#not in a 'think of the children' kinda way

[hotdsworld]

Do y'all ever feel like

In a short moment Aemond almost wants to give in his mother's touch except he remembers it will never be as loving as it is to Rhaenyra?

Aemond points out Alicent holding love for the enemy and he's right

He's Alicent's child he's right there loyal

Yet his mother is focused on childhood companion/stepdaughter no matter what

Not to add his mother seems to fear/disdain (?) him now, not approving of his "brutal" ways

So the touch feels both familiar and foreign

"I will think of all that could have been but we are in the present" kinda moment

As if it was too late, perhaps if she tried earlier

He doesn't need mother's comfort now, he needed it then

THE COMPLEX RELATIONSHIP ALICENT HAS WITH HER CHILDREN IS GUT WRENCHING

HOUSE OF THE DRAGON 2.06

[s-4pphics]

drenched in white. (e.w.)

SYNOPSIS: after all your time alone, you’re finally not, but you’re definitely not prepared for your new life. [jackson AU]

WORD COUNT: 7.1K

WARNINGS: readers mute and taller than ellie, death, murder, blood, mentions of alcohol/starvation/hypothermia, a bit of gore, near death experience, trauma and sadness, brief girls kissing, some fluff because kids :)

A/N: tbh idk where this came from but i missed ellie so yeah prob wont write anymore of this but yeah 

—

Apocalypses are fucking stupid.

Humans are born into nothing, forced to run all their lives from blood-lustful beasts that can rewire their entire brain chemistry into one that sadistically matches theirs, and if that doesn’t happen, you die anyway with nothing but the clothes on your back and a horse with no rider. That’s fucking stupid. 

You weren’t alive when the world was thriving… presumably so — whatever the old world considered thriving. Those history books you stole in adolescence would argue otherwise, but there were some happy moments. On occasion. Maybe? Whatever. But you weren’t there, and you can only imagine how you would’ve turned out if you were. Would you be married? Have children? Own property? Businesses? Whatever other luxury the old world prioritized although it all seemed exhausting? 

Would you be an addict, a trainwreck, someone who had it all then nothing in the blink of an eye? That seems to be reoccurring in some of those biographies you found about people called celebrities. They have everything then die too young or way too old and eventually fade into a nobody, just like everyone else. History is so heartbreaking. Such cruel fate. 

You’ve been by yourself for a long time. Some would still consider you young, but you feel like a zombie that’s risen from the grave most of the time. You steal and live selfishly and waste your life reading because you can. You’re lucky enough to no longer have anyone you care about. Your recklessness doesn’t hinder anyone but yourself, so you read read read. Sometimes, you hunt for books more than you do for food. You’re not a fighter — it surprises you every day how you haven’t died yet — but a decent amount of people would consider you book smart. This one group you crossed paths with some years ago called you a genius because you’re self-taught in practically everything: reading and writing, starting fires, planting food, sewing, mapping plains. Whenever you’re harmed, you can heal yourself kinda. When you were 14, you stepped on a rusty nail and, instead of living the short remainder of your life as an amputee, you heroed through a disgusting infection that left you ill for 2 weeks, then sewed your own wound up. You couldn’t walk for days. 

That same group also called you mute. 

You don’t think you are, but rightfully so. There’s no one for you to talk to, so you don’t talk, simple as that. Everyone you knew died when you were a kid, maybe 7 or 8 — spending the majority of your life alone and in hiding doesn’t make for much conversation. Plus, the fucks that rule the Earth are nosy as hell. Being as quiet as possible is needed. 

Reading passes time. It’s the last phase of winter, but it’ll be Spring in no time, thanks to the bag you drag through snow: stuffed with one jacket, a rusted chef’s knife, and 46 different novels and counting. 

Your body’s gonna shut down on you. It’s so fucking cold and you’re barely layered but you haven’t finished The Cable Companies, One Hundred and One Best Songs. The pages filled with piano notes are almost enough to make you hear the songs… Or maybe the lack of nutrients is making you hallucinate. Guess you’ll find out when you finish. Just 22 more pages. 

No food, no water, no warmth, no antique piano. You’re fucked any direction you turn. 

There was a small cave somewhere around here. You used to sleep in it during the summer; the dark was always cooler. Maybe it’s buried underneath heaps of snow. You hope not. Fuck. 

The closer you get to the cavern, the grosser the air becomes. Death carries a certain mugginess. Why’d they have to die next to your one retreat? 

You drag and drag on like your legs weigh a ton all the way to the cave and… Great. 

Death and no entrance. Red coats the snow and it reminds you of the twisted tale of Snow White. The decaying carcass of a deer should alarm you, but you only sigh in defeat. Where the fuck are you supposed to read without disturbance? 

You only make it two more steps before you collapse face-first into ice. Your lungs wheeze in pain and you’re trying to get yourself up but you can’t. When you blink, you see colors. 

Is this death? Or karma? A squirrel runs past you just to rub it in. Furry little bitch. 

It’s only when your brain whispers for you to give up that you fully submerge into the snow. Small cries of pain are the only proof of your survival. 

Fuck everything. Fuck people, fuck people that turned into monsters, fuck all the stupid trivial shit that the other world loved so deeply. Call it jealousy. Everything’s for nothing nowadays. 

Your final thought before the world goes dark. 

—

Why is there annoying beeping in heaven? 

Maybe you’re naive in believing you made it there. Maybe this is hell. You thought it’d be more fucked up than this. The beeping is irritating though. Besides that, it’s peaceful. 

Is this an in between world? Half dead, half not. You remember being into paranormal shit in horror stories years ago. Ghostly entities and whatnot. Maybe you’re… that. There’s whispers in the background. Bleary and distant but you kinda hear them. Maybe someone’s conjuring you up. Why you of all people? 

“— ne… de…” 

Need? Your ears are failing. Why is everything suddenly hurting? Pain in your eyes and behind them and all the way down. It’s hurting everywhere. 

“—Jus… there… Not sure.” 

It’s hurts so bad everywhere make it stop make it stop —

BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP

White overtakes your vision. Too bright and too cold and you can’t stop heaving but you want to because it fucking hurts everywhere

“Hey! Hey! Calm—” 

The voices are clearer and so is the beeping and so is the pain. Gentle hands land on your shoulders and you thrash when faces, needles and medical equipment clear in your vision. There’s something sharp in your arm. Where the fuck when the fuck how —

“You needa calm down—“

You try to tell this blonde freak to go fuck herself but your voice is shot, coughing and spit flying everywhere. 

“The fuck is her probl—“

“Be quiet—“

A crackling scream ripples through you, tears streaming down your face because suddenly more hands are holding you down. Malicious intent or not it makes you fucking sick. The beeping only gets faster. 

“MY — my name’s Maria! Listen to me! My name’s Maria! Some of mine went out on patrol a few days ago and found you almost buried. We’re tryna help you!” 

You continue to sob but they’re a little less guttural. Her voice is nice. Very motherly. 

“You were halfway dead out there,” She huffs like it’s funny and you wanna throw a chair, “What’s your name? Gotta name?” 

All the hands are off you except Maria’s. Maybe because you’re not trying to kick her face in anymore. You’re trying to tell her you don’t fucking remember but nothing comes out. Just more coughing. 

“Take your time. Deep breaths, shhh, you’re alright.” 

You finally meet her eyes and they’re pretty. Pale blue like spring water. The beeping starts to slow bit by bit. It took you all this time to realize that’s your heart. You glimpse at the monitor and… those squiggly lines mean fuck all to you. Why couldn’t you just die?

Your eyes travel, albeit less frantically, but on high guard. Skeptical as ever. You couldn’t even defend yourself against these incredibly polite barbarians if you wanted to. Your bag’s gone. Everything that’s yours is gone. The beeps increase all over again. Maria must sense your anxiety. 

“Hey, hey, we have everything. We just had to make sure you were… alright to come in. No bites or nothing, ‘k?” 

… Fair. Whatever. Gimme my shit. 

“We were snoopin’,” Your vision follows the new voice. A man this time, average sized and bearded, “Ya like t’read?” 

You squint and nod. 

“‘S a good habit.” 

… Awkward. It’s quiet now. 

“How ya feelin’? Any pain?” Maria pries gently. You shrug. Not as bad as it was 2 minutes ago. You eye everyone in here, study as much of them as you can. Face, hands, guns latched around their thighs and shoved in their belts. They’re all threats while simultaneously being unthreatening. For now, at least. 

“Y’all can get on. I got it from here.” She waves the remaining people off and they leave with tense smiles. The door clicks behind them. The beeping is the slowest it’s been since you woke up. 

“Bout that name…” 

You only stare at her. 

“Don't remember?”

You scratch at your neck, and she sighs, “Not much of a talker, huh?” 

You mime writing in a notepad, and Maria quirks with interest. She searches the room before digging through a drawer on the farthest dresser. She returns with a small book and marker. 

The aches in your fingers don’t halt your scribbling. You turn the book towards her. 

ARE YOU GOING TO KILL ME? 

The corner of her mouth lifts, “No point in fixin’ ya up if that was the case. No offense, but you’re not threatening.” 

You snort. 

“You been by yourself for a while?” 

You ponder before scribbling. 

I WATCHED MY FAMILY DIE. PRETTY FUCKED UP CHILDHOOD. I’M ALWAYS ALONE. 

She stares sympathetically and shakes her head in apologies. All you can do is shrug. You’d be more surprised if a kid grew up in this world without experiencing mass destruction. Trauma practically raised you. 

“There’s not many people that can do what you do, y’know? You gotta gift.” She jerks her chin at the booklet. “Somebody taught’cha?” 

You point to yourself. 

“Don’t let that head get big now.” She smirks and you smile sorta. 

“We got kids…” Maria blindly points towards the door. 

“A lot of ‘em, and we’ve been tryna get them to read more but… I don’t know, some of these old bastards think it’s pointless and that discourages them.”

Oh. 

“I don’t know what you got goin’ on out there, but… If you choose to go back out there, I won’t fault you, but if you don’t…” 

Uh oh. 

“How do you feel ‘bout teaching toddlers their ABCs?” 

… Shit. 

You scowl. 

“I know it’s not the best… position to be in but, I don’t know, I just want something they can look forward to everyday. A new story, some new conversations… anything to get their little brains crankin’.” 

“They’re so sweet and I feel like they’d gain so much from someone who cares just as much as they do.” 

You don’t write anything. Her pupils shroud with dejection. 

“Think about it?” She’s quick to turn away, but not without one last look over her shoulder, “Rest up.” 

And the door closes. Your eyes shut in no time, and a comforting darkness overtakes you once more. 

—

Leave with nothing but your annotated novels or stay where you’re well fed and warm but surrounded by snotty nosed orphans. Something to think about. 

You’ve been in Jackson — you learned the town is called — for less than 48 hours, most of which you were recovering from a severe case of hypothermia. You don’t remember the last time you had a meal that hot. Maria had to reassure you that no one would take your plate. 

You still haven’t given Maria a clear answer for her teaching proposal, but she doesn’t bug you about it. She is very eager to show you the daycare though. She’s subtle. You respect it. 

Your books are still couped up in the infirmary because, frankly, you hate dragging them everywhere. Maria offered for you to keep them in the library, but you refused. They’re not up for grabs; You nearly died for every single one of those pages and you’ll be damned if someone touches them under your nose. They’re yours. It’s all you got right now. 

You might even leave with a horse if Maria still likes you after telling her no to teaching. Tomorrow morning will wrap up your little dead-then-alive journey. Couldn’t hurt to ask. 

It’s your first time back outside since your near-death experience. The sun is barely peeking from behind the clouds and your face is so cold it’s almost retraumatizing, but it’s pretty out. Maria was nice enough to give you new boots that weren’t hanging on by their laces. 

Jackson bustles like a real, non-apocalyptic town. Lights shine and pick-ups honk and people are fucking smiling? Maybe this is heaven. 

Those walls… They’re still high and barricaded. Scouts babysit those gates like clockwork. To think you were on the other side of their scrutiny just a day ago. The twinkling sound of joy confuses the fuck outta you. Laughter. Not only that, but from children. Not starving, nearly dead children, but well-fed, genuinely happy kids. Why does your stomach twist with jealousy? They deserve peace, of course, but so did you. So does every child. 

Your eyes search for them — curiosity overtakes your limbs and you step with determination, guided by your ears. The twinkles grow in volume — there must be at least 10 kids playing in the snow. 

“HEY! GET OFF, YOU FU—“

“Language!”

“HOW’S THIS FOR LANGU—“

“BOYS! ENOUGH! I’M SICK OF YOUR SHI—!”

“LANGUAGE, MS. DINA!”

“I CAN SAY THAT! YOU CAN’T!”

What a sight this is. Happy kids. Your heart swells. Slightly; you’re glad Maria isn’t here to catch your fondness. 

“Alright, vermins, get up, I’ll miss the party.” 

“5 more minutes, pleeease!”

“I’m not freezing for you. C’mon!” 

The kids seem to love Ms. Dina. They dangle off every single one of her limbs, begging her to throw at least 10 more snowballs. Maybe your ice-cold heart isn’t as frosty as you thought. The sight is disgustingly endearing. 

“Ms. Dina… Who’s that?” 

And the laughter stops. A bunch of eyes attached to tiny bodies all gawk at you, some with intrigue, others with fear as they cower behind their teacher… babysitter? Whoever she is. 

“Not sure, dove. You all have 10 minutes!” 

“20!”

“10 or freeze to death! Go!”

Excited screams filter through the wind when said vermins squabble in snow like puppies, pushing and shoving and chucking icy bullets at each other. You never had to worry about being the oddball out, but you sure do look like one now. 

“Hey. Maria told us about a scrounger.” 

Creases bunch in your forehead, and Dina raises her hands defensively, “Joking, relax. So, are you staying, or…?” You shrug unknowing, and Dina chuckles. 

“I think you should. If I had the option to stay here 24/7, I’d take it in a heartbeat. We could use an extra hand with the kids. Maria said you read?” 

You nod. “Cool. We have a decent amount of readers — more than most, but, uh… yeah. Our kids need help.”

Your lip twitches alongside your pondering. So many questions rest on your tongue but none can leave. Dina’s eyes are consoling. It shouldn’t spark irritation in your stomach but it does. 

“Do you sign?” 

You stare in confusion, and she elaborates, “Like… Sign language?” Her hands make a bunch of gestures you don’t understand and your head shakes. 

“Darn. No worries. If you’re ever interested in learning, just holler. We got some people that are hard of hearing so we all kinda use it occasionally. But, umm… yeah. I’m Dina.” She extends a polite hand but you don’t accept it. Your head jerks in greeting, and she smiles. 

She drops it back to her side, “What should we call you?” 

You don’t know. You don’t care. You’re not staying long. Your shoulders rise and fall nonchalantly. 

“Should I have them pick?” 

Before you can oppose, she’s hollering for— 

“DYLAN! COME HERE!”

A rascal with a beanie and bright red boots sprints towards the two of you. His cheeks are so plush and scarred. Dina fixes the color of his sweater, “Dylan, what’s a good name for a teacher?” 

“Ms. Dina, obviously—“

“Another name.” 

Chipmunk Boy ponders for a moment before snickering, “Mr. Octopus.” 

“Fucking hell—“

“Language, Ms. Dina! SWEAR JAR—“

“We don’t even do that here!”

“Okay, okay… just call them Dove or something! Don’t think we don’t notice you calling us that when you forget our names!” 

Dina’s eyes widen, “That’s not true! What the… freak!” 

Red-Boot-Ranger smirks when Dina catches herself before getting pelted at the back of the head with a snowball. 

“Little BITCH—“

Dina shouts, “HEY!—“

“MS. DINA, FRANKIE CURSED!”

“NO, I DIDN’T—“

Arguments break out between all 13 children, loud and boisterous and your head pounds. Too much for one day. 

“STOP— sorry, I gotta handle this, but it was nice meeting you! BOYS—“ 

Dina throws you one last wave before rushing off to scold Dylan and his… bully? You think that’s what they were called in some books you read. A kid messing with another kid or something like that. 

You take this last bit of alone time before you depart to explore. 

Despite your eagerness to disappear, Jackson is nice. You don’t know what Christmas entails, but it’s often described as festive: a day for togetherness and family and whatever the hell else ‘can’t be bought’ yet everyone buys. Jackson is visually festive. Celebratory scenery. What exactly they’re celebrating goes over your head. There’s nothing to be joyous over. Death traps Jackson at every corner. 

Loud music pulls you from your thoughtful stroll. One look through a very large window is enough to scare you shitless. A seemingly cozy space is filled to the brim with strangers who dance and drink and laugh their heads off; Their familiarity with one another makes you physically ill. The scene is like a bullet to the chest. Reminds you of what was once home.

Your nausea doesn’t overtake your curiosity, though. 

The moment you step into the bar, warmth suffocates you, heat sizzling through your legs as your face defrosts. The entire bar screams out lyrics to a song you never heard while cups get refilled with burning liquid and it’s overwhelming. There’s so much movement. Too much. 

Blonde hair swings out the corner of your eye and you’re instantly relieved. You hustle to where Maria chats with partygoers from across the bar. She’s shocked to see you. 

“Hey! You’re up’n moving!” 

You wave awkwardly. Gawk back at the people that gawk at you before Maria hands you a glass. 

“You drink?” You deny with a raised hand, and she smiles. 

“Probably not the best time to ask,” She hollers over the jukebox, “I’m hoping this is your initiation?” Her eyes are hopeful, and your throat dries a bit. Why are you hesitating to answer?

Maria’s nice enough… probably the nicest stranger you’ve ever met in your entire life, and it seems more comfortable in Jackson than anywhere you’ve been. It doesn’t seem so bad… but you don’t like children. You barely liked yourself at age 10; short and clumsy and vulnerable. Children are too exposed and trusting, even in this life. They get people killed because they’re not careful. It shocks you that a fortress like Jackson carries so many. 

A pen and paper get slid on wood and placed in front of you. You eye Maria, and she nods encouragingly. You waste no time. 

I DON’T THINK I’LL BE A GOOD TEACHER. DINA HAS MORE PATIENCE IN HER PINKY THAN I DO IN MY ENTIRE BODY. I’M SORRY. 

You meekly hold the note up for Maria, and you know she’s disappointed. You patiently wait for her to tell you to get your shit so she can kick you out herself. 

It never comes. 

“I hope that girl didn’t scare you,” In reference to Dina, and you deny, “I had a feeling you’d say no. It’s alright. Kids are… a lot.” 

You set the paper down in relief that she’s not angry. About that horse… 

“Doesn’t hurt to ask… You still wanna leave?” 

That stuns you. Oftentimes, large groups aren’t so welcoming to… scroungers, or whatever Dina made you out to be. The less mouths to feed, the better. If a newbie holds no purpose, they’re left out to die on their own. It’s happened to you countless times. Why does she care about a stranger so much?

Maria chuckles at your stunned expression, “It’s, um… it’s hard out there. We’ve all seen it, and we’re lucky to have found somewhere… stable. It doesn’t come often.” 

“The choice is still yours, stayin’ or goin’, but if you’re scared I’ll kick you out… don’t be. We got nothin’ but space.” 

Your mind races yet not one cohesive response comes through. Maria laughs at your slack jaw. “Here. Sleep on it tonight, and let me know in the mornin’. It’s a party! Let loose a little. Go mingle.“

You scribble on the last bit of remaining space. 

I’M NOT A PEOPLE PERSON. 

Maria huffs, “Neither’s my niece. She’s like a niece to me, that one, over there.” She points at the end of the bar to a woman, girl — looks around your age, babysitting a drink: tatted, hair pulled back, and sulking. She talks with a guy with a mullet that’s too movie-star ready. “You two’d get along, I think. Her name’s Ellie. Jesse’s the one next to her, he’s a sweetheart. Very helpful. If Dina was here, they’d be the Three Musketeers. She still with the kids?”

You nod, but your eyes are locked onto Ellie’s tattoo. You’ve never seen one in person. In romance books, people with tattoos are always trouble: good in bed with murderous tendencies. Maybe it’s wrong to assume, but Ellie doesn’t seem like that. No one that pouty would kill a fly. You wonder if her friend has tattoos. He’d fit the stereotype more.

“Wanna meet ‘em?” 

Fire bursts underneath your cheeks. You vehemently shake your head at Maria, and mischief glints in her eyes. 

“HEY, ELLIE, JES—“

You gawk at Maria, tugging at her wrist for her to stop, but she laughs, “Hey, you two!”

Your face falls into your palm. “Need somethin’, Maria?” A deep voice blares. Jesse, apparently. Fucking great.  

“No, hun. Just introducing a new friend,” Maria whispers loud enough for you to hear before tending to other patrons, “Convince her to stay?” 

Your eyes roll and your heart pulses. 

“… Hey.” 

You wave weakly. Annoyed, and Jesse laughs. “Yeah, she’s a lot sometimes. I’m Jesse.” You send him a thumbs up. 

“… Gotta name yourself?”

You shrug with agitation. If someone else asks you that, you’ll scream. 

“… Hm. Okay, then. I’m gonna get another drink. Want one?” You decline as politely as your attitude allows. 

“You, El?” 

“M’good.” 

“Alright,” He hums too uppity, “Enjoy the quiet.” He goofs before following Maria to the other end of the bar. Silence ensues between you and Ellie, and it’s fucking awkward. It wouldn’t be if you were by yourself. You pick at the piece of paper in front of you. 

Ellie adjusts her stance, attention on the dance that dominates the floor, her tatted arm propping her up against the bar. You can see the fine lines out the corner of your eye: leaves of a fern resting underneath a moth. A Polyphemus. Compulsive. A symbol of death, you once read somewhere. Regardless, it’s beautifully done. 

“Want a picture?” 

You stiffen and your gaze drops to the paper. Your eyelids squeeze shut in embarrassment. 

Ellie releases a hefty breath before sighing, “You read?” She asks, and you shrug. 

“You don’t talk?” You do nothing. 

She already sounds annoyed by you. You hope she notices you’re in the same boat. “It’s better if you don’t.” She mumbles to herself. You throw a glare in her direction, but she pays you no mind. She’s focused elsewhere, eyes much more delicate. You discreetly follow her line of vision. 

… Dina. Hilarious. Is she a god here? Good with children and the annoying and aloof? Everyone here claps and hoots at her being dipped by her partner like they’ve never seen dancing before. When did she even get here? Where are the kids? Maybe they’re all snowballed out and went to bed—

… What. What the fuck? You don’t care, what the hell. 

You turn back to Ellie when Dina waves at her, wide-eyed and princess-y, before waltzing towards Jesse to throw her arms around his neck, which he eagerly returns around her waist. Ellie’s expression goes from lovestruck to tense in an instant, jaw clenched and eyes burning through the floor. You try to hide a snicker. 

Ellie’s jealous. Adorable. 

“The fuck are you smiling for?” She grumbles at you, but her cheeks burn under the yellow light. Your laughter finally bubbles over. 

“Nothing’s funny. Shut the fuck—“

“Well, what’d I tell you! Two wallflowers hittin’ it off! Look at that smile!” 

Maria graciously interrupts Ellie’s angered mantra. Your hand hides your grin before a light hand brushes your back. You flinch away on instinct. No one notices except Ellie. 

Dina greets you first and you almost holler with joy, “Hey, Dove! Sorry I didn’t come over earlier! Had to get this circus goin’ since no one else did,” She casually takes Ellie’s glass and downs its contents with no problem, “Thank you.” 

“Such a dick.” Ellie says slowly, and Dina smiles. “You love me.” 

You pinch your smile away. 

“Dove?” Maria inquiries. 

Dina shrugs, “Better than Doe. Makes her sound like a corpse. Dove’s cute.”

“Cute for a bitch,” Ellie slips under her breath, and Dina slaps her arm in scolding. Tames her until she quiets like an actual bitch. This shit is hilarious. 

“I like that. Dove.” Maria approves. “It’s… fitting. Joel found her buried in white, so.” 

“Okay, Mrs. Poet—“

Maria’s married? Huh. 

She hushes Dina playfully. The dark-haired girl interlaces Ellie’s fingers with hers before yanking her off the bar and onto the dance floor. The music slows as if cued just for them. Dina pulls Ellie into her, and Ellie’s hands rest on her waist. 

Dina leads, surprisingly. 

Ellie’s expression doesn’t scream delight. She’s nerve wracked and her eyes flit over every body that surrounds her with anxiety. Even yours. 

Dina’s a good distraction. She's quite seductive when she brushes loose hair behind Ellie’s ear, caresses her cheek, touches her with tenderness that you’ve only seen described on paper. Only in your imagination was it real. 

Kisses her.

Oh. 

You turn away. Your skin’s hot. Maria’s distracted. Thank God. You’ve had enough mingling for tonight. You leave the bar without a trace, the pen and paper left on the stand the only evidence of your appearance. 

“Hey! HEY! Ms. Dina’s friend!”

“They’re not friends, she just got here—“

“Shut up! Ms. Dina always said respect your olders—“

“Elders, dumbfuck. And she doesn’t look old—“

Ah, the potty-mouthed bully. Although, he doesn’t seem so threatening in the darkness. Children are the bane of your existence. You’re nowhere near the infirmary. Why are they out in the cold by themselves? 

“Hey, Ms. Dina’s friend, how was the party! Ms. M said we aren’t allowed to go in because people are… drunk, whatever that means!” 

The same voice from earlier. Red-boot-Ranger. Dylan. 

“It means they’re alcoholics—“ A girl this time. Shorter than Dylan but just as expressive. 

“I thought alcohol made people happy?“

“Could be, but my aunt drank herself to death so I guess it’s different for everyone!” 

Goddamn. 

“What’s your name, miss! … Ma’am?” Dylan corrects shyly. 

“Ma'am means grandma—“

“Ruth, shut the hell up, Jesus!” 

“NO, YOU SHUT UP—“

Dylan waits expectantly while the other two kids attempt to rip each other’s heads off. You flap your hands like wings. 

“… Fly? Your name’s fly?” 

You shake your head and point upward. 

“OH! Sky!—“

You wave your hands in denial and flap your arms while squawking. 

“… Bird? Bald Eagle? Um…” 

You yank at your hair in exasperation before pointing down at untouched, white snow beneath your feet. 

“Snow? Snow bird? Uhh… Swan… Lake?”

Decent guess. This fucking sucks. 

“I don’t know what your name is, miss, I’m sorry.” Fucking Christ, the poor thing looks so upset. You’re suddenly the worst human being on the planet. “Are you mad at me?” Dylan asks, voice laced with insecurity, and something cracks in your chest. What the fuck. Your hands wave in denial apprehensively, and he exhales a held breath before smiling. 

“I like you! Why don’t you talk?” 

You sigh before scribbling on your palm like you did with Maria, and all three kids excitedly demand writing utensils from each other. 

“I DON’T HAVE A MARKER!” Frankie hisses when Ruth slaps him on the shoulder. 

“DO YOU ALWAYS HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ASS? FREAKO!”

“Freako! ARE YOU FIVE—“

“What are you kiddos still doin’ up?” 

“MR. JOEL!”

Ruth and Dylan practically jump onto this old man and he groans mockingly. Joel. Hm. 

“You’re all supposed to be sleep. Did Dina not tuck you in?”

“She did, but we snuck out. We’re bored! Please throw snowballs at us!” Frankie whines. 

Joel calmingly caters to the children and their hyperactivity; his voice is very soothing. Gentle enough for the kids to accept that he’s not chucking snowballs at them this late at night. 

Joel addresses you. “Maria decided to keep you ‘round?” 

It was him. His eyes are calm and welcoming, but there’s a hollowness behind them. It’s hardly noticeable, but he’s bothered by something. He masks it well enough for the kids. He must be a dad. Maybe one of them is his. You just shrug, and he chuckles; crackles like fire. Breaks a bit. His eyes grow sadder the longer he stares at you. Is this man about to cry? 

“I’ll, uh… I’ll walk ‘em back,” He nods at Dylan who’s already half asleep on his shoulder, and you nod. He gives you one last look before turning. You clutch onto his hand before he can go any further. He seems shocked by the gesture, but you squeeze it with all your might. You hope every clench reads as a thank you thank you thank you. 

He swallows before nodding down at you, returning your gentle squeezes. The last breath he takes before leading the kids home is unsteady. Who broke that poor man’s heart? 

You watch his back all the way down the trail until the door to the bar slams shut. It’s Ellie all bundled up and seemingly about to strangle somebody. You can see Dina and Jesse scrambling to follow her through the window, but Ellie’s determined to get the fuck outta range. 

You don’t know why, but you whistle loud enough to get her attention. Her cheeks are blazing and her eyes are pained and angry. 

“The fuck do you want?” Her breath frosts with each spit she throws. You’re not really sure, so you throw her a thumbs up. Two just in case she read it as good work instead of are you good? 

She scoffs a laugh that sounds like a sob, “Fuck off.” And she’s off again. The opposite direction from Joel. 

Alright. Fuck her too. 

—

The past 5 days have been a blur. 

The morning after the party, your brain wracked to put every single interaction together but came up short. So much happened that you can barely grasp it. You died, came back, met at least 100 people, experienced acute peer pressure, and got cussed out by some short, tattooed psychopath with an equivalent amount of people skills as you. 

You’ve met teachers, medical professionals, rambunctious kids with a hunger similar to rhinos, a potential dad with an insane amount of patience, but all you can think about is Ellie and her fucking tattoo. 

You think that same moth appeared in your dream last night, flapping around and pissing you off. 

Maria’s been in a good mood, at least. Maybe because you’re staying in Jackson until further notice. You’re glad she didn't make a big deal about it: the inquiry was short and over breakfast the morning after the party. You slid her note that read CAN I STAY?, she said yes, and now you have a two story home all to yourself, floor stacked to the ceiling with your books and some she lent you. 

The first thing you did after she left was scream bloody murder for no reason other than relief. After years of instability, you finally have something consistent. You don’t know how to react to that besides weeping. 

There’s only one downside. Ellie’s your neighbor. Life will always humble you. 

She’s the first person you see every morning and the last every night and you hate it. The only time you experience true peace is when she’s out on patrol. To think you assumed Ellie wasn’t violent. She returned one morning on her horse covered knee-high in blood as she wiped her switchblade on her dirtied jeans. Even Jesse seemed intimidated. 

Meanwhile, you’ve been everywhere: tending the garden, handing beers out to men twice your age, fixing lights. Joel even asked for assistance on a car repair even though you’ve never seen one in your life. You both finished, though. Drives good as new. 

You think Dylan’s grown attached. He’s very clingy and you hate it but he also has the chubbiest cheeks you’ve ever seen so you have no choice but to forgive him for his sins. Whenever he jumps on your back while you’re squatted in front of the garden, you just deal with it. He rambles enough for the both of you. 

Now you’re serving dinner with a homophobe. Yippee. 

Seth sucks gorilla balls. When Maria first introduced you both, he thought you were deaf and asked if you had to be put with him. When you glared at him, he went red in the face. You understand why Ellie hates him. Apparently he called her and Dina dykes at the party and she and Joel almost strangled him. The canteen’s already filled with people, but the patrol group hasn’t returned. They usually make it back before sunset, but it’s dark now. Seth’s set on closing the kitchen down, but you decline everytime. They’re probably starving wherever they are. 

It’s not until an hour, then 2 passes when you wrap all 12 of their individual plates. 

You’re scared shitless, but it’s time for Dylan’s bedtime story. 

—

You always have to remind Dylan to keep his volume down during story time so he doesn’t wake the other kids. 

“Why would anyone give up anything magical for a cow? Okay, sure, you’re betting that they actually are magic, but why on Earth? I’d never give away my magic! Am I wrong, Ms. Dove?” 

You smile and deny. 

“SEE! Exactly! Anyway,” He refocuses on the page. “You numbskull! I can’t eat! You ruined my appetite!” 

Dylan’s a great reader, but he loses his place very often. You showed him the follow-your-finger trick and it’s helped, but the poor thing always has to comment on everything. At least he’s entertained. 

You don’t realize you dozed off on the floor until you’re frantically awoken by a teary-eyed Dylan. The big and small babies cry while they barricade the door with blankets and dressers. Your heart sinks. 

“Ms. Dove…” Dylan whispers. 

Screams echo from outside and the windows have orange hues. Something’s burning. 

“Someone bad is outside.” 

The patrol group is back. 

—

You don't meet Clickers often. 

They come and go and kill as they please and you don’t bother them, simply take your plans in the opposite direction as stealthy as possible. Even with your avoidance, they somehow always find their way back to you. Back to everyone. 

You hear everything from the daycare; hollering, gunshots, Clickers wailing, but you can’t fucking see. Protocol for a daycare lockdown is fairly simple: turn off the lights and take all the brats up to the nursery. It’s the most child-safe section of the building while simultaneously having a locked drawer filled with glocks. Great. 

Now you’re locked up with whimpering toddlers with a weapon you barely know how to use. If Joel hadn’t done that runthrough with you yesterday, you’d be fucked and so would the kids. You rock Dylan who sits on your lap while hushing the toddlers. You’re doing whatever you can to keep them quiet, but they’re babies who cry a lot. You hum to them, braid their hair, roll scratched-up dice but nothings fucking working. You never thought you’d regret staying in Jackson this early on. 

The younger ones start wailing when pounding on wood echoes from downstairs. Dylan holds you closer. 

Protocol is simple. 

Don’t open the door. Maria told you that. Keep it locked and don’t open it. 

The thuds get louder and so do the children and panic bombards you. It’s starting to feel too familiar. Those bangs are so fucking loud. Toddlers to 13 year olds are looking to you for guidance while you’re crumbling. How do you make them stop crying why won’t they stop fucking crying— 

Someone’s trying to beat the door down. Dylan’s practically choking you with his little arms as he sobs quietly into your neck. You don’t realize you’re crying until a small hand wipes your face and tiny bodies snuggle closer to you. 

Are you going to die surrounded by children all over again? One time wasn’t enough, God? The best moment of your life turns to the worst in a matter of seconds. You’ll have to run away like you did the first time. You should’ve never slid the note asking for more time with the kids under Maria’s door, fuck fuck fuck—

3 deafening pops bang from outside, and then there’s silence. It sounds like wood is breaking and there’s footsteps rushing upstairs and the babies are screaming so loud. When the nursery door lock gets shot off, Dylan screams right in your ear. 

“EVERYBODY OUT, LET’S GO!” 

“Mr. Tommy!” Relief washes over your kids before they start hustling. 

“OUT, OUT, LET’S GO!” 

All the kids scramble to grab their coats and socks and boots before rushing out of the nursery. Your hands won’t stop shaking. You barely get onto your feet before Tommy shoves you against the wall with fire for pupils. 

“You never fuckin’ wait to die when there’s kids around, you understand me!” 

You’re nodding but you can’t hear because you’re still sobbing. “Whatever bullshit you learned outside is over with now. It don’t matter what happens, always give them a chance to live even if it means you’re done!”

Tommy doesn’t waste another second on you. He leaves with a tense back and a rifle and you allow yourself to break. You heave and sob because that’s all you could do when you were a child and your brothers and sister were all killed in front of you. 

—

You vacate the daycare hours later. The doors need fixing. 

Your head and eyes hurt terribly but nothing compares to the emptiness in your chest. Maria told you that the kids would be separated into different houses until the daycare is safe for them again. Even she stares at you with disapproval despite her indifferent tone.

You feel like a ghost on the walk back home. Your hands are clenched in fists and your breathings slow. Why didn’t you stay downstairs and check the windows to make sure there were no intruders? Why weren’t you holding the gun in preparation for battle? Why’d you allow the kids to believe you couldn’t protect them? 

Because you couldn’t. In that moment, you were a child all over again, just as lost and confused and scared as they were. It was all too familiar. 

Jackson’s asleep, minus the painful groaning coming from behind Ellie’s home. 

You’re immediately in defense. So many patrol members had to go to the infirmary after their arrival. Maria never mentioned anything about Ellie. 

Your concern carries your feet until you round the corner, and her gun’s already drawn and pointed at you. That barely shakes you; it’s what around her that confuses you. 

She’s leant back against the foundation of her home surrounded by towels, a large bottle of clear liquid, and her profusely bleeding, non-tattooed arm that wraps around her stomach. 

When you take a cautious step toward her, her gun clicks. Her eyes are vicious and untrustworthy, and you know she’d kill you in a second. She watches every move you make down to the ragged rise and fall of your chest. You’re unsure how long you stand there before she winces in pain. It’s slight but you catch it. You slowly point to the open wound on her forearm. 

“What.” She rasps. You mime wrapping a bandage on yourself. Her snicker is pained. 

“Get the fuck outta here. You done enough for tonight.” 

You swallow thickly, unmoving. 

“Fuck off before I blow your brains out.” 

You take 2 more steps. 

“GET THE FU—“

When your knees hit the snow in front of her, she’s stunned silent. You’re already reaching for the bandage and bottle of disinfectant. You can’t see her injury that well, but she might need stitches if it’s still that bloody. When you reach for her injured arm, she pushes you into the snow. You groan in frustration before getting up and trying again. 

Ellie swallows a pained noise and maneuvers her injury away the closer you get. You’re trying to help her! Why’s she being so difficult! You crack open the disinfectant and your nose instantly burns. You gasp before moving the bottle away from your face. 

“Just go the fuck home, goddamnit—“

That’s not disinfectant. It’s acid. 

Ellie’s gun is still on you, but she’s not as steady. There’s a tremor in her weapon and her bottom lip is pinched between her teeth. Any movement she makes seems to hurt her. 

You move closer, and Ellie wheezes like an injured gazelle. It’s not until you see the small indentation when you realize her bleeding isn’t from a knife or a gun. 

Those are teeth marks. 

Ellie got bit. Your heart thrashes and your legs beg you to run. 

You know, and she knows you know. It’s a misunderstanding, it has to be. A human or a dog or a bear bit her, not a Clicker, not one of them. 

She smirks but it’s sinister. 

“If you tell anyone, I’ll tear out your windpipe and feed it to one of those fuckers.” Her head jerks towards the gate, and as if on command, the lot of them squeal into the night like hyenas. 

[1920sladydectective]

Best Friend's Mother Ch.6 (Finale) 6.8K MDNI 18+

Here she bloody is, my darlings!

All done, finally, giving me room to write even more Ambessa stuff. Next stop Professor Medarda!

That being said, I've loved writing this story and feel so honoured by the reception it has received. Thank you especially to @shinyshayminflower for the initial prompt, @uselessbard1031 for the endless support and @chocolate-quotes for the stunning cover art which I adoreddddddddddd.

Love you all, let me know what you think!

Warnings: Degradation, Name Calling, Overstimulation kinda? Lots of alcohol idk I'm British and this is set at Christmas okay.

Chapter 6:

You’d failed at the first hurdle, the first second, the truest and largest fuck up possible of a New Year’s resolution. Bubbles fizzed in your blood, common sense popping like a thousand little sparks. 

She tasted good, like whisky and regret and those tiny chocolate puddings on the trays at the party. The party you couldn’t quite remember or reconcile, the party that faded to blurring noise as she consumed you. 

Ambessa’s mind was screaming at her. This was not how she’d intended the evening to go. Rather the opposite. She was going to kiss one of Cassandra’s uptight friends, unwind them a bit and then take her drunken gaggle of children home. 

Instead she’d been ripped to shreds by her daughter and was now eating the very forbidden (but no longer?) fruit she had tried to avoid. 

You pulled away merely to breathe, but it was enough, like a shock of cold water. Tears, hot and angry sprung into your eyes almost immediately. 

“What was that?” You snarled, gulping in air. 

“I-“ Ambessa coughed slightly, “A mistake,” 

You scoffed, shoving her, “You can say that again,” 

“No,” She backtracked, muddled, “I just meant-“ 

“Do me a favour and fuck off, okay?” You wiped your mouth viciously with your sleeve, panic heavy in your heart as you rushed past her without another word. Drunk and distressed, you made your way into a random corner and stayed there. 

You’d tell Mel in the morning, you told yourself with trembling hands, but right now it would be too much. 

Ambessa was having the most tiring evening ever. Nothing was happening in the right order, as if she’d been given the smaller part of every wishbone in existence.Her mouth was a villain, intent on ruining everything. Glancing in the reflection of one of Cassandra’s crystalline statutes, she saw her massacred face, red smudges everywhere. 

“Well,” Cassandra Kiramman’s smug voice rang out, “That was a damn sight better than seeing you kiss my child like last year,” 

Muscled shoulders seized, wide golden eyes meeting cool grey ones, “Lovely party,”

“I think that’s the first time in twenty years you’ve said that,” She snorted, “I needn’t lecture you about how stupid that was, we both remember what happened with Maddie,”

“She isn’t Maddie,”

“Evidently,” A click of teeth, an outstretched hand holding cloth “I’ll see you on the 14th, I can take your money and your secrets then,” 

Ambessa sighed, wiping her face of lipstick and taking a regrouping breath. There was little to do but sober up and figure out a battle plan. Divide her stupidity and hopefully conquer her love. Or some other battle analogy she was too pissed to think of. “Thank you,”

“There’s no need for that,” She smiled, rolling her eyes at her friend, “You’re hosting the women’s luncheon in February,” 

Fuck.

You were sitting in a fancy taxi, a snoozing Mel on your shoulder as Kino rambled about the artwork in Caitlyn’s house. You didn’t care about the fact that the frames were worth as much as the art, or that some of them had taken years to find. You didn’t care about anything at all really, save the brooding woman in front of you. She seemed so cold, so distant, and you found that it did not suit her. You’d never be rid of her, that understanding had set in as you stumbled out of the car and into the front porch. She was like Japanese knotweed, strong and thriving and made to rot the very foundations of life. Here you were, a three time offender of succumbing to her, despite your morals and your strength and your hatred. 

Deft fingers attempted to grab your wrist as Kino and Mel waltzed arm in arm up the staircase, but her hold found nothing but air. A snap, a growl, something animalistic as you trailed quickly after your friends, the third of the good little wolves and nothing more. 

Sleep was easy due to alcohol, though all it really did was lock you in dreams. Tender kisses and bitter words fighting for the spotlight, leaving your mind a flashing drunken strobe. Sweaty, distressed turning and rolling until dawn beckoned and you lay shivering in the fetal position. No amount of fancy heating systems could rid your bones of the chill, heavy limbs freezing you in place. 

It took several hours and a minor pity party to make it into a different pair of less sweaty pyjamas, another hour to make it downstairs and fifteen seconds for your hopes of sorting this out as soon as possible to be crushed. 

A series of texts from Mel. Mel and Kino had left twenty minutes ago, a sibling breakfast tradition you had been omitted from due to your lack of appearance. Fuck. Just her, somewhere, lurking. 

The kitchen was safe, paprika crisps settling your stomach as you brewed some longjing tea. A plan was formed, tell Mel, pack your shit and stay with your cousin until the housework finished later this week. It was solid, grounding and allowed you to get the fuck out of this weird fantasy land. Nothing felt tangible here, all consequences smashing down as soon as the spell of the upper class echelons was shattered by travelling 20 miles north. You holed yourself up in one of the spare sitting rooms, avoiding where she thought you’d be in favour of unfamiliar cream sofas and animal artwork. 

It wasn’t enough. 

Tentative footsteps, her arrival heralded by Mina, like a slow marching procession. There was no escape. One way in, one way out. The oak door clicked shut softly. You did not, would not, give her the satisfaction of looking up. 

Your name on her lips, measured and calm, as the sofa to your right dipped with her body weight. A loud clunk, your gaze meeting a bottle of artisan Olive Oil. 

“Olive branch?” She muttered, “We were out of breadsticks,” 

You looked at it, still not her, nose twitching. Her charm, though flavoured now with hesitancy, was viscous and wrong as it lapped at your skin. “That implies there’s a conversation to be had here, and there isn’t,”

“Look at me,” Soft but impatient. 

Your eyeline did not move. Her arrogance astounded you.

“I was thinking-”

“No, Mrs Medarda,” You snapped, formality and fury, making the cat jump, “There is nothing you can say, I am going to tell Mel and then I’m going to get away from you, as fast as possible,” 

“A tad dramatic,” Cryptic, passive smile, “Mel knows, darling,” 

“What?” This had you meeting her gaze, “You told her?”

“Not yet,” A sniff, “Not exactly,” 

“Well then she doesn’t fucking know, you twat,” 

Ambessa’s lips upturned slightly, “She doesn’t know the specifics, but she knows my motivations,”

“Motivations?” You scoffed, “Your untameable pride and sex drive you mean?”

Ambessa, despite having spent most of the night replaying every interaction you had ever shared under the rosy haze of infatuation, had yet to find a way to piece together her confession. Part of her wanted to wax lyrical, a modern day poet speaking in nothing but nonsense and flowers. But your impatience, borne of hurt and exhaustion, hung heavy above her. She was the one fearing the guillotine’s blade now, she should have learned from history that the revolution always comes in the end. And here it was, the revolt of her own mutinous heart. 

“Well?” Her silence unsettled you, those carved brows scrunched inwards, as you fought a mounting urge to backhand her. 

“Not quite that,” She muttered, “Wouldn’t have bothered with the olive oil if it was just sex, dear,” 

Your eyes rolled, pushing off of the sofa, body fleeing before your blood curdled in your veins. 

She grabbed your arm, pulling you back down with a thud, “Stop I-” gasped air, “I’m trying to be honest here,”

“You’re speaking like a Dickens novel and I’m supposed to take you seriously? Three Ghosts come and slap you in the face? Or some New Year’s resolution, is it?” You yank your hand back, skin fizzing and yearning for the calloused warmth to return. 

“Yes, actually,” 

“What was your Christmas past like then?”

“Troubled,” She quipped, rolling her eyes at you, “It is a resolution, one I indeed to stick to,”

A laugh, grating against your throat, “Didn’t take you for the type, you don’t seem in a rush to change anything about your life,” 

“Stop being childish and listen,” She snapped. 

“You have two minutes,” You spat, “And then I’m leaving,”

“Two minutes isn’t even enough time to boil an egg,” 

“Ambessa,”

Muscles tensed. Fine. Fucking Hell. “I’ve been bad to you,” There, well done Ambessa, a start. Accountability, the sharp blade you must crush within your palm. 

Tart and hard, an unripe cherry between your teeth, shock bloomed. There was nothing particularly reassuring about her words, but you jumped all the same. 

“I abused your kindness and took advantage of you,” How lovely and romantic, the muted whites of the room shifting to morose greys. 

“Old news, cemented about nine kisses ago,”

“I know that,” It was sharper than she’d intended, a sigh rattling out, “I know,”

“If you know, why are we having this conversation?” You grabbed the olive oil, waving it about, “What kind of weak, spindly branch is this?”

“You’re so pedantic, must you have everything spelled out for you?!” She growled, tenderness foreign on her tongue, “The I’m in love with you kind,” 

A spell, like a muffling blanket of snow, enveloped the room. Such a tender, sweet truth, with all the certainty and promise of the apple of Eden. Was she the snake or Eve, you could hardly tell. You sat, in stasis, as she swallowed. 

FIve minutes. Ten. A brutal, endless fifteen. 

“Don’t be cruel,” Acid burned in your mouth, tears smarting your eyes, “Don’t wave that about,”

Snip. Your words cutting Ambessa’s newly found heartstrings, “I wouldn’t,”

“Wouldn’t you?”

“No,” It was firm.

“And that’s what Mel knows?” You asked, eyes narrow. You didn’t believe her, couldn’t, wouldn’t. Really, really shouldn’t. 

“She insisted upon it, screamed at me in the Kiramman’s bathroom,” 

“Wait,” Awe bubbled between your ribs, “Last night?”

A begrudging nod, that soft half smile that made you melt. She loved your lip twitches of surprise, your mouth turning over words you couldn’t vocalise. 

“Why?”

“She sort of stumbled into it, as did I,” A pause as she pulled a red wine bottle and glasses from seemingly nowhere, “Do you mind?”

“Yes, I do,” You snarked, flicking the cork onto the floor, “But by all means, don’t let that stop you,” 

“I won’t,”

You took the glass she offered all the same, settling into the sofa with renewed confidence, petulant hands spilling drops of burgundy onto the cream sofa. “Stumbled, you said?”

Ambessa crossed her legs, Malbec coating her tongue, “She was..frustrated that I had not distanced myself enough from you,”

“I noticed a distinct difference,”

“That’s what I said,”

“Not taking your side,” You swished your hand for her to continue. 

“She said I was selfish and many other things, another character assassination,” Heavy chug, “But she wanted a reason, a cause,”

“She always does,” Anticipation was building now, possible half truths and sweet words lingering just out of reach, “It’s the only reason she forgave me, because of how I felt,”

Ambessa nodded, eyes distant, “Did you know I find it harder to sleep now?”

What? You were hungover and hair of the expensive vintage dog was not quite cutting it.  Speak plainly you maddening cow, your mind cried. Instead, “Pardon?”

“I miss the weight of you on my chest, and the coldness of your toes on my calves,” She muttered, memory easier than big declarations, “It’s what I thought of when Mel asked me to prove it, to prove it was..” 

Monster. Cannibal. Villain. She was gnawing at your bones, words like ambrosia to all the battered, tired shades of you that sat before her. You missed that too, had mourned it like so many other little, luxurious sweetnesses. 

“That’s still a physical desire,” You rationalised, lips stained with wine. 

A grunt, “Do you need more?”

A nod. Several. Only confirmational overkill would do here. 

“I-” Her hand twitched, “find myself trying to force an affinity for apple tea,”

“You hate it,”

“But it tastes of you,” She said, “Sometimes it’s all I can do to stave off the craving,”

“So you miss my mouth? Physical.” 

Ambessa pouted, heavy hand overpouring another glass, “What do you want from me? I’ve already said it,”

You laughed, in spite of it all, “I want to know what you’re feeling, not what you miss or crave or imagine,”

It seemed to rent her asunder, her feelings etched in memories, stuck far away from words. Love was one, but it was vulnerable and rough against her tongue. It had only come out via happenstance, sleep deprivation and growing panic. Affection hung in the background, and devotion sat like oil on her smooth skin. How was she to wield them? A great axe pulling her into herself, straining underdeveloped muscles. 

“It’s a bit like quicksand,” Her tone was unsteady, “It’s eating me whole,”

“What is?”

 “Love,” She snarled, as if it was obvious, eyes ever so slightly glazed. 

“The more you fight, the more you sink?”

She nodded, a heady relief in your understanding, light at the end of her confusing tunnel, “Exactly that,” 

You downed your glass, “Then I’ll throw you a stick, help you out,” a dismissive sniff, “I hate you,”

“No you don’t,” No hesitation, “You fell before I did, Sweet Girl,” 

“And look where that got me,” 

“But we’re in it together now,”

“There is no together, Ambessa,” You were sinking, she would not be proven right, “Your love is as dangerous as your indifference, wolves do not cradle their prey tenderly,”

“You aren’t prey,” It was a cry, angry and indignant, as her hands found yours. 

“Then why am I covered in your bitemarks?” 

She grumbled, “I think we’ve used the full extent of this metaphor, darling,” 

“Metaphors, jibs, cold truths, however you spin it, you are an emotionally immature mess,”

“Mel called me an emotionally impotent bitch,” She said, interlocking her warm hands with your trembling ones, “You were kinder about it,” 

“I’m always kinder about everything,” You replied, tightening your grip.

“It’s one of the things I love about you,” 

“Stop saying that!” 

“What?” She smiled, something giving way inside her, “Love? That I love you?”

“I-Yes,” You were chest deep now, thick wet sand eating you, “I don’t know what to do with that, with you,” 

Ambessa sat, rhythmically stroking your knuckles, as her head leaned closer to yours, “You let me earn you, my darling,”

Thick sludge, stealing your breath away now, “Earn me?” 

“Will you let me try?” Her voice was molasses now, pushing you down into the very bottom of the pit, her brain finally catching up with her body, “Words fuelled by action?” 

“L-like date me? And woo me?” Your eyes were fluttering, heart a schism of fear and fancy. 

She hummed in confirmation, free hand tucking some of your glitter crusted hair behind your ear, gaze soft. 

“Doesn’t seem very characteristic, Ambessa,” 

“Yes, well,” A humorous sigh, “You’ve clearly made me sick, some kind of spell or curse,”

You smacked her arm, a nonsensical laugh slipping out. She was ridiculous and stupid and images of her sending you flowers or taking you mini golfing came into your mind unbidden. 

“Is that a yes, my darling?”

“What does Mel think?”

“I think you should ask her,” Ambessa’s voice wrapped around you, “Regardless of this, I will not monopolise on your relationship with her,”

“I think you’re suffering from head injury,” She was perfect, she was handing you your dreams on a silver platter, so why couldn’t you take it? “I think I need some time,”

She nodded, ignoring the dark growl in her chest, “There’s no timeline,” Actually, the timeline was she wanted to be between your legs right now, but it seemed the clocks were confused. 

With an odd, robotic stroke to her cheek, you stumbled out of the room and back up the stairs. Ignoring your door, you curled into Mel’s room, allowing yourself to be engulfed by frilly bed sheets. She’d find you later and you could have a chat. 

Find you she did, snoring and pale in her bed, with wine stained lips and tear stained cheeks. Hungover limbs crawled around you, kissing your forehead. 

“Babe!” It was a happy shout, as you flinched awake. 

“That was not the only way to do that,” 

“It’s the way I chose,”

The conversation that transpired was as follows. You bared your snotty, shattered soul and called her mother all the cruel, loving things you could think of and she nodded sagely whilst stroking your hair. She then decided to take her mother’s side, and say that you should definitely pursue a relationship if you loved her, as if it was that simple. You were now battering her shoulder with a candy cane shaped cushion. 

“Hitting me isn’t going to change my answer,”

“It’s not normal to tell your friend to date your mother,” You cried, “The only sane person in this family is Kino,”

“Really?”

A memory of him drizzling a chicken wing with melted chocolate the night before returned, “Christ, okay you’re all nuts!” 

“You still haven’t told me what you want,” Mel murmured, taking the candy cane from your grasp, “Just that she’s evil and you feel weak when she smiles, which honestly urgh,” 

Uncertain, jittering hands tug at a strand of hair, “I don’t think I know,”

Silence, her hand on your shoulder, as you sorted through the bombed out craters in your mind. Each kiss, fight, and confession had made its mark and the rubble was hard to decipher. 

“I think I want to exist a bit, before I commit to anything,” 

“You have been through a lot, babe,” Mel was so gentle, you adored her more than she could ever ever know, “Maybe just be you? Mum’ll wait,”

“Will she?” That was your hope and your fear. 

“She’ll have to if she’s serious, and if she doesn’t then fuck her, you can find another fish, preferably one I’m not related to,” 

“I love you,”

“Damn right,” She kissed your head, “Now can we watch TV or something, my head hurts,”

Three days passed, and she was surprisingly normal. There was no forced affection or ultimatums, just the same smile; considerate and mischievous. You were grateful, the space confirming what you’d said to Mel. You needed to be you, away from the magic and madness of this house, and only then would you really know. 

When you told her as much, firelight flickering in the library on your last evening, she let out a long sigh. The grating, dull pain in her heart intensified, but with it so did her plan.

The last dinner felt stupidly biblical, final and massive, as though you may never return. A veritable feast, overflowing plates and glasses, as even Rictus joined you for the meal. Kino was a jester of epic proportions, breaking more than one glass in his pursuit of a punchline. Ambessa sat, quiet but merry, against the carved mahogany chair of the dining room. Mel, as ever, was the master of pictures. You dreaded the thought of the costs to develop that much film, though you placed bunny ears behind Kino’s head as you grinned into the flash all the same. Rictus, though, was the real diamond in the rough of the evening. Strong and well mannered, with your exact sense of humour. He was quiet and yet seemed to fill every silence that threatened to hurt you. You felt sorry to have overlooked him in a way, leaning a heavy head against his shoulder. 

“I’m going to miss you,”

“Miss my endless free labours?” He joked, a gruff voice above your ear. 

“Miss your sanity,” You said, “Miss your friendship,”

“Well, I’m only ever a phone call away,” He replied, “Us furniture have to stick together,” 

You laughed, bright and true, as he dolloped another mountain of tiramisu onto your plate. 

Slowly, but surely, you all retired to bed, a holiday well spent and a heavy desire to return to normal weighing in the air.

The next morning, as he bundled your endless possessions into Mel’s boot, Rictus called you over. 

“Something the matter?”

“Kid,” A sternness, “You’re going to be alright?”

You snorted, “I told you I’d keep in touch, where’s this come from? Delirious from all of Mel’s handbags and shoes?”

“I love Ambessa Medarda very much,” He said out of nowhere, hand stroking your arm, “Don’t let her wants eclipse yours,”

“What?” What the fuck was he on about? 

“Speak of the devil, and she appears,” He muttered, stepping away without a further word. Bastard. 

Ambessa squeezed Mel with all her might, an acceptance blossoming in a relationship filled with shards of glass and broken promises. “Look after yourself, work hard,”

“Party harder,” Mel muttered, “I know Mum, I’ll see you at Easter,”

She climbed into the preheated Land Rover, just as Rictus wandered back into the Manor with a shout and a wave. Kino had said goodbye over breakfast, nearly breaking a rib, and so it was just her.

The goodbye was stilted, her large hand stroking your hair as she took an audible sniff. It made you giggle wetly, swallowing down the impulse to just collapse into her and let yourself be consumed. You first, her later. That was probably what Rictus had meant, god your brain was slow today.

“Thanks for a lovely Christmas, and everything in between, well most things,” You mumbled, watery smile. 

“You’re more than welcome, Sweet Girl,” 

“I-I’ll be in touch, when I can,” Her hand was warm in yours, keeping you anchored in place. 

“IF you can, Dear,” She corrected, voice caring “I expect you to take this seriously,” 

A scoff, as you nodded and pursed your lips. Everyone was treating you like you were suddenly going to go back on your plan and jump her bones against the front door. It was a valid concern, even you hadn’t decided completely if you would or not.

“See you soon,” She said, a throwaway comment, as you let go and climbed into Mel’s car. 

Several beats. Your heart full and empty, a weird schrodinger’s joke. A fern tree smell from the little car freshener. 

“Well that was agonising to watch,” Mel quipped, shooting her mum a wave and pulling out of the driveway. Manicured nails flicked on a random playlist, 80s rock heavy, as you stared out at the frosty scenery. 

The flowers started a week after you had gotten back to Edinburgh. Always different, always perfectly sized for your light green vase and never overwhelming. It was a constant sign of her presence, without the stifling need to be responded to. There was never a note, beyond her initials, and that made each delivery all the sweeter. Sometimes other things would come with them too, after a long deadline or big presentation, there would be wine or a new book. It was a more considerate type of materialism, reminiscent of sand castle buckets and chiffon dresses, as glimmering parts of your old self emerged from the explosion of Her. 

Winter socials, dancing around the house in pyjamas singing ABBA with Mel as the world began to thaw.

Valentine’s Day arrived, and with it a little bouquet of roses and a takeaway voucher. 

Happy Valentine’s Day, Ambessa x

                               You too, Sweet Girl x

It was your first point of contact, and you couldn’t bring yourself to regret it. She was slowly but surely winning you over from afar, earning you as she’d said and this new, fresh, old version of yourself was happy to let her encroach a bit on No Man’s Land. Plus, this burrito was one of the best things you’d eaten in ages.

Ambessa was smiling widely at her phone, heart a jackhammer. She felt foolish, any acknowledgment sending her into a tailspin, but that soft kiss at the end of a text was enough to solidify her already immense resolve. You were hers, and she was yours, however long she had to wait.

You were granted the funding you needed, your academic success propelling you into spring with tired and happy limbs. Eleven weeks of flowers, a few scattered texts and one slightly drunken nude later, Mel was rambling at the dinner table about Easter plans. 

“Dad’s not back till the last week,” You replied around a very hot mouthful of chicken parm, “Presumed I’d spend the rest of the time with you,”

Mel’s eyes glistened, shit eating grin on her glossed lips, “Did you now?”

“Oh come off it,” You snapped, “Ambessa already offered anyway,” 

“She has? How nice of her,” Excitement fizzed in her, battling with a bit of sadness at losing her friend’s full attention, “And how is that? Calla lilies this week, I noticed,” 

“Why’s that matter?”

“They mean beauty,” 

“They have meanings?” Tomato sauce stained your grey joggers, you didn’t care, “What about the others?” 

She snorted, “You thought they were just random?”

“I-I” A gulp, “Well, fuck I don’t know I just thought they were pretty,” 

Her laughter grated at you, google your true friend in the matter, as you scanned through each message Ambessa had supposedly sent. 

Bluebells first - Humility. Ironic start. 

Honeysuckle - Bonds of Love

Yellow Tulips - Sunshine in a smile - your heart seized. 

Peony - Bashful - not a word you’d really associate with her. 

White Hyacinth - Loveliness - Hers or your own? Both, you decided. Both. 

Edelweiss - Devotion - a dizzy wave of warmth over your skin. 

Red Roses - I Love You - apt for Valentine’s day. 

Chamomile - Patience in adversity. How brave she was, how ridiculous.

Forget-Me-Nots - True Love Memories - Her stained grin, garlic bread in hand came to mind. 

Red Camellias - You’re a flame in my heart - This coincided directly with her receiving a picture of you in a lacy red bra and thong, courtesy of cheap pints in your favourite pub, and an uncharged vibrator. 

Calla Lillies - Beauty. 

Your chicken parm was cold now, your mouth hanging open, as your eyes burned slightly. 

“You back with me, babe?” 

“This is so stupid,” You spluttered into cold marinara sauce, “She’s so stupid,”

“Love makes a fool of us all,” Mel said wisely. 

“Is that why you, Viktor and Jayce were curled up last night? I saw you holding hands,” 

“Be quiet!” She whined, “Die,”

“Don’t throw stones, Mel,” You mocked, “You’re looking awful glassy right now,” 

You would stay for Easter then, you both agreed over chocolate mousse, as you sent a thumbs up to Ambessa’s invitation. 

Ambessa, glasses balancing on her nose as she read a novel, scanned the text. Once. Twice. An exuberant third time. Rictus ended up battered with requests for a clear and ornate Easter menu, despite the fact that the holiday was over six weeks away and not at all favoured by the Medarda family. Mina had taken to nibbling her phone but only ever when you texted, and Ambessa was beginning to take it personally.

Your spring deadlines came and went, as April and its gentle rest bite from academia beckoned. The journey was painfully familiar to you now, as was the warm and rough rock sitting in your stomach. You felt you again, which was terrifying as it finally gave some space for her. Something you had come to want so desperately it made your dreams turbulent and your hands shaky. She still had some work to do, but as you flicked through your sparse text exchanges you couldn’t fight the smitten smile. 

You loved Ambessa Medarda, and that was okay now. For both of you. 

Ambessa had been waiting for three hours by the door like an overexcited dog. Several times Rictus had come to ask her questions or show her things, and each time she was transfixed on the long driveway.

“Mel said they wouldn’t be here before 2,” He said, smirk on his lips. 

“She’s never reliable,” 

“She is literally compulsively on time,” 

“Rictus, do I pay you for these kinds of conversations?”

“No, but you probably should, I was going to bring it up during my next performance review,” 

“Ah yes, 31st of April, wasn’t it?”

He laughed, wandering back towards the tower of hand painted easter eggs he was tending to.

2pm on the dot you pulled up by the house, clambering to stretch your legs. As the door opened Mel ran to it, kissing her Mum’s cheek and shooting past her to get to the toilet. Whether intentional or serendipity, Mel had given you the perfect opening to stare like a lovesick fool at her mother. 

“Ambessa,” Her name a cry of joy.

“Sweet Girl,” She ignored the thickness in her throat, eyes glimmering at seeing your face again. 

“T-Thanks for the flowers,” Unsure hands, “And the messages they sent,”

She smiled, stepping forward and squeezing your arm. “Always, as long as you enjoy them,” 

“You’ve been just what I needed,” Affection swelled in your chest, “Present but distant,”

“Like a ghoul?” 

You giggled, “Exactly that,”

“You keep comparing me to spirits and ghosts,”

“I actually compared you to Scrooge, not the ghosts themselves,” 

She rolled her eyes, snorting, “You must always be right, mustn’t you?”

“Ambessa,” You repeated, gentiler now. 

She hummed in question, gaze meeting yours. 

“I think I’m ready to try now,” A sharp inhale, “If you are?”

“Well,” Her crimson lips part into a dazzling smile, “That makes me very ha-”

“Princess!!” Kino, dressed in plaid pyjamas, shouted as he ran to engulf you in a hug, “You’re here!”

“Bastard child,” Ambessa grunted under her breath, watching as you cuddled her son and made faces at her over his shoulder. 

“Later,” You mouthed, before focusing on Kino, “Hello there, Peacock Prince,”

She wandered back inside with a murderous expression, greeted by Mel halfway through a bag of Quavers, “Kino cockblock you?”

“Mel, I fund your lifestyle,” Ambessa snapped, “Do not antagonise me,”

“That’s a yes,” Her crunchy words said, offering her a cheesy grin. 

It took until after dinner that evening for you to get a moment alone together again, your spot in the library occupied as you stared across at her. Kino was out with another lady friend and Mel had common sense, so the air that crackled around you would not be interrupted. It was a good thing too, you’d spent the whole time eating your spaghetti trying to make yourself look alluring. Until Mel had pinched you under the table. 

“So,” You started, chest tight. 

“So,” She repeated, stroking Mina, “You said you were ready?”

“Yes,” Your decision was certain now, having spent some time back in her presence. You wanted it all, as soon as you could get it. Seemed you were as damned as she was. The devil on your own shoulder.

“We can take it slowly, Sweet girl,” She said, leaning forward, “There’s no rush,”

Your blood was thick and hot, mind whirling, “What if I want to rush?”

Ambessa grinned, chucking Mina away and with one sharp tug moving you onto her large thighs, “Then I’d say, where would you like to start?”

She was solid and seductive and all the things you’d avoided in your time finding yourself. She was as sticky and tempting as always, though her love tempered the fire now. Things were never done by half, and you’d fooled yourself when you planned to build a relationship step by step. Ambessa had laid the foundations, floral and firm, so now you wanted to chuck brick and cement together as fast as you could. 

“This maybe?” You half slurred in anticipation, hungry lips meeting hers. 

Ambessa was, for once, incredibly surprised. You were devouring her, with no restraint, as if no time had passed at all. But you were different now, she could sense it. Stronger, more certain of your place, your needs and wishes. It suited you, like an attractive new coat. Her hands were roaming about, searching for the best place to land, each patch of skin more perfect than the last. 

“Are you sure?” She murmured against smudged lips, holding your chin in place to stop your desperate advance, “I don’t want to push you away again,”

You melted, kissing her palm, “You won’t,” it was breathless, “I promise,”

“I’ll only do this if I get to take you out tomorrow, a nice long day together,” Her honeyed voice muttered, though one hand was already making its way under your shirt. 

“So a win-win?” 

Calloused fingers grazed your nipple, kissing your neck as she nodded into it. 

“Not sure I could ask for a better Easter,” You joked breathlessly, body twitching into her touch. 

“That’s why you’re not going to ask for it,” Her voice was dark, a switch flipped, “You’re going to beg,” 

Welcome back Ambessa Medarda, you’ve been sorely missed. I hope you fuck my brains out now. “Please?” You quipped. 

A sharp pinch to your nipple, a low growl, “Do you think I’m joking, girl?”

You ached for her, mind fracturing, as an earnest apology ripped from your throat. Your pleading was real now, her wet kisses maddening. 

Ambessa felt hungry, ravenous in fact, and you had offered yourself like a perfect little dessert. How kind. How naive. It took her a few minutes of pawing at you for all of your clothes to be left on the floor, goosebumps prickling your skin as you rubbed yourself against her thigh. This was perfection, your thoughts slush as she whispered filth in your ear. 

“More,” You whined, the pull on your chest not harsh enough. 

She twisted until it burnt, making you jolt, as her wet tongue soothed the ache, “That enough pain for you? So desperate for it,” 

“I-I”

“Is that why you sent me those filthy pictures?” Her thumb, slick with you, danced in circles across your clit, “Wanting to show yourself off, hmm? A slut in red lace?”

“Ambessa,” You gasped. 

“You wanted to drive me mad,” A suck to a sore nipple, “Wanted to corrupt me, after I tried so hard to stay away,” 

“It was an accident,” You slurred, stomach tensing as you thrust in rhythm with her touching. 

“An accident?” She scoffed, nuzzling against your throat, “That’s what you call spreading yourself for me on camera?” 

You were so close, her words like gasoline as you whimpered a confused apology, your mind desperate to keep feeling good. 

“Is this an accident too, Sweet girl?”

“Wha-” Your eyes rolled, cunt gushing as your first orgasm slammed into you like a sledgehammer. 

She slipped you off her lap, sliding out from under you to the ground, as your bare skin touched the cool red leather chair. She knelt, a devious grin on her lips, between your trembling legs as she watched a soft slickness drip down your thighs.

“You’ve made a mess,” She said, disapproving pout on her face, “Say you’re sorry,”

“S-sorry, Ambessa,” You mumbled, eyes glassy. 

“Good girl,” She stroked your thighs, a tight grip on them, tiny crescent moons from her nails, “It’s okay, I’m here to tidy you up,”

She had always been skilled, playing you like an instrument, but as her hot tongue hit your folds you found yourself blank, empty and unsure if you would ever feel anything other than raw, molten pleasure again. Teasing kitten licks lapped up your juices, her golden eyes controlling your every move, as you went limp against the chair. It smelt of her. Everything in this room did. Your body twitched again. 

Her tongue drew another two orgasms from your needy body, sweaty hair sticking to your forehead as you tugged at her salt and pepper curls. 

At some point you ended up flat on the floor against her fancy Persian rug, legs spread as she sat on your face. She was soaked, your cheeks wet as you ate mindlessly. Her orgasms were like nectar as she came apart above you, stern voice turning airy and dazed.

“Just like t-that,” She panted, fucking herself on your tongue.

Your hummed agreement hit her swollen clit, her tongue lolling out her mouth as an animalistic grunt filled the room. 

You were in a bed now. How had that happened? 

“Still with me, little one?” She teased, stroking your hair as she loomed above with a long, hard strap-on. 

“That looks nice,” You babbled, chest rapidly rising and falling. 

“Would you like it?”

A nod. 

“Ask nicely then, Sweet girl,” 

“Pleasepleaseplease,” You said, sweet as sugar, spreading yourself just as you had in those pictures. 

Ambessa Medara was a strong woman. It was her defining feature in fact. Iron will and firm muscle, she prided herself on being a fortress. Here, however, with a whimpering slut beneath her, her resolve shattered like china against marble. You were stuffed before she’d processed the last plea, a surprised gurgle as she worked to destroy you. 

Again, and again and again. She fucked that sweet spot in you with relentless efficiency, as cool leather rubbed against your clit in time with her thrusts. You’d long since given up on the idea of being quiet, mewling gasps and shouts of her name leaving you hoarse with fluttering eyes.

“Cum for me,” It was a sudden command, voice harsh and high, as she fell apart with a vicious thrust. 

You obeyed, the coil in you snapping again, as her sweat covered skin collided with yours. 

You stayed like that, hearts beating in time, as lust faded to contentment and exhaustion. Her slurred praise soothed your battered body as a cold flannel wiped away the stickiness that lingered everywhere. 

There was little else to be said that night, words of love and happiness pouring from you both under your shared silken sheets. 

She loved you. 

You loved her. 

How perfect. 

Slightly lopsided, with a turtleneck to hide the smattering of bruises across your skin, you made your way to the breakfast table. You’d agreed with Ambessa to tell Kino this morning before your date, the only thing still truly weighing on her out of the way in order for you to have the perfect day together. 

He was currently assembling a tower of waffles and bacon, as Mel systematically pushed it over. Rictus stood making more construction materials at the hob, sharing a grin with Mel. 

Ambessa, seeing you enter, coughed loudly to silence the squabbling. 

You wandered over nervously, resting beside her. 

“I’d just like to make everyone aware of something,” She started slowly. 

“Someone dead?” Kino muttered, staring at you. 

“No,” She held her hand up to silence him, “Nobody’s died,”

“Someone pregnant?” Mel asked. The shit stirrer. 

“No I-” Ambessa glared at her, taking a deep breath her hand gravitated towards your shoulder,“I wanted to let you know that we've decided to pursue a romantic relationship,”

“Oh,” Kino’s body tensed, “And when did you make this choice?”

“Last night,” You replied hesitantly, “Why?”

“Fuck,” He groaned to himself, a gruff laugh heard from the hob. 

“I do believe we said one thousand even,” Rictus mocked, flipping a waffle onto the boy’s plate. 

“You couldn’t have waited another twelve hours,” He grumbled, fishing for his wallet in his coat. 

“What is happening right now?” Ambessa said, voice stern. 

“I bet yesterday,” Rictus said as if it were obvious, “Wolf pup here bet today, thought you’d need a little time to warm up, silly boy,”

“You’ve been betting on our relationship?!” You cried, eyes wide as saucers. 

“I wanted to feel included somehow,” Kino whined, “Everyone was taking me out for breakfast to shut me up,” 

Your gaze turned to Mel, who held her hands up, “I knew nothing about this babe, I swear,” 

Liar. Her grin gave her away. 

Ambessa took the wad of cash from Kino’s hands before Rictus could, taking two hundred pounds from the pile, giving you a hundred and keeping the rest for herself, “Our commission,” Her voice was tiny daggers, “For entertaining you all so thoroughly,” 

Both men grumbled, though the sparkle in their eyes told them it was never really about the money, the satisfaction coming from destroying the other's pride. 

A pause, as she turned directly to her son, “You’re taking this very well, Kino, despite your usual nonsense, I am sorry for keeping you in the dark,” 

“About as dark and subtle as a bat signal, Mum,” He laughed, “I knew you’d tell me when it worked for you.

“Yes, well, thank you anyway,” Her voice was laced with sarcasm, as she kicked down his tower this time. 

The loud, nonsensical rumble of infighting filled the kitchen as her hand found yours, a tight squeeze making you smile. 

No more secrets. No more sadness. 

You were finally officially a Medarda.

[cybershock24601]

My most unhinged and for the drama post canon Rookanis scenario is where Rook accidentally gets pregnant post the first night she and Luccanis spend together because they're both virgins, Rook's not on any contraceptive, and the final battle is happening pretty much right after so remembering to take the fantasy morning after pill kinda gets lost in the shuffle and it basically results in Lucanis speedrunning ditching the Crows to become the Ultimate Househusband.

The way I typically imagine post canon Rookanis going down is Rook moving in with Lucanis and her relationship with Caterina slowly worsening over months and years because while Caterina probably starts pretty neutral on Rook, she just does not vibe with Rook's personality and considering she's a paranoid old woman, does not like the influence this outsider has on her grandson or the sort of support Rook has unintentionally built up amongst the Crows during the whole, let's kill these evil elven gods fiasco. Sure Caterina named Lucanis First Talon but its pretty clear a lot of the power is supposed to remain in her guiding hand and Rook is an unknown and chaotic variable fucking with her plans.

Rook on the other hand goes in ready to do her best to build a good relationship with Caterina for Lucanis' sake but starts souring on Caterina the more she learns about Lucanis and Illario's childhoods and is like, no wonder shit went so sideways, which combined with Caterina's increasingly passive aggressive behavior, Rook is only being civil because she is not willing to cause more problems in Lucanis' already fucked up family but its not like Rook is taking Caterina's jabs without getting in a few of her own.

On top of that, despite Caterina's personal dislike of Rook, she's also pushing for Lucanis and Rook to marry and start pumping out great grandbabies to repopulate House Dellamorte. While Rook is more then willing to marry Lucanis, the more Rook learns about how Caterina raised Lucanis and Illario and just about the Crows in general, she starts getting a lot of reservations about raising any child of hers in such a fucked up environment. Meanwhile Lucanis is aggressively Not Thinking About It because while he can justify the treatment he received growing up, thinking about raising his children the way he was would probably break his brain a little because its a little hard to ignore how fucked up and traumatic your own childhood is when you have to confront how much that would fuck up and traumatize someone else.

So instead of these issues growing worse and worse over the years until they completely bubble over, Rook and Lucanis have to pretty immediately confront the realities of raising a family in the Crows and by the time the kid is 6 months old Rook has enough of a grasp of what this kids future will look like in the Crows and Lucanis has had to confront continuing the cycle of abuse he was born into and they just mutually come to the decision that they need to GTFO now.

Also maybe throw in a rival Talon trying to smother this future First Talon before they have chance to grow for a little extra drama and to force Lucanis to confront the same choice Caterina did on whether the seat of First Talon is worth sacrificing his family and the answer is obviously a resounding No.

And this is all without accounting for Spite and how he would react to Rook being pregnant because I'm sure that's probably an insane concept for a spirit or how Spite would deal with this new tiny person that's half-Lucanis and half-Rook. Not to mention whatever inevitable over dramatic reaction Illario has to becoming an uncle while trying to patch up his relationship with Lucanis after the whole 'attempting to have Lucanis killed to take the position of First Talon' thing. Lots of room for comedy here to balance out how fucked up the rest of this story is.

Anyways all this ends with Lucanis and Rook traveling around for a few years to keep the Crows off their tail because I doubt Lucanis would be able to easily leave without some reprisal before they eventually quietly settle down in the Necropolis. Which serves as great security because I like the idea of magical semi sentient locations and I don't think the Necropolis would let any Crow assassins reach its Crypt Baby or Crypt Grandbaby

[imadhatt3r]

There's a sort of small personal story arc happening in Koujaku's route that I haven't seen talked about much, and it is one relating to Aoba's struggles with his masculinity and his perception as a man by others.

This story arc heavily deals with cultural gender norms and expectations, and so I will be working with them; This doesn't reflect my personal view on gender roles and expectations in real life. This is also not for or against any headcanons regarding any character's gender- I have no opinions on them or problems with people seeing any character as trans.

Okay, without further ado:

The moment where Koujaku and Aoba canonically meet for the first time happens during their childhood. Aoba was bullied by other children for his long hair and for "looking like a girl". Koujaku stepped in to protect him, thinking that Aoba's a girl, and was allegedly suprised when Aoba turned out to be a boy, but his attitude towards Aoba never changed.

This event clearly had a big influence on Aoba, on how he views himself, Koujaku, and how he thinks Koujaku views him. When we first meet Koujaku in-game, he is seen defending himself from a woman's overly protective boyfriend and being a charmer to her in turn when she apologizes for his behavior. It's established that Koujaku has a lot of female admirers, and a bit later it's revealed that he attracts a lot of men too, but moreso as a kind of role model/aspirational figure- that's why benishigure exists in the first place.

Aoba is shown to be annoyed or downright kinda scared of Koujaku's fans; Of course, it makes sense- Aoba is shown to be a private person that dislikes attention, but I believe that there is a second layer to all that- jealousy.

Aoba identifies as a man in-game and asserts it multiple times. He is aware of his gender. Koujaku is shown to be both flirty and chivalrous towards women around him- he spends time with them, initiates physical contact, compliments them etc. Aoba is always annoyed whenever he sees Koujaku doing that, but his reasons aren't fully clear- it seems like he feels like Koujaku's behavior is, in some way, fake, or that he just dislikes PDA in general. Aoba isn't jealous of the female attention Koujaku gets- he doesn't want to be in his place, because, as we established, he doesn't like being the center of attention. This isn't a dick measuring contest with Aoba being salty that he's coming up short.

Aoba is jealous of the women. He's the one who wants Koujaku to flirt with him, touch him, be chivalrous to him, protect him, but he believes that it will never happen, because Koujaku only acts this way towards women. Men want to be him, women want to be with him, but Aoba is neither; He's not a man who wants to be him, nor is he a woman who wants to be with him- there's not a place he can comfortably occupy, in his mind.

Mind you, I don't believe that he is aware of his feelings- hence his clusterfuck of an attempt to make Koujaku's flirting with women a bad thing. It's not coherent, it doesn't really make any internal sense, because Aoba has no idea he's even trying to lead himself away from something.

In the good ending, Koujaku briefly mentions that he thinks Aoba sleeps in so much because he wants to get his attention, and I can 100% see it as being true- Aoba doesn't know how to get Koujaku to treat him like he does women around him, so he chooses more covert ways to get that desired attention and care.

I also see Aoba's haircut to be symbolic/meaningful of his relation to his masculinity being percieved by others. Aoba's hair was the reason why he and Koujaku met as kids and established their friendship and later relationship. When they were cut, Aoba started to look more conventionally "masculine", and yet the haircut is also, in a way, representative of the beginning of his and Koujaku's relationship. It's because Koujaku doesn't care that Aoba is a man- hell, in the CD drama, he even admits that he's straight up attracted to Aoba's masculinity. If Koujaku liked Aoba BECAUSE he saw him as female-like, wouldn't he want to keep his hair long/feminine?

This is kinda explored in various extra material like the summer side story and valentine's day story- Aoba seems to believe that while Koujaku is with him out of love/attraction, he's being treated more as a novelty, a "girl-boy" that's going to be replaced by an "actual woman" one day. He's afraid that the chocolates he made for Koujaku for valentine's day will be seen as "gross", and he expects to see a mountain of chocolate given to Koujaku by women when he comes to his apartment. In the summer story, he expects Koujaku to deny their relationship when they're being harassed by drunk benishigure, and that he will be left behind when Koujaku is approached by female admirers. This never happens- Koujaku actually reassures Aoba that he's never going anywhere, and that Aoba has nothing to worry about. This is framed as Aoba being simply jealous, but I think that there is enough evidence to imply that his gender has a lot to do with it. We don’t know how would he react if Koujaku was approached by a man, but it's mentioned multiple times that it's seeing and thinking of Koujaku being surrounded by women gets Aoba down especially hard.

I feel like it's also important to look into the bad ending for Koujaku's route too, because if you look at it through that lense, you can see some interesting stuff. First and foremost, Shiroba is dressed in a sexualized version of the miko garb (miko are shinto shrine maidens, and they are exclusively women) that includes stockings, and his hair is just as long, if not longer, than Aoba's. He also has red tassels in his hair, right behind his ears, which sort of look like earrings. In short, it would almost appear like Shiroba is trying to look more "feminine" in order to appeal more to the way he percieved Koujaku's tastes- after all, Shiroba/Desire is all of Aoba's impulses, thoughts, and desires taken to the extreme. Aoba thought that Koujaku likes women and femininity, so Shiroba WILL make himself look as feminine as he can to make Koujaku like him more.

There's also the fact that, compared to their good end sex scene, Shiroba is much more... Placid. In the good end, Aoba speaks, he laughs, he laughs AT Koujaku, he tries to turn his head away but agrees to look at Koujaku in the end; He is an active participant who is willing to laugh at his partner (in a way) and make demands. In contrast, Shiroba mostly goes with what Koujaku wants to do; He participates to a degree, sure, but he allows Koujaku to bite him, lick his blood, and fuck him pretty violently without any sort of resistance. This might be a stretch, but it can be seen as Shiroba trying to play a more "feminine" role- which means being passive, allowing your (male) partner to do whatever he wants to do with you (even when it's painful or uncomfortable), and let him essentially use you as a receptacle of his emotions and bodily fluids.

This is a very narrow understand of conventional gender roles, but given that Shiroba is a being of extremes, it makes sense for him to see his own gender and dynamic with Koujaku as that simple and two-dimensional. This whole ending is all about misunderstood intentions/desires, so Shiroba is doing all he can to embody the most extreme conventional femininity in an attempt to appeal to Koujaku, while not having a clue that Koujaku was actually attracted to Aoba's masculinity.

The funniest part of it all is that Koujaku is actually a pretty feminine man himself; His very design blends masculine and feminine elements, which @asarigg points it out in her excellent essay on Koujaku, (among plenty other things), and the way he acts mixes masculinity and femininity too. However, Aoba either doesn't see it, or he treats Koujaku as a "special case"; It's probably the most clear in the scene in the CD drama where Aoba says that hairpins "usually" look bad on men (after Koujaku asked him if he'd like to wear one), but that Koujaku makes it work. The whole plotline/emotional core of this route centers on Aoba relying on his simplified image of Koujaku when it comes to how he thinks about him, only to be proven dead wrong and forced to confront how multi-layered of a person Koujaku is- to reject the image he made of him in his head as a child and make a new, more nuanced one as an adult.

When Aoba was a kid, he saw Koujaku as his hero, someone who protected him, watched over him; He was kind of his masculine ideal, someone he wanted to be when he'll be older. Now that they're adults, Aoba still sees Koujaku as someone hyper-masculine, whose feminine traits and behaviors are glossed over because Koujaku is "allowed to" be feminine a bit. The sad thing is that a lot of Koujaku's masculinity is kind of a ruse that was taken on as a defense mechanic, learned back when Koujaku was living in an abusive household, when he was a victim of abuse, saw abuse inflicted onto his mother, and was possibly forced to perform violence to some degree as means of "education" (things like learning to fight hand-to-hand or swordfighting).

Koujaku can fight because he tried to fight his abusive father and was trained to kill in the future, once he takes over the criminal empire. He flirts with women to fill the void he feels due to his rock bottom self-esteem and because he doesn't want to see women sad or mistreated after what he saw his mother go through. Koujaku's persona is carefully build and maintained, because all masculinity (or gender in general) is performed- this is what people around him expected him to be, that's what he was taught to be, and so he performs, even if it twists him up inside (we know he bottles up any negative emotions and doesn't share his struggles and trauma with anyone, which is also a part of toxic masculinity). It also seems like he's often out drinking with someone and he's a smoker- that's more of a theory, but people often find brief respite from their stress/unadressed emotions in substances, and while people of all genders do it, there seems to be a bigger social acceptance for men to indulge in order to "deal" with their problems and avoid showing "weakness" for just a bit longer.

The good thing is that Koujaku seems quite comfortable in his femininity. He loves his (stereotypically feminine) job, he remains kind and gentle to those who need it, he respects women around him and treats them well (even if that relationship is far from ideal of course), he's always considerate and caring towards Aoba, etc. It's interesting that despite liking and being attracted to Aoba's masculinity, he encourages him to branch out and seemingly embrace his own femininity more (he tells him he'd look nice in a hairpin, or that he'd love him no matter how he'd look like). I wonder if Koujaku found some kind of respite in his femininity back when he lived in his father's house and was potentially held to strict masculine gender roles enforced through violence.

It feels like one of these things that Aoba needs time to process and accept; In a couple years, he'll be doing deliveries with the most complex braid with flamboyant decorations and the most bitching eyeliner ever performed on Japanese soil.

[mymoshangthoughts]

the amount i wanna explore the immortal alliance is just So Much

okay there are LAYERS to how i feel about these events

because look guys, so far as we understand, airplane is a pretty normal dude. a bit of an internet troll (ok a lot of an internet troll), a horny writer, and an immature punkass who's completely shameless, but like... he's not a mass murderer ya'll.

it KILLS ME that we never got an airplane extra about the immortal alliance because dude HOW HE FELT ABOUT THAT IS A LOT

yeah, he's grown up in this world and yeah he might have had no choice either via the system or via mobei jun or a mix of both, but its absolutely bonkers to be able to just walk off "yeah, a bunch of CHILDREN died in really brutal ways directly because of my influence". like shen yuan was wracked with guilt for years and he only 'killed' one kid and he knew that kid would walk it off.

and i dont buy the explanation that airplane wasn't treating pidw like a real world because frankly... i just dont think that makes any fucking sense if he was born there. yeah, it's gotta feel a bit wonky and unreal with the system in his head, but dude he was BORN here. suspension of disbelief that this world wasn't 'real' wouldnt last a few years, much less several decades. the sheer number of people he would have met, interacted with, and knew were REAL wouldnt make it possible. i do think that he made a huge effort not to get attached to anyone, knowing that bing-ge was gonna kill the fuck out of basically all of them, but theres a big difference between "ahh yeah that guy is gonna die so imma try not to get attached" and "lol ive lived in this world for thirty years but i dont actually think any of this is real"

so look, theres two possibilities for airplane's reaction:

he really does have a seriously fucked up side of him thats 100% okay with murdering children

he was VERY not okay with what happened but he had no choice and he's just Coping the best he can

there's also some answers in-between, but fuck i need to know this answer so badly because knowing the answer to how airplane reacted to the immortal alliance is SO character defining and it drives me insane. characterizing a person who can justify children dying because "not my problem, idc" versus someone who's horrified and traumatized over the part they played in child murder IS KINDA A BIG DIFFERENCE

personally, im coming to a headcanon somewhere in the middle. because tbh none of the airplane extras really spend any time addressing him feeling any sort of guilt over the situation. which does make it seem that he really does have a seriously dark side to him. and he did walk off his fellow disciples getting murdered by mobei jun very easily. but also, i headcanon that he is just the Master of compartmentalizing shit that fucks with him. cant deal with the events of the immortal alliance? thats fine, imma just put those feelings in a box and Never Think About Them.

i actually like to think that airplane's issue with the immortal alliance is the exact reason that mobei jun showed up in person. airplane is doing the immortal alliance thing because the system isnt giving him a choice and he's trying Very Hard not to think about "oh wow, theres gonna be a lot of junior disciples dead by the end of this haha, wow, they look so young ahhahaha, did teenagers always look like toddlers??? bc this is fucking me up REALLY FUCKING BAD" and mobei jun notices that something is Really Wrong with airplane and he cant decide if he's worried or suspicious of airplane's behavior

so he decides to show up in person, just to make sure shang qinghua isnt gonna pull anything but also that the idiot doesnt die while he's acting So Weird

but i think that airplane is like hyper pragmatic

so he's horrified in the planning stages and maybe even in the execution stages, but once it's over he's very much "they're already dead, theres no changing that, theres no point agonizing over it" and its not that he's OKAY with what happened but he literally cannot justify tearing himself apart over people who are dead because that isnt going to help anything. they're not alive to see him upset over it and even if their ghosts could see him, they're not gonna really feel better over dying bc "the guy who killed me feels really bad about it"

i also think that the years airplane spent growing up as shang qinghua play into it A LOT. he's had decades to come to terms with the immortal alliance happening. he knows its a major plot point, it's basically one of two major plot points that shang qinghua has a part in, and the system is unlikely to let him get out of it. so he's spent a longgg time numbing himself to the reality of "im going to murder dozens of children"

this is all my speculations tho and i just wanna rip my hair out that we dont have an immortal alliance extra!!!!!! i just want to KNOW instead of guessing where his head is at. literally, if he doesnt feel any guilt over murdering children, that's kinda a Big Deal characterization-wise. and if he does feel guilt but he doesnt express it thats ALSO a Big Deal characterization-wise!!!

I JUST WANNA BE ABLE TO ACCURATELY PORTRAY HIS PERSONALITY FFFFUUUCCCKKKK I HATE THIS

anyway, im obsessed with the idea that mobei jun is the one who notices when airplane is Not Okay even when he's compartmentalizing like crazy. like airplane is so far down his hole of "its nbd and idc" that he actually believes it. he has to believe it to be able to live with himself. but the way he's fucked up shows up in other ways, maybe he's more forgetful than normal or scattered or clumsier or some mixture and mobei jun just Knows something is wrong, even when he doesnt know exactly what that wrong thing is

and like it becomes this thing where sometimes mobei jun knows airplane better than the little shit knows himself. airplane is so busy lying to himself to cope with his new reality and mobei jun sees through the lies that airplane believes.

but heres where mobei jun hits a problem lol. like, he knows theres something wrong, he knows how to read shang qinghua suupperr well, but does he know what to DO about any of that? absolutely not lmfao

"hm. qinghua is not okay. i should beat him four times today" LIKE THIS MAN DOES NOT KNOW HOW TO HELP EVEN WHEN HE UNDERSTANDS THE PROBLEM AND THAT'S HILARIOUS TO ME

like mobei jun shows up to the immortal alliance like "qinghua has been in pain over this. i'll show up unplanned and beat the shit out of him in front of everyone. that'll help."

i just think these two are an absolute disaster area and i love it

btw i am desperate for mobei jun's pov during the immortal alliance okay because LOOK

I'VE BEEN THINKING ABOUT IT ALOT

AND IM CONVINCED THAT MOBEI JUN /DID/ HAVE FEELINGS FOR AIRPLANE DURING THAT INCIDENT

BUT ALSO

ITS COMPLICATED

like i dont think mobei jun is simping like binghe, i think he's got some weird mixture of denial and affection and frustration and pining and hatred and suspicion thats all mixed up in all the best ways that during that time he is super in love with airplane but he's also got a lot of other Complicated feelings toward him AND I JUST WANNA SEE HIS POV TO PROVE MY HYPOTHESIS SO FUCKING BADLY WHY THE FUCK DO WE NEVER GET HIS POV IMMA SCREAM

mobei jun's fb status "its complicated"

airplane's fb status "single"

mobei jun: ...........im going to murder him. im going to murder him in his sleep. omfg i hate him so fucking much. WTF DO YOU MEAN SINGLE, YOU ASSHOLE

[tvrknows]

(I'm obviously not a professional, but am a nerd and read a bunch of Plato's dialouges recently so I have detailed a reliable source lol)

You are totally right that the education model was a major part, as ancient Greek men wanted their children to be taught and also loved by the best - but it wasn't the point.

From my understanding, as a few dialouges mention, people totally could and would get teachers regardless: If you wanted to get better at a skill you would look for a skilled person and pay them to teach you.

On the other hand, a whole dialouge of Plato that I read recently is dedicated to Socrates explaining and showing a young man how he should court after a boy he lusts as an eromanos, since it is of the erastes' own interest (in the dialouge I read, specifically because the boy is "beautiful". Socrates automatically asks the young men who they adore for their beauty, implying that it was a necessery practice at this age?). It would've been the other way around if done for the purpose of mentoring.

Socrates lectures the man about how he shouldn't flatter the boy or praise him - because that would get in his head - but rather teach him his place and humble him.

doesn't sound like Apollo and Hyacinthus, right? They were way too in love for this kinda shit 👀❤️‍🩹

This is an interesting situation, because prior to that we hear that the man wrote songs about the boy, wouldn't stop talking about him and actively blushed when asked who he loves. This could be just a ceremonial act - but this could also be love, whatever kind.

Either way, a pederastic relationship manifesting between the two may have benefited the younger boy socially, but I don't know about emotionaly. The criteria to accepting the courtship wasn't being in love but just thinking the man is respectable enough (and in places like crete required the father's consent).

Pederasty included - not necesserally and not exclusively - many things such as mentoring, friendship, partnership and homoerotism (which was up to a hot debate even in this context, in certin places banned and considered as bad as incest), all under the umbrella of "love".

It was probably a way for some men who genuienly loved each other to get together - Theben law literally allowed for men to stay and live together past the traditional pederasty years - how cool is that!

Definitely way cooler than only allowing two men to be together as long as one of them is fifteen to seventeen and the other is twenty to thirty five. Cough cough.

But at the end of the day it was a common social practice with rules, done without much personal freedom just like ancient straight weddings. So not cool. I think that's it for me lol if I think of anything else I would try yapping to people irl otherwise this rabbithole would never come to an end~

Apollo/Hyacinthus and the god - mortal power imbalance (and how they have little to none of it)

A common argument against god/mortal relationships in Greek mythology is the uncomfortable power dynamic, that the god will always have a glaring power leverage over the mortal. Even if the god is fond of their lover, just one wrong move and still put the mortal in danger, intentionally or not. And I don't discard that.

Zeus and Poseidon's conquests didn't always consider the consent of the women they bedded. Aphrodite threatened her lover Anchises that if he were to reveal her as the mother of his son, he would be punished. Circe was fond of Odysseus, but their coupling was very coercive and Odysseus didn't feel safe around her; and if you're still adamant that Odysseus willingly became Calypso's bedmate, I will assume you're projecting your CNC fetish to the myth. Even Apollo, the god we'll be talking about, had intentionally or unintentionally had his lover Coronis killed in a fit of jealous rage.

And now we have Apollo and Hyacinthus, an Olympian god and a Spartan prince in a relationship with pederastic nature. Right off the bat, it's easy to call them problematic because of the age gap and power balance like the previous couples, and I've written a debunking post about the age gap allegation before. Now I want to talk a bit about the power imbalance between them.

While we didn't really know if all of Zeus and Poseidon's mortal love loved them back and knew for sure that Odysseus was terrified of the goddesses that held him captive, it was recorded that Hyacinthus was just as in love and openly chose Apollo:

Zeus himself told Eros that Hyacinthus was fond of Apollo.

Then why are Branchus and Hyacinth so fond of Apollo? (Dialogues of the Gods 6, Lucian)

Hyacinthus was also admired by Zephyrus, but he turned the god away for Apollo.

He [Zephyrus] had long been in love with Hyakinthos, though Hyakinthos would have nothing to say to him. (Dialogues of the Gods 16, Lucian)

Hyacinthus rejoiced at Apollo's sweet promises of love and companionship.

The son of Leto for love of the youth promises to give him all he possesses for permission to associate with him [...] The youth keeps his eyes steadfastly on the ground, and they are very thoughtful, for he rejoices at what he hears and tempers with modesty the confidence that is yet to come. (Imagines 14, Philostratus the Younger)

In the same scene in Philostratus' book, after giving the promises, it was also suggested that Apollo waited for Hyacinthus to answer. For all we know, Apollo could have just taken Hyacinthus away for his own pleasure, but no, he still gave him a choice.

Here is the god, painted as usual with unshorn locks; he lifts a radiant forehead above eyes that shine like rays of light, and with a sweet smile he encourages Hyakinthos, extending his right hand with the same purpose. (Imagines 14, Philostratus the Younger)

Remember the previous excerpt were Hyacinthus rejoiced at Apollo's promises? He was also filled with confidence when facing the god. Even though he's a powerful deity, Apollo didn't make Hyacinthus feel fear or inferior.

For comparison, this is how Hyacinthus behaved when he was with Apollo...

[Hyacinthus] stands there [...] and he supports his right hand on a spear, the hip being thrown forward and the right side exposed to view, and this bare arm permits us to describe what is visible [...] his neck is moderately erect [...] (Imagines 14, Philostratus the Younger)

Then, when the youth and Phoebus were well stripped, and gleaming with rich olive oil, they tried a friendly contest with the discus. [...] Heedless of danger Hyacinthus rushed for eager glory of the game, resolved to get the discus. (Metamorphoses 10, Ovid)

... and this is how Odysseus behaved when he was with Circe (quotes were taken from the Odysseus post)

[...] just approaching the halls of Circe, my heart a heaving storm at every step, paused at her doors, the nymph with lovely braids— I stood and shouted to her there. She heard my voice, she opened the gleaming doors at once and stepped forth, inviting me in, and in I went, all anguish now… (The Odyssey 10, Homer)

[...] but I went up to that luxurious bed of Circe, hugged her by the knees and the goddess heard my winging supplication: "Circe, now make good a promise you gave me once— it’s time to help me home [...]" (The Odyssey 10, Homer)

While Odysseus was frightful when approaching Circe and had to beg her for favors, Hyacinthus was seen to be very open when he was around Apollo. Although I don't know why Hyacinthus was depicted to be holding his spear when talking with Apollo, I don't think he was being defensive against him. I interpreted it as Hyacinthus feeling comfortable enough with Apollo that he didn't feel the need to discard his weapon and grovel at the god's presence, he can keep it as he like because Apollo wouldn't mind his attitude.

Aside from the mutual attraction and consent, Apollo also humbled himself for Hyacinthus and not minding in displaying acts of service even as a god (though to be fair, he took care and spoiled a lot of his lovers in the same way)

And the love my father had for you was deeper than he felt for others. Delphi center of the world, had no presiding guardian, while the God frequented the Eurotas and the land of Sparta, never fortified with walls. His zither and his bow no longer fill his eager mind and now without a thought of dignity, he carried nets and held the dogs in leash, and did not hesitate to go with Hyacinthus on the rough, steep mountain ridges; and by all of such associations, his love was increased. (Metamorphoses 10, Ovid)

Another addition I'd like to add is the fragments of a supposedly lost work that described Apollo placing his bow or lyre at Hyacinthus' feet as a suppliant, which you can check out its post here.

In conclusion, despite being a god/mortal couple with a pederastic relationship, the myths had shown that Apollo and Hyacinthus had insignificant power imbalance in their dynamic. There's no denying that they both loved and respected each other very much, trying to make things work despite the difference in nature between them. And now you understand why I'm so not normal about this OTP.

Thank you for reading, and you can go home now.

[godlygivenanxiety]

i find it kinda laughable when it gets pointed out that jinx being included in silco's fight for zaun, in missions and engineering weapons(assuming he encouraged her from the beginning), and such have made her think that level of violence is just the way of life(and that it is some sad revelation about her specifically) because..... well, yeah it is.

do y'all think children get to be children in zaun????? from the very beginning we see teenagers ganging up on children, enforcers come and go as they please, vi and powder were there when the big bridge tragedy happened!!! violence IS part of everyone's childhood and 'normalcy' in zaun, there is absolutely no way powder or isha could've escaped from it. i have to wonder what show are y'all watching.

[porcelainseashore]

A Party of Two

First snow / Fake relationship / Ugly sweater || Leon Secret Santa || Gift for @sillydicejelly as part of the @leonsecretsanta event

Summary: It’s not every day that you bump into the one and only Agent Kennedy alone at the office. And it’s certainly not every day that you invite a stranger to your family’s Christmas party. The question is, can you convince Leon to celebrate his most hated holiday with you?

Time flies. Before you knew it, nearly another year had gone by, along with its series of missions done and dusted. It was a week before Christmas, and a particularly unassuming mid-December morning when you stepped into the office elevator, engrossed with your phone and the multitude of messages coming in from your family group chat. The screen lit up with a loud ping each time a new one was sent.

“Aunt Gretchen won’t be able to make it this time.”

“Damn, that’s a shame /s”

“Language!”

“Yes, mooooommmm…”

“Anyway, don’t forget the dessert!”

“And the dress code!”

“Hey! Could you hold the doors for a sec—” A deep baritone voice rang out in the distance, interrupting your reverie.

Oops. You shook your head from your thoughts, glancing up at an all-too-familiar face and a pair of cerulean blue eyes piercing through dirty blonde curtain bangs. He made a run for it as you slammed your hand against the closing elevator.

“Agent Kennedy,” you greeted politely with a simple nod.

“Uh-uh,” he wagged his finger cheekily, somehow managing to slide through the doors gracefully without breaking out into a sweat. “It’s just Leon.”

“Leon,” you acknowledged. 

It was refreshing how he didn’t have a stick up his ass like the rest of the goons who worked in the DSO, regardless if he was the golden boy or not. However, since you were in different departments, you hardly interacted with each other outside of the required formalities. It didn’t help as well that you considered yourself more of a wallflower than anything. Surely he wouldn’t—

As if right on cue, he uttered your name, followed by, “Angela’s PA, right?”

“How did you—” “You think I wouldn’t know who the amazing PA of the head honcho is?” he rebutted, his lips curling up in a smile as he crossed his arms in front of his chest.

You were at a loss for words. “Um,” was about all you could manage.

“Come on, don’t die on me now,” he laughed, shrugging as he continued, “I’m just good with names, faces, you know, all that jazz.” He fanned his hands to illustrate his point before pausing abruptly and dropping them down to his sides, as if he had remembered that he was in a security division, not a children’s playground.

Clearing his throat sheepishly, he turned to the control panel. “Second top floor, right?” Without waiting for you to answer, he punched the button and the lift started to move.

The silence in the space was awkward and deafening, so much so that you felt an innate desire to make small talk to pass the time.

“So, you doing anything for Christmas?”

For a split second, you spotted a wince in Leon’s expression before he masked it, and you instantly regretted the words you had blurted out.

“N-nah, not really,” he muttered, avoiding your gaze as he forced out a cordial smile. “Not my thing.”

Pursing your lips, you recalled the way your colleagues often heaped praises and compliments onto the man before you, only to gossip about his personal life in hushed whispers behind his back. That was the double-edged sword of being something akin to a celebrity hero in the office. It usually went along the lines of:

“Poor Leon, that guy’s a loner. No partner, no kids, no family.”

“No wonder he’s a workaholic!”

“I heard he’s pretty good friends with the bottle, if you know what I mean.”

“With the kinda shit they put him through? I’d be damaged goods myself.”

You had heard it all. And though you were never consulted for your opinion of him, you found their talk a little mean-spirited.

Without thinking, you stated, “We’re having a small celebration at my parents’ house. It’s only about an hour and a half’s drive away. You’re welcome to join if you want?”

Your hand flew to your mouth, shocked that you had actually uttered the first thing that came to your mind. Leon just stared at you, seemingly having trouble finding the right words to say.

Scrambling to come up with an excuse or to backtrack, or both, you sputtered, “Well, uh, you see, we have this thing where, uh, it’s not great to spend the holidays alone. You know? So, well, sorry, forget what—”

At this, Leon chuckled, shaking his head. “Don’t worry about it,” he reassured you. “Thanks, really, it’s nice of you to offer, but I’ll be alright.” On my own.

You had no idea what possessed you to do what you did next, but you whipped out a sticky note from your bag and scribbled down your number with a ballpoint pen.

“Here,” you thrust it into his hands. He looked just as surprised as you. “Just… think about it, okay?”

Ding.

The doors opened and you hastily made your exit, mentally cussing at yourself for being so bold and assuming toward an almost-stranger.

“What’s the dress code?” you heard his voice call out from behind you.

Spinning around, you caught a glimpse of his lopsided grin as you smiled back. “Ugly Christmas sweater, of course.”

━━━━━━━━━━━

“No promises.”

That was the last text you received from him on the day of the Christmas Eve party. Leon appeared to have cold feet, which didn’t take you by surprise, seeing as he had been hesitant to begin with.

You sighed.

Perhaps it would take him a couple more years to come round to it. What on earth were you thinking anyway, inviting him to a family-do like that? Not to mention, you had already written in the group chat about bringing a plus one. Jumping the gun much? Well, at least you still had an afternoon’s worth of errands to run and distract yourself with. You could worry about the explanation later.

Soon, the gifts were wrapped up and ready to go, and the spiced ginger Yule log you had baked sat pretty on the counter. After loading all of the goodies into the backseat of your car, you started the engine and embarked on the long drive to your parents’ house.

In the meantime, Leon had been lounging on his living room couch, complete with a tumbler of whiskey in his hand as he swirled the melting ice in it lazily. Such a let-down, he thought. You didn’t deserve that, and as a matter-of-fact, you didn’t deserve any of this. He peered at the liquor bottle he had just cracked open, mocking him as he gulped down the remnants of the liquid from his chilled glass.

Smacking it onto the table, he was about to pour himself another shot when his phone buzzed. He saw your name flash up on his screen. Normally, he wouldn’t bother to check or answer it during his drinking sessions, but this time, curiosity got the better of him. It was a message with an attachment. Hmm, interesting.

Upon opening it, he saw a selfie of you posing in your horrendous-looking sweater and a mouth-watering dessert behind you. You were holding a present in one hand and making a funny face. The message read, “Come to the dark side, we have cake…”

He burst out laughing—he had to admit, it was rather cute of you to try, especially when no one else had before. Fiddling with the device in his hand, he hesitated, wondering if he should spend another night drowning himself in alcohol at home, alone, or whether he should take a chance on you and celebrate the holiday he hated the most with a bunch of strangers.

“Ahh, what the hell,” he mumbled before pocketing his phone and coming to his decision.

━━━━━━━━━━━

It was half past seven in the evening when you reached your parents’ house. Most of the guests had arrived by then and the celebrations were underway. The hallway was bathed in the warm glow of fairy lights and a large fir tree stood by the corner, decked out in festive garlands and ornaments as presents were tucked beneath its coniferous branches. The delicious smell of stuffed turkey, rib roast, baked ham, mince pies, and eggnog wafted through the air. Your family had prepared a feast and you were surrounded by your close ones. All was in its rightful place, but there was just one thing missing—Leon.

“So… I’m looking forward to seeing this plus one you’ve been talking about,” your mom nudged you as she sauntered over with a plate full of food.

Sensing your unease, your older sister came to the rescue, which you were ever thankful for. “Mom, stop, give it a break already.”

“I’m just curious! It’d be nice to meet this mystery person, hmm?”

You shifted between your feet uncomfortably. At this rate, you were pretty sure that Leon had bailed on tonight’s plans, so you might as well come clean about it. “Well, um, he—”

Before you could finish your sentence, the doorbell rang. Wait, could that be him? Your heart leaped in its cage.

“I’ll get it!” your younger brother yelled as he ran toward the door and you chased after him.

Yanking it open, both of you were greeted by the devil himself. The corners of his eyes crinkled, deep blue set against his pale skin, flushed from the cold.

“Sorry for being late,” he said, extending his arms toward you as you froze up in astonishment. Your younger brother stealthily gave you a push forward and you stumbled—quite literally—into Leon’s awaiting arms.

“Oof, hey!��� he laughed. “Nice to see you too.”

“Sorry,” you stammered while you held onto him to find your footing. 

Once you had regained your balance, the scratchy material of his outfit caused you to have a proper look. From the porch lights, you could just about make out the knitted design. There was a figure of who you assumed was meant to be Jesus, sitting on a reindeer and riding it into an explosion of stars with an assortment of ill-matching Christmas trees in the background.

Noticing the perturbed expression on your face, Leon asked with a tinge of anxiety in his voice, “Ugly sweater, right?”

That was when you started giggling, realizing that his sweater definitely outclassed yours in whatever imaginary competition you had in mind. “God, that’s terrible! Okay, you win.”

“Oh yeah? What’s the prize?” he smirked.

At this point, your parents had come to the door to see what the commotion was about. Upon seeing Leon standing outside in the cold, they ushered him in quickly, asking him to make himself at home. 

As Leon settled in and went through the customary round of introductions, the topic that you had been dreading came up—naturally, from your nosey mom of course. “How well do you two know each other?” she pried. “Are you two…”

Leon glanced between you and your mom as she trailed off purposefully, and while you nearly choked on your saliva, he didn’t seem fazed at all. Instead, he responded with a disarming smile, “Yes, we are.”

Your mom emitted a contented hum, turning to your dad with a knowing look, and your eyes shot up to meet his in panic. However, he placed a hand on your shoulder comfortingly, mouthing the words, “Relax, I got this,” as he gave you a brazen wink. 

You had no idea what sort of game he was playing or where he was going with this, but he had a way about him that made you want to place your trust in him. And so, you eased up, allowing him to take the lead in the conversation while showing him to the dining table. Your dad served him a plate and Leon poured out the wine he had brought as a gesture of appreciation. 

Dinner went on without a hitch, filled with warm-hearted chatter and a never ending supply of food and beverages, in which all of you ate and drank until you were stuffed. Although your family could use a lesson in minding their own business, they were relatively easy-going and laid-back, so much so that Leon appeared to be enjoying the company. He seemed brighter and lighter than when you usually saw him in the office, away from all the scrutiny and judgment that could be found there. It was as if he was getting energized by the banter and a social environment which expected nothing from him, but to just be himself.

Your parents took to him and so did your siblings, being none the wiser to the fact that you and Leon were still practically strangers. Well, strangers was too harsh a word. It was more like: not quite friends yet not quite strangers. Occasionally, you would sneak a peek at each other from across the room, sharing shy smiles and furtive glances.

You were pleasantly surprised by how smooth Leon could be when he wanted to, considering that your earlier exchanges with the man had been stilted at best. It was never like how it was in the movies, where couples would hit it off instantly at ditzy meet cutes. Hold on a minute—couple? You mentally berated yourself for thinking about you and Leon on romantic terms. It must be the holiday season making people feel lonely, you figured. How many times had you received drunken, emotionally-wrought texts from exes, only to have them fumble with excuses for sending it out the next day? Anyway, this was nothing. What you had with Leon would only last for tonight, like a trick of the light. You went back to rearranging the gifts under the tree for the umpteenth time.

It was getting late. As your family had a tradition of only opening their presents on Christmas Day itself, they wanted to head to bed soon.

“Leon, you’re very welcome to take the bed in the guest room if you like,” your father offered.

“It’s a long drive back after all,” your mother hinted with a wily grin on her face. Your sister sighed and rolled her eyes while your brother suppressed an obvious laugh.

You saw a slight blush creep up Leon’s neck, but he relented. “Well, if you insist. I can’t thank you enough for all your hospitality.”

Your parents waved off his comment as everyone helped to clear up the dishes. When the remaining chores were finished, you brought Leon to his room, giving him a fresh set of towels, toiletries, and spare clothes from your dad as the rest went to sleep.

“You didn’t have to lie about us, you know?” you mentioned, touching his arm gently. “I mean, I appreciate it.”

“I know.” He brushed his thumb against the back of your hand, causing it to tingle. “It’ll be our little secret.”

You scoffed at his quip, shaking your head in mock disbelief before pulling away. “Well, I’ll get ready for bed. Let me know if you need anything, alright?”

“Mm-hmm.”

After you cleaned up and changed into your pajamas, you went outside to sit on the old wooden swing by the porch. It was draped with fluffy cushions and a thick fleece blanket, which you snuggled under to get comfy. This was your favorite time of the night, when the world was quiet and through the darkness you could spot faint glimmers of light from the street. The air was frosty and you could see your breath condense into puffs of mist.

“Is this a party of one?”

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even heard the front door creak open. Leon was standing beside the swing, motioning to the empty spot beside you. “Mind if I join you?”

Scooting over to give him some room, you jested, “Sure, as long as you don’t steal the whole blanket.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he smirked as he sat down, wrapping his body with the covers.

You trembled as the chilled air hit your skin and he raised an eyebrow. “Cold?”

“No—” But your body betrayed you as you shivered uncontrollably again.

“C’mere,” he muttered, shifting his position as he opened his arms so that you could scuttle in between them.

You gulped nervously but gave in, moving closer as you leaned your head against his chest, catching a whiff of his musky cologne. In response, he snaked an arm around your shoulders in the form of a semi-embrace. His chin rested on the top of your head, and the warmth radiated from his body to yours and back again as you heard his heart beating—maybe a little faster? If someone had told you that you would end the night cuddling with Agent Leon Scott Kennedy, you would have said they were out of their mind, but yet here you were.

“Your Yule log was delicious,” his voice cut through the tense silence and you could hear it reverberating through his chest.

“I knew it’d sway you over to the dark side,” you teased. “Aren’t you glad you didn’t miss out on that?”

His fingers stroked through your hair absentmindedly. “I’m glad I didn’t miss out on all of this.”

You peered up at him inquisitively as he continued, “I haven’t… done something like this in a long time. I kinda forgot how nice it can be…”

Reaching out, you took his hand in yours and squeezed it. “I’m happy that you’re here.”

“I’m happy that you’re here too.”

It came out as a barely-heard whisper, but before he could speak any further, a crystallized snowflake fell onto your cheek. You thought it might have been a fluke at first, but soon, more and more feathery flakes landed on your clothes and hair, littering the floorboards of the front porch in a myriad of geometric shapes.

“It’s snowing,” you gasped.

“First snow of the year.” Leon looked up, similarly in awe at the blinding yet beautiful scenery before him.

You stuck out your tongue to taste the fluffy, sticky ice which fizzled and melted on it. Then, a sudden thought struck you. 

“What time is it?” you asked.

Leon untangled his arm from underneath the layers, squinting at the clock face of his leather-strapped wrist watch. “Just past midnight—”

You jolted up, taking him by surprise. “It’s Christmas?”

Grinning at you, his hands encircled your wrists, the palms of which still laid on his chest. “Uh-huh, so, about my prize…” he tapered off suggestively.

“We’ll unwrap the gifts later with the rest of my family,” you scolded playfully.

“No, I mean, the prize I get for wearing the ugliest sweater in town,” he snickered.

Your heart was in your mouth as your mind raced, simultaneously attempting to come to terms with what he was implying and second-guessing yourself. 

“What kind of prize…” you began, but didn’t manage to complete the sentence as you found yourself drifting toward him on your own accord, closing the gap as you licked your lips and watched with bated breath.

His gaze dropped to your lips as he caressed your cheek with his knuckles. Cupping your face in his hands, he tilted his head, nudging his nose against yours as he planted a tender kiss along your parted lips. You stayed like this for a while, tentatively exploring, soft kisses and skin upon skin, tasting each other until the both of you were satisfied.

When you finally broke away, there was a fond look in his eyes, as though he were seeing you for you, just like you did with him. “Merry Christmas,” he murmured, voice half-dazed and husky.

“Merry Christmas, Leon,” you smiled.

Dividers by @saradika

[thethreefaes]

“Hm there’s no special way to remove them. Once they’re that lose it’s just a wiggle and pull.” Lyra hummed. I was hard to keep her eyes open. Astrid’s touch was gentle and kind. Lyra hadn’t had anyone to help her preen in years. It was relaxing.

“It only really hurts if the feathers are healthy and they’re forcefully pulled.” Smiling at Hiccup she nodded to her wing.

“You can feel. It’s okay. Kiara’s just annoyed because only family or those close to you should touch wings. But you and Astrid are family.” Glancing at Kiara, the fae sighed.

“Our wings are very sensitive. It’s a sign of trust to allow another to touch.” Kiara looked back to her own. Fighting down her worry. Lyra also tried to think of how to answer Hiccup in a way that would make sense.

“So wings aren’t genetically passed down but our magic is. My mother was a forest fae and I got her Magic. While Kiara got her father’s ice.” Lyra shifted her attention to her other wing.

“Though it’s not uncommon for children to develop a different type. Usually it’s a magic that’s laid dormant in the bloodline.” Kiara added.

“Our wings, however come later. We aren’t born with them. At our thirteenth year our magic manifests into our wings. Taking on an appearance that suits our needs and personality.” Lyra fluffed her wings proudly but accident bumped Astrid.

“Sorry!” She laughed. “See, for me I like learning and exploring. But I also had to be quiet. With how cruel the other faes were it was best not to be noticed. So I had to be sneaky. My wings are like those of an owl. Silent when they move and I fly. But they aren’t very strong. Much better for gliding.” Lyra loved her wings. True she didn’t show them off but they were a comfort. One she’d forgotten with how often she kept them hidden.

“Mine are those of a raven.” Kiara spoke up. Now she was a fae that loved to show off hers.

“My feathers are stiff and more narrow. That protects them from ice and snow getting trapped. They’re also bigger than Lyra’s. Allowing me to fly and maneuver more. Though my wings aren’t meant for speed. More like endurance.” They were iridescent as the sun hit them. The black giving way to blues and greens. Kiara ruffled her feathers and unlike Lyra’s hers gave off a rattling like sound.

“I don’t know how Lyra goes so long without them. It feels so strange to walk about missing a part of ourselves.” Finished with her wings, Kiara leaned back and watched the three as they tried to tame the mess that was Lyra’s wings.

“I just kinda got use to it. The phantom sensations are there but it doesn’t hurt.” Another feather out. Lyra looked at the small pile of broken feathers accumulating. Maybe she had neglected them a bit too long. Picking up a nice one she tucked in Hiccup’s hair this time. Kiara only rolling her eyes at the affection.

“Hiccup!” Lyra ran up to the chief, an excited grin on her face.

“Are you busy? I have something to show you!” She took his hand and pulled him towards Altair and Toothless.

“You know how last month the lightning strike caused the large forest fire?” Stopping in front of the dragons the fae all but buzzing in excitement. If her wings were visible they’d be fluttering.

“I did a thing!” She couldn’t wait to show him.

[goddessofroyalty]

Hey! I binge read all of your Work/Life Balance fic last night and loved it. The way you kept them in character was amazing. For Viktor, I could hear his lines in my head in his voice.

I saw you were still low-key taking prompts for it. An idea came to mind about Viktor's own reaction to finding out he was pregnant? Especially to be about 3 months when he found out?(If I mathed correctly lol) I know you alluded to his whole "testing multiple pregnancy tests" but I think it would be interesting to see his full reaction, coming to terms with it, and potentially his failed attempts to tell Jayce because it wasn't the perfect time?

Prompt Idea: Viktor's reaction to actually finding out he is pregnant and the failed attempts to tell Jayce that you mentioned in Work/Life Balance? Idk, just kinda think it would be cute

Glad you enjoyed the fic! I think I got all the parts of these two prompts.

In the version of the final scene in my head before I wrote it Jayce actually kept going out and getting a new pregnancy test after the previous ones positive. I feel like what I’ve gone with is possibly funnier (and a lot less repetitive to write/read).

Tags: omegaverse, mpreg, thoughts/concerns about miscarriage

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

The nurse hands Viktor a pregnancy test with the same amount of enthusiasm as she had the paperwork.

It is the correct amount of enthusiasm given the circumstances.

Nobody actually thinks he is pregnant. The doctors having years ago had the conversation with him about how, with his health, he would very likely be unable to conceive. They had been so gentle with their words and moved the tissue box closer with them despite how little it had actually bothered him. Relationships and children barely worth a thought compared to his work.

Policy dictates that, as he is being sexually active, they must check to be sure before doing any scans that may harm a fetus if he was carrying one.

He’d just lie about it if it wasn’t for how Jayce’s habit of scenting him every opportunity he can means half the time the box is already ticked before he’s even handed the form.

So Viktor takes the cup and the paper-wrapped stick to the bathroom and waits the ten minutes it takes for the little negative sign to appear so the nurse can tick the box on the form that says, yes, they checked, and Viktor can return to his notepad while he waits his turn. His plans for what work he should be able to get done after his appointment is finished well-formed when the results finally show up.

Viktor grabs the piece of plastic and only pauses to look at the thing because it doesn’t seem to be the familiar negative he knows.

Probably just a different brand than they usually get.

He digs the instructions out of the bin just to be sure.

After unfolding and refolding the leaflet so just the bit with what the results mean is on the front he holds the instructions in one hand and test in the other. Comparing the results against which means what.

Pregnant.

The two lines in that exact position apparently mean he’s pregnant.

When they had first started making him take them Viktor had looked up the reliability of them hoping for some argument that they were a waste of everyone’s time. It hadn’t succeeded at his goal at the time but had left him with the knowledge that false positives were basically impossible.

He is, apparently, pregnant.

He returns to the front desk in the reception on autopilot. Standing before the bored-looking receptionist who expects him to tell her that the test was negative as expected and that she can finish checking him in for the scan.

Because he shouldn’t be pregnant.

He can’t be pregnant.

Yes, perhaps, maybe he and Jayce were not as diligent with protection as they could be. Sometimes they got caught up in their excitement of their latest breakthrough and getting the condoms the last thing on their minds. But nothing should have come from it because Viktor’s body had never been healthy enough to even give him a consistent heat schedule.

“I will have to cancel my appointment today,” Viktor says. Only realizing he had brought the test with him when he clenches the hand not holding his cane and feels the plastic dig into his skin.

The receptionist opens her mouth to no doubt ask why he would need to cancel when he’s already there for it. A flash of surprise crosses her face as she no-doubt remembers what she had had him do and the obvious conclusion of the two pieces of information she has before returning to professional friendliness.

“Of course. Let us know if you need to rebook.”

She doesn’t say congratulations or any of the other things you are apparently meant to when somebody informs you they are pregnant, which is good, because Viktor doesn’t know how would respond.

“Yes, of course,” he says with a sharp nod. “Thank you.”

The smile she gives is devoid of any excitement or judgement. The smile of a professional who has been taught that something like this can mean something very different to different patients.

Viktor shuffles out of the clinic, ignoring the bored stares of the others in the waiting room until he is out on the street. The pregnancy test still in hand.

He tosses it into the first bin he finds of course. It is very unhygienic to carry around something that has had his urine on it. Keeping it with him won’t change the situation. If he needs evidence when he tells Jayce he can always take another one.

How is he ever going to tell Jayce?

No.

No he needs to be realistic. False positives are impossible but it may be a case that an embryo was created and implanted before his body rejected it. A reminder that they should stop being lax about the condoms. There no point mentioning it to Jayce if that is the case.

No, first Viktor should book an appointment to test again under doctor’s supervision. By then if it was just a momentary thing the hormones will have cleared from his system and he can forget all about it.

There is no need to get Jayce involved yet.

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

“When was your last heat?” the doctor asks after Viktor returns from peeing on another stick that does not return the expected negative despite it having been long enough since the scan appointment that had it been an immediate miscarriage any residual hormones should have left his system.

“A year ago.” His heats had never been regular so skipping three was hardly a cause for suspicion or concern.

The doctor’s brow furrows because a lack of an obvious heat makes it harder to figure out any kind of timeline of conception.

“Have you experienced any bleeding?”

“No.” Not that it really proved anything from the reading Viktor had done after the initial positive result. If his body had rejected the pregnancy early enough it is easy for even omegas to miss the resulting passing.

“Has there been a single incident of your contraception methods failing?” the doctor asks. “For example, did the condom break during-“

“Eh-“ Viktor grimaces because there wasn’t really a single incident of a condom breaking but rather a common enough occurrence of them forgoing using one entirely.

“Right,” the doctor says, thankfully saving Viktor from having to say it. “In that case I think it is best to arrange an ultrasound to confirm if there is any evidence of pregnancy, and, if there is, how far along.”

Viktor nods as he tries to figure out where to fit another appointment in with the new project. It would be far easier if Jayce was around more instead of being dragged around by councilors and investors in wherever their whims take them.

“I also wouldn’t suggest informing anyone about this,” the doctor continues. “You may be very early into a pregnancy, and, with your other health concerns-“

There is a good chance he still may miscarry. No reason to bring it up with Jayce until they are more certain.

“Of course.”

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

“Have you told your alpha yet?” the ultrasound technician asks as she smears gel over Viktor’s exposed stomach.

“No.” there is no point considering it would likely end in miscarriage.

“Well that’s hardly fair to keep all the excitement to yourself,” the technician says as she reaches over for the ultrasound, moving it around his stomach clearly searching for his uterus.

“It is still early. I will tell him once it is far enough along to not be likely to miscarry.”

“You shouldn’t think like that!” the technician says, glancing at him quickly before returning her attention to the screen.

“I am just being realistic.” A pregnancy does not necessarily mean you will end up with a baby. Especially not if one’s health is like Viktor’s.

“So you are just going to keep it to yourself until you’re 3 months along?” the technician asks, her movements less broad. Likely trying to find any evidence of a very early pregnancy.

“Yes.” Things are easier that way.

“In that case you’re gonna’ want to figure out how to tell him,” she says before spinning around the screen so he can see his uterus and the baby-shaped blog within in. “Because three months is about where’d I put you. Congratulations.”

Viktor likely wouldn’t have believed her if he couldn’t see it with his own eyes. Which is probably why she showed him the screen. But, sure enough, there it was. Not a full baby but also not a bundle of cells of a new implantation.

“I haven’t had any symptoms.” Nothing that made him think anything had changed other than his sickness.

“Some people get lucky like that,” the technician says with a shrug. She presses a button on the screen that causes it to pause on the images while she removes the ultrasound from his stomach and offers him a tissue to wipe the gel off. Her hand suddenly resting on his knee. “I’ll arrange for a printout for you at the front desk. Maybe that’ll help you with telling your alpha yeah?”

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know if a print out of an ultrasound will actually help him tell Jayce but he supposes it is better to have it and not need it than not have it.

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

Viktor stands in front of the mirror in just his boxers staring at the reflection of his still completely flat stomach. His hands running along it feeling for any sign of a swell that could be the baby that was apparently in there and finding nothing.

It always takes longer for omega men to show, the ultrasound technician had said with a laugh like he was stupid for asking how he could possibly be 3 months along without a single outward sign. Your hips hold everything a bit further back. I wouldn’t worry through. Give it a couple weeks and you’ll have a bump for you and your alpha to fall in love with.

It still doesn’t feel real though. Not even with the print out of the scan that shows the very real fetus apparently resting in his uterus.

The door swings open but Jayce immediately turns around when he notices Viktor’s state of undress.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realis you were changing,” Jayce says despite the fact they have both seen each other completely naked. The fact that they had managed to make a baby together, even if Jayce doesn’t know that piece of information yet.

“It is fine,” Viktor says, grabbing his shirt and quickly buttoning it up on himself. It’s ridiculous, if Viktor can’t see any evidence of pregnancy there is no way Jayce will. But the idea of Jayce finding out before Viktor has the chance when it is clear Viktor should know is unpleasant.

Viktor grabs his cane from where he had hung it over the edge of the desk. Shoving the scan printout under some notes as he does.

“You can look now,” Viktor says because Jayce clearly isn’t going to unless he’s told he can.

Jayce turns around immediately. Beaming at Viktor in his fond way.

“Does this mean you’ll be joining the dinner tonight?”

“What? No! I was just-“ trying to see if he could see their baby. Which, if he were to tell Jayce now, would not see the alpha attending the dinner either. And while Viktor does not actually care about stealing Piltover’s Golden Boy from his adoring fans, Jayce’s growing social requirements are an necessary evil for their progress. “It does not matter. I will not be attending.”

“Come on Vik, please, for me,” Jayce says, coming over to wrap his arms around Viktor. He easily slots his head onto Viktor’s shoulder, the pout on his face reflected back on them in the mirror. “You can’t force me to go to another one alone.”

“I think you will find I can,” Viktor says, but leans into the warmth of Jayce’s body. “Anyway, they do not want me there.”

“I want you there.” Jayce’s grip tightens as he nuzzles against Viktor’s neck more like a young pup than the proud alpha he is. “Please Viktor.”

“I-“ could cause a scandal if he really wanted to. Drop the news halfway through the party when the gaggle of over-interested omegas swarm Jayce in the hopes of winning his attention. Have all of Piltover talking by morning. “-have work to do.”

It is hard for Jayce to argue with that. Their work as important to him as it is Viktor.

“It’s unfair you know,” Jayce says as he draws away, fixing his coast in the mirror. He looks every bit the charismatic leader Piltover imagines him to be. “That you get to stay in our lab working while I have to keep listening to the same conversation about the weather all night.”

“That is the price you pay for being the face of progress.”

“Not funny Vik,” Jayce says, but leans down for a quick kiss all the same. “I’ll try and sneak out and join you after the first round of being introduced to everyone.”

“Do not do anything that would have Councilor Kirramman unhappy with you.”

“Don’t worry – I’ll get Cait to cover for me,” Jayce promises before slipping out to head to the event.

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

Strong arms wrap around Viktor as he stands in front of the blackboard in their lab. Jayce’s head coming to rest against the top of his as the warmth of the alpha’s body seeps through the back of Viktor’s clothes.

“I missed you,” Jayce mumbles against Viktor’s hair. Nuzzling into it was if it is at all an effective way to pick up someone’s scent so far away from any of the actual scent-glands. “You smell good.”

Viktor tenses at that. Of course the pregnancy would be starting to affect his scent, making him even more appealing to his alpha in a biological attempt to keep their support there for the pregnancy and hopefully beyond. If he was as far along as he apparently was it’s surprising it hadn’t started to change already. And Jayce is not stupid. He will likely realize what could be causing it.

It might work in Viktor’s favor though. Let Jayce figure it out and claim ignorance.

All he has to do is act surprised. He can do that.

“Sorry,” Jayce says, drawing away. “I didn’t mean to break your focus.”

He didn’t think anything of the change in scent then.

“It is fine.” Nothing ground breaking had been happening. “Are you finished for the day?”

Viktor could just tell him about the pregnancy. It is not as if there is anything he cannot pause for the afternoon.

“I wish,” Jayce says with a whine. “I have another meeting in an hour. I just wanted to come check on- ah- our work!”

There will be no telling him today than.

“In that case there is something I wanted your opinion on,” Viktor says because he will take what he can get of Jayce’s mind before he has to hand him back to Piltover’s elites.

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

“Jayce do you have a minute?” Viktor asks on what is becoming a rare afternoon where Jayce can just stay in the lab without having to run off to some social engagement or investors meeting. Nothing that he need not be distracted for.

“Yeah, of course,” Jayce says, dropping what he is working on to come over. He leans over Viktor’s shoulders to examine what he is working on, expecting it to be about that. “What do you need?”

“What I need is to tell you something.” Viktor can feel how Jayce almost freezes at it. The alpha’s attention now fully on him.

Viktor wonders what Jayce thinks he’s going to tell him. Likely not that he is pregnant.

Before Viktor can find the words the door to the lab swings open and Mel hurries in with a hustle that is as close as Viktor thinks he’s ever seen her do to running.

“Oh good you’re here – I need you to talk to the new investor.”

“What? Why?” Jayce asks, craning his neck to look over to Mel but not moving from where he is leant over Viktor.

“He has concerns about the safety of the Hexgates and is threatening to pull funding as a result.”

“That is ridiculous. The Gates are perfectly safe!” Heimerdinger wouldn’t have let them go ahead if they weren’t.

“I know that! But he isn’t being convinced by me. I have him in a room and he’s agreed to discuss with you first, but, we do not have much time before he walks.”

“Go,” Viktor says before Jayce can think about refusing. “My news can wait.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” The pregnancy isn’t going anywhere but the investor apparently is.

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

“You deserve this more than I do,” Jayce says, holding out a drink to Viktor now they have both returned home from the investors meeting where they displayed their latest prototype. An identical glass in his other hand. “You did more of the work than I did.”

“You kept the investors happy.” Viktor would also rather Jayce in the lab with him but somebody has to be the face of their work and Jayce is far better suited for it than Viktor. “And, ah, none for me.”

Alcohol and pregnancy do not mix. Not that Jayce knows about that fact yet. The two barely getting to spend more than a moment together the last few weeks.

“You can take one night off to celebrate,” Jayce says still holding the glass out.

They do have the night off. The project finished and investors and council happy. Nothing that needs to be done that cannot wait until morning. Nothing he might be taking Jayce away from by telling him about the pregnancy.

“It is not that,” Viktor says, meeting Jayce’s eyes and the adorably puzzled expression. “I cannot drink at the moment on account of, eh, being pregnant.”

The surprise that overtakes Jayce’s face is exactly what Viktor expected all the times he thought about telling him.

“What?”

“I am pregnant,” Viktor confirms.

“Really?” Jayce asks, glancing down at Viktor’s stomach which remains completely flat.

“Yes. The doctors are quite sure.” Viktor wouldn’t be telling Jayce if they weren’t.

“The doctors?” Jayce asks before realization crosses his face, because he does actually know of Viktor’s frequent medical appointments – partners and all. “Right. Of course just-“

Jayce puts the two glasses back on the counter and runs a hand through his hair and this is exactly why Viktor hadn’t told him right before he had another obligation. It would be cruel to send him into a council meeting in the level of shock he is in.

“I-“ Jayce starts, before swallowing and nodding, having made up his mind about something. “Wait here.”

“Wait- what?” Viktor asks as Jayce grabs his coat and heads to the door. “Jayce where are you going?”

“I just need to get something. Don’t go anyway!” Jayce says before racing out the door leaving Viktor alone in the apartment.

“Don’t go anyway. Why would I go anywhere?” Viktor asks to nobody but himself. Sighing before making his way over to the couch to sit and wait for Jayce to return. Setting his cane down beside him.

He is sure Jayce will return and not just because it is his apartment Viktor currently is in. Yes, he’s heard stories of Piltover alphas seeming head over heels for an omega in Zaun only to vanish as soon as a pregnancy is in the picture, but Jayce isn’t like that. Their work, at least, is far too important for him to abandon.

“Can you not inherit his recklessness?” Viktor asks his still flat stomach as he leans back on the cushions and waits.

The door swings open at Jayce’s hast when he returns. The alpha not wasting time taking his coat off, instead rushing to where Viktor is and all-but slamming a handful pregnancy tests on the coffee-table.

“I know you said the doctors are sure,” Jayce rambles before Viktor gets the chance to say anything. “But please, for me?”

It makes sense with Jayce being who he is that he would want tangible proof of his own. And, really, it is not that arduous for Viktor to indulge him this.

“Can I have some water first?” Five tests will require a rather high amount of urine from him after all.

[ashethewitch]

I hate going back to that experience but I already talked about why dhmis reminds me of my special Ed experience and the more I think about it the more I realize tadc did too and I really wanna share my thoughts

First off, the adventures, they are made to keep the people in the circus sane and that reminds me of our classes. It always felt like they were made to give us the illusion that were somewhat the same like normal kids rather then actually teach us so we can pass tests or succeed in life. Even when It was clear the other classes were way ahead of us the teachers kept denying it

There were many times they just kept us in class without any lesson going on so we just sat there, trying anything to keep ourselves sane (and not abstract) while the teachers were watching and clearly talking about us. Many of us including me tried asking them about what their talking about or just ask them to stop but they, again, always denied it. It was more like babysitting then normal school, I always tried skipping classes like these but it was hard cuz I couldn’t leave class alone so it was best to guess when they will do this and just not come to school that day

Caine is generally like the nicer teachers I had who try their best but are just blinded by the stigma that there is around autism (or whatever condition your there for, my class was for autism) that they can’t help but not listen to us and treat us like children

Also we all coped with it in a similar way to the tadc characters to the point I can remember kids I knew and attach a tadc character they were similar to. I won’t go too into detail but I’d say I was a total ragatha but then I became a zooble over the years

Welp this essay was shorter then i thought but it’s still kinda long but yeah

[pluralthey]

oh where is dawn from? and they’re both nonbinary right? could you share any info about dawn/devon’s relationship as well as keshet/outis’s, like how they got together, what they like about each other or what their dynamic is like, it’s so nice seeing how you portray different couples

minor other qs - what are your patreon tier benefits, i couldn’t really find them on the page itself

dawn is from the uk iirc and both dawn and devon are non-binary yes. i don't think i've fleshed them out enough to have a backstory for how they got together since they are side characters and it's kinda just a waste of time to develop supporting cast... i think that dawn likes devon's protectiveness, the way they seem to really pay attention to people and think about what they hear and observe and commit it to memory, and their strong moral drive that makes them reliable and predictable, but also easy to tease. if dawn is too fatigued to do something (which is frequent) devon is the kind of partner who is going to take care of it without needing to beg for the help. i think devon appreciates that dawn doesn't find them imposing or intimidating but also isn't trying to compete with them in some battle for dominance. dawn has a dry sense of humor that is easier to relax around than someone who is constantly trying to be a clown and avoid taking things seriously. they are generally easygoing but not impressionable and this works well for devon who is fairly bossy, because there is less headbutting without being a doormat. the biological compatibility between them is also a huge plus for both because they both want children who are genetically theirs. in particular i think they both value the others' qualities as potential parents as much as partners and how they'd compensate for their own weaknesses when rearing children. outis and keshet getting together i remember because i used to do character development streams.

tl;dr: outis in art school -> adderall addiction -> soliciting other college students for adderall -> meets keshet (also in college) -> keshet is attracted to outis's aura of confidence -> outis tells keshet that her girlfriend is trash (her girlfriend is trash) -> keshet breaks up with her girlfriend and feels more attached to outis for pointing it out -> outis has a heart attack and drops out -> they keep in touch and eventually start dating. they're both jewish, they're able to pass as straight, it would just work out for everybody if they gave it a shot so they did.

and i've drawn a comic about what they like in each other as well

now if i have to look at any more of my art from 2017 i'll have to kill myself unfortunately

[bixels]

I'm not getting into The Giving Tree discourse...

[locusfandomtime]

you can really tell the different audience demographics of Lifesteal vs Hermitcraft by the comment sections because the average spokeishere or whatever comment is like “LIKE THIS if you are a real Spoke fan!!! ❤️👊😎 if this comment gets 100 LIKES ill tell my mom to subscribe 🤪 who else is watching in 2028❓❓😂” whilst the average ethoslab comment is like “my wife is giving birth but this is more important”

[commsroom]

this is a sensitive topic for me, so i really hate that i have to make this post, but unfortunately it keeps becoming relevant: stop infantilizing hera, and stop making excuses for it.

"well, she's literally four years old" she's been fully conscious with an adult mind for most of that, awake for most of that, and in multiple places at once for most of that. do you think that is comparable to a child's life experience, or is it maybe representative of something else?

i assume you understand why it would be wrong to call lovelace "literally two" because the fact that she is a clone is textually representative of the trauma she's been through. i also assume you understand why hera occasionally making flippant or frustrated comments about her own struggles living as an AI is different from the text telling you who she is or how you should regard her. it's science fiction, and it's a show that uses science fiction concepts in ways that resonate with real ones. the ultimate fact of the matter is that hera could've been in a lab for 30 years, or for 200 years, in a different setting, and be written the exact same way: as a sheltered, isolated adult woman without real life experiences.

hera is not a child or teenager in a natural stage of development. she is an adult who never went through the usual stages of development or life milestones, who has adult friendships and responsibilities, but who feels she is permanently ill-equipped to handle her life because no one ever taught her how, or gave her the space to make mistakes. if you don't understand why this distinction is important in discussing her trauma, that there are real, adult people who feel the same way, people who feel they've only been alive for four years, women who were never girls... then i really don't know what to say to you.

and i guess i have to say it: it's inherently infantilizing to say her peers see her the same way they see an actual child, or to say she needs them to be parental figures, especially eiffel of all people. "adult women have parents too" not ones that are 30 year old men! and parents have responsibilities to children, even adult children, that are different from the responsibilities two unrelated adults who care about each other have. it fundamentally reframes hera's most equal relationship in a way that diminishes her autonomy within it. (and if you're arguing it's all equal anyway, then what does it add? why don't you consider friendship as important?)

i know some people will dismiss that point because i view eiffel and hera romantically, but i've never argued you have to. if you want to go down that road, it says some pretty awful things about the couple of writers and actors who also view it romantically if you think she was meant to be viewed as a child, much less comparable to his child. you're inventing problems that don't canonically exist.

i just don't understand why you would make it about eiffel at all - and eiffel does not have the right to be a parent; the only thing that will heal his relationship with his real actual child is in relation to his real actual child - instead of discussing what a disabled, isolated, traumatized adult might be able to offer a disabled, traumatized kid. isn't the whole point of hera not being like pryce about breaking cycles? why make her a passive figure in her own story when her entire story arc is about taking control of her life?

there's no utility to this line of thought that doesn't further demean and alienate her, while implying she isn't ready to be a fully autonomous adult person. i don't think most people mean to be ableist, but hera is canonically a disabled woman, and i don't like where that line of thought leads. and yes, she's just a fictional character and can't be hurt by it, but everyone brings some real-world biases to how they engage with fiction. she's written as a marginalized adult person, and her womanhood is textually tied to defense of her personhood and autonomy (as well as a parallel to lovelace, also a marginalized woman.) to paraphrase minkowski - "you are going to show [that woman] some goddamned respect."