistic, but compliments weren’t foreign to you. You’re conscious of the hard work that you put in your talent and if they pointed out your greatness, why would you deny it? However, receiving one from Johnny was like gearing your engine with new fuel.

Before you could try to reject these harboring feelings, Ten was fast to pick up on it. You cannot hide anything from this man at all because body language was like another language he’s fluent in (aside from the other 5). Unlucky for you, the saga continued.

“You’re so into dilfs, (Y/N)!” He shrieked in your ear, nudging your shoulder repetitively. He placed things in his own way, yet they always shocked you because it was so inappropriate. Typical Ten for you.

“Shut up, Ten!” You objected, watching the other performers. You’ve improved in ignoring his remarks over time. That was until Sicheng sat down beside you after his solo and got up in your business. That placed you in the middle of boys from the water sign clan of astrology. They just loved getting down to your love life, going raunchy and whatnot.

“Who’s into dilfs, Ten?”

“A Miss (Y/N) beside you, who met Minji’s dad awhile ago, was basically eye-fucking him.” Ten elaborated, planting his elbows on your leg and gave you a sneaky glare. “Minji’s dad is fine as fuck, guys! I’m telling you, like a literal god! I’m surprised this is the first time he showed up here after 2-3 years?”

“How come (Y/N) is always getting students with good-looking parents? Especially the single moms.” Sicheng slumped his shoulders, attempting to get your attention too. “Is he that hot, (Y/N)?”

“Yah.” Sighing with annoyance, you’ve given up trying to appreciate one of the corps dancers with her rendition of Dulcinea from Don Quixote. “Don’t speak of Johnny like that. You barely know the man, yet you talk about him so unprofessionally."

“Oh, Johnny is his name, huh?” Sicheng sing-songed, bobbing his head. He’s certainly going to stalk him later on social media, you felt it in your chest. Like it was ESPN or something.

“Talking about being unprofessional, yet you’re here referring him as Johnny, not Mr. Seo.” Ten barked back, his lips pursed and one eyebrow lifted.

Just as soon as you could retaliate, the artistic director’s velvety voice boomed the room.

“Alright, thank you to the performers. I will deliberate with the staff and principal dancers over the weekend, and let you know the results on Monday. Now please, let’s proceed to the center.”

Everyone began to spread out on the wide floor, snatching a good position so they could monitor themselves in the mirror. Maybe you’ll defend yourself later after class because now, you needed to beat everyone else and have a crystal-clear view of yourself doing these following exercises.

In the meantime, Johnny was in the middle of driving Minji home. He had a designated chauffeur, but he gave him the night off because he wanted to spend time with Minji. Around this time, she’d be sleeping soundly, but instead, she’s boosting with so much life. She hasn’t even eaten dinner yet, which was the first thing on Johnny’s agenda now.

Playing Coldplay in the car, Minji belted some lyrics from her favorite songs while Johnny smiled to himself while listening to her attentively. Taking a breath, her thoughts reverted to her fantastic ballet teacher and shared them with her father.

“Dad! Don’t you just think Teacher (Y/N) is so cool? Ugh, I want to be just like her when I grow up.”

“Oh, to become a ballerina like her, you have to work hard every day and memorize lessons fast. Are you up for it, Minji?”

“Absolutely, dad! I want to pull off perfect jumps and turns like her one day!”

In the other after-school activities Johnny enrolled Minji in the past, none of them compared to the passion she had for ballet. Her work ethic was alike to Johnny’s: if they want something, they’ll do whatever it takes to make it possible.

Aside from being a star student in her school, she’s aiming to be a star ballerina. Being the supportive father he is, Johnny was on board to do what it takes to make it happen. Unlike his parents trying to mold him into the next heir of their company, he’s all ears to the dreams of his daughter. His only dream for her was to be live long and happy, not to merely pass on anything.

Johnny lost so much in his young life, so he doesn’t want to lose Minji in any way. As much as he loves his profession, he wanted to be an active father as much as time allowed it. He mostly received complaints from others that he’s not prioritizing his time well, but after hearing your kind words, this heavy weight on his shoulders decreased. All this doubt started to vanish after meeting you for the first time.

“Dad! Isn’t Teacher (Y/N) so beautiful?” Minji honored whilst gazing at the twinkling night sky. “She loves what she does and shines at it.”

Johnny was accustomed to his female co-workers throwing themselves at him due to his attractiveness, more than flattered even to have them feeling weak for him. Yes, there were times he used it to his advantage, some he frankly turned down. 

However, the radiance you carried whether you’re dancing or not was something Johnny couldn’t cease wondering about. Unknown to him, he’s the one getting weak. Behold, an unlocked first for the confident CEO.

“Yes, Minji. I do think Teacher (Y/N) is absolutely beautiful.”

[wangxianficrecs]

Fic Finder

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1.  Hi, I'm looking for an Untamed fic, maybe you'll be able to help. It's a canon divergence AU in which WWX doesn't lose his core, Jiang Fengmian lives and it's implied that his core was transferred to JC (heavily implied; JFM retires as the Sect Leader after that). This is absolutely not the most important part of this fic but it's a paragraph that I've got stuck in my head and now I'm searching for the rest @_@ Thanks in advance! ~ @otemporaetmores

FOUND! by @notsobabblespace, who was reminded of  I’m aching and I know you are too by edenwolfie (part 3 in series, M, 23k, wangxian)

FOUND!  by @jim-is-spocks-thyla, who suggests ❤️ to arrive late is better than not to arrive at all by Moominmammashandbag (M, 35k, wangxian) [ETA:  Oops, not this one.  JFM has no core, but he didn’t give it to JC]

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2.  Hi Mojo! I’m in need of you/your followers help in finding a fic that I read a little while ago. It was a fic where Wei WuXian and Lan WangJi lived together in Cloud Recesses and their children were Sizhui and an OOC that was younger than him. I remember SiZhui faced a lot of criticism for not being the chief cultivator’s real child? And they were happy he had a younger sibling that would be sect leader in the future because he was blood. Come to think of it, this is probably an ABO fic too. Thanks for your time 💜

FOUND! @andidontmeanto believes this is Blue Blood by PotterheadAvengerDemigod (T, 91k, wangxian, my post)

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3.  Aksks it's like 3 am but I just remembered a fic and I can't find it?? I'd really, really appreciate your help. It was a wangxian fic, maybe a oneshot idk, and lwj was kind of a nerd and wwx a badboy? So basically lwj has a massive crush on him and dresses up like wwx etc. (i think he even got an undercut) and after a party they sleep with each other at lwj's place?

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4.  i’m looking for a fic set in the where lwj’s mother killed his father? i don’t think that was a main plot point but it did show up in his backstory - any idea what this might be? ~ @thehype

FOUND!  @rentslirott thinks this could be ❤️the best of you by sysrae (E, 42k, wangxian, my post)

FOUND!  @castaways-logbook offers  The Right to Care by travelingneuritis (E, 39k, wangxian, WIP)

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5.  ... same as #6 ...

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6.  Hello friend, sorry for the inconvenience but I wanted to see if you could please find me a fic that I lost but I only remember more or less the final part, it goes more or less like this, lan zhan and wei ying are kidnapped by jin guangyao and lock them up if not I'm wrong in some cells next to lan xichen after the fights jin guangyao dies but lan xichen did know how bad jin guangyao had done and he didn't care and then to get revenge he wants to kill wei ying but lan zhan kills him and sizhui gets scared It was more or less like that, please help me ~ @isa0123lol

FOUND!  by @wangxiansfics who says that tragically it’s no longer available, but @dulachodladh found it on WaybackMachine here: Thread and Needle by haysel (M, 86k, wangxian)

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7.  Hi, Mojo! I'm glad that you're back but I hope you enjoyed your time off tumblr! Can you and/or your followers help me find a fic? I think the summary was talking about wwx and somehow they were asking mingjue for help since he's the only one who can help. The summary was in italics and it's a dialogue from some guy? And a shorter summary below. Sadly this is the only thing I can remember but I hope you can still help me

FOUND!  @alwayswenning suggests love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, wangxian, has it’s own fanfic here, I just finished this last night!, my bookmark)

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8.  Sorry to bombard you as soon as you're back, but this one's driving me crazy--a modern AU where they met online. WWX thinks LWJ is an old man from how he talks. I don't remember much except the excerpt made it seem like he still was amused by/enjoyed talking to him, and Wen Qing was telling him it was a bad idea and to stop. It's not How to Fall In Love With a Catfish, tho that one is brilliant! (Also any top notch identity porn would be great) Hope your break was restful, you deserve it! Thanks

Here’s my #identity porn tag, but I’m not sure about this exact story.

I'm the anon for #8 on the fic finder. Though I'm excited to read it, the suggested fic isn't the one I was looking for. I swear I thought I saw it on here around a month ago or slightly more, but searches have failed me.

FOUND!  Rating: General Audiences by Mishaa (T, 18k, wangxian WIP) -  mysterious author LWJ (speculated to be an old man because of his formality) and infamous artist WWX paired up for an Untamed Big Bang (in an AU where JGY was the series’ antiheroic protagonist; this fic was written before the release of CQL.)

FOUND?  could you be looking for  Something Real by Latios (G, 5k, wangxian, my post) - wwx thinks lwj is an old man, but there’s no WQ.  There are many pictures of bunnies.

SIMILAR! @emilysidhe thought of ID Bro Saga by Bowandtie (T, 39k, wangxian)

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9.  Hey, how are you? Could you help me please? I've read 3 fanfics once, but I can't find them anymore. 1 - Nanny Problem, Wei is going to be the babysitter of A-Yuan, he is an omega and Lan is an alpha. 2 - Doctor Perfect, Yibo is an omega nurse and Xiao is an alpha doctor. 3 - The Baby of my Omega, Yibo is omega and Xiao is alpha, both of them are bodyguards, but Yibo has to protect Xiao in the beginning. I think they were at ao3, but I really can't find them. Can you help me please? Thank you!! ~ @weallmad

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10.  Hi! Im happy you’re back. I hope you had a good break. I missed your recommendations, but at the same time i got a break from fics and actually studied to my tests haha.  [Ah!  I’m glad to hear your time was spent productively!]  I’m looking for a fic like Linger in the Sun by etymologyplayground. In the fic im looking for wangxian slowly lose their senses instead of all of them at once. Like they lose their hearing, then touch, sight etc, They can’t see each other or hear each other. I’m sorry i can’t explain very well.

FOUND?  Could you be thinking of  ❤️shadows in the sun rise by Yuu_chi (E, 25k, wangxian)?  Only lwj losese his senses one by one in this one, though.

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11.  heyyy im trying to find this fic where wwx died the first time he was thrown in to the burial mounds then 10 years later he gets resurrected or something. I can't find it on AO3 and it's been bugging me for days. Thank you!

FOUND!  Well, @moku-youbi offers both of these as possibilities:

Did I Not Explain Why the Sunset Turns Red? by 3988Akasha (E, 100k, wangxian)

we're starting at the end by Miss_Enthusiasimal (M, 95k, wangxian)

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12.  Hi I am looking for a fic where wwx is a witch (/mage?) in a world where magic is being persecuted (especially in Gusu) except for Yunmeng/Lanling I think but they're still frowned upon nonetheless. Then after accidentally hurting Shijie, wwx runs away, and ends up hiding in Gusu pretending to be a servant to lwj (lwj is a prince, lxc is the emperor) but lwj actually knows of his identity and tries not-so-discreetly to protect him from being caught. Thanks!

FOUND! by @bibliobasilisk who gives us Witchfinder by misbehavingvigilante (E, 86k, wangxian)

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13.  Hi! Firstly, I'm glad to see you're back, and I hope your break was a good one! I'm trying to find a LWJ/WWX story that I had planned to read and ending up losing before I could. It was set in the immediate aftermath of the 33 lashes, LWJ is in the Jingshi recovering when a healer(?) discovers he's pregnant (by WWX). It may have been a/b/o verse, but I'm not 100% on that. Part of the story was a flashback to when WWX was still alive. Thank you!

FOUND!  by nonny themself.  It’s Unexpected Surprise by Glucose_Gremlin (E, 4k, wangxian)

SIMILAR! @mondelgel suggests my heart is kept as pure as ice in a jade vase/一片冰心在玉壶 by Daledesu (M, 21k, wangxian, WIP)

SIMILAR! from @impending-cuttlefish:  something new, something white, something blue by ariskamalt (E, 140k, wangxian, WIP)

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14.  I'm trying to find this one fic where Jin Ling finds this diary that Wei Ying wrote as the Yiling Patriarch that basically reveals everything, including the golden core reveal and it even has training tips that helps Jon Ling improve. When Wei Ying comes back, he tries everything to keep him there because he is THE best uncle now. I need to find it because it is a N E E D.

FOUND? by @theladypeartree who says, “The Truth (Untold) is jl reading jyl's journals, not wwx's though. And mordant is jl returning wwx's journals that he found, not grew up with. Neither fit #14 properly, but I seriously could not find anything closer after two solid days of searching. Good luck!“

The Truth (Untold) by anxiouswreck0_0 (g, 3k, wangxian, jin ling & wei wuxian)

or this one on ffn:

mordant by tennisnotensai (M, 18k, wangxian, here’s the link for mobile)

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15.  I have heard tell of a Sizhui/Jingyi fic where the boys end up going to Wangxian for advice about how to be intimate. Can you help me find it?

FOUND!  @manaika-chan says this one is On Advisement by LaMachina17 (M, 19k, wangxian, zhuiling, chengyi)

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16.  nm

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17.  Hi! Sorry, do you happen to know that nsfw fic where wwx is still studying in the cloud recesses and he’s reading a novel (im not sure if it was from nhs) that features a cultivator couple and there’s a scene in the book where the woman was pegging her husband? Basically wwx got curious about this and tried fingering himself. I remember he was hiding in the back mountains and then lwj eventually caught him

FOUND?  Could you be thinking of  Deep in the Woods by malkinmalkout (E, 5k, wangxian, my post)?

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18.  Ahhh I'm going crazy trying to think of a fic that I've read where Lan Zhan killed Wen Chao in a locker room and nie huaisang stood guard outside the door! Then lan zhan went to lan huan and said I killed someone and he said did they deserve it? Then it's fine. And I can't remember the name of the fic! Have you heard of it? ~ @uchihaautumn

FOUND! @artemisisdiana offers So Full Of Love (Wouldn't Know Where to Start) by witchupbitch (M, 54k, wangxian, WIP)

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19.  Hi, I was wondering if you could help me find a fic. I read it a while ago and I don't really remember all the details but it was a modern au where Lan Wangji was a police officer in this small town and Wei Wuxian comes back after years, having left the town due to some stuff. Thank you in advance.

Btw love your blog. I live for your fic recs.  [Thank you!]

FOUND?  Could you be looking for medium blues by dark_and_terrible (E,193k,  wangxian)?  It appears to be taken down atm, but it might come back (it’s done it before).

FOUND! by @grannyweatherwaxshat who offers When a Bird Flies, It Leaves Feathers by Bem_Kofi (not rated, 75k, wangxian)

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20.  Hi mojo!! First of all I luv your blog Thank you so much for all those ficrecs.  [You’re welcome!]  Actually I’m looking for a fic I read months ago. I probably found the fic from your blog. But I can’t seem to find it now 😢 it was a modern au wangxian fic (inspired by call me by ur name?) wwx was like 5 years older than lwj. (And lwj was like 16?) Wwx lives in another city but he spent around a year in cloud recesses with lwj in the past. And wwx yanli and jc visits cloud recesses again and wangxian gets 2gether

~*~

[My ko-fi.]

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 8

Cult girl and Hannibal go through an exhaustive list of potential adoptive couples. 

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warning: sexual harassment, christianity, discussion of pregnancy and family planning, adoption, murder and cannibalism 

Step two: find an adoptive family.

Some would say your list of expectations for potential adoptive parents was too extensive. Impossible for any human to reach. But it was really just the bare minimum.

Regardless of if they were two men, two women, one of each, or a few people, the parents had to be trustworthy. It wasn't easy to earn Hannibal's trust, but he could recognize those who had the capacity to right away. It was a little instinct you had dubbed 'friend or food'.

On paper, the apostolic pastor and his wife of 19 years seemed like the perfect candidates. The adoption agency tried to push them on you, as they had a great track record with adopting from them prior. Three boys, all of which were honors students.

Hannibal insisted on a formal introduction, during which you could conduct a proper, though surreptitious, interview. It was an invitation to dinner.

He invited the couple into his office, where a pot of tea and an interrogation was waiting for them. Then there was you. Barely-pregnant little [F/N], feeling entirely safe so long as your fiancé was beside you.

"You're doing the right thing, y'know." The woman, who introduced herself as Mrs. Landon, said upon meeting you.

"How do you mean?" You asked, already knowing the answer.

"All god's life is precious." She said, placing a hand on your not-even-remotely-showing-yet stomach. "You're walking in obedience to the lord by giving this child a shot at life."

Strike one: bringing up religion unprompted. Strike two: touching me without asking first.

You wanted to swat her hand away, but remembered that patience was a virtue. She and her husband took a seat across from you.

"Y'know," The man began, his mannerisms eerily similar to those of his wife. "I don't usually begin with the god talk, but I think a higher power had to have been involved in the conception of this- well, our child. I'd like to think the good lord brought us together today."

Strike three: already believes he is entitled to my child. You're outta here.

"Don't flatter the adoption agency like that, Jacob." Hannibal chuckled, placing his teacup on the side table.

"I'm serious, Dr. Lecter." Jacob interjected. "Faith and I really do believe that god put us on this earth to prepare his smallest soldiers for the spiritual war."

You shot Hannibal a side glance that said 'can we please just eat them now?'.

The answer was no. Hannibal liked to play with his food.

"And your adult children have all moved out?" He asked.

"That's right." Jacob nodded. "We have plenty of room in our five-bedroom house for the new little slugger to run around in."

"And if it's a girl!" The wife interrupted. "We have enough closet space for all the denim maxi-skirts money could buy."

Strike four: arbitrarily genders the behavior of a nine-week-old embryo.

The man then returned the teacup to the table, not bothering to use the saucer and instead leaving a nasty ring of condensation on the polished mahogany.

"Okay." Hannibal huffed, resignedly rising from his seat. He pulled two hypodermic needles from his back pocket and carefully, subtly stuck them onto the couples' necks. They couldn't even scream.

The tacos al pastor that followed (after a few days of marinating, of course) were exquisite.

The next week brought a new couple to your doorstep. Frank and Angela, they were named. Their claim to fame was that their oldest son played football for one of those big southern party schools. Either Auburn or Alabama. There was hardly a difference.

You sat for what felt like hours listening to the man speak in unintelligible football babble, waiting for him to take a breath. Surprisingly, it was the mom who got him to finally shut up.

"Frank, please." She said with more frustration than this one situation even remotely warranted. Either she had enough intuition to know she was being tested, or she’d spent the last decade putting up with this. Possibly both. "You're boring our hosts to death."

"What? No way! She loves it!" Frank replied, then turned to you. Not to Hannibal, just you. “Aren’t you having a great time, sweetheart?” 

Strike one: takes advantage of the female socialization to be passive and polite, allowing himself to take up the most space.

You shook your head. “I hate football.” 

His wife looked quite pleased with herself. 

“Angie, I just wanted her to know what good breeding her son is going to have.” He said, without a lick of irony or self-awareness. He eyed you up and down and licked his lips. “And it is mutual, I see.” 

The room went quiet as everyone tried to determine whether he was serious or if it was just a fucked-up joke. The longer the silence lingered, the more you realized he wasn’t kidding. Angela looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die.

“I don’t know what the agency told you, Mr. Wyatt,” Hannibal said, trying not to grit his teeth. “She isn’t a surrogate. She’s already pregnant.” 

Frank’s jaw hung dumbly open. “I thought you were looking for a sperm donor? I just-” 

“No.” You cut him off, raising your hand and covering your face. “I don’t want to know what you thought.” 

“Well, I would!” Angela interjected, righteous fury eclipsing what should have been crippling embarrassment. “What exactly did you think this was, Francis?” 

“The file said that he was over fifty, so I just assumed--” Frank rationalized, his voice far too loud for the room. “Y’know? That she wanted a baby that wouldn’t come out all funny-looking?” 

“You’re disgusting.” You blurted out. 

“Francis Howard Wyatt,” Angela scolded as if she were talking to her son. “You are forty-eight and the only increasing part of your body is your blood pressure. Why on Earth would any woman choose you over her smart, handsome doctor fiancé?”

This made Hannibal sit up a little straighter. He wanted Francis on the butcher’s block yesterday, but he momentarily considered letting Angela live. 

“They’re not married?” Frank whispered, or whatever the loud-aggressive-toxic-masculinity version of whispering was. He paused, as the dead hamster on the wheel powering his brain crept back to life. “That actually makes sense.” 

Angela loudly smacked her hand against her face. “Dr. Lecter, Ms. [L/N], I am so sorry.” 

“It’s quite alright, Mrs. Wyatt.” Hannibal stood up, readying the next batch of needles. “It just makes what I’m about to do easier.” 

It took quite a bit of restraint to not make their deaths hurt, but he made up for it when it came time to carve. He had fun running his fittingly small penis through a meat grinder. Not with any intent to cook it, though. Just because. 

Hannibal wanted to make Francis Wyatt into the least dignified meal imaginable. You quickly recalled going to a friend’s barbeque in Georgia and encountering a horrendously Southern delicacy known as Frito Pie. You proposed the idea to Hannibal, who, after reviling in abject horror at the notion of eating something out of a bag, agreed that it was the most fitting end. He could spare a few pounds of flesh to grind up and make into chili. 

The third week brought yet another couple. They seemed smart enough to realize your invitation wasn't the friendly olive branch the others had interpreted it as. Their healthy skepticism was refreshing, to say the least. Then, you met them: Max and Archie.

"You'll have to forgive my partner's paranoia." Max said upon entering the house. He tugged playfully at Archie's hand. "We watched Get Out recently, so an invitation to the suburbs sounded some alarms in his sleep-deprived brain."

"I love that movie." You chimed in. "It reminds me of my family."

"Oh no." Archie's eyes widened in only half-pretend fear. He shot an I-told-you-so look in his partner's direction. 

"But my favorite horror flick has to be Midsommar." You added. "My friends and I saw a midnight screening and we didn't sleep at all that night."

"But have you seen Hereditary?" Archie posited.

"Of course." You shrugged. "Aster is totally genius."

You made more than just polite conversation with the couple. Max, despite his young age, was a skilled data analyst and day trader. He attributed his success to the hard work of his immigrant parents. Archie was an environmental lawyer and land activist. He was also a bit of a thrill junkie, indulging in everything from scary movies to bungee jumping.

It didn't take long to realize that you wouldn't be eating them. They were far too pleasant of company to eat.

"So when is this baby planning to make its entrance?" Archie asked, gesturing to you. "You don’t look all that pregnant to me."

You put your hand over your slightly-protruding stomach. "Late August, I believe. If everything goes according to plan."

"You're not far along at all, aren’t you?" Max observed. "That gives us plenty of time to prove ourselves to you."

"Believe me." You put up your hand. "You're doing a great job so far."

“If you like horror stories, we might have to indulge you in the last two encounters we had.” Hannibal commented, leaning back comfortably in his chair. That was a good sign. “No blood was spilled, thank god. Would have ruined my carpets. But believe me when I tell you it came very close.” 

The couple laughed along. Archie leaned in like he was about to tell a life-shattering secret. “You wouldn’t believe the hoops we had to jump through to even have the chance to adopt. And I don’t want to say that it’s because we’re an interracial gay couple, but...” 

“Agencies aren’t exactly colorblind.” You finished, via his prompting. 

“She gets it.” Archie pointed to you. “See, Maxie? She agrees with me.” 

Max pushed his glasses up his nose. “I never said I disagreed.” 

You spent the rest of the afternoon waiting for the conversation to take a sharp left turn off a cliff, but it didn’t happen. They were wonderful company; polite, intelligent and articulate. Exactly the kind of people you’d want to see taking care of your child. 

You’d have to look for you next meal elsewhere. 

[germvity]

RISES THE MOON

leon s kennedy x reader // 8 // two-way mirrors

"ah..!" he sighs, letting you off as you swallow. "good boy. you feel okay?" you ask softly, fingers tracing lines on his outer thighs. leon nods, drowsy from his intense peak. "good, this trial will probably last for a little while longer and i wanna see how many times i can make you cum." you grin as leon whimpers.

tags: protective!reader in this one, david being a bully 3.0, fighting (physical and verbal), leon being a sub part 2, smooches, he's a simp for you pls

warnings: fighting (physical and verbal), mild smut, hurt/comfort

sorry this chapters late i was writing a lot theres like-- 7 drafts in here 😭 enjoy!

---

you wake up with leon curled around you. memories of yesterday came back to you, and you can't help but smile. leon was truly smitten with you after it, clinging to you like butter on bread. "leon~.." your voice is soft as you comb your fingers through his hair. the blonde mumbles slightly, nuzzling your collarbone as he exhales slowly. "come on, wake up for me. trials will start soon." you purr, gently tapping his cheek. "mmn. y/n?" leon yawns, tightening his hold on you. "be a good boy and wake up for me." you tease, watching leon's ears turn red as he whines. "stop..."

you giggle, kissing his head softly as he stretches. "sleep well?" you grin, letting him kiss you before nodding. "i haven't slept like that in years." he jokes, his nose kissing your neck as he cuddles into you. "i'm not surprised that you slept so well, you went for about 4 rounds." you tease as he makes a small embarrassed noise. "what? you don't like being my good boy?" you tease, and he shoves your shoulder slightly. "shut up.." leon pouts, and you chuckle, kissing him sweetly.

melting into your lips, leon hums into your mouth as he tilts his head for you. "good boy." you smile when you pull away, admiring his soft blush and slightly parted lips. "knock it off-.." he huffs, sitting up and shuddering when your fingernails traced soft lines over the hickeys on his back. "you did so well for me." you breathe, and leon hums softly, back arching into your touch. leaning forward, you kiss one of the hickey's softly, making him jump. "sorry, you're too tempting." you smile, kissing his shoulder.

leon's back is to you, but you can just tell how flustered he is at your attention. "aww, is my baby embarrassed?" you tease, and leon groans slightly as you press down on one of the hickeys. "please-.." he mumbles, but you tut. "not now, we have to get ready for trials." you smile, kissing his neck softly. "you're so mean." he fauns hurt as he leans back onto you, placing his forearm over his eyes dramatically. "oh hush, you might get a treat tonight." you grin, kissing his jaw.

leon seems satisfied with your answer, getting up to get dressed. a bell tomes, signalling that trials will be beginning shortly, so you join leon in getting ready. "need anything?" you ask, rummaging through your items. "no, i'll be alright." leon smiles, grabbing your hand to get your attention. "for good luck?" he asks, and you catch on immediately. smiling, you give leon a soft kiss as black fog rolls in to collect you both.

unluckily, the two of you start separated. in fact, all of the survivors were separated. cursing, you step over to a generator, starting it up carefully. a yell catches your attention, and you stand slightly, turning to look over your shoulder for the source of the noise. silence. sighing, you turn back to your generator, connecting the wires carefully. nea finds you, giving you a small smile as she crouches next to you. "y/n, long time no see." she teases, and you glance at her with a polite smile. "yeah... how is everything?" you ask, not really that interested in knowing about the survivor camp. "eh, same old. david's still a tyrant." she sighs, falling silent before murmuring a small. "and i miss you."

you sigh at her confession, not knowing how to respond as your dull eyes stare at the belly of the generator. "will you ever come back if we manage to knock david off his pedestal?" she asks, trying not to seem hopeful. "i can't... i'm sorry." you sigh, falling silent once more. "oh.." she mumbles, and it was clear she still had feelings for you. "i just... really miss you." nea breathes out, and you nod. "i know... i just... me and.." you take a breath and turn to nea. "i'm seeing leon.." you whisper to her, and she seems so hurt. "what?" her hands are trembling and you're nervous she'll fuck up the generator.

"i'm sorry... he just.. cares for me, a lot." you sigh, looking back to your hands. "and i don't?!" the rebel yells, standing from the generator. "shh..! i'm sorry! it's just... we weren't official, nea." you huff, standing to soothe her. sniffling, nea storms away, and you sigh. "nea wait..!" you want to go after her when another yell comes from around the corner. furrowing your brows, you decide to leave your gen, not caring that ruin was currently eating away at it's progress. upon following the source, you see david standing over leon, a foot on his throat and a bloodied stick in his hand. "leon!" you yelp, charging david off of him. "you fucking whores! i hate you both!" david snaps as you struggle to get the heavy stick from his grasp. "you ruined everything!" the fighter growls, pushing you away to try and hit you.

quickly, you evade his swing and snap a sharp piece of metal off of a nearby hook. "david, please." you try to reason, arming yourself and not caring if it cut your hand. "y/n..!" leon rasps, trying to get to you. "stay there, leon." you demand, keeping david's focus on you. "you fucker, i swear. all you had to do was not say no-!" he swings, and on instinct, your sharp metal finds his throat. spluttering, david drops his weapon and grabs the metal, falling to his knees. you gasp, ignoring the way his blood had splattered onto your face as david collapses. the fighter gurgles, and you glance at leon, seeing his broken form. grabbing the stick, anger fuels you as you bludgeon david brutally.

gasping at the small whimpers, your attention shifts to leon, his hazy eyes are fluttering closed as he looks away from you. "leon!" you scramble to his side, cradling him in your arms. an ugly bruise blooms on his throat as he coughs sharply, blood seeping down his face. "y/n..?" he mumbles, clutching you tightly. "hey, it's okay, you're okay! tell me what happened, baby." you smile, ignoring your shaky hands as you hold his hand tightly.

"i was working on opening a chest, and he just-..." leon pauses to cough again, and you hush him softly, rocking him carefully. "he hit me, and tried to choke me and-." leon can't finish as his eyelids flutter. "hey, hey..! open your eyes for me, it's okay..!" you breathe out, your tears dripping onto his face and mixing with his blood. "it hurts.." he admits, managing to keep his eyes open for you. "i know baby, i know." you sigh, looking around for nea. the rebel stood nearby, clearly terrified of the situation, but she clutched a med kit tightly.

"nea, please help him!" you beg, and she sighs softly. moving over to you, nea crouches and unzips the med kit. "i can't stay mad at you... i'm no monster." she smiles, pressing some antiseptic onto his gash. leon whimpers, and you hush him, easing your rocking so nea could heal him. the antiseptic gives him a bit of oomph to sit up slightly, letting nea bandage the gash on his forearm where he had defended himself. "you poor thing.." you gush through tears, gently stroking his face with your hand. nea's hands freeze at your words, but she keeps going despite her own feelings. "thank you so much nea.. i owe you big time." you sigh as she presses a small needle full of red liquid into his arm. "yeah, you do." she smiles despite her watery eyes.

"i'm sorry that we didn't work, but despite us being separate.. can we still be friends?" you ask softly, and nea nods. "of course." she smiles, wiping her tears away as she hugs you tightly. "thank you.." you smile, hugging her back despite leon being squished between the two of you. heartbeats pick up as the killer approaches, and nea pulls away. "shit.." you mumble, grabbing leon's hands. "can you stand..?" you ask softly, and the officer nods slightly. "i think so.." he says, still holding you tightly as you help him stand. "come on, we gotta go." you usher leon away from the scene, but ghostface cuts you off.

"jesus christ, what happened here?" he laughs, voice modulator crackling. "leon, stay behind me." you mumble, stepping in front of the blonde protectively. "damn, relax cutie. i'm in a good mood today so i'll give you time to run." the killer is masked, but you could tell he was smiling. quickly, you push leon the other way, staying behind him as he runs. footsteps gain on you, and you grunt as the ghostface's knife slashes against your back. you split up from leon, vaulting the killer shack's window adeptly. "fuck, i hate this place." the killer grumbles, climbing through the window clumsily. "good! get used to it!" you snap, darting out the door.

you keep him there for two gens, and he huffs, leaving agitated as the third one pops. you sigh, resetting the shack pallet carefully before heading off in the other direction. "y/n!" leon calls, and you turn to see him ushering you over. "leon, are you alright?" you ask, jogging over as you cup his face with your hands to inspect him. "i'm feeling better yeah, those syringes are good shit." he chuckles, and you smile, giving him a soft kiss. "i'm glad you're feeling better." you say, grabbing his hand to lead him to another generator. "come on, let's try and get out of here." you say, crouching before the generator.

"i saw you looping ghostface.." leon trails off, and you glance at him. "it was hot." your blonde grins, and you laugh slightly. "thanks, maybe i can teach you a thing or two." you chuckle, grinding on the generator as nea pops danny's ruin. "let's go!" you smile, letting go of the gen to kiss leon lovingly. he gasps, letting go of the generator too. "y/n..!" he whines, grabbing the wires once more. "sorry, but letting go of a gen every now and then feels good." you smile, brushing his hair out of his face.

finishing the generators was easy as nea now keeps the aggravated killer on her tail, and you lead leon to the gates. luckily, your spine chill managed to carry you in small bursts to 99 the gate, and the two of you wait for nea to find you both. "so.. while we wait-..." you tease, pulling leon's jacket to kiss him. "open the fucking gate!" nea calls, and you look over to see her hauling ass towards the two of you. "got it!" leon calls, opening it quickly and pushing the two of you to safety.

the three of you cheer as danny storms off, angry at his loss. "take that you tosser!" you yell through the thorns as leon pulls you into him for a kiss. "gross..!" nea fake gags, and you roll your eyes. "hey, before we split... are we good?" you ask, and nea nods. "as long as we can kick ass in trials, we're good." she smiles, hugging you once more before waving and heading off to the survivor camp. leon seems confused, going to ask you what was going on but you cut him off. "come on, let's go relax before any more trials." you smile, pulling him along to your shack.

[glassartpeasants]

Like Father, Like Son

Overhaul x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, unhealthy/toxic relationships, child abuse, mentions of needles

A/N: This is a post based on a head cannon made by @yandereacademia which you can see here. I promise I will continue the DDLC AU but I needed to get this angst outta my system because I’ve been really stressed lately lol. Also the original storyline is kinda bumped up to fit the story

~~~

The only reason you were with the sociopath called Overhaul is because of a stupid mistake you made about 5 months ago. If you could go back in time you would’ve never drank that much until you were blackout drunk. You had somehow managed to sleep with the germophobic man after you both crossed paths when you both were blackout drunk. Which leaded where you are now. In the Shie Hassakai base, pregnant with his child. 

Once you showed him the test he demanded- no, MADE you quit your old job ad live in the base with him. Not in his room of course.Who knows what germs you could be carrying! You don’t get special treatment even if you are the mother of his child. And If we’re being honest, he doesn’t really see it as his child. More like an heir. How else would the Shie Hassakai live on? 

He doesn’t even see you that often. He sends either Chrono or Mimic to look after you. Sometimes Setsuno. You liked Setsuno since he actually treated you like a human rather than a burden. Chrono was a bit better than mimic. Mimic was just a plain ass. 

Your entire pregnancy was all about check ups. Healthy food, did I mention checkups? It was almost every Tuesday and Friday that he made you come into a little doctors room and inspect you and give you ultrasounds. You felt more like an incubator rather than a mother, but you digress. Once you got the news that the child was a boy you bet your ass Overhaul was way more worried about you than he originally was.

You wanted to run really. You saw what horrible things Overhaul had done. You didn’t want your child to end up like Eri or to turn into a shit human being like Overhaul. You wanted your child to grow up compassionate and kind, not a stone cold murderer with no remorse for human life.

Maybe once your child is born you can teach him those things in secret...

~~~

2 years after the child is born

You were right, Overhaul wanted nothing to do with the baby until it was old enough to be taught the ways of the yakuza. He wasn’t even impressed when the baby started talking and walking! You wanted to yell, scream, argue, and just hurt the man in general. A child needs support, not a unimpressed look everytime they do an accomplishment. 

You always supported your son. Showing him how proud you were whenever he handed you a drawing of him and you. Overhaul barely even saw the kid which affected him to the point where the kid didn’t even draw him in pictures.

You were happy that your baby didn’t see/look up to Overhaul as a fatherly figure. Man didn’t deserve to be called one or be one. You were worried if Overhaul would use your son as a experiment like he was using Eri.  

Speaking of Eri, you finally convinced Overhaul to let you see her and comfort her after he used her for the bullets. She was such a sweetie and especially loved how you would sing her to sleep whenever she has a bad day. You didn’t get to see her a lot, but you did what you could when you did. If only you could make Overhaul see what he was doing to everyone around him...

~~~

Your son just turned 8

Everyday your son looked more and more liked his father. Not to mention he inherited Overhaul’s quirk It wouldn’t have bothered you that much if it weren’t for the fact that he started looking up to his father. Whenever your so was getting put to bed by you, he would always tell you about how much he wanted to be the next leader. He would tell you how he watched Overhaul to paperwork, sat next to him in meetings and such. The finally straw for you was when he told you that Overhaul let him use his quirk on a living breathing human being. To say you were furious was an understatement. All you saw was red. 

You smiled at the boy before pressing a kiss to his head and walking out his door while whispering goodnight before your started your expedition to give Overhaul a piece of your mind. You’ve stayed quiet for to long. You couldn’t just let him expose your child to such violence at such a young age! All you saw was red as you walked to his office door. Giving it a harsh knock you were allowed entry.

Upon entering you notice that you are the only one there with him. Just the two of you. You were afraid yes, but your anger out did it.

“Did you seriously let our son use his quirk on someone at such a young age?! He’s only 8! He doesn’t need to be exposed so early!” You yelled at him with your hands on your hips. You knew if you pointed at him you could say goodbye to that finger.

“He’s going to be the next leader. It’s only natural to start him off early. And I don’t remember giving you a say in the matter.” His voice cold and stoic but a hint of annoyance caught your ears.

“8 is way to early! Please Overhaul, Just give me 2-3 more years without him experiencing what you do.” You begged him. Tears threatened to spill from your eyes. You only wanted what was best for your son. Your heart stopped when you heard Overhaul get up from his desk and his footsteps come near your now slightly shaking form.

“Bold of you to assume I would let him miss out on very needed skills to become the next leader. We both know that if it weren’t for him, you would have been dead the second i found out I slept with you. That boy is the only thing that kept you alive. So, from now on, I expect you to never come to my face. Talking about him needing to be kind and compassionate, is not the way of the yakuza. One more incident like this, than I’ll make him kill you myself.” Your eyes widened as you looked at the man in front of you. You can feel your blood run cold in your veins as it circulates through your body. Tears streaked down your face as you felt so defeated. Your entire body felt like you’ve been crushed by a car. 

You turned around and walked out the door and into your room. Locking the door your jumped onto your bed, grabbing the pillow before screaming into it. Your tears stained the pillow case as your body shook. You felt so hopeless and so helpless. Where was a hero when you truly needed one?

~~~

The next day

You were just finished changing before your son barged into your room. You were about to say good morning to him before he started screaming at you. Shocked you told him to calm down, but in the corner of your eye you saw the purple feathers that you have learned to fear walk by.

“What are you saying? Please calm down!” You say as you try to soothe your screaming child.

“How dare you try and take me away from dad! Dad told me everything!” Your son flailed his arms up and down while stomping on the ground. His screams soon turned incoherent.

“Baby! I would never-”

“Liar! Dad told me that you wanted to leave him! He said that you thought he didn’t deserve a son!” You didn’t say that what was he on?! You only wanted to protect him! You loved your son to the point you would die for him! What had Overhaul said to him!

“Please sweetie calm down-”

“No! I never want to talk to you again!” Your son ran out the door before slamming it shut. Your heart felt shattered as you heard Overhauls voice on the other side, ’calming’ your distressed son. You felt your world crumbling around you as your son was the only thing that kept you happiness in these dark times. Him and Eri. Oh Eri, if he grows up that means...

You felt vomit rise in your throat at the thought of your own son hurting such a sweet, innocent, little girl. You fall to your knees as tears spill down your cheeks. You couldn’t just run away from the Shie Hassakai ever. The base is fully guarded, and has high max security cameras. Not to mention the probability of them finding you and your son right away. If you even tried, you would probably get you and your son hurt. Maybe even little Eri. 

Your whole body felt numb. You just wished it was a horrible nightmare.

~~~

5 months later

As the weeks pass by, you felt your hurt break more and more everyday. Your son had kept his word when he said he ever wanted to talk to you again. You haven’t heard your baby's voice since that day. Hell, now you barely even see him! You see Eri more than your actual son now. ANd seeing Eri was not that often.

You felt hopeless. You wanted nothing more to do than crawl in a hole and die. Every night was spent crying over your son and how your life and gone so down hill so quickly. You didn’t even feel like moving. You just sat in the corner of the room since it felt like the only warm spot in the entire room. This little corner felt like some sort of sanctuary in this horrible place you call home. 

~~~

Your son just turned 13

Day whatever of the last time your son talked to you. And day whatever since you’ve left your room. You had no reason anymore. Overhaul officially banished you from ever seeing Eri again. Your world was crushed once more. At this point you felt like your whole existence was useless. 

Your days grew darker by the minute as your mental health seemed to be slipping through your fingers. You only ever moved when you needed to go to the bathroom or to drag the food plate that was brought to you by some employee of Overhaul. You barely ate anything anyways so you really saw no point in doing anything anymore. 

It only hurt more knowing that today was his birthday. You had asked the employee that brought you food if he had a party or just something to celebrate. You felt the last of your hope crushed once you heard his answer.

“The only thing he got was a official Shie Hassakai mask.”

~~~

Your son turned 15

You body was weak. You had refused to eat anything seeing no point in it anymore. You were always tired. Only getting up to go to the bathroom then sitting back in the corner that once gave you sanctuary. 

You heard footsteps on the outside of your door as the familiar voice of Overhaul was on the other side. Another voice rang in your ears and it hit you like a train once you realized who’s it was. It was your sons. His voice was so much deeper than the little boy’s you had once heard. It only deepened your sadness. You blinked but didn’t even turn your eyes once you heard the door opening. 

“We can test the serum out on her first. She’s too weak to fight back.”

“I didn’t know my mother had a quirk.” You couldn’t even make your eyes turn to look at them. You didn’t want to see the monster your son had become. Your heart couldn’t take anymore heartbreak, You felt like you would crumble into nothing.

You felt a light get shine into your eyes. You didn’t even blink during it. Once the light was gone you got a clear look at your once loving son. A mask covered his face just like his fathers did. He looked you in the eyes and you did the same. You wanted to cry but held it down. 

A latex hand grabbed your arm before you felt the needle being poked into it. You didn’t even flinch or wince. Almost as if you were a lifeless doll. A hand moved up and down your face as if to see if you were even alive or ‘there’.

“She isn’t responding to anything. She didn’t even wince. She’s breathing but she looks like she’s sick.” All that was one ear and out the other. Finally you felt the needle leave your arm as a sigh escaped Overhaul’s lips. 

“Well wait for about an hour or two and see the effects. For now, we have to do more tests on Eri. Lets go.” So...he was apart of the team experimenting on Eri. You felt like throwing up. How could the boy who you raised to be kind and compassionate turn into such a disgusting monster.

The sound of their footsteps leaving the room hit your ears. From the corner of your eye you say your son about to leave before you spoke up,

“You are not my son.” You saw him stop in his tracks as he turned to look at you. His eyes a bit wide but said nothing.

“I never want to hear you call me your mother ever again. Your a monster undeserving of one. I can’t believe I gave birth to someone like you. I never want ot see your face again.” In your monotone words they’re were spikes laced in venom. You couldn’t even look your own son in the eyes. As they we’re the same as his monster of a father. 

“Get out of my room and never come back.” You heard him close the door slowly as you let out a breath once you finally saw him gone. You can barely stand to see the monster your child had become. But, you didn’t see nor hear the way his breathing became ragged. Or how his eyes felt like spilling tears. Or how his body slowly shook at your words. 

‘It shouldn’t hurt. This shouldn’t hurt me. Why does it hurt so bad? Please stop it. Her words shouldn’t affect me. Why does it hurt?’