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dr-futbol-blog · 8 days ago

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Conversion, Pt. 13

We then find Sheppard unconscious on a bed in the infirmary with Weir, Beckett and Caldwell watching him from a distance. A nurse is tending to him, seeming to inject something into his system. His left hand is now the same as his right hand was earlier, blackened and shriveled, and he is bound to the bed with restraints.

Beckett: I put him in a medically-induced coma for now. I was afraid he might break through the restraints. Caldwell: That's a good call, Doctor. Weir: So what now? Beckett: The retrovirus has wreaked havoc on his system and it's taking over.

Weir seems to think that it is good to keep Sheppard under so that he will not be able to hurt others or himself in his current state. But at the same time, they have removed Sheppard's agency and forced him to relinquish the control that he desperately to clings to when he is himself. As Weir seems to lack a deeper understanding of McKay, he also does not truly know John Sheppard (yet). Beckett's decision may also have been spurned by the guilt he personally feels for having been responsible for Sheppard's current condition. The oath he has taken is to first do not harm, but he seems to have opted to do what he thinks will cause the least harm in the situation without any input from Sheppard. Yes, Sheppard is out and cannot participate in this discussion but they are literally having this conversation over his head.

Weir: What does that mean? Beckett: It means if we don't find a way to stop the retrovirus in the next twenty-four hours, what's left of the John Sheppard we know will be gone.

His choice of words, "the John Sheppard we know," is fortuitous. The John Sheppard they know is just a slice of the man John Sheppard is, and none of them even really tried to find out what the virus was actually doing to him beyond his physical symptoms, having an interest in what he was thinking and feeling. Trusting his judgement under the circumstances was not an option, but treating him humanely might have been. And Weir approaching him with questions like "How are you feeling?" was not her actually trying to find out how he was, they were merely feel-good bromides and Sheppard knew it. She was not interested in how he was doing, she just wanted to hear him tell her that he was fine because Weir seems almost as bad with feelings and expressing them as Sheppard is himself.

Some time later, and it is possible Weir had left the infirmary right away to let them hear the news on Sheppard's condition, we find her joining McKay, Teyla and Ronon in some nook of the commissary. Teyla and McKay are seated at the table where Ronon is leaning against a railing of some kind. McKay is eating but it does not seem like he has much of an appetite, which tells us something. He is able to eat frozen dinners unthawed but is having trouble swallowing what ever soup he is moving around with his spoon. Later on, in Tao of Rodney (S03E14), Ronon comments on the fact that McKay eats all the time, his observation drawing from moments such as this. Sheppard suggests that he is feeding his unhappiness, that food is something that he turns to when he wants to feel better. But here, he is so unhappy that he can barely even eat to keep his blood sugar stable.

They are not talking, and it seems as though they have not been talking for a while, merely sitting together in silence with nothing to say. The three of them are the ones that spend the most amount of time in Sheppard's company, and so they are leaning to each other for comfort, trying to find strength in each other to get them through this. Sheppard is different things to all three of them, but he is obviously important to them all.

Weir: You guys are up late. McKay: Can't sleep either?

It is late. McKay flat out admits that he cannot sleep knowing where Sheppard is. McKay's voice is hoarse when he asks the question. But notice that he is somewhat surprised that Weir should be losing sleep over this. He understands Teyla and Ronon, they are in this together. McKay does not want to be alone right now, does not think that he should be left alone right now, because trying to hold himself together for the others is actually the only thing keeping him from falling apart. He appreciates that Weir would care enough to be losing sleep over this. But while McKay really wants to know how Sheppard is doing, he cannot bring himself to ask the question, too afraid of what the answer might be. And like she often has had to do for Sheppard, Teyla picks up the question for him.

Teyla: Any progress? Weir: No. He's still in a coma. At least he isn't in any pain.

McKay was looking up at Weir as she entered, perhaps hoping against hope for some good news. As soon as Weir mentions that Sheppard is still in a coma McKay looks down, away from her. Hiding his expression, focusing on the spoon. Note that we, the audience, do not get to see McKay's face here either. The camera cuts away for a considerably long time, showing us only Weir and Dex. And McKay's feelings are not hidden just from the audience, he is attempting to the best of his ability to keep them from the other characters as well.

Dex: Maybe if I went alone, maybe... Weir: It's not open for discussion. Dex: I'm not good at sitting still. Weir: I understand. Believe me, I appreciate how you feel.

Ronon has known Sheppard the least amount of time, and he seems to be feeling helpless and at a loss of what to do. Weir tells him that she appreciates how he feels, possibly referring to his confession that he needs to do something. But perhaps she is referring to all of it, the uncertainty, confusion, helplessness, guilt, apprehension, even anger that the loved ones of the comatose and dying feel. She can appreciate and understand how Ronon feels. But she has no idea how McKay is feeling. Weir has no concept of how McKay, whose mother very likely died of a protracted illness in his youth while he had to watch her wither away feels, as the clock is ticking down endless seconds of time running out for the person he loves most in this world. And again, this is true regardless of how you interpret the nature of their relationship.

Barring Ronon, all of the others have other people in their lives that are important to them. We have been told, in no uncertain terms, that McKay and Sheppard have only each other. Weir cannot appreciate how McKay feels because even McKay is unable to appreciate how he feels in this moment. Like Sheppard had been when the iratus bug had attached itself to his neck, he was in so much pain that it was making him numb and he would not even be able to feel what he is feeling until much later on. The real pain would only come later, when he was alone and there was no one to see it. Out of all of them, it is Teyla that seems to have some idea of what McKay must be going through, able to extend her empathy to him.

Weir: Look, we have closed down that section of the Infirmary but if you feel the need to... What I mean to say is, if you would like to have a private good-bye, you should probably do it soon.

The maintext interpretation is that Weir is offering all of them, Sheppard's team, the chance to say good-bye to him (which, let us recall, is not something that Sheppard ever wants to do), that the three of them could go there together to have a moment. But it is McKay that needs privacy for this, because he is the would-be widower. McKay is the one that might have things to say to Sheppard that are not meant for the ears of others. Note that as Weir suggests this for them, Teyla looks at McKay. He is checking up on McKay. And while McKay notices the look, he probably appreciates that she looks at him with such compassion, he still has to look away. He has to hide what he is feeling even from her.

McKay: Are we really there? Weir: I think we might be.

McKay's voice breaks as he asks Weir if this is really it, and we see him blinking away tears like we had once before after they discovered that Sheppard had survived transporting a nuke onto a hive ship in The Siege (S02E01). He blinks twice and it is after he looks back at Weir that we see his eyes have teared up. It is literally a blink-and-you'll-miss-it moment, interrupted by Beckett suddenly hailing them on the radio. McKay is so good at keeping his emotions concealed, has a lifetime of practice of not letting other people see how deeply he hurts that you can entirely overlook the breaking of his heart here. Something in him dies when Weir tells him that Sheppard is done for, and it is difficult to see if you do not know what to look for. Because the deeper McKay hurts, the more still and quiet he becomes. If he has a splinter in his hand, he will let the whole world know about it. When his whole world comes crashing down, you will not see him flinch.

Beckett: Doctor Weir, I need to speak to you immediately. Weir: What is it? Beckett: Meet me in your office. I think I have an idea.

They all get up immediately, Teyla, Ronon and McKay joining Weir to hear what Beckett has come up with without any further discussion. It may not be enough to get their hopes up but at least it is something for them to do. Because McKay was seated furthest into the room he was the last to leave the commissary, but we may note that he is the first after Weir to arrive at the command centre. He is keeping very close to her and Beckett, not wanting to miss anything they are saying.

Beckett: I'm sorry, it just came to me. The fact that his mutation has progressed as far as it has may be his salvation. Weir: Explain that.

Beckett calls Sheppard's condition a mutation and while it may be accurate, it does once more connect what is taking place to the X-Men and their use of mutants as an allegory for the persecution of gay people. Ellia's desire to cure herself of her wraithness is a storyline straight form the comics. However, in this episode they are not seeking to cure Sheppard of wraithness, they are trying to combat his guilt, his fear and other dark emotions that have been festering inside him for too long. And it is interesting that Beckett suggests that it is the fact that Sheppard is close to hitting rock bottom, is smack in the middle of the dark night of his soul that may yet save him. The only way out is through.

Beckett: His sweat glands are actually producing trace amounts of their signature pheromone. Weir: And? Beckett: When we were in the cave, those bugs knew we didn't belong there, so they didn't really fancy us getting close to their nest.

First of all, we get an actual mention of pheromones and their influence. Sheppard is now producing the iratus pheromone, and we are told that it is specifically produced by the sweat glands. Earlier, Sheppard had been around both Ronon and Teyla as the two of them had been sweating, leading up to him acting erratically both times but especially with Teyla. But note also the mention that the bugs did not fancy the humans close to their nest because they knew that they did not belong there. This is precisely what had happened when Weir walked into Sheppard's room earlier. She did not belong there, and he did not fancy that. We did not get to see what would have happened if it had been Teyla instead. And we get no inkling whatsoever what would have happened had it been McKay. But it sure seemed like Sheppard was looking for him earlier.

McKay: Whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa-whoa. I see where you're going with this. If we can artificially create the pheromone, it might be able to confuse them enough to leave us alone. Beckett: Aye, that would work. McKay: Well, that's an excellent plan, Carson!

Note that McKay is the first to grasp Beckett's idea, and it is not just because he is the most intelligent and the quickest thinker of them all. It is because his entire mind has been working on saving Sheppard ever since they found out about this, all of his resources on how to solve this particular problem. And it is as though suddenly he is alive again, he is almost giddy with the possibility that there might be something they can try. He is willing to grasp at any straw he can find.

Beckett: Aye, I wish it was. Dex: You can't do that in time. Beckett: No, it'd take days. Weir: But you said Sheppard only had twenty-four hours before the damage the retrovirus was causing him would be irreparable. Beckett: Exactly. McKay: Well, then, that's a terrible plan, Carson!

Here, McKay's responses to Beckett's explanation are played out for comedy. There is a comedic beat to his delivery. But what happens is that Beckett gets his hopes up and then snatches that hope right out from underneath him. McKay looks at Weir as he says this, still clearly trying to process what Weir had just said about Sheppard having 24 hours left. He can feel the clock running down and he has no time for inane chatter so unless Beckett has something to actually offer them, he is not going to waste his time here for much longer. Even though it might destroy him, he would much rather spend those hours by Sheppard's comatose body.

Beckett: There's only one person on this base that wouldn't need the artificial pheromone. Weir: Sheppard?! Beckett: He could walk right in that cave and those bugs wouldn't pay him any mind. McKay: I'm not sure if you've noticed or not, but Colonel Sheppard's not feeling very well.

Note the way McKay enunciates Colonel Sheppard here, forced to call him by his title while they are in public and in full view of the staff. The fact that he calls Carson Carson in this scene not once but twice just once more calls attention to his choice of what to call Sheppard. The way he says it might also contain more than a bit of attitude toward Weir just having called him "Sheppard," and it definitely seems like both Sheppard and McKay have a lot of feelings related to this naming thing.

It is interesting that Weir looks at McKay here, for some kind of confirmation. It is obvious that they are talking about Sheppard, so her need to confirm something with McKay has to be something other than the identity of who Beckett is referring to. And it is also notable that here, McKay takes it upon himself to talk for Sheppard, to advocate for him. Beckett is Sheppard's MD but for some reason McKay feels like he needs to remind Beckett of the condition Sheppard is in. And furthermore, this also hints at the fact that McKay knows how Sheppard is, has some insight into his condition that cannot be explained by the maintext where the last time McKay had seen Sheppard was when he was having his splinter removed at the beginning of the episode.

Also important is the fact that McKay is the only one of them that has spent any time thinking about how Sheppard must be feeling after he started turning into a bug. Both Beckett and Weir tried to empathize with him when he first learned about his condition but here, and even before with Caldwell, McKay shows that he cares about how Sheppard is feeling right now. What ever might be happening to Sheppard, he is still Sheppard to him. And because Sheppard is unable to advocate for himself, McKay takes it upon himself. While McKay is neither able nor allowed to make medical decisions for Sheppard, he is certainly not going to allow them to do anything stupid or dangerous to him either.

Beckett: He stopped taking the inhibitor we were administering. It was able to keep him lucid. Weir: I thought its effectiveness had worn off. Beckett: True. But I believe if we give him another massive dose, he may be clear-headed enough to complete the mission before we lose him completely.

It is interesting that, according to Beckett, Sheppard had stopped taking the inhibitor. We were told that his body was mutating but the inhibitor was what was keeping his mind lucid, allowed him to retain his sense of self, his humanity, his thoughts and memories. Weir suggests that the effectiveness was wearing off which would mean that Sheppard had been losing himself incrementally but Beckett makes it sound as though he had made a decision not to do it anymore. Left alone with nothing but his thoughts is how Sheppard punishes himself, and being so confined in the place that he loved, by the people he loved, becoming more of a threat to the people he wants to protect by the moment had to have been torture to him. It was not Sheppard's body that was in pain but his mind. There had to have been a point at which declining the inhibitor must have felt like relief.

McKay: Yeah, but won't giving him that much inhibitor, like... Beckett: Kill him? Yes, it's a definite possibility. Even if I knew it was for certain, I'd be tempted to offer him one last hour of lucidity. Weir: Do it. Gear up, take him as far as the cave.

Years later in The Shrine (S05E04), their roles are reversed and they are standing in the same office having the same discussion about McKay, about taking him into a cave where he might have his final moments of lucidity. Ronon tells them about about the cave that had allowed his grandfather to become lucid enough to hold his wife in his arms and share a meal with the people that he loved. And then they lead McKay into this cave while he is literally in Sheppard's arms and further cocooned within his leather jacket the whole way there. Sheppard had once asked Ronon if he had a wife (Sunday, S03E17), and he told him she had been "close enough". Where McKay is suffering from the same ailment that Ronon's grandfather had died from, it is easy to see who bears the role of his grandmother in all of it. Sheppard and McKay are each other's "close enough".

It is McKay's sister that they called in to make the final decision on what to do with McKay as he was dying, and it is Weir that makes the call here. He gives Beckett the go-ahead and he orders McKay and the rest of the team to accompany Sheppard to the cave. The fact that McKay is not in the position to make medical decisions for Sheppard, and later on Sheppard has no say in what is done to McKay was very much a part of the problem, was among the reasons for exploring this subtext on the show. Sheppard and McKay may love each other all day long, they may be the most significant people in each other's lives, but there is no official recognition of the bond that is deeper than words between them. Fates such as this were among the most important reasons that people fought so hard to achieve recognition for same-sex relationships and marriage equality.*

McKay seems lost here. He does not know what to do, what to think, how to feel. Of course having Sheppard back for one hour is better than never having him back at all, but that hour is going to be torture at the same time. The last thing Sheppard wants is to say good-bye and McKay knows this about him by now. He knows now what Sheppard had meant with the words "So long, Rodney," back when McKay had first thought that his heart was breaking when he had not yet known anything about real pain. We see McKay look at Weir before she gives her go-ahead, and we do not know whether Weir saw his look, whether she responded to it. Whether she acknowledged his role in all of this. But the fact that how they would spend their final hours together would depend entirely on the kindness and understanding of their director was very much a part of the problem.

Next, while the team are gearing up for the mission, we find Weir and Beckett back in the infirmary watching Sheppard wake up from his medically induced coma. A thing to note is this: like we saw in The Siege (S02E01) when Weir was walking toward Sheppard and Sheppard was looking around trying to find someone else, he does the same thing here. He can see (and not only see but also hear) Weir and Beckett to his right but ass he wakes up, his eyes are searching for someone on his left. That is his first thought upon waking up, looking for someone he expects to be there. And this will not be the last time that Sheppard wakes up in a hospital looking for that same someone to be by his bedside only to not find him there. Let us also recall that the last time that McKay was unconscious in the infirmary, Sheppard was there waiting for him to come to.

Weir: John? John. Hey. You're in the Infirmary. Beckett: Sorry about the headache. It's a side effect of the inhibitor.

At the end of Tabula Rasa (S04E06), Sheppard wakes up not to find McKay by his bed with only Ronon and Teyla there to welcome him to the land of the living. His immediate thought is that something must have happened to McKay. McKay must be severely injured, sick or dead not to be by his bedside. Teyla tells him that many people died from the same illness that had claimed him, and he immediately wanted to know where Mckay was. And already here, where his first thought was to look for someone, his second thought is about whether he hurt anyone. Whether he hurt the person that he was looking for when he escaped his quarters. Because he could probably remember the clearly overpowering need to find him, to get to him, but he cannot remember if he ever reached his target. Yes, there were other people there and yes, he did hurt some of his own men. But that is not why it is the first thing he says.

Sheppard: Did I hurt anyone? Weir: No, not seriously. Sheppard: Did Ronon shoot me? Weir: You had it coming.

Let's put a pin on what Sheppard asks here because it may be relevant as to why this episode is called "conversion," there is a reference here to another thing one of the creators (Brad Wright) had written previously that I will discuss in more detail with the conclusion of the episode.

Important here is that just as soon as Sheppard regains his own sense of self, he is thinking about others, he is thinking about protecting them. He thinks of others first and himself second, which we can see very clearly here. Also, as he asks Weir whether Ronon shot him, trying to get confirmation for the fact that his memory of the events is correct, Weir both makes it into a joke and tries to lessen the impact, thinking that Sheppard is feeling upset about someone close to him having taken a shot at him. But Sheppard does not seem upset about it, does not sound upset in the least. He is looking for confirmation. Because if Ronon had shot him when he himself had posed a threat to McKay, then Ronon had been doing exactly what Sheppard had wanted him to do. He had brought Ronon on to protect McKay from everything, including himself. Good man. And Weir had further good news for him:

Weir: Look, we don't have a lot of time. This dose of the inhibitor drug will only last about an hour. How would you like to go on a mission?

Weir was still asking stupid questions, it seems. Of course he would like to go on a mission. He had told her that he should have been with them from the start. Only, he is well aware that it is going to be much more dangerous now. Ronon may have been the only thing that had kept him from getting to McKay earlier. And now he had to put all of his trust on him to be able to do it again if it came down to it. It was not just McKay he was having to learn how to trust during this ordeal.

Continued in Pt. 14

The Shrine (S04E04) is 100% about this exact thing:

Lisa, Janice's partner of nearly twenty years, collapsed aboard a cruise ship in Miami. Paramedics rushed Lisa to the hospital, where Janice impatiently waited for news of her partner's condition. She requested visitation with Lisa, but was refused access for eight hours. A hospital social worker informed Janice that since Florida was an "anti-gay state," Janice was not going to be allowed to see Lisa or know about her medical condition. Later that night when Lisa's sister arrived at the hospital, the hospital workers immediately told her where she could find Lisa for visitation. Lisa suffered an aneurysm and died later that night, without Janice or their adopted children's presence or comfort in her final hours of life. [source]

#sga #stargate atlantis #john sheppard #sga meta #sheppard is bi #rodney mckay #rodney is gay #mcshep #ep. conversion #ep. the shrine #ep. the siege #ep. tabula rasa #ep. sunday

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dark-angel-of-muses · 1 year ago

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Totally Nailed It

Legend didn’t remember it was his birthday until he came downstairs. Ravio had once again moved all the furniture against the walls without his permission, although he couldn’t find it in himself to be mad considering the displays of gifts and cake that replaced them. He could see all the gifts the Chain left. They were going to celebrate tomorrow. The day of his birthday, Ravio shooed them all out of the house so Legend didn’t have to worry about hosting.

“Oh, you’re awake Link! Perfect, I was just about done. Are you ready for a Ravio patented Birthday Luxury Retreat?” The merchant wiggled his eyebrows,

“How much of a retreat is it when we’re not leaving the house?” Legend jabbed.

Ravio waved him away, bouncing on the balls of his feet. “The verbage doesn’t matter, just sit down! I wanna start on your first present! Wild taught me this, so I hope I can do it right!” Legend was wary as he sat down. Wild taught him? Wild had a variety of skills, and he really hoped Ravio wasn’t about to burst into some Goron dance performance Wild had taken up from Death Mountain.

“Wild said Gerudo ladies pride themselves on body artistry, and the most delicate of all is..” Ravio left room for a dramatic pause, and his hands popped up with little glass jars of varying colors. “Nail art! Wild taught me a lot of cool designs I can do. I learned how to draw the symbols of your golden three, and Wild actually had a stencil for the Hyrule crest! I can try freehanding something else if that’s what you want, or we can do solid colors. It’s your day, so your wish is my command!” Ravio’s eyes sparkled in excitement.

A manicure? That certainly wasn’t what he was expecting. But if Ravi was going to offer to pamper him, who was he to say no?

“Can you alternate red, green, and blue, with Din, Farore, and Nayru on each color respectively?” It was a complicated request, but Ravio was already nodding in agreement and grinning ear to ear as he set out the colors and took Legend’s hands in his own.

Ravio was adorable as he focused, tongue poking out from his lips as he squinted at Legend’s nails. He wasn’t even anywhere close to the hard part yet, starting with a base coat to prime all the nails.

“Wild said if you go straight for a color coat, it's more likely to chip! He’s fine with that for flat colors because it's easy enough to add another coat, but all the designs should be protected to preserve the effort that went into them!”

Legend already knew proper nail procedure from his time in Hytopia, but it was a special kind of blessing to watch Ravio gush about something excitedly. The merchant would smile wide, showing off the hint of buck teeth as he bounced in place, hands gesticulating wildly as he talked.

As he pulled the brushes from the colored ink bottles, Legend took stock of the products. Based on the fact the glass was completely filled, and the brushes were completely black the first time Ravio dipped them in, these must be all new polishes. From the intricate designs and swirly Gerudo script on the bottles, he can only assume these were luxury products from the heart of Gerudo Town. A gift from Wild, then along with whatever he had left on the table in a blue package. He was going to have to thank the Champion when all this was said and done.

“Is there a reason you picked those goddesses?” Ravio started small talk as he was drawing the symbols in white paint with the smallest brush.

“Oh, there’s a saying about them. Din to give me the strength to challenge the day, Nayru to give me the wisdom to learn from my struggles, and Farore to give me the courage to step forward. Legend wasn’t particularly irreverent of the divine, but the saying wasn’t literally about asking for help. Fable had taught it to him after his first adventure, saying she liked to use it as a phrase of comfort when starting her day. He had just picked up the habit from her. It was a nice routine, something positive to latch onto. He figured it would be nice to have the saying on his nails, as a little reminder.

“Oh, that’s interesting.” Ravio paused between one nail and the next, humming in contemplation. “When our triforce was destroyed, so were the records of the goddesses that made it. Even when you and Zelda wished it back into existence, none of the history or religious practices magically could come back.”

“There’s nothing wrong with you taking some of ours,” Legend offered. “Who knows, maybe the same ones made your triforce originally.”

“Hmm, maybe I will. Lolia knows I could use your Goddess of Courage’s help.” Ravio laughed in self-deprecation, but it was light-hearted enough that Legend knew not to make a big deal out of it. He’d already told Ravio he was courageous enough on his own, and the merchant said he’d do his best to believe it. Legend trusted that to still be true.

“Done!” Ravio finished with a flourish.

“No you aren’t, you haven’t done a top coat!” Legend couldn’t help himself, looking at the full bottle of glossy finish sitting right next to them.

“Well yeah, ok, but,” Ravio huffed, cheeks puffing up, “I finished all the art. C’mon, take a look!”

Legend rolled his eyes, but did as asked. Ravio’s handiwork was impressive. The symbols were intricate, and difficult enough to draw on a flat surface with a lot of room. Ravio had done an excellent job making the shapes recognizable and clean. They were clearly hand-drawn, each repeat symbol a little different from the previous, but that added to their charm. It was clearly a work of love.

Careful not to move his hand too much for fear of the paint running, Legend looked over the patterns. Farore appeared four times, on the pinkie and index finger of both his hands. While that was just a reality from having three goddesses and ten fingers, it felt right. If he hadn’t had Courage, he never would have met all the people he did. Never would have welcomed Ravio into his home, or met the Chain on their whirlwind tour across time and space.

“Happy Birthday, Link.”

Legend smiled, sending a silent prayer of thanks.

#lu legend #lu ravio #ravio x link #linked universe #muse writes #muse's ravioli week #raviolink #ravio #ravioli #loz ravio #fanfic #albw ravio #ravio zelda

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berrypass-de-murdler · 3 months ago

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90. Death at the Agency

i want to write to karber about my thoughts on murdle but that would be so embarrassing and potentially a big waste of time ;o;

'hi so i love your books so much I'm literally losing my mind'

then i just sit there thinking why did I write that and never knowing if someone saw it or not

Anyway Crystal Goddess is finished (new least favorite design), Fletch is going to color her tho - after that every character will have a design for book 1 (exc. flashback-only/copycat/obsidian OCs)

And ten more episodes to go!

And cannot stress enough, I will go through book 2 and further one episode at a time instead of planning way ahead so please be patient

DON'T READ THE EPISODES UNTIL YOU'VE FINISHED THE FIRST BOOK!!

The poor rattled chap pieces it together - obviously he is in so much distress because of all the commotion that’s been happening at this stupid studio. And he STILL doesn’t know why he’s here. Just to deal with all the murders? Why can’t someone else do it… why can’t there just NOT BE ALL THE MURDERS…

He heads to the Black Tower, the place where he can revoke his contract.

LOGICO: Stupid Midnight. Why did I even listen to him. I’m not even SUPPOSED to be doing DETECTIVE WORK!! I want to go home and drink coffee and draw perfectly even squares for hours!

Turns out ya boi isn’t the only one who has issues with all this. Argyle, Celadon (where did she come from?), Blaxton, and even President Midnight are all in line. The line never moves, because the secretary is DEAD. Logico confronts Argyle.

LOGICO: Well? Was it you? ARGYLE: NO! Ya dirt clod, you think it’s just because I’m at the front of the line! LOGICO: …Yes. ARGYLE: NO! CELADON: How do you know it wasn’t me? I have a habit of killing for my religion. LOGICO: Was that a flat-out confession?? CELADON: No. BLAXTON: Ohhhhh [puppet flailing] I hate this so much! I wanted to sign my life away, and now I CAN’T!

The stupidity is once again broken by a voicemail from last episode’s call.

IRRATINO: Argyle was next to a bunch of letters. I know because I had a vision of him looking down on the letters. I’ve had visions of you too, Logico… LOGICO: [blushes heavily and suspiciously] What were the visions of?

He realizes that it was just a voicemail.

And that in fact, President Midnight had sliced the dead person to shreds.

PRESIDENT: He signed His life away. I’m sorry. What I did was not even a crime. And You cannot exit Your contract either, because of what You signed. LOGICO: GODDAMMIT AYE

The end!

HOW WILL THE GICO ESCAPE HIS HOLLYWOOD PRISON?!??!?1?

Btw I ship Amaranth and Blackstone now for absolutely no reason

Blackstone and the bad bitch he pulled by being anxious - Raven

Cheese + marshmallow

Idk what I'm talking about anymore

The power of Goat Lord compels you!

See you next time murdlers!

#murdle #cartoonmurdleverse

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ponder-the-orb · 6 months ago

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Snippet Sunday!

I actually got tagged last week by @alpydk but had literally nothing to share (plus I was DYING after Comic Con) so I'm starting off today with a snippet from the next chapter of Broken Things:

“I know thy request. And you, my answer.” Withers speaks with the same moth-soft drawl she remembers, like echoes in some infinitely large library, ancient and interminable. And annoying.

Ciri crosses the room until those unsettlingly bloody eyes are just inches away.

“Bring him back.”

“No.”

“That’s it. Just, no?”

“Yes.”

Her fists clench against her cloak. Deep in her gut she’d known this would be his response, it’s the exact reason she hadn’t sought him out herself, even if she had known where to start. It does nothing to stop a fresh anger roiling like hot oil through her.

“You resurrected us countless times. We perished for so many ridiculous, and frankly, unavoidable reasons and you still did it– easily. You puppeted the corpses of dead absolutists for us, watched as hundreds died at our hands, died for us or alongside us and yet only we were deemed special enough to be brought back. What’s changed?”

“The path of fate required thine allies to live and thwart the plan of the Dead Three. This task is now complete. So too is mine,” he answers flatly.

“I have gold.”

“The matter of coin is irrelevant. My charge now is to simply remain until once again I am called to rest. This cannot be changed.”

She turns away from him with shaking lips and an acid tongue.

“You once asked me what the value of a single mortal life was. I told you what I truly believed at the time: that none is worth more than any other.” Her voice is quietly even, almost as flat as his. “It seemed like such an obvious answer at the time. With every job I had taken before, I had always tried to avoid killing– so sure there was always another way. And yet barely a day later I was killing without a shred of guilt, burning through people as easily as parchment in my hearth. I was skilled at it. And I told myself it was for the greater good, to save the world and then later, to save the people I cared about. But does that really change what I did? Change the judgement I’ll receive when I finally leave this plane?”

When she turns back, her hands are wreathed in flame, itching to lash out. “So I don’t care what I have to do now to claw back the one life that matters most.” She imagines the withered bark of his skin burning and crumbling, catching faster than summer’s driest wood. It’s always the stench that lingers the longest, that pungent scent of charred skin and bone– then again, she has no idea if there’s even any flesh left to smell.

Withers doesn’t move. “Rend me to ash if thou please. It shall change nothing. No matter the power of the magic or the divine, everything shall become dust and bone eventually. All of Iraxys’ fire in thy blood cannot rewrite the laws of this world.”

Her hand trembles but she closes her fist before the flames can leap.

“Fine,” she whispers, extinguishing the fire in her palm. “If the path of fate is truly set then… then tell me that I can do this. Tell me that I will succeed.”

“That which is yet to come is not one straight road. It branches and splinters each time a new day dawns.” Withers holds out his arms, gesturing around as if painting that road himself. “There is no certainty that I can give for how thou shalt live.”

She slaps her hands to her sides at his non-answer, one step away from pulling him close and shaking him until all those bones rattle and fall apart before her. “But is there a way? Please, tell me.”

Withers stays silent for a long moment. Ciri waits, almost sure he’s simply given up on the conversation before she catches something in his face. She wants to call it a trick of the light or her own eyes adjusting from the brightness of her flame, but she is almost certain that his eyes flash, drawing focus to her for the first time ever.

“Yes,” he answers. “It would be long and marked with sacrifices perhaps unimaginable to thee now, but yes.”

***

Tagging @alpydk and @mellybaggins!

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #snippet #gale bg3 #gale fic #gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios

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tarmac-rat · 2 years ago

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💕 Gush about your OC 💕

✨ Post 5 facts about your CP77 OC.

✨ Open the latest section of #cyberpunk 2077 tag and reblog 5 posts of people you don’t follow, giving them nice tags.

✨ Tag 5 people to spread the game.

Tagged by @wanderingaldecaldo !!!! Which means yes, we're back to talking about Riley. I'm gonna try to keep this one as BRIEF as I can, and do more "fun" facts that I've been sitting on about her over the past 3 years of planning:

__________________

❤️ - Riley isn't a food nut but she LOVES shawarma. It was the first meal she ever had with Jackie after he brought her into the city and she and him (plus Misty and Vik) sometimes used to go to this one hole-in-the-wall shop around the corner of her apartment during the 18 months they worked before the heist. Her go-to order is syn-lamb with all the add-ons, no onions, and extra sauce on the side for dipping. She and Jackie both have signed eurodollars on the wall because they got dinner there like twice a week.

💛 - Riley is Indigenous American/Mexican, her mother Ivy being 100% Navajo and her father Felix identifying as both Mexican and Apache (don't ask him the percentages of each-- he doesn't know and he sure as shit doesn't care). Riley finds it hard to identify culturally with any of her backgrounds, however, because of her life growing up on the road, and Navajo customs and traditions fell out of the Bakkers over the years save for the stubborn few who still hold onto them. Her mother tells her some things here and there, but it's a part of her that she regrets not knowing more about once she leaves the Bakkers for Night City.

💚 - Riley's cybernetic right foot ends in a modified blade-- not a knife blade, a sprinter blade, like a runner would use-- and as a result she literally cannot wear heels. Flats only. She tried to shove her foot into a kitten heel once and she tripped on her way out of her apartment. It wasn't a good look. Please consider getting her more sneakers and boots for Christmas. Additionally, as a result of having one leg be made of mostly junk metal, her legs are actually not the same length (left leg is 1/2 an inch longer than her right), and she has to make a conscious effort not to trip over her own feet when she's moving hurriedly.

💙 - Riley's had her nose broken around 3-4 times throughout her life (three from fights, one from falling off her motercycle) and has never once gotten surgery to correct it, so it's pretty...let's say "askew". She actually has problems breathing out of it a lot of the time but in terms of medical issues that need addressing, this is LOW on her list, so she never actually does anything about it.

💜 - Riley was a massive horse girl growing up and actually dreamed about seeing a real-life horse one day when she was a child (a dream she still has, even if she'd rather die than ever admit it). She used to draw pictures of horses and hang them up in her family's tent, and every time the Bakkers would stop at a new town she'd try and barter with the townsfolk for any books about horses that weren't in the clan library. If she ever got one of her own, she already has names picked out-- Atticus for a boy, Maisie for a girl.

I would tab people but I'm pretty sure everyone in the fandom has done this one, so I'm gonna take a quick break and just say that if you haven't, consider this my invitation to you!

#Cyberpunk 2077 #CP2077 #V #My V #Riley Aldana #Darn it sorry y'all I got tagged a lot so you're all getting more Riley #Aldi speaks

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detective-luca-montoya · 1 year ago

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Lawrence and Luca- Part 2

Part 2 complete! No warnings except light violence. Lawrence belongs to @montammil and Luca belongs to me!

---

Being accosted in the street by a man with a knife isn't as uncommon for Luca Montoya as it probably should be.

She senses his intent before she sees him- a niggling feeling of wrongness mixed with a general vibe of "I want to kill someone". The next sign comes fast- in the form of a guy coming up from behind her and literally trying to stab her in the back.

She feints to the side and throws a punch. The man sidesteps, draws a switchblade from his sleeve, and slashes. Luca grabs his wrist just before the blade can sink into her shoulder. He drops it, only to grab it out of the air with his free hand and slash at her again. She leaps backwards, out of range- and two other men box her in from the sides.

She grins sheepishly. "Okay, look, fellas... you don't wanna do this. Right? I'm sure you're all upstanding citizens of-" She ducks as a crowbar narrowly swooshes over her head courtesy of one of the two new guys. "Or not. Okay-"

She crouches, focusing, and stretches her fingers, cupping her hands like she's trying to hold water. Any passing onlookers would see nothing unusual- the men in front of her, however, can clearly see her irisis changing from brown to a bright blue. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

She raises her arms, curls them into tight fists, and then slams them into the closest goon's stomach. The man buckles, almost folded in half, before flying back nearly twenty feet and landing in a nearby dumpster. The other goons turn to look and then back again to stare at her.

Luca raises her fists again- and someone else's fist slams into the next goon's face.

"Lawrence?!" Luca gasps, equally surprised by the sudden appearance of the well-dressed man as the hard right hook he had just delivered. Luca quickly follows up, kicking the man in the gut and knocking him flat. "What are you doing here? I thought you were only in the city on business!"

"My trip was unexpectedly extended," Lawrence says, looking slightly chagrined. "I'm actually applying for a teaching job at the university a couple blocks from here. I'm staying in a hotel..." He looks around, seemingly once again confused by the city's streets and various alleyways. "Well, I thought it was around here somewhere."

Luca swiftly knees the other goon in the crotch and shoves him face-first into the wall. "Oh- I know that place! It's right near my agency actually."

"Really? What a coincidence!" Lawrence smiles.

Luca glances down at the two now unconscious men. "I'd give you directions, but I'm kinda in the middle of something right now."

"Why were those men attacking you?" Lawrence looks concerned.

Luca crouches and checks the man's pulse, then pockets his knife. "I dunno. I've made a lot of enemies over the years. Probably some gang or something." She straightens back up and starts typing on her phone. "The cops should be around to pick them up eventually."

Lawrence's expression is carefully balancing between horror and concern. "Does this happen- often?"

Luca looks up at him, noticing his expression. "Uh- I mean, not that often. Besides-" She jerks her chin towards the two, still slumped on the ground in dreamland. "I can handle myself."

Lawrence nods slowly. "I'm sure you can... but what was that fancy trick you had? With the- uh-" He moves his hands in an approximate copy of what Luca had done to send the first goon flying... inhumanly far. Luca visibly pales. "Uh-"

Her facial expression has rapidly shifted from confident to nervous, and Lawrence lowers his voice. "Anything you tell me is safe with me, kiddo." He crosses his heart. "Trust me."

Luca gazes up at him, her eyes wide, and she's shocked to find that... she does. She does trust this guy she's only met twice for a total of about an hour, and who had just seen her beat the shit out of three grown men. She blinks, surprised with herself. His aura is just as clear as always, devoid of anything except for concern, worry- and compassion.

She looks around. "We... shouldn't talk here." She pulls out a piece of paper and scribbles down an address. She hands it to him. "Meet me here in two hours, okay?"

Lawrence takes it from her, nodding. "Are you-"

Luca's already running off, leaving Lawrence standing there bemused. She calls out behind her. "Don't be late!"

Lawrence stares after her until she's out of sight before he takes another look at the paper. It's the address for a bar- near where they had first met. He chuckles to himself before folding and pocketing it. "I won't."

---

Exactly two hours later, Lawrence steps into the bar Luca had indicated. The bartender- a slight blond man- indicates towards the back, where Luca sits in a booth, twiddling her thumbs. She looks up as she hears the door open and waves him over. "Over here!"

Luca glances around as Lawrence takes a seat across from her, checking to make sure the place is empty. "Oh- order whatever you want." She beckons to the bartender. "Sam- I'll have a rum and coke."

Lawrence gives her a strange look. She shrugs. "What?"

"Aren't you a little young for alcohol?"

"I'm 22- and it's soda." Luca sips the drink. "I just leave out the rum part."

Lawrence looks a bit confused, but just orders a water. He waits until she's finished half her soda before he folds his hands and brings up the elephant in the room. "So- what did you want to talk to me about, kiddo?"

Luca nods and looks him dead in the eye. "Why didn't you tell me about your record?"

Lawrence looks at her blankly. Luca pulls out her phone. "I mean, drug possession is pretty typical at that age, but assault and battery? And recent?" She whistles. "Does your new teaching job know about all this?"

Lawrence blinks slowly. "Are you... trying to blackmail me?"

Luca shrugs. "I mean... I'm just saying..."

Lawrence looks at her, his expression unreadable. "Look, kiddo, I won't try and make excuses for my actions. After Nadia passed, I... went through a hard time. But I'm past that now." He gives her a serious look. "You can tell the university, if you want to."

Luca looks down at her drink, tapping her fingers anxiously. "I mean- I don't... it's just..." She looks up at him, lowering her voice. "You have to swear not to tell anyone about what you saw. What I... did."

Lawrence nods, understanding, but Luca looks up at him, her eyebrows knit in worry and her eyes serious. "I mean it! Promise me you won't!"

Lawrence nods. "I promise, Luca." He mimes crossing his heart. "Cross my heart. No blackmail needed."

Luca raises an eyebrow. "Okay. It's a binding pact. So if you break it I'm definitely blackmailing you."

Lawrence looks confused, then concerned. Luca snickers. "Just joking. But you'd better not!" She sips her soda before setting the glass aside and looking at him seriously. "Uh... so, have you ever seen Spider-Man 2?"

Before Lawrence can answer, she shakes her head. "No, wait, uh- so, you know about the concept of auras, right?

Lawrence nods slowly. "You mean chakras, mystical energy... that kind of thing?"

Luca shakes her head a bit. "It's uh, etheric manipulation, uh, bioenergy, sort of. Like uh- metaphysical..." She gives a long sigh. "I get stronger when I'm angry or... have other strong feelings. It's how I was able to... punch that guy really far."

Lawrence says nothing for a moment- probably digesting this new information- before he takes a long sip of his water. He puts the glass down, folds his hands together, and looks back at her. "I don't mean to sound rude, kiddo, but..."

Luca gives him a flat look. "You don't believe me."

Lawrence puts his hands up defensively. "I didn't say that-"

Luca crosses her arms. "How else would I have done all that earlier, huh?"

"It's just a little... out there."

Wrong choice of words- Luca folds her arms and looks away, annoyed. "Well if you don't even believe me, then-"

Lawrence backpeadels, quickly shaking his head. "I didn't say that, Luca. I do believe you, of course I do. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me."

Luca sniffs, but seems placated enough. "I can tell how people are feeling, too. What's going on inside." She gestures towards her chest. "Like you... are wishing you would have ordered a drink, but you wanted to set a good example." She wrinkles her nose. "You could have, you know. I don't even like alcohol."

Lawrence stares at her in shock for a moment before he bursts out laughing. "That's- that's right, kiddo! That's incredible!"

Luca flushes. "I mean, it's not a big deal..."

"Of course it is! It's amazing! What else can you do?" Lawrence leans forward, forgetting his water in his excitement. "I'd love to hear more about it."

Luca laughs sheepishly. "Well- if you really wanna know-"

"Of course I do," Lawrence insists. "Tell me everything!"

He leans back against the booth as Luca animatedly starts discussing her abilities, even pulling out a pen to doodle a diagram on a napkin. "...but if I use it too much I get really tired, and it's sorta useless if I get knocked out, but other than that I'd say..."

Lawrence nods along as she talks, keeping mental notes on what she's saying, smiling all the while. Luca talks and talks until she exhausts herself, draining her soda in a few large gulps. She puts the glasses down and glares at him half-seriously. "And remember, you can't tell anyone. Okay?"

Lawrence nods, reaching across the table to shake her outstretched hand. "Of course, kiddo. I promise..."

"...your secret's safe with me."

#whump #whump writing #my writing #luca oc #lawrence oc #cce crossover #tw: violence #case file: lawrence and luca

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thevividgreenmoss · 3 months ago

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She then told me about other children Fremlin had “friendships” with, emphasizing her own sense that she, personally, had been betrayed.

Im sorry but it is literally fucking insane I've gone through at least ten maybe more idfk pieces of reporting/commentary/analysis on published within the past couple of months and with very few exceptions, Andrea Robin Skinner's article linked above obviously foremost, the treatment of Alice Munro's role(s) in various abusive proceedings & the terms of her relations with the perpetrator of these abuses is obfuscatory and unbearably if unsurprisingly pollyannish in a manner consistent with the rest of discourse and practice in this society consumed with minimizing its own willing embrace of the worst human inclinations & social processes, with evading culpability for our place in these maniacal affairs, and with conscientiously denying both the fact and willingness of the embrace along with the fact and evasion of the culpability that willing embrace engenders. Refusal to admit that any material benefits are drawn from said embrace even as in other aspects you're its an embrace that is suffocating you as well. Easy to draw parallels with interference running operations on behalf of American empire and it's various subsidiaries/junior partners. A project of legitimation necessary for the maintenance of not just the empire and its ruling classes, not just the white elite and masses but even the internally colonized often recruited into recuperated through and renumerated from the maneuverings of imperial capital, whether we're talking Joe Biden or Kamala Harris or an everyday member of a marginalized community signing up to commit murder in other countries for a couple of extra dollars to spend back in the core. Pretending we had no choice and acting scandalized at the suggestion that we could do or could have something differently.

Years passed. My father continued to have lunches with my mother, never mentioning me. I asked him about these lunches before he died. He told me I just never came up in their conversations. My siblings and parents carried on with their busy lives. I tried to forgive my mother and Fremlin and continued to visit them and the rest of my family. We all went back to acting as if nothing had happened. It was what we did.

The denial continued for the next 10 years. Inside, I was still at war with this thing, this ugliness. Me. But gradually, through therapy, I learned that it wasn’t my fault. I fell in love with a good man, got married, and had children. My dream of being a sheep-herding dog wasn’t so impossible after all. I spent my days running after my twins, and my evenings lying flat-out exhausted somewhere around the house. Today, safeguarding the vulnerable is still the driving force of my life. I help people who want to heal their trauma by connecting with horses.

I ended contact with my mother after my twins were born. At first, I told her only that I could never see Fremlin again, never have him near my children. She explained how inconvenient it would be for her to visit me on her own, since she didn’t drive. I exploded, and told her our relationship was over.

Two years later, when I was 38, I read an interview in the New York Times with my mother, in which she described Gerald Fremlin in very loving terms. She said she was lucky to have him in her life, and declared that she had a “close relationship” with all three of her daughters, including me. For three weeks I was too sick to move, and hardly left my bed. I had long felt inconsequential to my mother, but now she was erasing me.

Alice Munro chose to participate in the maintenance of silence surrounding her husband (the love of her life!) and his serial pedophilia because it was more important for her to protect the pedophile in question and perhaps even more than that to not risk destabilizing her artistic career. She was fully willing to grapple with and work through reality through her writing but not in any way her daughter might have needed, which makes sense. The former brought social status, wealth, even just the ability to hone her craft and develop as an artist. The latter nothing but the possibility of risking it all and doing the right thing. Also the possibility of pulling at a thread that would reveal just how much she might have known about a lot of other shit that still hasn't come to light.

Did she realize she was speaking to a victim, and that I was her child? If she did, I couldn’t feel it. When I tried to tell her how her husband’s abuse had hurt me, she was incredulous. “But you were such a happy child,” she said.

Meanwhile, Fremlin acted quickly. He told my mother he would kill me if I ever went to the police, and wrote letters to my family, blaming me for the abuse. He described my nine-year-old self as a “homewrecker,” and said my family’s failure to intervene suggested they agreed with him. He also threatened retribution:

“Andrea invaded my bedroom for sexual adventure” — I had asked Fremlin the night the abuse took place if I could sleep in the spare bed in the room he shared with my mother — “ … for Andrea to say she was ‘scared’ is simply a lie … Andrea has brought ruin to two people who love each other … If the worst comes to worst I intend to go public. I will make available for publication a number of photographs, notably some taken at my cabin near Ottawa which are extremely eloquent … one of Andrea in my underwear shorts …”

(I’d forgotten about the photos until I read this letter. I was 11 when most of the pictures were taken.)

In spite of the letters and threats, my mother went back to Fremlin, and stayed with him until he died in 2013. She said that she had been “told too late,” she loved him too much, and that our misogynistic culture was to blame if I expected her to deny her own needs, sacrifice for her children, and make up for the failings of men. She was adamant that whatever had happened was between me and my stepfather. It had nothing to do with her.

I believe my mother answered her own question about the girl in the story. She didn’t tell her mother because she would rather die than risk her mother’s rejection.

Jesus fucking christ I had no idea about any of this my heart's breaking for this woman for the child she was...her mother turns out the mishima of white settler womanhood self-serving obsession with a victimhood that to some extent must exist yet pales at every point in comparison with the reality of those most deeply affected and traumatized by those whose colonizing endeavors you've aligned yourself with against the rest of the world whose cries for recognition support restitution are left unheeded even when it's your own fucking child that's the one crying it falls on uncomprehending ears too busy obsessing over one's perpetually wounded self-perception and inveterate desire for validation and attention and what passes for love from the people that you yourself have chosen to "love" the people you enable to whom you are accomplice with whom elaborate fantasies of wounded innocence built upon the bedrock of civilizational scale rape and genocidal murder are constructed...you see what people do to their own families their own children and you can never be surprised at what they'll do to those they've decided are not family whose children are decidedly not their 'own' either but rather immanent & imminent threats to be neutralized by hard labor or murder. They've been doing it all along

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onestepbackwards · 2 years ago

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You need to get a life.

First of all, starting with the first paragraph. If Ace Anon has a problem with my writing, they can talk to me themselves. Sending you to talk to me makes me more upset than if they had reached out to me in DMs. Which they already had before. Sending you to me, and writing this, shows just how little either of you respect me. Next paragraph. As far as I am aware, I haven’t written any yandere character actually killing anyone, except with Warden Ingo one time. And it was an abusive ex who had stalked the Reader, and was threatening the Reader. The only other times I can think of would have been hypotheticals. Usually over people who would have hurt the reader, such as when there was the peeping tom incident. Stalking someone and peeping through windows is a choice. Not someone having a ‘bad day.’ However, in a lot of these scenarios, what little there are, the reader is unaware that anyone is being killed in the first place. Unaware their partner is a yandere. You also seemed to forget in the yandere warden Ingo series, the Reader actively tries to keep Ingo from murdering Volo. They don’t like him, but they don’t want him dead. So they appeal to Ingo’s sense of logic, claiming it could destroy the games code if he kills Volo. Even then, this is fiction. People requested this more than half the time. It is tagged, and in the cases where the Reader is into it, I have that tagged as well as the Reader enabling obsessive yandere behavior. Again, specific fiction that people are into, and specifically requested. And about the ‘how good that dick is’ comment. This is a blog where I write nsfw over pokemon characters. Of course dick is going to be a big factor, or did you forget what this blog is about? Third Paragraph. Not even sure how this is related AT ALL to the whole message, other than to try and make a dig at me, but fine, let’s address it. Yeah. In a dream, I pushed James from Silent Hill into a monster and ran. In a literal fever dream when I had been sick. “James did some shit, but really?” Yeah. He killed his sick wife. He killed her from being frustrated with not being able to have sex, and kept her body in the trunk of his car. Pyramid Head is literally his desire for punishment for these crimes. “What the fuck kind of good person does that?” I hate to be the barer of bad news, if you genuinely think that a person’s fever dream determines their status as a person, then you need to do some actual research on how dreams work. Not to mention how hypocritical this thinking is. You can give a pass to a guy who murdered his sick wife due to sexual frustration and anger, but you draw the line at a yandere character killing the Reader’s abusive ex? Okay. I see your priorities. Fourth paragraph. My Reader is selfish? How so? In at least half the things for Warden Ingo, it’s mentioned how the Reader desires to help him get his memories back, and make his brother aware like him. In another fic, with self aware Emmet, who ends up small, the Reader genuinely wants to help him reach his normal size. In another, the Reader desires to protect the Hero of Hisui, putting it over their desire for a relationship. They wish to protect the hero, and protect them as their own. Funny how you fail to bring these instances up. Is my Reader a flat character? Maybe. But again, this is a blog with primarily nsfw with the silly train men from pokemon. Fifth paragraph: “This is not hate. This is criticism.” No it’s not. You know damn well it’s hate. You insulted my writing, you insulted my reader inserts, and insulted me. “Your Reader has no empathy.” “Your Reader is selfish and has no redeeming qualities.” “What good person does that?” Those are not critiques. You call my writing bad, and say it has ‘all these problems’, but not once do you offer any advice for improvement. You just call it bad, and moved on. And again, insulted me over a dream. You don’t just get to insult me and my writing like this, then go “This isn’t hate, it’s a critique, tee hee!” That’s not how this works. Another thing. You acknowledge this is a fantasy land, and people here want to be adored. You acknowledge this is ‘fiction’. Yet you get so upset with the above points, when I’m specifically writing in a fictional set. You can’t have your cake and eat it. “It could be better.” Yeah! As a writer, I always aim to be better. But I don’t see you taking your ass off anon and writing your own shit, since you seem to have problems with mine so much. Only bitching about mine and then not offering any advice for improvement. And another thing. “It’s critique.” I never asked for critique. I do this shit for free. I write fanfiction as a hobby for free. I don’t have to share this. I do this because I enjoy sharing it with everyone here. I take time out of my day to share stuff I write, because other people do enjoy it, despite how bad of a writer you seem to think I am. It’s my blog, and I post what I want. It’s also considered rude to give unwanted ‘advice.’ Finally, the final paragraph: I didn’t answer your last entitled, manipulative, creepy message because I didn’t want to start drama, and I originally didn’t want to suck Ace Anon into whatever obsessive nonsense you were spewing. It was rude, entitled, narcissistic, manipulative, and weird. Just like this ask you sent.. “Hope you aren't gone again for months or something. You stressed her out really bad the last time.” Gee. Really feeling the concern for me, the one who disappeared. There are multiple reasons why I closed asks for a bit, primarily for my own mental health. Way to make it about you two. Funny. In the last ask, you mentioned how much you hate suicide baiting. What you are doing here isn’t too different. You just aren’t threatening a life over this. However, you are still trying to emotionally manipulate me, bringing up how Ace Anon is scared of upsetting me, and how stressed they were when I last disappeared. Lemme tell you something. Someone else’s stress isn’t my responsibility. If Ace Anon’s health and stress is heavily reliant on me, a stranger on the internet, someone who doesn’t even know Ace Anon’s name, that isn’t healthy. I understand being concerned for a creator to a degree, but if they are freaking out and getting stressed like this, especially over sending me these “problems” they have with my work, that is not my problem. If you two really are that easily affected by strangers on the internet, and get this upset over fanfiction written about silly train men from pokemon, neither of you should be on the internet. You two are not my responsibility, and I don’t have to cater to a rude anon with nothing better to do than send hateful asks. Harsh? Yes. But I’m not going to bend over backwards like this for someone like you. Neither you or Ace Anon are welcome back on this blog. Don’t message me again, and leave me alone.

#ask #anon #zed.talks #important #long post #sorry everyone else caught up seeing this.

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tteokdoroki · 4 years ago

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an ode to winter | dabi.

♡ pairing: dabi/touya todoroki x fem!reader.

♡ word count: 14.1K

♡ rating: mature, 18+, mdni.

♡ genre: manga war arc!au, single-parent!au, unplanned pregnancy!au, angst, fluff, smut.

♡ summary: touya todoroki had broken a lot of things, your heart, promises, your window a few times, but you swore he'd never leave your child feeling that way. but when he wants back into your life, will he take no for an answer? And do you even want to say it?

♡ warning(s): please read ! heavy smut, ( literally 5k of it ), MANGA SPOILERS IN THE EXTENDED ENDING, mentions of pregnancy, mentions of semi-toxic!relationships, struggling with parenting, blackmail ??, unprotected sex ( wrap it before you tap it, losers ), handjobs, oral sex ( female receiving ), fingering ( female receiving ), choking, branding, squirting, spit!kink, needy touya lol <3

♡ author’s note(s): OK so this started out as a fic for my bestie @ozzy-bozzy but then turned into this long ass vent fic bc i do be struggling!! i’ve barely written for touya so apologies if his character is off. special thanks to @bakugous-trauma for beta reading n @doinmybesthere for the summary and beta reading and thanks for 4.7K MWAH <3

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the snow had fallen heavy that day, its flakes dancing along the window panes while you’d brought her into the world. you hated the cold, the way it nipped at your nose and stung at your cheeks, how it could freeze over a heart so badly that it would take years to thaw it out. you’d complained about the ice sheets that frosted your windows to the doctors, the ones on the roads too, but they’d simply wrote it off as your anxieties related to bringing kori home for the first time in such weather.

funnily enough, your daughter much resembled the cold in many ways. you’d named her ‘kori’; meaning ice, since her hair was white as the crisp blanket of winter outside and her eyes a piercing shade of aqua marine, that for a while, had no meaning written behind them except for a cool curiosity that you knew didn’t come from your side of the family. she wasn’t warm either, the first time you held her, her flesh against yours was almost a painful spark of frostbite— you expected that it was related to the lineage she came from too.

you thought that you’d resent kori when she was born; for the struggles that her new life had brought to you. you’d given birth alone and afraid, having lost friends and contact with your family due to keeping your pregnancy a secret. if they had known who caused you to end up in this situation in the first place, you were sure you’d have lost them all anyways. you hadn’t a chance to attend maternity classes due to the hours you worked in order to ensure yourself and your child’s financial security. although, prior to her arrival, dabi had told you that if you chose to give your daughter the todoroki name; you both would be looked after when the right time came.

and like a fool in love, you’d believed him, avoiding the apologetic gazes of the doctors and midwives who’d delivered your baby as you filled out her paperwork and birth certificate. one nurse even asked you if you wanted to contact endeavour for support, and you couldn’t blame her— the rumours of your child potentially being that of natsuo todoroki’s had spread fast through the hospital and it was a given, figuring his bad boy college reputation. natsuo and his ventures into the college life were no stranger to the media, so it didn’t surprise you nor the doctors to believe that this wasn’t the first time a girl had given birth alone to a todoroki child. you suspected that if there were any, enji todoroki would have paid them off.

so you let them believe what ever false truth that might have plagued the hospital walls about yourself and your daughter— not having the heart to tell them that you’d probably receive a much larger sum of money to keep hush about the child that you mothered and the child who’s father belonged to endeavour’s deceased, eldest son.

so you realised, thumb held by the chubby hand of your sweet infant girl; that you couldn’t hate her for the mistakes you’d made and the mess you’d become tangled up in— you could only promise to do your best in raising her despite the odds and difficult circumstances, you could give her the life and childhood that her father never had but most certainly deserved.

“miss yn...”

your midwife; himari enters the room, calling for you— tearing your gaze away from the hypnotising sea-foam eyes belonging to your daughter, the way she looked at you only reminding you of dabi. you’d told him once that his eyes always took you to the mediterranean sea, to which he’d laughed and mentioned you’d never seen it before. when the pair of you realised that this was true, the boy with the black hair and intoxicating stare made an oath to you, that he would take you there someday so you could bask in the warm sun and dip your toes into the clear oceans. you only hoped that this oath still remained true.

“miss yn...” himari tries again, this time stepping further into your hospital room. your thoughts had carried you so far away that you hadn’t realised how close she’d gotten as she lingered by your cot. her hands lay flat against her pale blue uniform, nails you note—neatly trimmed— and a smile that would have made you feel comfortable had you not known she’d volunteered to care for you because she too believed she’d be paid off by endeavour. you almost felt bad that she thought the silly lie was true and that she had a shot at a big time bonus but it was funny to think that no one would believe her when she eventually took to the news to claim that she cared for the next heir of the todoroki empire. “it’s says here, that kori is scheduled for feeding— i was wondering if you wanted to continue breast feeding or try pumping a bottle or two today?”

chewing on the inside of your cheek, you hum with hesitance. feeding kori was something you’d never discussed with dabi, some of the nurses had assured you that it was possible for you to do both— so that you could grow closer to your daughter and form a tight bond whilst also giving the opportunity to others to feed her when need be. there weren’t many others, but you figured that dabi might want to give bottle feeding a whirl when he finally returned from the league business. the business that had made him miss his little girl’s birth.

kori gargles from hunger in your arms, drawing your attention back to her tiny form. a stray strand of hair curls against her forehead from underneath her blankets and swaddling— the end you notice has a slight tint of red to it. the icy shell around your heart thaws. glancing back up to himari; you grin with a decision in mind. “i’d like to try breast feeding again, we can use the pump tomorrow.” you say, voice quiet.

“do you need any help getting her to latch?” your midwife asks, aiding you into a comfortable position to feed kori.

“no,” you smile after getting settled, pushing down your gown to expose your breast to your little girl. “i’ve got her, i can take care of her.”

you say the words more so to yourself than to himari, a hidden reassurance that you’re more than capable of raising your daughter on your own.

for now at least.

that winter, dabi never came home.

the snow melts, the flowers bloom and the seasons change. your daughter grows with the swift transition of the weathers too, her hair is a little longer now but the small curl of red against her forehead remains hidden and the same. her eyes open wider, still that deep shade of ocean blue, she can sit up on her own, throws toys out of her crib and her favourite movies are bambi and bambi two. they’re the only things that she watches, which you hate, because they remind you of her. an innocent child who loses one parent and is left in the care of the emotionally closed off other.

you hadn’t realised how much you would need dabi, but still he is nowhere to be seen.

raising kori on your own proves a challenge, especially now that she’s a little bigger— it was easy after she was born; she was quiet and only made a fuss when she was hungry or needed to be changed. went down easy too, that was until her wails reared their ugly head as soon as the colder parts of winter hit. no matter what you did, the girl would cry for hours on end until her face would hurt from how scrunched it was and her fingers would turn red from the grip she had on your hands.

since her birth, you and kori had to move three times due to the noise complaints about her consistent crying throughout the day, evening and night. by the time february rolled around, you’d ended up in an apartment not so far from dabi’s old neighbourhood— it was a shitty area with high crime rates and an eerie feel to it that made you clutch your purse tighter when you walked home from the late night shifts— you had never had any intentions to raise kori in a dump like this, you wanted a better life for her than what dabi had, but your shabby two bedroom apartment in the dark side of town would be enough for now.

the rent was cheap since your current boss at the local grocers market was close friends with the building manager, but your boss was also a sleaze who thought offering you an extra 10% off of your weekly shop and an expired coupon for the coffee joint down the street would be enough to get into your pants. he was just another thing on your list that you hated about the world, about the current life you lead but you needed to keep him close to keep your rent low and a roof over your head.

besides, it had been a few days since you last saw him at work— the asshole was probably taking a few days to himself while you and your colleagues practically ran the store.

you can’t leave kori with a sitter; they never worked with her. your daughter was far too temperamental for the average person and would spend one night with her before taking their pay and quitting. the only person able to handle your beloved little girl was the old lady who lived two floors above yours, mrs. yamamoto. she was a sweet woman, widowed by fifteen years and had taken a liking to kori that one time you’d helped with her groceries when she couldn’t make it out in the february winter after your little girl was born.

it seemed kori liked mrs yamamoto as well, she was only ever quiet in the woman’s presence and you put it down to how high she had the heat up in her apartment. one time, it was up so high the power in the building went out for an entire night— which was hell for you since kori wouldn’t stop bawling. however; you appreciated the help, you’re sure that without the help of the elder woman you would have been far under the surface— drowning in regret.

but sometimes, it’s easy for the darker emotions to slip through the cracks— take a choke hold over your sanity. there would be nights where guilt would consume you and tears would flow heavily down your cheeks while your daughter slept. it was hard being alone, no one to confide in about the troubles of parenting or to reassure you that you were doing a good job at taking care of your child.

it didn’t help that winter was coming up again, kori’s first birthday fast approaching. the sudden milestone only made you wish that dabi was around more — it hurt you to know that there was possibility he’d run out on you and his responsibilities as a father but part of you believed that your lover was better. the eldest todoroki son appeared way too excited throughout your pregnancy to leave you with nothing.

despite not being able to make it to appointments due to his criminal nature, dabi had somehow manged to find the money to get you a 4D ultra sound of your baby, telling you a few odd jobs here and there allowed him to scrape the cash together. you never asked what it was that he did, afraid of what you might find in the eyes of the man that you loved so much.

why did you allow yourself to love a man who wouldn’t have given you the time of day if he hadn’t broken into your home? his seafoam eyes a glowing shade as he threatened your life through shards of broken glass and then wails of cop sirens outside. were you just as broken as he? had you not realised it yet? you could blame this whole mess on the fact that he kept coming back, but you always let him back in. dabi was a broken man who only knew blood and grit and grime and you were the girl with a chance to lead a normal life— yet you poured all of your heart and all of your soul into loving him because you were so sure that you could fix him.

and every single time you’d convinced him, convinced yourself that what you had could be normal and domestic— dabi would slip between your sheets, pinning you to your bed with your name heavy on your lips and the emotion of love painted into the turquoise flecks in his eyes. they burned with passion while his heated cock sunk between your plush thighs and welcomed him into your warmth. the moans you’d share while your skin slapped together, creating a bubble of safety where you were the only two people on the world.

dabi made promises against your swollen lips as his fingers swirled hidden messages of desire into your slick, puffy clit. he couldn’t give you the ring, the wedding or the house with the white picket fence and dog barking at the post man in the front yard— but he could give you every part of him from the good to the bad, the beautiful to the ugly and he would seal that promise with a throaty groan of ‘you are mine and i am yours...’ into your ear as you came together.

but it seemed that like all things, dabi’s promises were broken like shattered glass— never meant to be kept or eternalised. the shards cut your delicate fingers, the pain numbed as you were left to pick up the pieces and be strong for the small life you were now responsible for.

you were careful to not let the door fly in and hit the wall opposite as you unlocked it, stumbling into your two bedroom with kori’s chubby legs locked around your hips and bag full of groceries in your other hand. “look princess,” you coo down at your daughter sweetly, watching as she drools all over your staff lanyard from work. “we’re home!” bending down, you dropped the produce off by the door before heading off to your living room area, propping kori in front of her toy mat.

smiling down at her, you brush the pure white hair that curls over her cobalt eyes and kiss her freckled cheeks— heart swooning at the way kori giggles in your arms. she’d been on her best behaviour the entire week, keeping out of trouble with the staff at her daycare and mrs yamamoto in the place upstairs, so it was only right that you treat her.

“you hungry babygirl? want mommy to make your favourite, hm?” kori is barely old enough to talk aside from a few babbles and repeats of mama but that doesn’t stop you from asking.

“mmmamamamaa!!”

you press another kiss to her baby fat cheeks before heading to the kitchen to prepare her favourite dinner— spaghetti. ever since kori started eating her solids, she hadn’t been a picky eater and you noticed that her appetite much resembled dabi’s, who couldn’t afford to be fussy about any of the meals you’d made for him before he disappeared.

making the sauce is easy, a dish you’d prepared from when you were a child and used to cook with your parents— you retrieve the ingredients from the groceries and pull out the stuff you’ll need to cook them. you mince the vegetables easily like you’d been taught as your mind gets away from you.

you wish that dabi was here to enjoy the domesticity of your current life— maybe him being around would lift the dark cloud over your life. sometimes it hurt to know that he would be missing out on moments like this and you could imagine him sitting by the couch while kori played with her toys and you cooked for them both. in this world, he’d laugh at her fascination with colder toys and magnets— make a joke about how much your little girl resembles him and kiss your cheek when you served them both up their favourite meals.

tears pool in your eyes at the thought of your wish never being granted and that’s all it takes for you to slip and cut your finger while chopping up the garlic. “fuck!” you boss, dropping the knife and squeezing your hand around the wounded digit. you know that the clattering of the knife has scared kori, and from the way she looks at you, you can already tell that she’s seen you injure yourself. “god, fuck...that hurt.”

there’s a pause in time, while you rinse your cut under the tap, cold water soothing the sting before kori starts to wail like her life depends on it. in a rush, you grab a tea towel in hopes that it’ll stop the bleeding and head straight for your baby, hoping that you’ll be able to soothe her. by the time you reach kori, her eyes are red with tears and snot dribbles from her nose down to her chin while she babbles loosely all the new words she’s learned— in a whiny tone.

“baby, don’t cry mommy’s got you,” you murmur to her, reaching out to the little girl with open arms. your heart breaks at the way her bottom lip wobbles in a watery pout. kori crawls into your arms, white mop of soft baby hair buried into the junction between your shoulder and your neck— her tiny body shakes with awful heaves and cries while her tears dampen the old hoodie of her father’s that you wear, effectively ruining the fabric. “come on honey, it’s okay! momma didn’t mean to scare you...”

she snivels in your arms, quiet for only a second while you walk around the apartment bouncing her. walking kori up and down seems to soothe her for the most part, a trick that worked when she was first born and had her horrible crying fits. “good girl, mama’s got you...” you continue to soothe her, brushing a finger under her white lashes to remove her tears. all is well for a second and it seems her tantrum has calmed, until she grabs onto your wounded finger and makes you curse in pain again.

“shit!”

“m-momma-!” kori whimpers, face creasing in pain as her cheeks start to heat up again. you fear that if you don’t do something soon she’ll bust a lung from crying.

you shake your head in an attempt to calm her down, baby sobs striking right through your body and resume bouncing her, hoping that it’ll work. “shhh kori, honey, it’s okay— mommy’s okay and so are you...” in the process of comforting her, you somehow trip over the discarded knife, sending it flying into the cabinets across from the island and making another loud noise that further spooks kori.

at this she screams bloody murder, the sound of her little chest heaving giving you a splitting headache. you were tired, tired of your daughter’s crying , working long hours with no help and raising a child all on your own. you were tired of the pain spreading through your head and your body and your heart. you needed an out or break at the very least.

you should feel guilty for what you’re about to do, heading for the nursery with a heaving baby in your grip. you can’t think of anything better to do than put kori down for a nap and hope that her crying tires her out— you do your best to pry the little girl from clinging onto your clothes and tuck her into her crib as she sniffles, quickly backing out of her room before she can call for you and make you feel even worse than you already do.

you close the door quietly behind you, somewhat sliding down it while your own sobs take over your body— shaking you violently as you hug your knees to your chest. you don’t know how long you sit there, biting your lips and holding onto in your whimpers while tears stream down the apples of your cheeks, but eventually

you find yourself drifting off with dreams of your happy family.

you jump awake a few hours later, surrounded by a thick darkness from the sky outside. the hum of the city streets helps to bring you back down to earth as you rub the sleep from your puffy eyes and blink away the exhaustion. you don’t quite remember when you’d fallen into a slumber but you figure that kori must have eventually, judging by the quietness that surrounds your apartment.

the blanket of the night allows your guilt to burn brightly in your chest— you shouldn’t have left her alone. scrambling to your feet, you stumble over to the kitchen counter and grab your phone to read the time. 11:06pm. it’s just about time that you check on your daughter, but with two steps of heading to the nursery and you’re met with foreign sound that doesn’t quite fit in with the usual creaks and squeaks of your apparent.

happy gurgles belonging to your baby creep out from underneath her bedroom door, low humming or singing to accompany her sweet sound. humming that you don’t recognise. with a pang of fear to your heart, you reach for the knife on your kitchen floor as a weapon of defence— this would go down nicely with the police. a single mother on self defence...yeah, that could work out.

the knife shakes in your hand as you approach kori’s nursery, barely steady even when you push open the door.

“...touya?”

nothing could prepare you for what you’d see after walking into that room but when your eyes fall witness to your love standing in the centre of the room with a little tuft of white hair cradled to his bare chest. the air around you tingles with warmth as if dabi has heated the place up with his quirk and your little girl curls into him as if she’s known him all her life. but she hadn’t, he hadn’t.

all at once, your heart heals just as it breaks— it’s been so long since you’ve seen the villain that you can’t help but notice all the changes in him, the way his eyes droop a little more with exhaustion and his hair dusted with a the slightest bit of white. he was noticeably thinner too, maybe from being away from a warm bed and good food for too long...so a half of you was relieved that he was home, the other— hurt and betrayed.

“hey beautiful,” dabi’s timbre voice fills your entire being, stimulating your senses into a dull tingle. his lips a drawn into soft smirk as he rocks kori back and forth, your baby’s eyes flutter with the gentle indication of sleep. “how’ya been?”

if you weren’t frozen in shock, you would have given the villain a piece of your mind. how dare he...after all this time apart from you, from his daughter...ask how you were doing? your eyes flutter to the open window behind the oldest todoroki son, as if you need to look away from him to convince yourself he’s real and he won’t disappear when you look back.

proven right by meeting the cool, chartreuse sea of his eyes— your throat runs dry as all you’d ever dreamed of saying in this moment, flees from your mind. “what are you doing here?” you say, trying to sound firm even though your voice falls through.

touya stays quiet, twirling a long finger through the small curls on his—your daughter’s head. “i was in the neighbourhood.” he mumbles, gaze tearing away from you to focus on the content infant he has in his arms.

you should feel angry, you should be screaming and kicking at dabi— forcing him out of your home with your child safe in your own arms but your body doesn’t will you to. hurt seeps through your veins at the casual aura in his tone. of course dabi would treat the situation as if it never existed and that he’d been with you the whole time. the pain of seeing him with her as if he’d been in kori’s life from the very start wraps around your heart in a poisonous grip and squeezes hard until you’re choking back a sob, letting it sit in the base of your throat.

you refuse to break in front of him.

“you need to go. you need to put her down and you need to leave.” you attempt to assert yourself in a harsh bark, almost making dabi jump. he’d never seen you like this before, but then again he hadn’t seen you in a year. he could only imagine what motherhood had done to you, especially facing it on your own. touya hesitates, kori shifting in his soft grip— one he didn’t even know that he had as a villain but you steady yourself and repeat your words. “touya, i said you need to leave.”

“why? so you can fall asleep and leave her crying on her own again?” the villain spits out, harsher than he intended. he watches your face fall and your body curl in on itself and he feels bad. dabi had promised you a lot of things since realising he loved you, and not hurting you like his father hurt his mother was one that he’d just broken. relenting, the dark haired villain eases kori from his pec and tucks her into her crib.

there’s a beat of silence and then. “i’m sorry.”

“you should be.”

“yn,” he sighs, running a hand through the light roots of his hair as he leans over his child’s crib. the young father tilts his head, scanning kori’s face while he identifies every characteristic she has from the family he’d done his best to free himself of. “i’m sorry, it’s just— just that she was cold and crying, so i took off my shirt and held her and she warmed up and—“ dabi pauses his quiet rambling, finally looking up from the slumbering baby tucked away into powder blue silk and locks eyes with you. “and she probably has my mom’s shitty quirk. and i can’t get over how much she looks like them, how big she’s gotten.”

touya finds his shirt after admitting that, throwing on the thin white material before closing the window he came through. he moves with the swiftness that comes with his job, and it’s almost peaceful to watch. you stay plastered by the door, torn between falling right into the palm of his hand and demanding the answers that you and your daughter deserve.

it makes you feel a little sick when he gazes down at kori with pride, it makes you queasy at how easy she was to handle to him. touya todoroki doesn’t know half of what it was to raise his child...but did that make you a bad mother? was there something he shared with kori that you didn’t? dabi hadn’t known what it was to love someone other than himself until he’d met you, but you’d spent your entire life around family and friends who took care of you and made you feel cherished every day. you had all of that before you had dabi, and you’d given it all up for him.

shouldn’t you be the one to easily put your daughter down for a nap? to soothe her tears? and for him to come so briskly into your lives and take care of it all when he doesn’t even know what you’d been through, hurts most of all.

“you don’t even know her,” you start, tremble to your bottom lip as the sob in your throat builds up and threatens to burst. “you never saw her after she was born, never cut the cord, never knew her weight. you don’t know how tiny she was when she came into the world, you don’t know because you didn’t come!” with each word, stray tears manage to escape from your tired eyes, but you’re too fixated on dabi to bother to wipe them. it hurts to cry, it stings even as they stream down the apples of youth cheeks but you don’t move.

“yn, sweetness, i—“

“i know how much she weighed when she was born, four pounds and thirteen ounces. she was so tiny i was scared that she would break—“ you’re gasping now, almost choking yourself out on the pain that burns brightly in your lungs and claws its way up your throat. “i know her favourite foods, what fabrics irritate her skin, her favourite stuffed toys, how she likes to be swaddled in her blankets at night or that her curls make her face itch but they’re practically untameable.”

you start to heave, losing breath with every word and dabi does nothing but watch, keeping an eye on kori to make sure she stays sleeping as he steps towards you. “i know that i love her more than i’ve loved anything in my entire life, despite how much i suffered alone bringing her into this world. and i know that i named her kori after the ice that frosted the windows of my hospital room while i waited for... you.”

touya remains emotionless while you descend into madness, letting you cry it out. “i’ve been watching...”

you want to scream, beat his chest and blame him for how insane you’ve become. “watching isn’t enough touya, she needed you. i-i needed you.” you whimper, falling limp against the door frame as your hands move threateningly towards your hair as if you’re going to rip it out from the root. “...you couldn’t come and visit? not once i-in the eleven months that she’s been alive? not once while she’s been breaking me down and giving—“

“giving you a hard time? i tried, i took care of you from afar...i’m the one who made your boss disappear. the one who put his hands on you.” dabi sneers towards the end of his once gentle words, standing a breaths width away from you. you hate that you crave the same touch from him as he gave to kori, but you��re still so mad at him.

eventually, it all becomes too much and you succumb to the tears that wrack your exhausted body. you sway with each choked wail that tumbles from between your chapped lips and dabi surges forward to catch you after kicking the knife from earlier away, letting you sink into the warmth of his embrace. he feels like home, smells like safety and not a word is uttered as he brings you to the floor and cradles you like he did with his daughter.

dabi doesn’t need to say sorry when he shows you through how close he holds you to his heart.

when you finally calm down, dabi lifts you bridal style to your bathroom and draws you a bath with the salts and lavender extract from the cupboard above the sink. neither of you speak except for when he softly offers to help you undress— to which you decline— and when he tells you he’s going to fix something to eat.

you knew damn well that the villain could not cook, he hadn’t been when he was little since endeavour took away the entirety of his childhood and you’d only taught him the basics when he was still on the run and stopped by your place from time to time. his favourite thing back then had been to watch you cook to the weird music you kept playing, hips swaying to the beat and a sparkle in your eyes— but you didn’t do that anymore, he could tell those days were long gone.

dabi orders in takeout in the end and you have half a mind to curse him out for using your money— but the day’s events have exhausted you beyond your wits end, so you eat with him in silence atop your double bed after dressing in an old shirt of his. “stay the night.” is what you tell him, scared that he’ll leave. he puts his cigarette out on your balcony. the doors usually stayed locked so kori couldn’t crawl out on her own but you opened it for him since dabi liked to smoke and you hated the ash.

he promised to quit back then, and he hadn’t now.

“i’ll stay.” dabi says, throwing the butt over the ledge and stripping his clothes as he follows you to bed. he decides not to mention he wanted to stay anyway. you peel back the covers enough for him to slip in behind you, heated arms wrapping around your waist and settling on your tummy, where he rubs small patterns into your skin. the villain’s chest is overwhelmingly warm against your back— reminding you of the days where you would spoon and he’d wait with baited breath for kori to kick.

both of you lay together, wide awake in the dark for goodness knows how long. touya’s breath balmy against the nape of your neck and if you focused hard enough, you could feel his eyelashes fluttering against your skin. he pretends to sleep, refusing to acknowledge that his proximity to you affects him in the worst of ways— evident in how his prominent hard on presses against the swell of your ass.

rolling over, your heart skips a beat at the way your love’s eyes still manage to glow brightly in the dark— ignited by the flames of his quirk and emotions of angst from the past.

they flicker as he looks to you, pale skin illuminated by the silver moon slipping in from your balconies, scars as enticing as ever. tentatively, you reach a hand out to cup his face, not kidding the apprehension that paint his matured features even as you run your fingers down the scars on his jaw. “been a while since we’ve been like this,” is all you can muster up, leaning forward to press a kiss to his cheek while your free hand snakes between your bodies in an attempt to pleasure the man.

fear strikes you right in the chest, leaving you panting as dabi flips you onto your back quickly, pinning your wrists against the bed. “don’t,” he growls, almost feral in tone and in his eyes. “don’t do something you might regret in the morning.”

you lay still, staring at the man above you in an attempt to read him. doing so had always been hard, but tonight you can see every detail of his life and every part of him. the fear of being his father and disappointing another group of people, a broken man torn between the people he loved and the life he led— you could finally see him. you wondered if it hurt him to be away from you and his child, if he ever thought of you.

you take a deep breath, fabric of the sheets fuzzy in your ears as you shake your head up at him. “i could never regret being with you,” you sigh, dabi’s gaze lowering. “i just need you...”

your proclamation is all the permission dabi needs before he ascends on your neck, almost whimpering at the taste of your skin against his tongue. you know that he’s avoiding your lips, scared that things may not feel the same if he kisses you there— as if your love might have fizzled out from the months that you’ve been apart. the villain’s mouth is hot against your skin, sharp teeth sinking into the column of your throat— it’s not hard for him to find the spots that make your back arch and body tingle, the dark haired man would be embarrassed to admit that he had your body mapped out in his brain. you were all that he thought about in the months between then and now.

you miss his lips, but you fear that if you push your love to far he’ll clam up and withdraw from you completely. you can’t lose him while you have him now. in the meantime, your bodies press against one another hotly, burning while dabi paints shades of blue and purple deeper than his eyes against your flesh before lapping at each love bite with an odd tenderness people wouldn’t think he possessed at first glance. as he works, touya loses grip on your wrists, allowing them free roam across the expanse of his back.

your nails leave light tracks across his back, trailing up from his muscled back to the nape of his neck— curling in the white roots of his hair in an attempt to tug him up to your lips. “baby,” the old pet name tumbles from between them before you can catch yourself, laboured from where you’re short of breath. “please kiss me, please..”

with newly mussed hair, dabi is still for a moment before leaving one last mark at where your jaw meets your neck— wet tongue lolling over the fresh bruise while his large palm move back to cup your head. a thumb belonging to a scared hand runs over your bottom lip, pulling the plump flesh down while he watches your face for a reaction. “are you sure that’s what you want, beautiful?” the villain chuckles into the dark of the night, pink muscle running over his own lips to wet them in anticipation. “you want your man to kiss you?”

your senses go into overdrive, desperate for any kind of contact from the man above you— he feels so close and yet, a million miles away, even with his body making its way between your thighs and your chests pressing together eagerly.

“touya—“ you breathe, barely able to finish your sentence before the man himself delves deep into your mouth. his lips move with hesitance at first, sucking on yours slightly and parting for air more often than he should but you grip him by the whites of his hair firmly and tug him further into the kiss. your tongue dances along the seam of his lips, prying them open as you seek permission for entrance— dabi groans lowly as you tug on his roots and force your way into his mouth, tasting him as if it were your last time.

you swallow each of his moans that mingle softly with your own, while your tongues dance together messily— the kiss were and sloppy as if the two of you were out of practice. your worries fly out of the window from there, it’s good to know that neither of you had been with others during your time apart instead you feel like a teenager making out with their highschool crush for the very first time. dabi’s hips rut into the plush bed beneath you both and you can tell that even the slightest touches are riling him up beyond belief— it’d been almost a year since he’d felt you against him in any way and it didn’t help that you were so ready to accept him.

that you still wanted him.

whimpering at the thought, the villain pauses against your lips to catch his breath— panting softly. you can feel him pulling away, questioning if he deserves to be with you after everything he’d put you through. so, cupping dabi’s jaw, you let your free hand slip between your heated bodies and glide your fingertips along the waist band of his sweats.

“yn, i ain’t so sure about this,” dabi sighs, body twitching at the proximity of your hands to his hardness, his eyelids flutter shut and lock away his beautiful blue eyes— holding fear, insecurity and desire. “what if ya’still regret this later on?”

smiling up at him, you thumb at his cheek and work your hand deeper into his pants, past his underwear. “you’ve been away too long baby, i would regret not being with you more,” you coo up at him just as you grasp at his hardened length, watching as dabi shudders in your grip. his cock leaks hotly against your soft palm from going untouched for so long, your fingers explore him— tracing down the thick veins on the underside of his length. “let me make you feel good tonight.”

“fuck, sweetness. talk pretty with that filthy fuckin’ mouth of yours.” touya breathes heavily against your mouth, both of yours falling open in hot moans. cheekily, you run a thumb over his tip, circling the slit at the top. dabi collapses on top of you, burying his mop of salt and pepper hair into your neck as he drives his hips into your hand at his own leisurely pace. “y’better live up to those words—shit, don’t go letting me down, princess.” jade orbs finally open, heavy with lust and desire as the air around you tingles with a newfound desire to make each other feel good, settling on the planes of your marked and scratched skin.

your grip around dabi tightens while he fucks into your closed fist, wet sounds filling the room from where he leaks at his bright red tip— almost hot as his hands that dance up your sides and tenderly touch at your hips. so unsure, yet so needy. clear, thick precum guides the movement of your hand as it slides up and down your lover’s girth— he’s much bigger than you remember, swollen with an impending orgasm and dabi stutters when you reach further down his boxers to grip at weighty balls full of his seed, just about ready to burst.

he howls from deep within his chest, the noise only muffled from the drool that glides across his tongue before the villain’s wandering and scarred palms stop at your rib cage, settling just under your breasts. you don’t bother to stop pleasuring him even as his quirk ignites, blue flames burning right through your night shirt to expose your skin to the cool night air. without even a second thought, dabi’s mouth ascends on your tits, taking one into the hot cavern while his free hand seers marks over the other.

the thought have being branded by your man makes your hips jump and your hand squeeze his cock in your grip— a reminder of what’s to come later on. his strawberry tongue rolls across your hardened nipple and you yelp in surprise with the sudden feeling of cool metal across the exposed flesh. “y-you have your tongue pierced?” you squeal as dabi repeats his actions, loving the way you arch your back into his mouth and your heart rate speeds up.

“never know when a bit of metal’s gonna come in handy, sugar tits.”

you barely have time to formulate a response before your boyfriend’s mouth is back on you, biting and sucking and marking your raw flesh like a man starved of his last meal— you don’t let up either, quickly pumping his cock as he continues to leak, painting your hand with teases of his incoming release. you’re sure that his sweatpants and the sheets below you will be stained with his arousal from how much precum oozes from his dick, slicking up your hands and creating the perfect flashlight but you don’t dare to think of anything else but the way dabi’s face twists with pleasure as he desperately thrusts himself into the softness of your palm.

his cheeks flush red, globs of drool connecting the roof of his mouth to his tongue while his eyes grow fuzzy at each step he takes closer to orgasm, the very drool from his mouth covers each of your breasts as dabi switches between them— creating a layer of wet against your supple skin that shines under the moon. you flick your wrist around him, faster, harder— giving the villain everything you’ve got to make him feel good.

“shit pretty girl, y’gonna make me...cum,” touya shakes in your grip, eyes crossing and tongue becoming lazy against your marked up chest. his salvia pools against your skin while he pants and fucks your wet hand as if it were your pretty little cunt clamping down on him. “fuck, fuck, fuck. don’t you fuckin’ stop, don’t you dare fuckin’ stop...”

he barks out the demands, but there’s a neediness to his tone and whine to his voice that makes you grin with pride, even if you’re barely there from having your nipples stimulated beyond belief. “cum for me touya, please, wanna feel you come undone for me.” you beg him, ever so slightly and it’s just enough to push the villain over the edge, sending him into an earth shattering orgasm. you don’t dare to stop as you jerk him off, guiding down from his high as his cock twitches from release and paints your knuckles with the thick white of his seed. he mewls contendly into your breasts, slowing his hips while the world of colours dance behind his cerulean eyes.

“here with me yet?” you murmur to him, grasping his wild locks to tilt his head up towards your face— dabi looks so blissed out but the smirk on his raw and bitten lips tells you the night is far from over.

pressing a searing kiss to your sternum, your boyfriend’s pierced tongue makes yet another appearance as he trails the muscle down your soft tummy— biting your navel as he goes. “never left gorgeous, but don’t you fucking dare think for a second that this is over, y’got that?” he sits up quickly, grabbing hold of your doughy thighs and using them to pull you down the bed. the pads of his fingers start to burn marks into your skin, dancing along your legs and stopping just above the waistband of your underwear. “gotta stretch this cunt open before i give you my cock, remind you of who the fuck you belong to.”

spreading your thighs nice and wide, you release a breath you hadn’t realised you’d been holding as dabi’s hands finally come into contact with your slit, prodding at your slick folds from over your panties. lowering his face between your open legs, your boyfriend hums in satisfaction as he peels your sticky panties away from your pussy. “why, babydoll, you’re so fucking wet down here. this can’t all be for me, can it?” touya teases you, hot breath fanning against your unused sex while his fingers play with the string of your slick that coats them. “y’must’ve missed your man badly for your lil cunt to look this fucked up, s’pecially when i haven’t even touched’ya yet.”

you shiver and nod weakly, willing to say or do anything to feel more of your boyfriend against you. “s’all for you dabi, o-only you could get me this wet, n-no one else could take your place...” you mewl, hips bucking into the air while the man himself watches you grow needier and needier, hormones expelled into the air. dabi grins, leaning into your core once more to press his nose into your wetness, sniffing your spiked panties like the dirty man he is— only to then lay his pierced tongue flat against your folds, tracing your hole with the muscle while his nose bumps at your clothed clit.

“saved this all for me, huh? you’re so loyal, sweetness. waiting for me all this time…” he kitten licks at your cunt until you’re writhing amongst the already solid sheets, forcing his spit into your hole from over the thin fabric of your panties, creating a more prominent outline of your puffy lower lips as your thighs quieter around his head. they threaten to close as he works on you through your underwear— teasing and prodding at your sex to see if you respond the same way to his touches as you used to.

you force your shaking through his black and white locks, grabbing hold of his roots in an attempt to pull dabi back to your heat when he lifts his head from between your thighs— pushing your lips into a pout. “no, no no, baby, please— need you to eat my cunt, want your mouth on me, please!” you cry out, but you’re quickly pacified by his scarred hand which cups your pussy— seat of his hand grinding into your clit.

“god, if i had known you were still this eager to fuck me i woulda come home a long time ago, babydoll.” he chuckles, licking up your inner thigh and biting down on the plush flesh. “need’ta get rid of these though, they’re getting in my way.” the villain gestures to your panties, making you watch as his quirk burns it’s way through the silky material until it’s nothing but ash against your sheets. you gasp as soon as your cute little pussy is exposed to the cool air, missing the warmth of touya’s pink tongue against it. “better.” he sneers, eyes bright and glowing in the dark with a new sense of feral desire.

thick digits press into your tight hole at the same time touya takes to sucking on your swollen clit, forcing their way up your velvet walls in search for your pleasure spot. dabi chuckles against your sticky folds as you begin to whine, hips rolling up into your lover’s face while his tongue draws rough patterns onto your bud. you’ve missed him, missed this. the nights where the villain dabi would sneak into your home, becoming your touya todoroki between the four walls that you shared— where you would spend nights seeing stars by his hand or his cock and he would make you his over and over again. the memories have you clamping down on his digits like there’s no tomorrow, greedily sucking them in as he strokes at the walls of your sex and makes your whole body shake.

touya works hard at pleasuring you, apologising for his absence through slurping the juices from your folds only for you to gush and paint his scarred chin with more of your nectar. the way you taste makes him dizzy, he could spend the rest of his life between your thighs and never miss the outside world like he did before tonight. he wants to be good for you, make you feel good too and it’s not enough to feel the ecstasy roll off of your heavenly body in waves— he wants all of you, mind, body and soul to belong to him.

you can barely breathe, leaking with every swipe of his tongue against you and every twist of his fingers inside of you. you can feel everything at once, the euphoria crackling across your brain, high on the way touya makes you feel. “god, t-touya, don’ stop...feel so fucking good…” you heave in a drawn out moan, barely able to tell what’s up and what’s down as the villain pulls his fingers from your slick hole and replaces them with his tongue ( only after they’ve pushed down on your g-spot over and over again ).

“you’re not the one giving orders, sweet stuff, oh no.” dabi reminds you sloppily, looking like a child with no table manners as your nectar smears across his face. for his own satisfaction, he delivers a harsh smack to your pussy, watching as your entire body jolts and jumps up the bed. “your cunt is mine and i’ll do what i want with it, show you how much i missed it.”

his possessive words almost set you off, the knot in your stomach growing tighter with every pinch of your nub and every swirl on his tongue inside your walls, committing every ridge to memory. your body burns and you’re not sure if it’s from dabi pressing against you so hotly or because of the desire that fuels the fire inside you.

“yours, yours, yours!” you chant like a mantra, high pitched and whiny— your voice mixing with the crude sounds of your own pathetic cunt, that grows louder when dabi spits on your clit to add to your wetness. he lets it drip between your folds, fingers to busy with stimulating you to catch it before it slides between your lower cheeks, opting to use his tongue on you instead.

“ya’like that don’t you? missed your whinin’ pretty girl, fuck, even missed making you a fucking mess.” you keen into his touch, babbling incoherent praises to the man between your legs as he spreads you wider by the ass with one hand and forces his fingers back into your cunt with the other. his fingers curl into a come hither motion, repeatedly pressing down on your spongy spot as he sloppily makes out with your puffy nub— taking only one, two, three strokes to make your eyes roll into the back of your skull and your orgasm to wash over you.

your body convulses, shaking as you’re hit hard by your release— juices gushing all over your lover’s face even as he refuses to let up. “t-touya no...no no...can-can’t,” you whinge, tears clumping in your lashes. dabi spreads your lips again, using three digits instead of two to continue stimulating your clit until another release builds up inside your lower belly— clear liquid gushing out of your abused pussy and staining the sheets below.

he hums proudly, pressing a lasting kiss to your fluttering hole before reaching up to your lips to do the same, barely allowing you the time to catch your breath— chest heaving while you come down from your high. “so pretty when you squirt for me like that, sweetness,” dabi moans into your mouth, allowing you to taste yourself on him. but as soon as he comes, he’s gone— rolling you onto your stomach and lifting your hips so your ass sits in the air for him. “gonna take my cock now, kay?”

“kay,” you mumble into the sheets, brain too fuzzy to resist as the villain manhandles you the way he wants.

after shoving down his sweatpants, the eldest todoroki grips the peachy soft flesh of your ass— smacking it a few times with his heat activated palms to watch the flesh jiggle and his handprint sink into the skin. you lean back, watching over your shoulder as his cock stands at full attention, hard from seeing you come undone on his fingers and tongue. it burns bright red at the tip, another fat glob of precum making it shine and making you dribble with anticipation. “y’such a fuckin’ slut, my beautiful slut… hungry for my cock even after i’ve wrecked your lil pussy so bad,” dabi says with a cocky lilt to his voice, the very tone making your hole clench around nothing. he taps his sticky cockhead against your slit, running it up and down your cunt three or four times— groaning as it slides between your cheeks. the sensation causes your back to arch as you wail, fingers gripping the bed covers so tight that you almost cause them to tear. “don’t you worry baby, ‘m gonna make up for lost time, you don’t have to miss me anymore.”

there’s a double meaning to his words that you don’t ask him to elaborate on, too caught up in the way he teases your hole as he dips his length in— only to pull it right back out. “don’t tease, need you badly,” you plead, earning yourself another harsh spank to your raw ass cheeks.

“shut the fuck up and let me fuck you,” the words are harsh against his tongue, but dabi utters them softly as he relents to his wishes. his cerulean gaze flutters down to where your bodies begin to join, his large hand gripping his length before he starts to push into your dribbling entrance. “god, you’re s’fuckin’ tight, you might as well be a virgin.” pussy spasming at his words, you leak against touya’s cock, creating a lewd squelching sound as he pushes more of himself into you. the weight of dabi’s thick girth causes painful, yet delicious burn which he eases by rubbing soothing circles into your clit once more. “been s’long, i outta fuck you open again, huh?”

“uhuh, take me again touya. make me yours, all over again.” you slur over the spit drowning your tongue, eyes fluttering shut when the villain’s hips surge forward his dick brushes against your cervix. his rough, calloused palm grabs your neck from behind, forcing you down into the sheets while he bottoms out inside of you and pushes the last of his cock past your entrance. the two of you groan in unison, touya sitting heavy inside of your walls before you muster up the energy to say. “move.”

he doesn’t need to be told twice, whilst dabi was enjoying the feeling of being engulfed by your soft, warm insides— cock twitching in relief from time to time— he finds it within him to pull back from your selfish cunt to thrust into you with all his might. the force pulls a broken squeal from between your bitten and bruised lips, your hips pushing back against dabi to keep him inside of you. the pair of you move in sync, bodies dancing in a sensual grind between lovers that moulds your cunt into the shape of your boyfriend once more. “oh fuck yeah baby, oooh, missed your cunny s’bad…” dabi yowls loudly, listening for the squashy sounds of your sexes moving against one another. “christ, you like when i talk about your pathetic little pussy like this?”

you bite down on your lower lip, embarrassed by your own bleats of pleasure when he degrades you like this. annoyed by your lack of answer, touya grabs onto your hips and pulls you off of his cock, only to slam them back into you seconds later. his pace is unforgiving and relentless from there, forcing your body up the bed with every thrust into your core. “yes! like it, love it, missed your cock so bad touya!” you cry, holding onto the sheets for dear life as his dick drags along your pleasure spots and his hands burn marks into your ass and hips.

weakly, you attempt to match his thrusts. circling the meat of your ass back onto dabi and squeezing around the head of his girth every time it plunges into your sopping pussy. your arousals mix as he pounds away at your hole, a thick string hanging between your bodies and dribbling down your inner thighs, tainting innocent skin. the wet noise reverberates across the room, creating a passionate symphony with dabi’s deep, pitiful moans.

even though it had been a while since the two of you had been intimate like this, dabi still knew all the ways to get your body going. he took you from behind but still let his marred hands wonder and explore the planes of your skin, pinching here and there, marking your body as his to use and his alone. there’s love hidden beneath his rough touches, little signs that he missed having you so close to him— having you split open on his cock while you dripped on his pelvis and ruined your bedsheets, was his own way of unleashing his pent up emotions of love, anger and despair onto you and you wanted it. you wanted his good and his bad while he fucked you like his life depended on it, balls deep inside the pussy of the woman he loved was where he was most vulnerable with you.

“s-shit, sweetness, you’re such a pretty mess, so fucked up on my cock, can feel you clamping around me like my greedy bitch should.” you’re stuffed so full, clenching every time touya drives his cock deeper into your gummy cunt, head prodding at the sensitive bundle of nerves inside of you. he’s losing his mind at how you choke out his iron hot girth, clear liquid seeping down your thighs at every thrust. “you’re my beautiful brain dead baby, letting me fuck you like this, yeah? missed you baby, missed this,” despite his words, touya is no better than you, mind hazy with thoughts of you creaming around him because of how good he’s made you feel. him, and no one else. you saved yourself for him after all these months, the least he could do was bring you to cloud nine.

he does so by angling his thrusts up to meet your pleasure spot every time, howling your name in the way he knows you like just to feel your hot cunny spew more of your juices out against his tummy. “missed you, thought about this for months,” you lament, elbows that kept you up finally giving out as your body tiredly collapses into the sheets— dabi’s balls still clapping against your ass. he follows you down into bed covers, chest pressing hotly against your back as the jackhammers into you from behind. “thought about your fat cock in my tight pussy, t-touched myself to you...made being alone worth it, made waiting for you to come home worth it. ‘cause i get to see your beautiful face when you fuck me…” you barely register what you’re saying, babbling incorrectly while the temperature of your body rises with your level of arousal.

behind you, touya’s cheeks burn with a new feeling. deep down, all he wanted was to be validated as a lover to you, he’d always been deemed as the bad guy incapable of feeling anything for anyone other than himself. but you, you had proved him wrong so many times and he still found your words hard to believe. yet, it felt good to know how much you loved him. snaking a hand down to your face, the villain squishes your cheeks together and brings you up to his own face despite the arch to your back— he keeps up his sinful pace, your lower cheeks bouncing with every push and pull of his length while he drips a globule of his saliva into your pouting mouth. “shut up,” he grunts harshly, although love is written across his cobalt eyes.

you smile up at him dopily, keeping eye contact with him as you swallow gratefully. “anything for you,” his hands slip from your squashed cheeks to your throat, cupping it as he holds you against him. more arousal pools in your lower stomach, turned on by the thrill of him being able to end your life right then and there, all it would take would be one flame but you know more than anything that dabi loves you and would never hurt you. “i love you, touya todoroki. i a-always will.”

your admission makes dabi’s heart stop in his chest, heated pants tickling your ear as he continues to take you and claim your body as his. with newfound vigor, he links his free hand with yours that lays against the bed and rams his cock into your core as hard and as fast as he can, determined to make you cum. “i—oh fuck, i love you too, sweetness…” the arsonist can feel the way your cunt flutters around his girth at his confession, tears building up in your eyes once more. god, you were so pretty like this, arched for him perfectly in the moon, stars illuminating every curve and dip on your body— showing off the stretch marks from where you’d carried his child. everything about you turned him on in the best possible ways and everything about you that turned him on, also turned out to be everything he loved about you.

your stupid big heart, your stupid big eyes when you say that you love him, your stupid smile when he used to kiss you and hold you and even now when he fucked you. touya todoroki was in love and in the worst possible way but he couldn’t say he regretted a single moment of it, not when you stayed true to him after all these months of being apart. you raised his child and you loved him all the same and a part of him is grateful that you never turned your back on him like everyone else he’s ever loved.

so the least he could do is make love to you, push his creamy cock into the depth of your core while kissing down your spine to watch you shudder oh so cutely. it’s messy and sloppy and the pair of you should feel nasty for the stench of sex in the air, lingering against your skin. but you don’t, how could you? not when love and adoration tingles in the air as well, it’s messy because of the unadulterated emotions you feel for one another— deep in vulnerability is where dabi grinds his cock slowly into you, hitting all the right places that make you scream his name into the night. makes him mumble incoherent praises against your bruised neck and squished cheeks as he lewdly licks a stripe up the column of your neck to behind your ear.

you gush around him and he grunts with ecstasy into your ear, tightening that knot in your stomach as you both step closer to your highs. “you like the way i fill this cunt up, huh? yeah? when i hold you like this, when i fuck you like this?” dabi mutters to you lewdly, holding onto his sanity by a thin thread as his own release sneaks up on him. “tell me you like it...fuck sweetness, please.”

“i love the way you fuck me touya, fuck! only you can make me feel this good,” you moan to appease him, bouncing back against his cock while his hips begin to stutter and your eyes begin to cross. it’s true, you love belonging to him, being able to bring him such pleasure and you know he feels the same way. the villain prods at your g-spot over and over again, stealing your breath away as he pulls you up and into your chest, changing the angle of his hips to bring you to the last hurdle. “baby—ohmygod—-touya! ‘m sososo close, don’t stop...don’t stop, gonna cum, give it to me, give it to me please!” you chant, eyes fluttering shut as you lean your head back against his shoulder and search for his hand, voice rising with every octave as you get closer and closer.

“fucking cum for me sweet girl, shit, cum all over this fucking cock.” dabi manages through gritted teeth, grasping your hand while the pace of his thrusts grow inconsistent.

that’s all that you need to hear before the damn breaks and arousal floods through your entire body courses through your veins. white dances behind your eyes in flashes as your release flushes out of your pussy and drips between touya’s balls, coating them in a layer your honeyed slick. you slump against your boyfriend, not able to mutter a word as you convulse in a silent scream and squeeze both his hand and cock alike.

gently, he pushes you down to the bed and pulls his cock from your intoxicating heat— his free hand clasps around his cock, palming himself towards a swift release. “yeah, oh fuck yeah, fuckin’ love you baby,” he cums on your back and your ass, thick, potent and milky seed landing on your flushed skin before he collapses beside you and exhaustion settles in his bones.

you black out for a few minutes after, fingers still intertwined but dabi manages to slip out long enough to retrieve a washcloth that's damp and warm to clean you both up with. you wake up just as he crawls back into bed with you, kissing your hairline while he makes himself comfortable. “almost thought i’d killed you for a second,” the villain jokes, slinging a loose arm over your bare waist and pulling you to lay on his chest.

“you couldn’t, even if you tried.” you counter sleepily, drawing star shapes on your boyfriend’s naked stomach. a comfortable silence sweeps over the room, despite the thoughts that linger on your mind. looking up at dabi, you notice him drifting off but still can’t help the words that slip from your lips. “why didn’t you ever come back?”

you feel dabi’s chest rise and fall with a deep sigh, fingers coming up to scratch at your scalp— something that used to help you to sleep when you were together before. “i was figuring out a way to get out of the league, to be with you and kori.” he says after some time, catching your eye as you give him a confused look. “shigaraki doesn’t know about her, i never told him. but i knew from the moment we found out about her, i didn’t want her to be a part of the life i’m involved in and knowing how the league works, they’d find a way to make use of her.”

you stay quiet, not knowing what to do with the new information and dabi’s reasoning for staying away for so long. on one hand you were grateful to him for keeping your daughter quiet and safe but part of you still wished he’d given you a sign to let you know it’d all be okay. grabbing your chin, he forces you to look up at him—passionate flames burning in his eyes. “i need you to trust me on this one sweetness, i promise nothin’ will happen to you nor kori. so long as i’m around.”

“pinky promise?” you ask him sweetly, feeling the truth to his words.

you hold up your pinky to the villain’s face, smiling through exhaustion as he rolls his eyes down at you. “pinky promise, babydoll. now get some shut eye, kay?” touya links your pinky with his, scoffing when you make him kiss them.

“g’night, touya.”

“sleep well, babydoll.”

the bed is cold when you wake up the next morning.

the panic sets in quickly, speeding up with the chirping of birds from your balcony outside. you shouldn’t be tearing up over the childishness of a pinky promise. he always made you promises but never actually kept the and as quickly as dabi had waltzed back into your life, he had left you alone and in the cold once more.

gathering yourself together, you stumble out of your bed— avoiding any mirrors that may show the cascade of marks dabi had left against your skin from the previous night. you feel embarrassed and ashamed that you let him back into your life so easily, especially now that you had kori to think about. tears start to well in your tired and puffy eyes as you head to the kitchen, thinking that a mug of coffee will calm you down before you prep your daughter for the day.

but as you wander out of your room, the familiar sound of your baby girl’s laugher drifts through the air— seemingly coming from the kitchen. the sweet melody calls out to you and suddenly your casual stride to the kitchen becomes a brisk walk so you can reach her faster. “kori? baby? did you climb out of your crib again—?” you call out to her, stopping in your tracks when you round the corner.

dabi stands in the middle of your kitchen, still shirtless, with kori balanced on his hip— in one hand he holds a small blue flame, which you’re sure he believes is safe enough for kori to play with while the other steadies your baby girl while she claps and squeals. a first. you’re not too sure when the last time you’d seen her happy was, but you figure her father’s presence had something to do with it.

“i was going to make you breakfast, but the little shit woke up and i didn’t have enough free hands to make you a grilled cheese.” touya smirks over at you, diminishing his flame to grasp kori’s hand and use it to wave at you. she squeals happily, curls bouncing and eyes lighting up in a similar way to her father’s. your heart melts at the sight of them being together, seeing the mannerisms that they share and how joyous they seem. they both grinned the same way, shared the little twitch in their noses and even their sneezes. kori todoroki was an exact replica of touya todoroki, right down to the tiny red curl she had lost in her white locks.

“you know, i thought you’d left,” you make your way across to the island where dabi sets his daughter down and check her temperature— just in case her sudden change in mood is down to any sickness. “the bed was cold when i woke up.”

“didn’t i make you a promise last night, sweetness? i’m not going anywhere,” the arsonist reminds you, wrapping his arms around you from behind while you wipe at kori’s pudgy baby cheeks and give her the once over again. “if you’re checking the kid’s temperature, she's usually pretty cold because of my mom’s quirk. something ice related will be coming through, but she must’ve inherited your strong constitution. guess she has a normal body temp when i’m around ‘cause it balances her out.” while dabi explains the inner workings of kori’s incoming quirk, she claps and babbles excitedly from her place on the island— making a game out of throwing her toys off of it. all of dabi’s logic makes sense and you seem a little more relieved knowing how to take care of her from here.

picking her up, along with her stray toys, you set your baby down by her playmat again and switch on some baby-safe cartoons while you fix yourself and dabi some coffee, kissing all over kori’s face beforehand. he had whined when you pulled away the first time to give your daughter some attention, it was almost comical how the big bad villain had pouted then. “i wonder if there’s anything of mine she inherited or if it’s all you and todoroki genetics.”

“well, her pretty smile certainly didn’t come from me, babydoll.” dabi muses with a light chuckle, arms trapping you against his chest once more as you continue to make you both some much needed caffeine. the coffee machine whirrs as you sway together in the early morning sunshine, warmth from the sun brushing against your skin and touya’s hair tickling your neck before he presses kisses over your fading love bites while kori’s annoying shows play in the background. everything feels complete and at peace. you feel like a real family. “i could get used to this, this life with you.”

you spin in dabi’s arms, cupping his cheeks and taking in his face for the millionth time in the last twelve hours. “then stay, or at least visit some more now that you’re back. you may not feel it, but kori and i need you. everything has always been better when you’ve been around touya… and i mean that. stay.” you stare at him with pleading eyes, standing on your tiptoes to stare him down and communicate just how much you needed him here with you both.

and for once in his life, touya todoroki feels the most loved he’s ever really felt. here in this shitty two bedroom apartment with his angelic little girl and his beautiful girlfriend during the winter season— touya knows this is right where he needs to be. “i’ll stay, for as long as you’ll fuckin’ have me.”

“forever, then?” you ask, eyes lowering to your boyfriend’s lips.

“forever it is, babydoll.” the villain nods, following your gaze before leaning down to capture your lips with a promise written into your sweet kiss.

extended ending

you thought that the best kind of weather was when the sun peeked out from behind the clouds but the air around you was still as cold as a december’s day. the breeze is enough to make your nose run just a little, but occasionally the warmth of the sun’s rays radiates across your skin like a warm blanket, balancing it out.

it was the kind of weather where people didn’t know how to dress, some wore mismatched shorts and jerseys whilst others were decked out in scarves up to their cheeks and sandals where their toes flopped out. it was the kind of weather that reminded you of dabi and kori, they were your warmth and your cold, they balanced each other out and made your family whole.

kori sits on your right hip as you push the car door closed and wave goodbye to an accomplice of your boyfriend’s— your driver for the evening. your little girl’s curls are combed back into two even pigtails, dark blue bows in each one while the red lock of her hair ( now, much longer ) curls against her forehead stubbornly. she looks so pretty, all fancied up a dress that dabi had chosen for her on this particular occasion, the lace irritated her only slightly but the decapitated endeavour plushie her father had gifted her served nicely as a distraction.

you bounce her once, cooing down at your baby before you look to the hospital in front of you— a look of determination in your eye. ever since the night touya had visited you and swore to stay, he’d kept his word to the best of his abilities. being a villain was still a major factor in your relationship, he came when he could stayed if his job permitted it— taking care of your daughter when your shifts were long and even going as far as to learn his and kori’s favourite recipes to cook on the nights where you couldn’t or you didn’t fancy take out.

in the last few weeks his visits had become slightly more scarce with shigaraki becoming more and more demanding, but touya’s plan to leave the league was slowly coming to fruition along with endeavour and the hero society which had both carved a life of struggle for the three of you.

your boyfriend being busy had given you more time to reconnect with the friends you had lost over the last year, meeting up with those from college, mina and tsuyu ( who’d simply thought you’d gone off the radar ) for kori’s first birthday. they absolutely loved her and your sweet girl loved all the attention she was getting. you even had the chance to reunite with your parents, who were more remorseful that you felt you couldn’t come to them for help than the fact that you’d gotten pregnant during college.

of course, they all asked who the father was and you simply told them that he had died ( which was half true ), using the excuse that you were embarrassed to be widowed and with a child at your young age.

shaking your head, you enter the hospital and recite the words that touya had made you practice the night before. you were here by endeavours orders and needed to see mrs.todoroki. your lover had used some sort of hack to put you on the list of visitors for his mother but one look at kori was all the guards and staff needed to let you through. a few nights prior to today, dabi had asked you to do one thing for him before it all went down, kissing your knuckles over some sushi take out.

so despite your nerves, you would go through with this for him, especially if it meant your family could be together. some guards escort yourself and kori to rei todoroki’s room, leaving you with a curt nod and slightly more polite wave to your daughter. the room itself is slightly bleak, a chair and some blue cushioned sofas positioned in an L-shape parallel to the blanketed bed. there’s a tv in the top left corner which and a set of draws underneath where a clear vase sits— containing blooming blue flowers.

rei looks up when you enter, grey eyes flashing with confusion despite the blank look on her face as kori babbles happily in your arms. “who are you?” she whispers, hands retreating from her flowers and folding neatly in her lap.

“oh! i’m yn, your son’s fiancé and this,” you beam kindly, further entering the room and being sure to lock the doors behind you. you nod your head down to your daughter who waves around her endeavour plushy— paying no mind to the situation unfolding. “this is our daughter, your granddaughter...kori todoroki! she’s just turned one and daddy thought it was about time she met you, isn’t that right pretty girl?”

“dada!!!”

rei blinks and you smile again. “she’s a daddy’s girl,” you explain and lift your hand to snow the small sapphire engagement ring on your ring finger. touya had proposed last night as well, certain your plan would work out. “and quite frankly, so am i! how can i not be when your son treats me so well.”

nodding slowly, the wife of endeavour looks down at her hands which you note, nervously fiddle with a stray petal. “so, natsu and you—?” you can see her trying to work it out, curiosity written across her features. you could see why the woman might think kori was natuso’s child— they looked a lot like each other just by first glance but rei was missing an important feature. the colour of kori’s eyes.

“oh no, your other son. the eldest one.” you correct her with a sinister shake of your head. swiftly crossing the room to set your daughter down in rei’s lap. you watch with an evil air of satisfaction as rei todoroki freezes with fear, as the mistakes her family paid out to touya suddenly come to the forefront of her mind. she wobbles with kori still in her grip and you shoot her a dark glare— reaching over to fix her flowers in their vase. “touya picked these out, always said that you loved them. such a pretty shade of blue, no wonder why they’re your favourites, right?”

“please leave.” she looks up at you pleadingly, shaking like a leaf in the breeze outside. oh how you wish your fiancé was here to see this but he had more important things to do.

rolling your eyes, you grab the remote to switch on the tv— pinching kori’s nose affectionately to make her laugh again. “come sit with me rei, let’s watch some tv to help you calm down.”

the woman nods weakly, barely moving an inch as you take a seat beside her with a smile. you skip channels a few times, pride swelling up in your chest when you finally land on the right one, touya’s broadcast flashing across the screen. he sits leisurely in a chair, shirtless with all of his beautiful scars on display— a painful reminder of his childhood and what he’d become. “i, touya todoroki, was born as the eldest son of endeavour. today i’ve killed over 30 innocent people until now, some to protect my family. my daughter, who i have not been able to see due to my father. i would like to let everyone know why i’d end up committing such a hideous act.” he speaks such calmness and clarity, and you can’t help but feel emotional at how he stands in front of the world.

kori grins, leaping up at the sight of her father on the screen and claps her hands. “dada!! dada!! lookie s’daddy!!” she squeals while rei struggles to breathe, panic set in her eyes.

you put a hand on the woman’s shoulder, offering her a sweet grin in an attempt to calm her before the oncoming storm. “keep watching, mrs.todoroki, touya said we’d be one big, happy family after this.” the words are sugar coated and sickly sweet, carrying the dark meaning across to your fiancé’s mother.

looking away, your heart swells while touya tears down the hero society and spills the truth for all of japan to see. you were grateful to the man he’d become— loyal to you, to your daughter and the dreams that you had. the satisfaction of seeing the real villains of the world fall was much greater than any hush money enji todoroki could ever offer.

fin.

— TAGLIST:

@husband-to-tomura-shigaraki @grace-todoroki @toshiuwu @whet-ones-write

2K notes · View notes

sisterlelianas · 4 years ago

Text

another life (oh, if only you knew)

ao3 link

this is a “small” (🤡) one-shot where our lady alcina dimitrescu meets the woman who ends up being her future lover for the first time before she’s turned into a vampire. they meet again, centuries later and are both unprepared to face each other, in their own way. In other words: they are gay ❤️ + someone tell these two fools how to navigate their feelings for each other, PLEASE

word count: 10.810 words (yeah, i know)

author’s notes: a huge chunk of this was written before i played the game, meaning most of it (including things regarding Heisenberg’s powers, etc) is not canon compliant, still, i feel like going against canon is a good thing for us, anyway. y’all know what i mean. SO! this one-shot is actually really close to my heart. alcina and the girls live in my head absolutely rent free and i don’t even mind. hope you all enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writing it

p.s. this is the first fic that i have ever posted and written. blame it on our milf

Big, social gatherings were useful in their own, distinct way. Meeting counts, their wives, the countesses... the secret lovers of those same counts, which everyone, but the wives, were aware of... there were plenty of those. Never a dull moment, truly. Attending a party your dear, darling husband organised, however, was a different story. Alcina Dimitrescu was not the kind of woman to be more than glad to step back from her role and allow a man to take the reigns for her, to allow him to play the part of the head of the house. She oftentimes found herself wishing for his... mysterious disappearance. He could even flat out drop dead - she was not picky.

The overwhelming noise of constant blabbering from her guests was beginning to irritate her, though. Meaningless social affairs were most definitely beneath the Countess - hiding the frown that would frequently settle on the corners of her mouth, after a particularly loud cackle from one of the men, by sipping some wine seemed to be turning into a recurring move for the woman. Everywhere she looked all she could see was uninteresting people playing a part. Acting as if they were all happy to be there. What else was new? The same faces carrying out the same conversations. The worst part was that her husband had the most... particular taste in friends. They were all male, of course, and so incredibly stupid and dull. The kind you look at and just know they won’t be saying anything insightful throughout the entire affair. Men, the Countess mused. What else could you expect from such limited beings? The mere thought of them making her frown deeper, her lips pursing slightly for what seemed like a millisecond.

Her husband was fuelled by attention - seemed to thrive off it, actually. She turned to look at him from the red, bergère chair she was sitting on and observed his behaviour from afar. One hand was in his pocket, the other holding a golden goblet filled to the brim with red wine. The contents of it would often spill and fall to the floor whenever he would give a hearty laugh or swing his arms around to better illustrate whatever dull-witted point he was trying to make. The goblet was filled to the brim no longer and his cheeks were rosy, meaning he was far from being sober, at that point. It was only a matter of time before she had to step in and chastise him for acting like a fool whose goal seemed to be disgracing House Dimitrescu, something the Countess would never turn a blind eye to. She held on to her own goblet of wine tighter, then. Luckily, it was not made of glass, or it would have shattered.

She exhaled harshly from her nose, once, before a charming, almost musical laugh broke her reverie. She had to keep herself from snapping her head to the side to look at where the sound had come from, making her movements slow and precise instead, so as to not draw attention to herself or her newfound curiosity. Well, well. Now that was a pleasant sight. The sound had come from a woman. An extremely beautiful one, at that. Her hair was brown, braided most elegantly, and complemented her features in a way that was almost indescribable. The warm lighting of the ballroom they were in altered it’s hue, reminding the other woman of free, autumn leaves, drifting gracefully in the wind. The Countess wondered how long the woman’s hair would be if she were to free it from the pins that were holding it in place.

Her dress was red, cut somewhat generously at the front. Bold, for the gathering she was attending, though it certainly made a statement, it would seem. The frame fitting, silken dress appeared to draw the attention of several men, who, of course, barely even bothered to make eye contact with the woman whenever they spoke to her. This made Alcina’s lips curl down momentarily in disgust. Men could truly be such dogs, she thought.

The brown haired woman captured the attention of every person around her whenever she’d speak, although the smile she wore did not reach her hazel coloured eyes - it had a subtle, mechanical look to it - and her posture was slightly too stiff, as if she studied every move before actually moving. Her smile, her demeanour... it was all clearly forced, but only those who were paying very close attention could see through her mask. The woman’s eyes then shifted downwards when she sipped her wine. She felt a pair of eyes on her - sort of like how you feel when roaming around in a haunted house, you don’t see anything, yet feel everything, only this time, the feeling was more than welcomed. Drifting her eyes upwards, she finally met the Countess’s gaze. Almost like a magnet. How intriguing. She was, indeed, hauntingly beautiful, the mysterious woman thought.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, in a way that was almost too cliché. The brunette half-hoped she could relive the moment all over again. She could not look away. They both couldn’t.

The woman’s lips were still hidden behind the glass of wine, but her eyes told the Countess all she needed to know. They stared at each other for what seemed like centuries and every second of it was absolutely delicious - the brunette didn’t shy away from Alcina’s prying eyes at all, she seemed to revel in the fact that she was the one the Countess was looking at - her chest puffed slightly, her head tilting upwards a bit, and when she finally removed the goblet from her face she had an almost missable smirk painting her soft, red lips, making one of Alcina’s eyebrows arch slightly. Ah, at this rate, the things you could see just by looking into another person’s eyes was almost criminal.

Their staring contest was, much to Alcina’s chagrin, broken when a particularly loud and obnoxious laugh came from her husband. The fool was probably trying to charm one of his guests for the umpteenth time that evening. Having had enough, she stood up at once and took long strides towards him so as to not allow him to embarrass himself, or, rather, her, any further. The room didn’t fall silent, but several people spoke in a hushed tone as they watched the Countess walk towards the opposite side of the room. The way she moved was almost hypnotic - the skirts of her dress shifted delicately, her face completely still, not betraying any emotions, not a hair on her head out of place. It was almost as if she was floating.

“Beloved,” the sound of her voice evoked an immediate reaction out of her husband, who quickly turned to face her, visibly sputtering, and out of several other people near them. Heads literally turned.

Everyone knew who was at the helm of House Dimitrescu, it didn’t matter how many parties her husband attempted to throw or how many Counts he tried to butter up. There was only one, and it was not him. It was her. He knew this. She knew this. Everyone did, and playing the part of the good, perfect, respectable wife was beginning to wear the woman down in a way that was borderline dangerous, at that point. Men are technically allowed to rule sometimes, unfortunately. This was not one of those times.

“My dearest wife-“ her husband started, slurring his words slightly. She immediately cut him off by grasping his arm in a way that told him to stop talking, but also looked relatively loving to whoever was watching, “A word,” she was not asking, she was telling.

The brown haired woman, who had previously captured the Countess’s attention, watched as the couple walked, with their arms linked, towards a secluded part of their castle. She noticed how the black haired woman nodded curtly towards her guests as she walked past them, not wanting to be a poor host despite being displeased with her husband’s behaviour. Brown eyes took in the other woman’s.... figure as she walked away. A sight to behold, as she had initially guessed. Her dress hugged all her curves in the most mouthwatering way. It was almost too difficult for one to tear their eyes from her.

In the meantime, the party was simply not the same when she was absent. Like an ever-present energy, not a soul in that room could look at the Countess and mistake her for a person who could go unnoticed. Even if she wasn’t in the room physically, everything had her name written all over it. It was hers. It was all hers.

——

Several moments passed before the Countess and her husband decided to grace the party with their presence once more, still, the brunette immediately took note of it and watched as the other woman navigated the room confidently to greet some of her other guests, never once breaking into a full smile, however. Maybe they just hadn’t earned it.

If she wanted to greet her and leave a lasting impression, before having to leave the party, it had to be now.

——

“— they are positively dreadful. I cannot bear the sight of them. The man calls himself a painter yet cannot seem to find within himself the ability to paint properly!” a man loudly said, some of the guests laughing along with him. Others at him. Alcina’s facial expression, on the other hand, remained completely neutral with no signs of her cracking a smile anytime soon. The man noticed and, unfortunately for him, made an attempt to mansplain art to the Lady of the House. The group fell silent, uncomfortably so, as the man waited on Alcina to grace him with a response. It did not seem like he was getting one.

“You are out of your depth, Constantin,” Alcina immediately recognised the lilting voice, looked over her left shoulder and towards the sound. It was her. The phrase was voiced with a hint of playfulness so as to not humiliate the man any further, “Our host knows more about the wonders of the arts than you ever will.” She was standing directly beside Alcina now, yet seemingly refused to meet her gaze, choosing not to break eye contact with the man who dared question the Lady’s knowledge instead.

“In fact,” she inhaled through her nose, pursed her lips - allowing a hint of contempt to escape her for a fleeting moment - and clasped her hands at her front, “I believe we are all uncultured, empty-headed people in comparison, no? Some more than others”, she gave the man a pointed look, making the people around her chuckle in consensual agreement. That’s when she finally turned her head to face the other woman, whose gaze had been boring holes into her head as soon as she had decided to stand beside her. That’s when the brunette noticed that no one else was near the Countess, but all directly in front of her. It was as if she had stepped onto the woman’s stage. The realisation made her bow her head humbly before turning her body to fully face her, “I don’t believe we’ve met, my Countess”, she extended her hand, “Angela Drăculea, I have been meaning to make your acquaintance for awhile, now”.

This time, her smile had reached her eyes, which were now half-lidded. The laugh lines that formed charmingly around them only seemed to become more noticeable once Alcina took her hand in her own and hummed in acknowledgement, “I don’t believe our husbands have met”, she stated matter of factly.

“I beg your pardon?” the other woman said. They were still holding each other’s hands, the feeling sending shivers down Angela’s spine - she even seemed to draw nearer when the Countess spoke, which did not go unnoticed. Like a sailor being charmed by a siren, completely unaware of the perils surrounding such action. Alcina’s gaze refused to leave her own. It soon became intoxicating.

“He would have introduced us by now,” her calming voice said, before finally dropping the other woman’s hand, “Unless you come here uninvited and are a trespasser,” once again, it was not posed as an inquiry, it was as if she was throwing statements at the other woman, gauging her reaction to them.

The brunette squinted her eyes without dropping her endearing smile, “Our husbands have not met, no.” she squared her shoulders, then, and allowed her gaze to drift downwards, towards the Countess’s necklace, though she doubted that that’s what the other woman was really looking at, “I am afraid I have no husband to introduce in the first place,” she playfully said, giving her a knowing smile and looking into her eyes once more. Angela was good at matching other people’s energy. If they teased, she would tease back. If they taunted, she would follow. If they threatened...

A hint of a smile ghosted Alcina’s lips, “Is that so?”

The atmosphere changed around them almost immediately. Some of the guests even squirmed uncomfortably whilst watching the verbal exchange unfold. It was not a normal conversation by any means. The brunette seemed to be speaking to the Countess for a particular reason. Alcina, on the other hand, was testing her. Watching her. Studying her, in a way that was not totally uncomfortable but also let the other woman know that she was not to be taken for a fool. Even so, their audience didn’t seem to bother this so-called ‘Angela’, Alcina noted. If anything, it only seemed to encourage her. Interesting, she thought.

The woman gave a smile, that was absolutely sinful, and bit down on her bottom lip for a split second. The woman opened her mouth to say something before placing her, now empty, goblet of wine on a round, silver platter one of the servants, who walked past her, was holding, “Indeed,”

“Rather unusual, wouldn’t you say?”, her tone lost all signs of amusement, then, and her expression turned almost sour. The sudden change of heart caught the brunette off guard, but unfortunately to Alcina, she was quick-witted and would not back down easily.

“Some would say so, yes,” her chin tilted upwards almost imperceptibly. She couldn’t stand taller than the other woman even if she tried, however. They were about the same height, Angela was slightly shorter, but the way the Lady of the House carried herself made her look taller than any other person in that room, almost incomprehensibly so, “Some would even go as far as to question my womanhood. Be that as it may... it is not how I see it.”

Alcina’s nostrils flared for a brief second, she had a feeling that the woman before her was about to cross a line that should never be crossed. Not with her. It was as if she was pushing all her buttons just to see if she could. A mistake. Nevertheless, she pressed on, “How do you see it?”, she glowered, daring her to speak her mind.

Angela didn’t look the tiniest bit regretful. It drove Alcina mad. She was a lady, therefore making a scene was absolutely out of the question, but Gods be damned, if the woman in front of her didn’t stay in line—

“Complete and utter freedom.” she cooed. The last thing Alcina expected was for the woman to bend at the waist, then, seemingly choosing to remove herself from the conversation now before it ended poorly, and moved to hold the Countess’s hand in her own once more. She paused, allowing Alcina to remove her hand from her grasp. When that didn’t come, she looked up from under her lashes, not moving from the position she was in, and placed a deliberate kiss on her hand, feeling it tense up under her touch.

Once they stood at eye level, the first thing Angela observed was the Lady’s facial expression. First, her eyes flashed dangerously. Then, her jaw clenched. But then, and much to the brunettes dismay, Alcina’s face went blank. All terrible signs, when one is making an attempt at courtship, really. No matter though, because the last thing Angela noticed before finally moving away from the Countess were her eyes. One’s body always betrays them, it would seem, for the woman’s pupils were blown and only one word was written all over her face. Desire.

“In another life, perhaps?” was all the infuriating woman said, a soft smile on her face, before finally moving away, turning her back on the Lady and disappearing into the crowd. She left just as the Countess’s husband decided to join in on the conversation he had just missed. Whatever it was that he said, it earned him a hissed out reply from his wife.

———————————————

“My decision is final, there will be no argument. Remember from whence you came,” was all the priestess had to say for the room to settle down, “Unless any of you provide me with a reason as to why our plan should change, I advise you all spare me your childish, petty squabbles”. Her voice was cold and left no room for disagreement. Heisenberg looked at his sister, his chest puffed and a ridiculously smug grin on his face. There was nothing more she wanted to do at that moment than wipe it off his face. With his hammer, perhaps.

He had always been an irksome man, yet became even more so after his transformation. Alcina was thankful for the fact that she did not have to deal with his presence on a daily basis. He was like an annoying smell you simply could not get rid of and having to deal with familial issues even after your death felt like a poor joke. He did not respect her. She would have to change that.

“Thank you, Mother Miranda,” he patronisingly said, bowing to his sister mockingly, “you will not be disappointed”. There was his wolffish grin again. Alcina tsked and moved to stand behind her seat once more. Losing Ethan Winters did not irritate her too much - she did not care for the man nor for his safety - the fact that she was losing him to her brother, of all people, however... Now, that was a different story. It seemed that, even in death, men attempted to reach for things that were not theirs to claim. She knew her brother. His irresponsible nature would end up getting the best of him and she would have to clean up his mess. That’s how it always went. She and her daughters would’ve killed the mortal so much quicker.

He turned to face the man in shackles then, opened his arms wide and began, loudly, “Lycans and gentlemen, we thank you for waiting! And, now, let the games beg—“

He would have finished his speech if he had not been rudely interrupted by the sound of the doors, leading to the old, dilapidated chapel, slamming against the walls, a woman standing on the threshold. She was wearing all black garments, which were softly swaying in the cold, winter breeze, her face fully shadowed and hidden both by her hood and some kind of plain, black material covering the lower half of her face. Not a single hint of skin in sight. Her ensamble was not poor or dirty in the slightest. It was perhaps a bit hard on the eyes, but one could tell it was carefully handpicked by its wearer. Clothes do make others perceive you differently, after all. Whatever it was that she was trying to achieve by dressing in such fashion, it seemed that she had succeeded.

Her posture was straight and one of her, gloved, hands was holding on to some kind of satchel. Everyone in the room was surprised by the sudden interruption, including the mortal, who was now making pathetic attempts to uncomfortably turn and face whatever new threat he would have to deal with later. Everyone looked as if the woman was trespassing. Everyone but the priestess.

“You have decided to join us after all, I see,” her tone was far from welcoming. It almost sounded as if she was reprimanding the woman, not just for interrupting their meeting, but for showing up at all, “Do you come bearing news?”, once again, her tone was flat, giving away the impression of utter disinterest and boredom.

Heisenberg was leaning against his hammer and pinching the bridge of his nose with his right hand, probably wondering when he was going to be allowed to play with his food. Alcina, on the other hand, was watching this woman, who had not yet made a sound, carefully. It was almost like they had been interrupted by a ghost. A ghost they were not meant to see. She took the other woman in once more, noticing how she was, surprisingly, not as short as the others around her. Still not as tall as the Countess, but definitely much taller than her brother, for instance. How interesting.

“My suspicions were correct,” that voice.... where could she have heard it before? Lady Dimitrescu stood taller then, her eyes widening for a split second and her lips forming a thin line before she could keep her facial expressions under check. It could not be, could it? After all those years?

“You took your precious time,” Miranda critiqued, “what have you learned?”, the room was dead silent, save for a few lycans who were growling lowly at the new guest. All eyes were set on this newcomer, which, interestingly enough, seemed to upset her. Her hand had left her satchel and was now gripping her black cloak, as if she was trying to wrap it around herself even tighter. Only one other person in the room kept most of her body covered - Donna, the head of House Benenviento, but even she was a poor example. One woman was a... grieving daughter, the other was not.

“Our enemy, our true enemy, is one Chris Redfield. He plans to strike from the shadows once we are all too exhausted to retaliate.” Her voice was being somewhat muffled by the material covering her face, but it was clear enough that no one needed to listen closely to understand what she was saying. Even if she looked utterly uncomfortable, her posture did not give that away at all. She stood tall. Proud. She did not cower or shift closer to the shadows, no matter how badly she wanted to. In all honesty, it was not a poor effort, but there was one person who could see right through her.

“And you know this how, exactly?” Heisenberg drawled. Moving away from his hammer and sliding his glasses down the bridge of his nose just to take a better look at the woman.

“He is here. In your village. Roaming around your property. Studying you. Something that is only happening because you were much too busy hunting down this stupid, useless man for sport,” the woman snapped, yet kept the volume of her voice relatively low and her tone neutral, clearly not entertained by the man’s behaviour. Her eyes gave out this orange glow with a red tint to it - they flashed whenever Heisenberg tried to address her. Some curses become a blessing though, because the man’s infuriating demeanour made the woman let go of her cloak, her posture straightening once more, but not out of discomfort this time.

“Careful, Angela,” the priestess warned, cutting their argument short, “know your place.” it was posed as a warning, not a threat, but, frankly, Angela had been roaming the Earth for far too long, now, and standing down was not something she was inclined to do. Ever.

“With all due respect, my Priestess, my place is something I am excruciating and painfully aware of.” Angela spat out, her tone making Alcina’s lips curl upwards in acknowledgement for a brief moment. That did sound like the woman she had met on that dreadful party all those years ago. Though she was, obviously, not the same as she once was... in more ways than one.

The room fell silent for the umpteenth time that day and remained that way for a few, uncomfortable seconds. Angela’s chest rose and fell steadily, her eyes never leaving the priestess’s. The awkward, tense moment was broken when the House Beneviento puppet, Angie, coughed once, followed by a small, meek “.... sorry...”. This was going to be a long day.

“I just want my daughter—“ general grumbles of annoyance and a loud ‘shut the fuck up’ came from the people around him. Well. Maybe that would have to come later.

“You cannot be suggesting we let this man go?” the word was practically spat out, which was definitely in character for Lady Dimitrescu, “For once, I agree with my sister,” was what Heisenberg said, earning him a disgusted look from the Countess.

“Maybe I have not made myself clear,” Angela turned to face Alcina for the first time in literal centuries, then. The taller woman wished she could see her face, her fingers twitched momentarily at the thought. Still, she refused to let any kind of emotion seep through her mask, opting to pretend to be completely unfazed by their conversation instead.

The other woman did not seem particularly glad to see her, which sent an uncomfortable feeling through the lady vampire’s chest. This kind of behaviour was not to be rewarded.

.... Surely she had not forgotten her?

“I suggest we move our efforts towards a more fruitful endeavour, such as doing away with the man who wants to eradicate us. It is entirely up to you, however,” her eyes scanned the taller woman’s face. Looking at her eyes, her hair, the laugh lines around her mouth and, then, settling on her lips before looking away entirely.

It was strange, seeing her like this. Her fiery personality was, of course, still there, but before the Countess stood a woman who was merely a shell of who she used to be. She had often thought about the woman who had boldly courted her for all to see. Wondered if she had lived a full life. Happy and free, as she was. Oh, how the mighty have fallen. She looked utterly miserable now, which was a clear indication of just how consensual the experiments that were inflicted upon her were. There they stood. What had once separated them centuries ago seemed to separate them now. One was still a caged animal, struggling to get free.

A pang of something hit Alcina’s chest. That was definitely not a feeling she welcomed with open arms. Some things are meant to be secured under lock and key. Never to be brought up, not once. This was one of those things.

The woman bowed her head slightly, a sign of respect towards the Countess. Having seen that, Heisenberg made a disgusted sound, immediately destroying whatever moment they were about to have.

“Fine. If this one goes, I want the other one,” he turned towards Miranda, “It is only fair,” the smug smile returning to his face.

The Houses argued amongst each other whilst Angela stood on the sidelines watching it all unfold. The dynamic between them seemed about what you’d expect from a bunch of dysfunctional monsters whose Mother was hellbent on calling them a family, though it was borderline comical most of the time. Angela pursed her lips and looked away from the scene with disinterest, her gaze landing on the mortal, instead. Funnily enough, he looked more confused than frightened, which almost made the woman’s lips curl up in amusement. His expression was understandable.

She was pulled away from her thoughts when Alcina threw a particularly petty insult at her brother, her eyes flashing dangerously and her booming voice carrying throughout the entire building. Even after centuries having passed, she remained the most strikingly powerful and beautiful woman Angela had ever seen. She took her time observing her then - the way the veins on her neck became more noticeable when she began raising her voice; the way her nose scrunched up in disgust whenever her brother tried to speak to her; the way she scoffed and waved her hand at him dismissively whenever he made another stupid comment. Even so, she remained positively regal throughout the entire verbal exchange. Angela wished for nothing more than to be a painter, at that exact moment, so she could immortalise the Countess as she saw her. Gazing upon her this freely almost felt like a privilege.

If only she could go back in time, she would have taken her away from that blasted party and her stupid husband and kept her all to herself, though she doubts the Countess would have let her.

Sighing in relief when Miranda put an end to their fighting for the second time that morning, Angela awaited her orders. She could spend the rest of her days admiring the taller woman, the screaming, on the other hand, was beginning to wear her down. That was when the priestess finally made her decision. Ethan Winters was no longer a priority, though he should not be allowed to leave the village as of yet. This earned her several shouts of protest from the man, who ended up being taken away by two of Miranda’s helpers.

“Do not stray from the village, Angela. I need you here,” Miranda commanded, “Alcina, take her with you. You are to await further instructions,” her wings fluttered as she spoke. Her demeanour calm, as always.

Heisenberg’s mouth opened, but before he could say anything, Angela interjected, “Very well. I will find my own way to the Castle,” and with that, she abruptly turned and walked confidently towards the exit. She needed to get out of there as soon as possible. The amount of eyes on her were making her skin crawl.

“She’s going to walk there?”, Heisenberg scrutinised, glaring at the woman as she left. His sister didn’t seem to be paying attention to what he had said, seemingly lost in thought, which was definitely uncharacteristic of her.

“Heisenberg...,” the priestess warned. The conversation was over.

Having realised his mistake, he raised his hands up in defeat, though his eyebrows were still snapped together, either in confusion or irritation.

——-

Angela could technically use her powers to get to the Castle in the blink of an eye, yet saw fit to do the exact opposite of that. Call it stubbornness or whatever else you wish - she saw her powers as entirely unnatural. Animalistic, even. There was not one thing about her transformation that she had come to terms with over the decades. There was no encore, there was no sense of accomplishment. It didn’t make her feel more powerful. No, there was only blood, sweat and tears. That’s all there ever was. No need to romanticise it. You couldn’t, even if you tried.

She looked up, trying to take in the Castle in all its glory. She wondered what the Countess had done to her husband once she was turned, the thought making her purse her lips in amusement. She didn’t seem particularly fond of the man, so her best guess was that he died an excruciating death. Whether or not he deserved it was not up to her to decide. She got exactly what she wanted, in the end. She was officially the Head of the House, no man holding her back and keeping her from achieving her fullest potential. Good. She deserved it. She deserved all of it.

Yet... facing her now, after all that had transpired? Gods forgive her. She didn’t know if she could take it.

She walked steadily towards the main entrance, her fist hovering over the flat surface of the door before finally giving it three, strong knocks. The doors were opened by two, frail looking maids who immediately stepped to the side to let her in. Choosing not to give it much thought, Angela walked through the threshold and looked around. It all looked exactly the same. A pang of nostalgia and sadness hit the woman’s chest, but her reverie was broken when the sound of two loudly beating hearts overcame her senses. Her head turned slowly towards the two maids. Their chests were rising and falling rapidly, meaning they definitely saw her as a threat - she didn’t blame them, all they could see were her eyes, and they were not really welcoming, either. Her gaze traveled along the women’s faces yet settled on their necks as soon and she noticed how they had both been... branded. The bite marks were small, so they were not given to them by the Countess. How intriguing.

“Lady Drăculea,” Ugh, “so nice of you to finally join us,” he sauntered towards her, his hammer resting on his right shoulder, “how was your morning stroll? Not too many corpses on the way, I hope”, he grinned. There were... a lot of corpses, actually. It made her stomach turn, but she would never tell him this, regardless of whether or not he was right. His ego was already too big for his own good.

“Why do you pester me,” she asked, her tone flat and her mouth twitching downwards when she realised he planned on annoying her even further. Thank goodness her face was covered, that way he had absolutely no way of knowing if he was getting under her skin.

He gave out a mocking smile and pressed on even further, “You know, I have just been made aware of the most interesting piece of information,” he toyed with the handle of his hammer and eyed the woman up and down, sizing her up. It was ridiculous. He was ridiculous.

Angela clenched her jaw, her mouth set in a hard line. She moved to the side in an attempt to walk past him, but he would not let her - sidestepping in front of her whenever she tried to leave.

“This isn’t your first time in the Castle. You came here once long before you were turned into one of us,” he stated matter of factly. He turned to the side, then, and used his free hand to wave it around, never letting go of his hammer, “this must really take you back. Say,” he moved closer then, his voice barely a whisper, “on a scale of one to ten, how awful was my sister?” there was his stupid grin again. Angela didn’t have the faintest clue as to how he came to know of her past - Alcina certainly had not told him, so that leaves.... who, exactly?

She heard the distinct sound of heels clicking on marble in the distance before finally deciding to give the Countess’s brother a reply, “I remember being bothered by a pesky, little man that evening and I can certainly relate to that now,” she said, curtly, “this feeling brings me back more than the haunting halls of this Castle ever could”, that was when a flash of white entered her peripheral vision. There stood the Lady of the House, in all her glorious beauty, at the top of the stairs. Her left, gloved hand resting on the railing, she seemed to be accessing the situation, trying to decide whether or not she would step in and get her brother in line. The two, poor maids were still standing on the very same spot, not being allowed to leave until the guest moves away from the front entrance and into the Castle. It was, overall, an incredibly uncomfortable situation.

Heisenberg stared at her blankly at first, but then his face broke into an almost predatory smile. He stepped closer to Angela, who refused to step back, “I am going to tell you this once and only once. Do not test me any further. I am not as patient as the Priestess, dog,” she sneered, her voice dripping with venom. It looked as if she had grown ten inches taller. Maybe she had. It certainly felt like she had. Heisenberg’s grip on his hammer tightened at the final word the woman spat out, the air around them almost crackling from all the tension. Funny how she was several inches taller than him and yet the man was still brave, or bold... stupid enough to irk her. She half hoped he would keep going - she needed to release some pent up anger anyway. Heisenberg’s posture stiffened.

Having had enough of the display of ego measuring, the Countess decided to interrupt their special moment before they ruined her day even further, “That’s enough,” she said, her voice had an edge to it. She was obviously not pleased with their behaviour - they were both just guests in her Castle, after all. She continued then, her voice much more neutral this time around, “Your chambers are this way,” she was speaking to the woman, yet her eyes were trained on her brother. The Countess slowly extended a long arm towards one of the corridors to her right, her movements precise, and her left hand, still resting on the railing, gripped it tighter.

Angela took that as her queue to finally leave Heisenberg behind, glaring at him one last time before moving away from the door, which put the two maids out of their misery and allowed them to leave the spot they were stuck in moments ago, and going up the stairs. Alcina was still standing near the railing and still eyeing her brother, who now had turned to face the two women, craning his neck slightly to look up at them. Angela watched as the two siblings seemed to communicate telepathically. She didn’t fully understand it, but felt as if it was not something she wanted to insert herself into or interrupt.

Her brother grunted something under his breath before tipping his hat at his sister and finally walking out. She was asking — no, telling — him to stand down. He was on her turf, now. No one understands the implications of that better than a dog, Angela thought.

They were alone now and, for someone who was bold enough to flirt with a married Countess at a social gathering her husband hosted, Angela did not seem to be able to meet her gaze. The taller woman enjoyed seeing her squirm, apparently, because they remained silent for a few, long seconds before the brunette was forced to say something to break the ice, “I humbly thank you, my Countess, for your gracious hospitality. It has not gone unnoticed”. Maybe her boldness was not what it used to be, but her courteousness and charm were still very much intact, Alcina noted.

All that came from Alcina was a soft hum. She stood there, accessing the woman before her. It was almost as if she was expecting something from her - Angela, being the chivalrous person that she was, knew exactly what was missing, but chose to ignore it for the time being, “That way, yes?”, she looked down the corridor Alcina had previously extended her arm towards. She secretly hoped she could simply go looking for the room herself. Standing near the Countess was torture - in the best way possible, of course.

“Indeed,” came the sharp response. She was not pleased with Angela’s choices leading up to this moment. The Lady’s lips curled downwards, something the other woman missed, since she was not even looking at her to begin with. A mistake.

Not one more word was said before the raven haired woman turned and began taking long strides towards her guest’s assigned chambers. Angela followed. She always would.

Clenching her fists to keep herself from drifting her eyes downwards and along the Countess’s frame, arriving to her guest room came as a distraction and was therefore a god given gift. Someone please. Put her out of her misery.

She watched as Alcina opened the, now ridiculously small, door, bending over at the waist to enter the room. Angela had to do the same, only she did not bend as low as her host. The room was elegantly decorated, as was expected, and surprisingly clean. She wondered just how many maids Alcina actually had and how long it would take scrape the floors clean, let alone dust each and every room off. She was glad she was not in their shoes, to say the very least.

“I won’t be needing that,” Angela said, flatly.

She could sense the taller woman’s rising anger, but her statement left the Countess confused enough that she ended up allowing the brunette to keep her head, “A mirror,” Alcina deadpanned. It was posed as a question, but when Angela turned her head to look the woman in the eyes, all she saw was utter disinterest.

“Yes. I would rather not,” she clasped her hands at her front and looked around the room. She should really stop doing that. The way she refused to meet Alcina’s eyes when she spoke to her was beginning to anger her. She could tell.

“The tone you have been carrying thus far is extremely ill-advised. You are a guest in my Castle. Do not make me remind you again,” her voice was as cold as steel, yet the Lady of the House seemed to show leniency for the second time that morning. If Angela were someone else, her head would probably be on a spike in the Castle grounds. Still, abusing her luck any further would be unwise.

The shorter woman’s pulse quickened and she bit on the insides of her cheek to keep herself grounded. Turning to fully face the Lady once more, she began removing the garments that were covering her face. First her hood and then her black mask, letting it settle around her neck, instead.

Alcina’s eyes seemed to immediately absorb the newly exposed features, her gaze scanning her face shamelessly before falling squarely on her lips and on a scar on the left side of her upper lip, which was new to her. Her hair also looked different. Gone was the intricate hairstyle with braids - taking its place was a loose bun. Alcina’s eyes were, once again, the only thing that betrayed her emotions and cracked her mask, for everything else in the woman, from her face down to her posture, was absolutely still and unreadable. Angela was aware of the fact that she looked older. Pale. The agony she felt over the decades written all over her face.

She did not bother to decipher how Alcina saw her now, it was ultimately pointless and she doubted the Countess cared that much about whatever it was that she thought she saw in her. It had been years since the smaller woman had looked at herself in a mirror - she refused to do it ever since her transformation, in fact, which explained her aversion towards them now.

“Forgive me, offending you was not my intention. It never will be,” her eyes were tired, yet she did not break eye contact with the woman this time, “it was poor of me,” she was visibly choosing her words in the most careful way possible, “I simply need to cover it, is all,” she hoped that her choice of words did not anger her host this time around. She awaited her response

...

“Do as you must,” and with that, the Lady left.

Angela sighed to herself and began looking for spare sheets so she could cover the blasted thing and not have to look at it any longer. Thankfully, no one was there to see her as she struggled to place the sheets over the mirror - not wanting to look at herself as she did it made the affair ten times harder. It almost made her laugh, in fact. It was too ridiculous. A low chuckle resonated throughout the room all of the sudden. It... didn’t come from her. Turning slowly, she was met with a pair of bright, yellow eyes, lurking in the shadows.

“It would be easier if you turned them to the side and tucked them behind it,” the young woman said, nodding her head towards the sheets Angela was holding. The brunette stared at her for a few seconds before looking down and taking her advice, turning the sheets, placing them over the mirror - though she turned her face to not look at her reflection - and, after a couple of attempts, managing to tuck them behind the damned thing. Finally.

“Well, would you look at that,” Angela mused.

“That took you way longer than it should have,” the faceless woman deadpanned.

That seemed to catch Angela off guard and she snorted, against her better judgment, before clearing her throat and facing the pair of eyes once more, “I don’t think we’ve met. Angela D—“, she thought about extending a hand to greet the mysterious figure in the shadows, but was interrupted before she could even finish saying her name.

“I know who you are,” she teased, “Mother has told us all we need to know about you,” she continued. That made Angela’s posture straighten. Us? Mother?

“I seem to be at a disadvantage, then. The Countess has not told me your name,” Angela countered. She didn’t feel threatened by the girl, still, she seemed clever. And nothing good can come out of Alcina’s children, surely.

The mystery girl left the shadows then and, curiously enough, she did not seem to resemble Alcina at all, yet the way she carried herself did remind her of the Countess. Her calm, yet reserved demeanour almost too close to her mother’s.

“Bela,” she told the taller woman, her face blank.

“It is an honour to meet one of the Countess’s daughters,” she bowed her head slightly at the girl.

“Mother spoke of you often,” the girl told her, apparently seeming to be more inclined towards skipping the pleasantries, “though I must warn you, do not upset her,” monotoned the daughter, “my sisters and I are not kind to those who do.”

Angela didn’t take it as a threat, though she knew she probably should. Part of her was glad Alcina had such devoted daughters. The other half was amused at the child’s boldness.

“I understand,” she told her, wanting to reassure her. Upsetting the Lady of the House was definitely not on Angela’s list of things to do, yet she didn’t want her daughters to think that she, a guest, planned on harming their mother. Gods forbid.

“Good,” Bela finished. As soon as the word was out of her mouth she all but dissipated in front of Angela’s eyes, leaving in her wake a cloud of small insects who disappeared through the cracks in the walls and left the room. Were the cracks there to allow them to traverse the Castle faster...? Angela stood there for a second, trying to understand what had just happened before giving up and shaking her head slightly. Hopefully this day was done with throwing things at her and actually allowed her to finally rest before being summoned by Miranda.

She was out of luck, it seemed. The nights were always so much harder on her for no apparent reason. At least not one that she was aware of. Before she tried to go to bed and call it a day, she had to ask Alcina for.... a bigger nightdress. It was utterly embarrassing, but thankfully the Countess was kind enough to not make any comments. The maids then gave her a silk nightgown - it didn’t fit her particularly well since the Lady was still taller than her, but it was better than wearing nothing at all.

She was in bed and staring at the ceiling, her fingers intertwined and her hands resting on her chest. She was tired, but knew that having a good nights sleep was not something that would happen any time soon. Even if she did manage to rest her eyes for a couple of hours, the nightmares would certainly wake her up. She longed for the nights, before her transformation, when she simply had to shut her eyes to fall asleep for as long as she wished. Now she didn’t need to sleep as much, true, but the nightmares proved themselves to be much more than a nuisance. They plagued her almost every night. It frustrated the woman beyond words.

Choosing to do something else with her “free” time, she got up, put her, or Alcina’s, slippers on, which were also not the right size for her, and left her room. The Castle was not as cold as it appeared to be, for whatever reason, so discomfort was not something she had to deal with as she explored the halls of a Castle she had already been in... in another life. Something caught her eye, then, as she roamed around, taking everything in. A piano. An expensive looking one, at that. She drew nearer to take a closer look, running her hands over the keys without pressing too hard on them so as to not make any sound. It was clean. Not a speck of dust on it. Those poor maids.

She felt a pair of eyes on her again, but the way the energy in the room shifted dramatically told her this wasn’t one of the daughters.

“Do you play?” Angela asked softly, her fingers still running over the surface of the piano. She heard a low hum first - the actual reply came a few seconds later.

“Yes, though it’s been centuries since I last indulged in it,” said the Countess, her tone was almost matching the other woman’s. It wasn’t soft per se, but it was softer than usual.

“Ah,” Angela let out a bitter, halfhearted chuckle, “the mundane getting left behind once more, yes?”, she rested her hand on top of the piano and turned her head slightly, awaiting the other woman’s response but still not looking at her.

“You speak of the past most fondly,” Alcina’s tone indicated that she disapproved of such notion, though she was clearly trying to not flat out say it. The comment made Angela’s expression close up immediately and she moved to stand next to a big window, trying to distract herself from the unpleasant thoughts creeping up on her. Ah. The moon and her were well acquainted by now.

“If I could go back in time, I would.” she retorted. That was all she wanted to say on the matter, though she doubted the conversation would end there.

Alcina was still watching her from the shadows, her gaze trained on her. The scenario reminded Angela of a sinner confessing the unspeakable to a priest. Funny how the Countess was the priest in that situation. The thought had Angela biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from smiling. The amusement quickly dissipated from her mind, however, as it often did.

“I have.... regrets. Nothing has meaning now,” the woman confessed, she crossed her arms at her midriff then, her nails digging into her biceps.

“If you feel as if there may not be meaning, then find one and seize it,” the reply was not meant to sting, but it did nonetheless. Of course she would say that. Why wouldn’t she?

“It is easier said than done,” Angela said bitterly. The conversation was beginning to turn sour.

She heard the Lady tsk and then felt her getting closer, her steps almost soundless. She doesn’t hear the telltale clicking of her heels, so she must not be wearing them, “Excuses, excuses,” she was standing right next to her now, though she wasn’t facing the shorter woman. They were both looking out. Facing the moon. Angela found it preferable, that way. Stripping herself of all her walls in front of the Countess was easier if she did not have to stare into her eyes. The shadows served as her shield. The dark making her feel at home.

They stayed in comfortable silence for awhile before Angela broke it “I still feel it,” she had an almost pained expression, her voice no more than a whisper, “withering away, like a dying ember, and rotting inside me,”

That made Alcina turn her head to face her, waiting for her to continue. She watched as the woman’s arms dropped, only for her to begin pinching the area between her index finger and thumb with her other hand. It looked painful.

“My humanity,” Silence. Her jaw clenched and her bottom lip trembled for a brief second, not out of sadness but anger, “she took everything from me” she sneered.

“Mother Miranda only does what is best for us,” Angela wanted to interrupt her before she even had the chance to finish her sentence, but thought better of it. She pinched her hand harder. Alcina noticed.

“Do not say that. It might be what you tell yourself, but do not say it to me. Please.” Her face twisted in both anger and frustration. She was trying her damnedest not to snap at the Countess.

“The world could fit in your hands now. Seeing that as a curse and not a blessing is completely unfathomable,” Alcina coldly said. It was almost as if she was daring the shorter woman to test her patience once more.

“To you,”

“To me, and everyone else,”

Angela knew she could not make the other woman listen. Alcina had everything she had ever wanted - her transformation opened doors for her that would otherwise remain closed. Angela could understand that and was glad that the Lady of the House belonged to no one but herself. Still, that’s not how she saw it. Angela was taken, against her will, and experimented on by a woman whose only goal was to take what made Angela herself, turning her into one those.... things. And for what? What purpose did that serve her? They were all failed experiments. The rejects wrapped around her finger, some more than others. It was hell. How could Alcina not see that?

The point was, Alcina would never understand what she felt. Angela didn’t even fully understand it herself, to be quite honest. All she knew was she was not living. She wouldn’t wish what she was going through on her worst enemy.

Knowing that debating the Countess was a pointless resistance for her, she simply turned to walk away, wanting to put some distance between them. She was so incredibly tired...

... and she would have left, if the other woman hadn’t grabbed her wrist with inhuman speed. Being forced to turn her entire body and face the Countess, she tried to pull her wrist back, which she failed to do. Alcina was unsurprisingly strong and her grip unrelenting. The amount of force she used caused Angela to stumble forward a bit and into her - they were practically breathing the same air now, though the shorter woman had to crane her head upwards to actually lock eyes with the Countess. Her height allowed her to be at eye level with Alcina’s collarbone, but no more than that. It didn’t bother her too much.... no reason behind it.

“Do not turn your back on me,” the Countess warned, a scowl painting her face.

Even in this moment she looked absolutely magnificent, making Angela’s heart squeeze almost painfully in her chest for the first time in years. It dawned on her then, that the Countess was out of her normal attire - she wore a silken nightgown, much like her own, only hers actually fit her, and a sheer, black robe with a floral pattern; her hat was also missing. Closing her eyes to keep her gaze from wandering lower, all she could feel was the woman’s cold, yet impossibly soft, hand wrapped around her wrist.

She knew the tips of her ears would’ve turned pink by now, if they could. Thinking about it only made it worse. Her chest was heaving, her heart hammering in her chest, and their breaths mingled. Angela gulped slightly before opening her eyes again. She desperately wished to caress the other woman’s face, right about now - the light provided by the moon highlighted her features in the most beautiful of ways. She was utterly and completely under the Countess’s spell.

Alcina was still holding on to her wrist and using the same amount of force. Angela’s hand was trapped in between their bodies, if the Countess were to let go of her.... Well.

There was a scowl on her face no longer and she seemed to be struggling to keep her facial expressions under control. Her eyes dropped to Angela’s, now parted, lips, particularly on her scar, causing her own lips to twitch. The brunette noticed and was overtook by longing almost immediately. She needed to get away from the other woman, though she didn’t know how and every second that went by made it harder for her to tell Alcina to unhand her. Maybe she didn’t need to get away. Maybe what she needed was to draw even closer.

She could smell something floral - the other woman’s perfume? Maybe to honor the crest of House Dimitrescu? She could smell the Countess’s perfume, so, yes, they were that close.

Choosing to blame it on how intoxicating the woman’s scent was, Angela’s right hand, the one that was free, slowly moved upwards and towards the taller woman’s face, her fingers ghosting over it, not daring to touch just yet. She was silently asking for the Countess’s consent - she knew she should’ve verbalised it, but all her senses were malfunctioning. All she could see was her. All she knew was Her.

Alcina did not object, though her jaw clenched for a brief second. Angela suspected it was not due to anger, so she took it as her confirmation.

Initially, her touch resembled that of a feather - she feared that if she moved too quickly she would lose the woman just as fast. So far, so good. She ran the pads of her index and middle fingers over the Countess’s cheekbones, her eyes tracing the movement. Then, she ran the tips of her fingers over her nose, her brow; memorising every feature. Her pupils dilated when she traced them over the woman’s lips, which were now bare and without any lipstick. She wondered if she was taking more than she should, but her worries floated away when she heard the taller woman’s breath quicken before she was able to control it once more.

Feeling emboldened, Angela cupped the right side of her face. Alcina was no longer forcefully grabbing her wrist, but gently holding it. The brunette’s hand then fell to the right side of her neck, sliding down to settle on the top of her breast and near her heart.

And there they stayed for awhile. The moon their only witness. If this was a dream, Angela would kill whoever dared to wake her up. It didn’t seem like a dream, though, because what the other woman said next was vocalised much too clearly.

“You have haunted me for years,” she professed, her brow furrowed - she was clearly struggling to come to terms with whatever it was that she was currently feeling. Angela didn’t blame her.

“Good,” it was said absentmindedly, though there was honesty behind it.

Alcina’s chin turned upwards. She seemed... determined, maybe? Or was it something else? Angela was distracted.

Oh, it was definitely determination, for the Countess’s hand, the one that was holding Angela’s wrist, snaked around the shorter woman’s neck and pulled her towards her for their lips to meet.

Angela’s eyes all but bulged out of her head at first, but she quickly regained her senses. She was not a shy lover and she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about this specific moment several times throughout the years - she was not going to blow it now. Grabbing a fistful of Alcina’s robe and nightgown, she parted her lips, allowing the other woman to deepen the kiss further. They fit together perfectly - it was as if Angela had finally found the missing piece to her jigsaw puzzle. They had finally come full circle. This is what they should’ve done the first time they met. They both knew this. This was a second chance they were not going to miss.

Turns out the Countess was an excellent kisser, not that it was of any surprise. She did have centuries to practice, after all, but it still made Angela’s heart flutter in her chest, the feeling settling on the pit of her stomach. Damn, that woman. The shorter woman inhaled through her nose sharply when Alcina’s hand, the one that was previously resting on her neck, moved upwards to grab a fistful of her hair - angling her head just so. Angela was more than happy to comply.

Suddenly, Alcina broke their kiss, her lips now pink, causing Angela to lick her own in anticipation. She wanted nothing more than to hear her name leave those lips. Would the Countess even allow herself to do such a thing? Her thoughts were interrupted when the taller woman wordlessly began freeing her hair from the bun it was in. Her eyes burned with lust, but her movements were slow and gentle - they told a different story.

When her hair cascaded down, Alcina’s lips upturned, making Angela’s twist into a smile. They gazed into each other’s eyes then. Alcina’s, in particular, revealing too much. They both knew this. It was too soon.

The tender moment was broken when the black haired woman took notice of how Angela’s nightgown, which was hers - the thought sending a wave of possessiveness through her chest - was beginning to slip off her shoulders. Something dawned on her face then, and she used her left hand to pull one of the sleeves down, fully exposing Angela’s shoulder to the night air. She shivered, which did not go unnoticed by the other woman - her nipples were practically tearing holes through the soft fabric of the nightgown. The Countess locked eyes with her then, and what she saw only confirmed what was about to happen.

Angela’s eyes wordlessly told her ‘Consume me’. And so she did.

———

It seemed that it was possible for Angela to sleep without being plagued by nightmares, after all. Maybe it was due to how exhausted she was. She chose not to overthink it, now was not the time.

“What’s that,” Heisenberg said, flatly, looking to start another argument for the third time that morning. It seemed that not even during breakfast did the man mind his business. It didn’t help how he was sitting directly in front of her, either. Why had Alcina arranged the seats like that?

Angela’s expression seemed to speak for her, because the man felt like he had to explain what he had meant by his question, “That,” he pointed with his fork, “on your neck,”. Ah. Well.

She can’t talk about how the Head of House Dimitrescu picked her up effortlessly, placed her on top of her grand piano and... pushed her over the edge. Several times. She most definitely cannot talk about how, even after not allowing Angela to catch her breath, the Countess picked her up bridal style - the brunette’s legs shaking too much for her to walk - and took her to her chambers to make the shorter woman sing her name again. Over and over again. She certainly will not mention how the woman branded her with her mouth, though never actually biting into the soft flesh, as she allowed Angela to come down from the heights, her fingers still inside her as she did it. No. She couldn’t say any of that.

The woman looked down at her plate to keep her composure before meeting the man’s prying gaze again, “I woke up with it,” she paused to chew her food, not daring to look at anyone else. Alcina was on her left - she could tell she was watching her - and her girls were on her right - also watching her, “Maybe I have began decomposing faster than expected,”. She heard one of the daughters snicker before being forced to keep it down after being kicked under the table - by Bela, she was guessing.

The reply didn’t seem to satisfy Heisenberg, but he choose not to pry, for he sensed that the truth would probably end up disgusting him.

Angela gave Alcina a sidelong glance then, noticing the way she was hiding how the edge of her lips were turning upwards behind her glass.

......

In another life, indeed.

#lady dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #lady dimitrescu x reader #lady dimitrescu x oc #alcina dimitrescu x reader #alcina dimitrescu x oc #(tagging it as x reader so it can reach a wider audience lmk if u want me to change it)#my writing #<3<3<3<3<3<3 #resident evil village #resident evil 8

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