#or dare to want to do anything else with your life but spend it laboring for that system or youre a gross slob'

[toss-a-coin-to-your-stan-account]

being a kid watching some cartoon or disney sitcom and seeing the character they've made the Lazy Unemployed Slob who doesn't wanna work and acts like "ughhh SOCIETY wants me to get a JOB and be USEFUL" about it and thinking to yourself "I wanna get a GOOD JOB and WORK HARD so I'm NOT like THAT" and then growing up and realizing that portraying anyone that doesn't want to unquestionably put themselves in the Unsustainable Capitalist System as Disgusting Unappealing Slobs that every kid in the audience wants to be the Opposite of was actually. well. maybe not intentional by the people making the show itself but is. for lack of a better term. Certainly Something

[who-knew-a-sheep-can-write]

To See Red: Bigby Wolf x Fem!Reader (NSFW)

Includes: Werewolf transformation, werewolf sex, biting, knotting, lingerie

I need to see what he looks like in TWAU2, please Telltale I need to have more content for horny things

Reader isn’t red riding hood, just wearing the color red

You knew Bigby was the hardest worker here in Fabletown. Getting ridiculous amounts of complaints, being threatened every day he’s on duty, punched and thrown around like a ragdoll, being told to do even more for this corrupted town, and being constantly reminded of what he did in the past was not what he signed up for upon taking up the sheriff position. He was underappreciated and taken advantage of constantly. It had to be one of the wonders of the world how Bigby did not snap yet. Nobody seemed to appreciate him, nobody handing out a thank you or offering him kind words.

Nobody else but you.

It seemed that as soon as you entered Bigby’s life, all of the bullshit Fabletown threw at his face didn’t seem to matter anymore. He was always eager to hurry back to his apartment to see you waiting there or even across Fabletown to your apartment and spend the night only to not want to leave come morning. He even kept the phone on the hook when you weren’t around which was something he would never do for anyone else.

You knew he always loved it when you would show up at his apartment and wait for him whether it was with dinner or just to talk and spend more time together.

And so, you laid on his chair lazily, one leg was thrown over the arm and the other resting normally, waiting for him to return home so he can have a different type of treat.

Your legs were wrapped in sheer black knees highs held in place with shiny leather garters. Shiny red heels adorned your feet, glistening from the streetlights filtering through the windows behind you.

You had turned Bigby’s precious chair just a bit so it would face the door upon his arrival.

Just north of the garters was a pair of black laced panties covered by a red babydoll dress. Silky and just as red as your shoes, there was a golden sheen to the material too. Between your breasts sat the littlest black bow.

Your hair was loose, your makeup light; You had a feeling that too much makeup would make such a big mess that you didn’t feel like you wanted to clean up tomorrow morning. The most prominent thing painted on your face was your lips, painted a glossy and vibrant red to go with your clothes.

You heard the distant chime of the elevator, the groaning metal doors finally opening. The damned thing needed to be fixed years ago but Crane never did anything about it and Snow is too busy to even think about it now.

You heard a familiar set of footsteps head down the hallway and stop just a little ways away from the door. You smirked, keeping your eyes locked to the door you had purposely left open just a crack.

You knew he could smell you. The air smelled of your perfume, teasing him closer until he pushed his way through the door.

You felt something stir inside of you when you saw him in the doorway. His shoulders squared, his breathing starting to become labored, his eyes gold like the streetlights outside.

“Welcome home,” you smiled sweetly, leaning back against the overstuffed chair a little more.

Bigby stood at the doorway for a bit, almost like he was trying to piece together what is happening right now. You’ve never done anything like this before.

It took him nearly five minutes to finally step fully into the apartment and close the door behind him with a kick of his heel. He approached you slowly, eyes pinned on yours, daring you to look away from him.

Your heart was pounding in your chest, your face felt hot, you felt sparks in your stomach. The primal look in his eyes, the way he’s already setting thicker with muscle, the claws flexing from fingers and the fangs you want him to just sink into your warm flesh and oh fuck.

Before you could process anything, Bigby had snatched you off of the chair and hoisted you over his broad shoulder and marched into his bedroom. His grip on you was tight, fingers flexing on your back. You grabbed onto Bigby’s shirt, the muscles in his back were flexing and stretching, growing harder and hairier under your grasp to the point where his shirt was snug against his flesh.

Bigby threw you onto the bed, you let out a startled scream as you bounced on the poor mattress.

The sheriff before you looked rugged and wild. His white button-up was looking woefully stretched against growing muscles and thick fur. Bigby did his best to pull off his tie and belt, but soon the poor shirt tore as fur burst through ripped seams with his pants following soon after.

The wolfman quickly shed his shredded clothes, brawny body covered in soft fur you wanted to grab on to as he fucked your brains out. You saw how hard he was, saw how big he was.

You’ve only been fucked by him like this once and that was after he was “human”. If lingerie made him like this at first glance, you wondered what else could happen should you try something else.

He towered over the bed, towered over you. Most would be terrified of the scene before you; Your lover being some big and hairy monster with vicious fangs and wicked claws. But you were oh so turned on by him.

Bigby snatched at your ankle and dragged you close to the bed’s edge, catching your chest with his other clawed hand. You knew this looked like one of those raunchy painted book covers for one of those old romance novels of a woman falling in love with a beast.

Bigby sliced off the pair of panties with his claws, snarling at you when you made a noise of disapproval. Bigby hiked your ankle up in the air, his grip around the joint tight, his claws sinking into the material of your knee-high.

Bigby leaned down and licked a warm and wet stripe up your pussy, a loud moan suddenly leaving your lips as just the one action made it just a little harder to breathe. Bigby only gave you one more lick, his rough tongue doing wonders inside of you, making the coils tighten just a little bit more. He pulled away and you whined, wanting more, craving more.

There was a tap at your passage, Bigby entered into you slowly, giving you time to adjust to how thick he was. You gasped and moaned, clutching the sheets and arching your back into the stretch. You loved how full he made you feel, you loved the pain of the stretch, you love how warm he was.

Bigby wasted no time with thrusting, starting slow but he quickly sped up. Your stomach was fluttering, your skin was glistening with sweat, your face and neck felt so hot. Bigby leaned down and licked a stripe up from your bouncing breasts up the side of your neck, immediately biting your shoulder.

The stretch, the warmth, the pace he was going, it wasn’t a surprise that you came apart so quickly under him. The wolfman chuffing, he quickened his pace inside of you as you came apart. Every thrust rubbed your insides just the right way and you loved it.

The neighbors surely would be pissed with the noise, but who was going to complain? He was the sheriff, there was nothing anyone could do to stop him from fucking the life out of you if he wanted to.

You grabbed onto his shoulders, fingers twisting in the soft fur and pulling, earning you a growl from Bigby and a snap of his jaws to warn you. You grinned and tugged again, Bigby suddenly thrusting into you harsher, hips snapping at supernatural speeds. He was chasing euphoria, he wanted to mark you as his on the inside like he does on the outside. Paint you insides white, bite your neck so everyone knows you’re spoken for. He dreams of nothing else but to be with you, to fuck you, to love you as long as you two live.

Bigby came with a roar, throwing his head back as his shoulders slumped. You cried, tucking your head back into the sheets as you felt a flood of warmth pool inside of you.

Bigby quickly pulled out of you once his climax had come to an end, only giving you a brief moment to breathe before he grabbed onto you by your hips and flipped you over onto your stomach. Bigby hoisted you up so you were on your hands and knees, his cum leaking out of your abused hole and onto the bed below you.

You whimpered when you felt another tap at your passage, your eyes wide in shock. He was hard again, and he wasted no time in rentering.

Thrusts were sloppy, the bed rocked and hit the wall and rattled the pictures on the wall.

It was going to be hard to walk in the morning.

[dreamkidddream]

I absolutely loved the doll! mc one with the brothers and diavolo. Could I ask for the same idea with the rest of the undateables and luke? If it isn't too much though. Thank you very much, don't forget to take care of yourself and stay hydrated!

I’m glad you enjoyed the first part!! I hope you’re staying safe through this pandemic and that you’re drinking plenty of water. I’m so happy that people liked the Doll!MC scenario so much (it even became one of my top posts and I was NEVER expecting that to happen 😳 click here to read it with the Bros and Diavolo). I got an UR card for Barbatos today and immediately thought back to this scenario cause I was just imagining the different situations with Doll!MC. Hope you enjoy!

Also, Luke’s part is strictly platonic, just FYI!

The Undateables (Minus Diavolo) with Doll!MC

Barbatos

Let me just say, you make this man’s day so much better

Your presence is just so calming for him. You could just be standing there (which is heavily enforced in the kitchen), not doing anything, and he would still be fully relaxed

Definitely loves you being in the kitchen with him, and will find ways to invite you so that you guys can spend time together

“MC, the young master has a tea party planned for this afternoon, and I’m afraid I may need your assistance to help prepare.”

“But Barb, I thought you didn’t want me touching anything-”

“I don’t want you touching anything that can cause you harm. I can easily handle the labor, but I do have a task for you...”

Cue to you sitting perfectly still and taste testing his sweets

“Barb, are you sure that I’m helping you like this? I don’t want to be useless to you!”

“Nonsense, MC. This is perfect. I needed someone with an exceptional palette, and you’re just the right person for me.”

Just you and him, and his sweet creations. What more could he ask for?

Maybe being in a relationship with you, but he is very sure that it’s going to be happening in the near future...and he didn’t even have to use his powers to know that

He stares at you a lot. He can’t help it, he loves to just admire you!

Barbatos is the type of guy where he doesn’t have to rely on words to express his love. His love language is acts of service: packing you lunch and extra sweets every week, giving you recipes that he wouldn’t even share with Luke, and gifting you mini accessories that you can wear with your outfits!

He gave you this adorable three-legged crow holding a cupcake hairpin and you’ve been wearing it ever since

He tries to hide his blush everytime he sees you and now he has to work even harder because of the pin lmao

HAVING YOUR OWN TEA PARTIES WEEKLY

You both have a designated day and time where you don’t plan anything in order to have your own tea parties

No Diavolo, no noisy demon brothers, no other exchange students (sorry Luke). Just you and him, enjoying each other’s company and him basking in your glow

If someone did try to harm you, he would already know of it and properly disposes of the problem. Lord Diavolo can’t afford to have any issues interfering with the exchange program, and he can’t afford to have anything happen to you so...no harm no foul, right?

Please continue to do what you’re doing MC. Stare at him with your bright, doe eyes and give him that lively smile everytime. It makes his day go by much easier, especially since he knows that you’ll still be there, waiting for him with your own desserts and that smile reserved just for him

Simeon

Was convinced that you were an angel

Lowkey still convinced that you’re an angel

Really, you just look so...angelic

Wasn’t upset when you revealed that you were in fact human; he was happy because this meant that he could show you around the Celestial Realm!

Speaking of Celestial Realm, be prepared for Simeon to be your very own personal tour guide everytime. This could be your 50th time up there and he’ll still try to point new things out

“And over here is-”

“Michael’s favorite resting place, since the lilies always seem to bloom whenever he’s around,” you giggled. “I remember Simeon, you tell me this everytime we visit!”

He’s a tad embarrassed

“Forgive me, MC. It seems that I get so elated over the fact that you’re here with me, I tend to repeat some things over.”

“That’s okay! I still have fun with you everytime!”

Oh MC, you’re too adorable!

Which causes him to worry over you. While he knows that the brothers and Diavolo (along with Barbatos) wouldn’t dare cause you any distress, the same couldn’t be said for the other demons lurking around, both in and out of RAD

But not to fear, Simeon your friendly guardian angel is here!

I am so sorry for the rhyme lmao

He may not have been personally assigned to you, but that doesn’t mean he can just let anything happen to you! He’s only doing his heavenly duties in protecting you! He’s also being a good friend by watching over you too, his little lamb

He wouldn’t attack anyone, but if he made a complaint or a very serious concern to the right person (Lucifer or Diavolo), consider the problem handled

You have your own tea time as well, and Luke would join you sometimes. But, every now and then, Luke would have to finish some homework or study, or Barbatos would miraculously call for him at the castle, or if it was just too late and Luke just had to go to sleep, then it would just be you two. Sitting by the fireplace, discussing matters ranging from RAD to your life in the human world, drinking tea that you would take turns preparing

Not to mention the downright dainty little cakes you would bring. One time you brought him angel cakes and he found so lighthearted and precious that he requested you bring them everytime, just for him

May or may not base a character in his new story around you

Simeon wants to shield you from the horrors that are surrounding you both. You’re so pure, he just wants you safe. From the way that you would dress to the way that your eyes would just look so amazed and innocent at him, he just knows that he needs to watch over you, always. The brothers do get a little wary when they see how much time you do spend at Purgatory Hall, but they know that Simeon couldn’t possibly have feelings for you, and you were always so giddy after leaving there, they couldn’t bring themselves to say anything

And Simeon knew that he was starting to feel more than he should. He couldn’t profess his love for you now in risk of falling, but he can wait until you get your wings. Just imagining you in your cute little Ceslestial Realm outfit (which he hopes still mimicked your current style) with your very own beaming halo was enough to keep him waiting and to make sure that you stayed on the right path

He deemed that you were worth the wait

Luke

BFFs! BFFs!

When he first saw you he could just cry

Someone innocent like you got sent down here with these monsters?! He had to keep you safe!!!

Simeon thought you were angel and then realized that you were not; Luke thought you were an angel and refused to believe that you weren’t

You didn’t have it in you to burst his bubble so soon, so you just let him run with it until Simon broke the news

It was like telling a kid that Santa Claus wasn’t real; you can only imagine how Luke took the revelation

Not well from what Solomon told you. Simeon kept saying he just needs some time to process things, and you just felt so awful about the whole thing

Which lead to you bringing him so much sweets that it made Beel jealous and very upset

But we all know how Beel can be around food, so it wasn’t a huge surprise. He chased you around all day and you had to use your pact to get him to stop!

And you promised to make him double the sweets in he forgave you so all is well

Luke was still obviously sad, but he wasn’t going to stay sad forever. Especially not after you brought this many sweets just for him!

Lucifer was not a happy demon when Simeon arrived at the HoL’s doorstep with you groaning and clutching your stomach. And Solomon took so many pictures of Luke while he passed out from his sugar high that he dedicated a whole album in his phone to it

Favorite activity to do together: Baking! (Obviously)

Trading recipes, shopping for ingredients together, baking things for each other to try (where really it was just to have double the desserts)

When you two are in the kitchen together, no one else is allowed (except for Simeon, but only if he’s looking and not touching). It’s now MC and Luke time, everybody else is gonna have to wait!

Luke only wants you to do the the activities that he sees as harmless: which is everything that doesn’t include sharp items and anything else that can hurt you

“MC get away from that! That can seriously hurt you! Let me get it for you instead!

“Luke, honey, it’s just an oven it’s not my first time using one-”

Too late, he already took it out of your hands into his own, mitts already on

Speaking of oven mitts

You guys have matching aprons and mitts!!

Barbatos may be a little bit jealous, but he likes the bond that you two have. And he knows that Luke won’t be a romantic rival so he’s alright lol

Luke is your deemed protector/bodyguard, and he proudly wears the title since no one bothers you because of him (or so he thinks). Everyone makes fun of him calling him a chihuahua, but jokes on him, when Luke complains, he complains

Won’t take long for Simeon or even one of the brothers to pick up on his whines complaints if he thinks someone is bothering you

Luke believes that while he’s small, he can protect you and try to keep you free from danger. He may be young, but he sees himself as the older brother out of you both (even though it’s really you being the older sibling and him being the baby). Always looking out for you especially since you’re too fragile to be left alone!

You’re one of the only people that genuinely likes him and don’t make fun of him. You’re dear to him MC, please don’t ever change!

Also, he definitely talks to Michael about you all the time so excitedly and sends him sweets that you both made together. Michael is a proud dad at this point

Solomon

Knew you wasn’t a doll but loved to tease you about being one anyway

Was there a spell that can really turn you into a doll? You wouldn’t mind if he tried it out on you, right MC?

Don’t tempt him please because he WILL do it

“Tell me, MC. Hypothetically speaking, if I were to purchase-”

“No Solomon, you can’t shrink me down to fit me into a dollhouse, no matter how nice it sounds. Besides, I can’t bake in a dollhouse, the oven wouldn’t work!”

“I can fix that.”

You’re very amusing to him for some reason. Was it because of how doll-like you are? The fairytale way that you dressed? How you were still human and was able to live with seven of the most powerful demons and not die? Maybe it’s the way that you still radiated such positivity despite being in literal Hell?

Honestly all of the above

TEACHING HIM HOW TO COOK/BAKE

Poor Solomon doesn’t realize that his cooking isn’t...the best

And you took the best approach in helping him atleast cook something that looks edible

You didn’t say his cooking was disgusting like some people (literally everyone else), so he took that you giving him lessons was a date of sorts

He wasn’t complaining. Your time spent in the kitchen was scenes straight of a romcom (no matter how cheesy it sounds); his arms wrapped around your waist and dotting icing on your pretty nose

May or may not have licked some icing off of you at one point, will definitely do it again

Solomon is a very confident man, borderline arrogant (Oh who am I kidding he IS arrogant). So yes, while people may see you as an easy target, he’s here to remind them that you’re not. And that if they want to try, chances are they won’t be walking away in one piece

He’s powerful, too powerful in fact. He may not be the strongest physically, but if even the entire student council recognizes his knowledge and what he’s capable of, no one should be dumb enough to test him (keyword: try)

But he wouldn’t mind showing off if it’s for you

You’re one of the only beings to ever peak Solomon’s interest genuinely. Yes, he loved to tease and bug you whenever he pleased, but you also made him want to come around you more and more. He was drawn to you, and that doesn’t happen a lot with him (at least without ulterior motives)

*coughcough* making pacts *coughcough*

You were the only thing that made Solomon feel weak, but that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Don’t get him wrong, he’s still The Greatest Sorcerer, but he couldn’t help but feel himself get weak in the knees when you gazed at him with so much sincerity. He loves it and loves you

Once your back in the human world, he’s going to be so selfish with you. I mean, he already kinda was now, but this time there won’t be any interruptions or distractions around to take your attention

Us humans have to stick together, and what better way to stick together than to be together, wouldn’t you say MC?

[xmint-conditionx]

《the emperor’s dagger》 ch1 | myg

❦ pairing: emperor!yoongi x concubine!reader ❦ w/c: 4.5k ❦ summary: you recall the first night that you began to love your emperor more than your job required. you find yourself in a dangerous situation that surely means death if mistakes are made. being careful is your first priority, but it’s easy to forget where and who you are when you lock eyes with him. ❦ tags/cw: 18+ please, smut, the tiniest bit of fluff you ever saw, brief blood/gore descriptions, derogatory names but not in the way you think, fingering, slight begging, slight nibbling, “be quiet or people could hear” trope, a little adorable aftercare yoongi is here uwu ❦ a/n: guys get fuckin PUMPED okay. i am so so so excited to bring you this crazy story. as far as i have planned, there are 15 chapters. this has (kind of obviously) been in the works since daechwita dropped, so i’m sure you won’t have any trouble picturing our lovely king. this is a complete fantasy setting, so please do know that i am not trying to emulate any particular culture or time period. 

also, please note that this is a repost of my work from a previous blog, so if it looks familiar to you, that’s probably why lmao

anyway, thanks luv, enjoy!

- minty

Blood stains your blade, glistening bright crimson in the hot sun. You’re surrounded by anguish, pain, the sounds of final breaths and final cries. The dead soldier that lies on the dirty brick in front of you, who had been alive and trying to claim your life only moments before is staring lifelessly into the middle distance. You fight the urge to close his eyes; you two could have been friends, after all. You probably have even crossed paths before. A shudder runs through you at the thought. How many of these men that will meet their end at your sword will you have known? How many of your people will have to die? Are they still even your people? You don’t want to know the answer to these questions.

What had he called you? What had he said before his sword clashed with yours?

That’s right.

“Whore.”

You never anticipated being in this situation. You had never wanted to have to fight; you only had wanted to look as beautiful as he had wielding a sword. Fighting was always something that was necessary for your people, but it was never something you would have to be doing yourself. You’d heard palace guards talking about some distant battle and thought it might be a fun adventure-- going off to war. You were wrong. You were naive. About a lot of things, it turns out.

That was a different time, when your only adventure came in the form of a secret romance. When the riskiest thing you did was love an emperor. Your emperor. Your Yoongi.

Where is he?

You look back to where you had last seen him on the battlefield. His long blonde hair shines like gold in the midday sun, only rivaling the sheen of his trusted blade. He cuts down his opponent with a decisive swing, the sick squelching sound of innards falling onto the hot stone as the man cries out. You watch as he expertly scans his surroundings, looking for anyone else that would dare challenge his skill in the chaos. He’s missing an earring, you realize. Both of you are heaving under the stress of battle. This is more than you’d ever prepared for. You don’t know if you’ll make it. 

Your hesitant eyes meet his assured ones, and for an instant, sword in hand, it’s like the first night you’d snuck up to meet him in his chambers.

The dark wooden floorboards of the upper palace creaks, and you scold yourself for not being more quiet. Being caught will at the least result in a very long and extensive round of questioning by the royal guard. Trouble is the last thing you want to stir up. 

Emperor Min had specifically requested you come to his private room in secret tonight, and that is a little strange to you. He has the power to have any of his women whenever he wishes, and he has asked for you to come to him under the cloak of night. Why must this time be a secret? He has had you many times before, so why must this time be hidden?

In his handwritten note that he had slipped to you earlier in the day, he instructs for you to wait until all the other concubines are asleep before you leave your wing. If you are careful, you can take a shortcut through the North Wing Tearoom and pass the guards who only patrol the center hallway. So that’s what you do. 

You see that they’re far enough down the corridor that they won’t be able to detect your movements, and so you silently slip through the large ornate wooden doors. You’ve been in this room many times before, but it feels like your first time here. Everything looks so different without the familiar warm glow of lantern light. The moon’s shadows are cold and sharply cast, and a chill runs up your spine. You don’t have to even look to feel his presence. To feel his eyes on you.

He’s waiting for you, sitting at the bottom edge of his large, low bed, chin perched delicately on his folded hands. The cool metal of his many rings shine in the moonlight, and past those adorned hands, he is staring right at you. His stare is one that is unreadable to most. Nobody is ever really able to know what is going on in his head. Nobody could ever know what emotion lies behind the stare. You wonder how much time he spends in thought. 

“Come,” he says, motioning in his direction.

You obey your king, stepping forward a few paces. Something on his bed catches and glints in the moonlight. A sword? You stop, only halfway to him. You could already be in trouble. If he had heard your conversation with another concubine a few days ago, heavy questioning by the easily fooled palace guards will be the least of your worries. They won’t ask questions before they kill you.

“Your Majesty,” you say to the ground, too demure to look him in the eye as you speak, fearing what he might say and do, “why have you invited me here like this?”

Emperor Min stands and almost silently completes the distance over to where you stand. His calloused palm gently grazes your jaw, thumb on your cheekbone as his fingers wind through your hair. His touch calms your racing heart, and fills your belly with strength and boldness. You finally find the courage to look up.

“I have a surprise for you, my dove,” the emperor says, and you think you see a hint of excitement in his dark brown eyes. 

He quickly spins around and guides you over to where he had been sitting moments before. He picks up the hilt of the sword that was laying next to him and places it delicately into your palm, enclosing his hand around yours. You had expected him to pick up the sword, but to put it in your hands? Impossible.

“I heard you say you wanted to learn to sword fight,” he says, smiling gently down at you.

Your mouth drops; your worst fear has been realized. He had heard your hushed conversation. Surely, you were about to die. Maybe if you groveled and flattered him enough, he would spare you.

“Your Grace, it was only a passing comment. I was only in awe of how skillfully you were practicing out in the gardens. I did not mean for anyone to hear; I was simply awe-struck by your deftness. I do not truly wish to learn. It was a foolish slip of the tongue. Please, forgive me.”

Please, don’t kill me.

“My dear, are you worried about your life?” he asks.

“Yes, Your Majesty. I am,” you say, looking to the floor again. Hoping to pull out any sympathy he may have.

“I do not want you to lose your life. I want you to learn how to properly wield a sword,” he says so quietly it’s almost silent-- as if he’s afraid to even say it himself, “if that is what you want. And I would like to be the one to teach you.”

Women aren’t supposed to learn anything related to warfare, especially not something as dangerous as sword fighting. A single mistake could mean the loss of a limb, but being discovered in practice could mean the loss of a life. Even teaching was punishable by death, although you’re sure the Emperor himself would be able to keep his life intact if discovered. If anyone else had heard your words to another concubine, even if you were able to convince them it was an innocent mistake, you would likely be thrown out of the palace immediately. 

Concubines don’t snitch on the little things, but if any of them had reported you sneaking out tonight, your head would surely be on the chopping block first thing in the morning. You’re all allowed so much. You live in luxury, you’re able to roam most of the palace grounds as you please, you’re dressed in some of the finest fabrics, given plenty to eat, gifted spending money, and on top of it all, you get to lay with the king. Anyone fortunate enough to be chosen for this position doesn’t do anything to risk it. 

The emperor must sense your unease, because he puts his hand on your shoulder and gives it a light squeeze. 

“I won’t tell if you won’t,” he says quietly. 

What has to be hours later, you flop down on his bed; your labored breaths are the only thing that can be heard in the broad expanse of his room. You haven’t even crossed blades with him, and you’re exhausted. He only taught you how to hold it properly, how to angle a strike, and how to move, but your body pounds with soreness. Your arms and your legs are heavy with fatigue, and the cool plush comforter is a welcome sensation to your aching body. As you lay, you look up to the ornate ceiling trimmed with gold and you begin to settle your breathing. You lay the sword down between you and the side of the bed; at the beginning of your lesson it felt light as a feather, but as you were instructed to keep it up, it now feels as if it were made of lead. 

He delicately sits down by your side, barely disturbing the fabric; you lock eyes with him and have to hold back a laugh. For some reason, you feel silly. You have never truly imagined that you would be in this place or situation. A woman? Sword fighting? Not just a woman, but a concubine? And with the king himself? If you had been told as a young girl that this would happen, you’d laugh so hard that you’d wet yourself. It was simply impossible! Or so you had thought. 

You and many other concubines had watched Emperor Min practice his sword fighting out in the royal gardens countless times, and all of you were consumed with the grace and proficiency he could demonstrate. You were the only one, however, who ever wanted to be down there with him, taking part in the mysterious dance he was so fond of. You were the only one who had dared to speak your hidden desires, and it seems that you lucked out. You certainly served a gracious emperor.

His eyes turn into crescent moons as he beams down at you, showing off his gummy smile. You wonder why he rarely displays it; he’s always so serious when he’s in the public eye. The only other time you’ve seen as much as a smirk is when he bests his opponents in practice, his pretty lips curling into a snarl as he holds them at the point of his blade. You’ve only seen him smile when doing what he loves.

The way you look lying on his sheets, your heaving chest covered in little more than your underclothing and moonlight. Your hair spilling out in shining pools around your delicate face, which is flushed from exertion. The way you look up at him with pure bliss in your eyes. Perhaps he smiles because he likes what he sees, He licks his lips as he lets his hand wander across your decollete, which has collected a thin layer of sweat. 

“I hope you haven’t tired yourself out completely,” he says, leaning in closer to you, so close that you can smell his naturally musky scent, “You’re a quick learner. You are quite good with your hands, my dear.” You flush further at his words, deep with insinuation. You would be lying if you weren’t thinking of other activities you could be doing with him, too.

“I am good at a lot of things, My King,” you return, tone laced with venom as you look up at him through heavy lashes. The chemistry between you both had always been electric. What one would put down, the other would pick up. Flirty banter was as easy for you two as  breathing. Innate. Inherent. Natural. As if you were born to do it.

His hand travels down your chest and curls around your waist, giving your lax form a gentle tug upwards, so that your lips can meet his. He had only begun to kiss you recently, and as far as you can tell from the stories from the other concubines, you were the only one. You aren’t sure exactly what that means, but you also aren’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Or question why you’re the only one who gets to kiss the Emperor. The way he kisses you is nearly indescribable. He always starts off delicately, as if to test the waters, or as if to tease you. You haven’t decided which one it is yet, so you relish in how his lips play with yours. But you want more.

You push yourself upwards and deepen the kiss, and he responds in kind, sucking in your bottom lip to coax you into opening up for him. He has never been pushy; he has never pressured you - or any other that you knew of - into doing something you didn’t want. He has always been respectful of you and the others, which is the last thing you had expected. After all, you are just a glorified whore. And he is a king.

You part your lips and allow his tongue to dance with yours, each silently fighting for dominance. You let him win, and he takes the opportunity to climb over your frame. Noticing the sword by your side, he tosses it onto the floor. It hits the rug with a soft thud, as it has done many times that night when you had dropped it. He continues to deepen the kiss, and you can feel yourself beginning to get damp. Feeling that familiar tingling sensation run up your spine, you feel the need to reach under his silk robe and run your hands up his chest, which sends him moaning into you. He involuntarily pushes his hips against you, and you can feel how hard he is behind his night robe. It’s not like him to take his time, like this. Usually, he would have already put you in his desired position and… well, gotten on with it already. He might need some inspiration. You break the kiss by tilting your head up, and he begins kissing down your exposed neck, and fuck does that feel good. 

“Your Majesty,” you whine, fist full of his soft blonde hair, “How would you like me tonight?”

He speaks in between kisses.

“What… ever could you… mean?” he says warmly against your neck.

“Would you like me on my stomach tonight? I know you’re fond of the view,” you say, playfully wiggling your hips. He pauses for a beat, and pulls back to look at you. He chuckles a little.

“I’m quite fond of this view, too,” he says, showing off his gummy smile again and leaning in to cup your breasts as he trails kisses down into your cleavage. He begins to nibble softly at your flesh as he pulls the fabric down, exposing your nipples to the night. He pinches one roughly, making you pull on his hair a little harder, both of you having to stifle a moan. How dangerous to be doing this at the risk of guards hearing! His hand wanders down your frame and then up into your underskirts, cupping your heat gently as you open your legs for him. 

His fingers graze against your clit, and you feel the cool metal of his rings slide against your damp folds as he teases your entrance. You bite your lip and hold back a moan. You wish you could just tell him to hurry. 

As if answering a prayer, he slides his finger into your waiting slit, coaxing more of your wetness out of you. He adds another finger, curling them up gently and pushing up against that spongy spot that drives you wild. You buck up your hips in response, and you feel him smirk into your chest. He continues to gently bite around your areolas, never quite reaching your peaks as he sets an agonizingly slow pace with his fingers. The sensations that spark through your body at his ministrations are dizzying, but they’re also incredibly frustrating. He’s keeping you just on the edge of satisfaction. What does he want you to do? Beg? You’ve never felt like you could do such a thing, but this evening has made you bold. And his touch has turned you needy.

“Your Grace, pl-please,” you plead quietly into the night.

He looks up to your face scrunched in desperation. “Oh, are you suggesting your king hurry?” he asks with a smirk, “What if he wishes to take his time?”

“Hi-His Highness may have me any way he wishes, of course,” you reply, biting the inside of your cheek to distract you from the torture, “But are the tales of your generosity false? Are you a merciless ruler, set to torture those who would only want to bring you pleasure?”

His eyes on you darken, and he pokes his tongue in the side of his cheek. 

“Hm,” he considers, “I suppose I can afford to be kind tonight. After all, you’ve worked so hard already, haven’t you?”

He wastes no time in pulling his fingers out, and you clench at the loss, another groan almost leaving your lips before you’re able to swallow it. He lines his head up with your aching slit, using your wetness to coat his cock. The delicious friction against your clit makes you whine ever so gently into the space between you both, another small beg for him to fill you. He presses into you, the familiar stretch making you dizzy with lust, and buries himself in your neck once more. He quickly sets a brisk pace knowing that you both are eager, and it’s not long until you can hear how wet he makes you. The obscene wet slaps sound like bombs going off in the quiet, and your cunt drips with your slick. You briefly wonder who is the unfortunate servant who will have to clean these bed linens, because you always leave them completely ruined. The way he fucks into you makes you fall apart every time, fitting together like a lock and key.

The king’s lips find yours again, his kisses hungry and wild. You remove your hands from his hair that’s now cascading around you, falling in golden waves onto your shoulders. He’s more ferocious now, biting your bottom lip and then nibbling up your jaw where he sucks your bejeweled lobe between his lips. His hands grasp tightly around your jaw as you take him, every thrust making you more putty in his hands. His free hand curves around and cups your ass, hoisting you up and changing the angle of your hips. With every thrust, his tip grazes against your sweet spot, causing a loud moan to escape your lips, echoing in the large space. Your moan dies as soon as you register it; you shamefully tighten your mouth so that no more noise may escape, but it’s too late. You’ve already been too loud. He looks back towards his bedroom doors, and then back to you. 

Something in his expression changes, and his eyes are churning with something devilish. He swiftly covers your mouth with his palm, making sure it’s firmly fastened there before speaking. 

“Scream for me, little dove.”

You try to hold back as best as you can, but a particularly hard thrust breaks your resolve. Once you let out that little yelp, it opens the floodgates. Your voice is muffled by his hand as he fucks into you harder and harder, almost painfully. His tip is pounding against your cervix, and dark spots flash in your vision. You continue to lose yourself in him, eagerly meeting his thrusts with ones of your own. His other hand that was once cupping your ass, now finds your wrist and hoists it above your head, as he continues his unrelenting pace. You scream into his hand, and clench around him to bring you right up to the edge. 

He leans down to your freshly-nibbled ear, and in a gravelly voice says, “Come. Come around my cock.”

As soon as his hand lets go of your wrist and makes contact with your sensitive clit, you come undone. You scream completely unhinged into his palm which is placed firmly over your mouth, and he too groans as he finishes inside of you, riding through both orgasms until you’re both exhausted. And you thought you were tired before. His heavy breaths meet yours, and you float back down from your high to find yourself resting on his comforter. He gives your jaw a final nibble, and hoists himself off of you.

You hear his soft footsteps padding on the floor as you look up at the ceiling again. The beautiful gold trim you had noted before is a large dragon, spiraled around an inset in the ceiling. He brings back a damp cloth for you to clean yourself with, and he gathers your night clothes from the floor where you had discarded them some time ago. Sword fighting in a dress is not easy, and besides, you look much better in your undergarments. He starts putting your sleepwear back on you, gingerly helping your arms through the holes. He doesn’t have to be doing this. He has never helped you get dressed before; that was a task left to each woman on their own. They had a separate and luxurious bath suite dedicated to their self-care, so why would he bother?. Sometimes the concubine mother would help if things got… interesting, but you scarcely needed help with this. Tonight was surely a night of firsts.

“Uh, thank you, Your Majesty. You didn’t have to help me dress after you finish,” you say, a little flushed from how delicately he treats you after how thoroughly he had just fucked you. 

“Yes, I’m aware,” he says, hoisting you up off the bed and leading you towards his doors, “We can’t have you cleaning yourself in your wing’s washroom. You’d probably be dripping all the way back. We can’t have that now, can we?” he asks as he runs his hand down your arm, smirking lightly and raising his eyebrows, “Especially if you’d like to have another lesson.”

You gasp.

“Another? Your Highness, are you certain? Why do you risk getting caught doing this for me?” you ask, not concerned with your own safety, but of his. Even if his life isn’t at risk, the public humiliation that would surround him would be too great. Especially not now. Not in the middle of a war. The subjects of the kingdom are already on edge as it is. The trust in their Emperor cannot falter. Not now.

“Ah, come now. Don’t worry. As long as you stay light on your feet and I ensure that the worst guards in the command are at my post, we are as safe as my blade is sharp. Plus,” he adds, kissing gently against your fingers,  “getting to see your beautiful skin glisten with sweat, and then getting to have you all to myself is reward enough for me. It’s definitely worth the risk.” 

“My King, you can always have me all to yourself in whatever way you desire,” you say, “There’s no limit to what I can do for you. You know that.”

“Yes, dove,” he says, “I do know that, but there is one thing your king is not allowed. Something that nobody may know of. Your king is not allowed a favorite.”

You know this already. It is why the concubines exist, why you’re able to be here with him at all. You know that it is dangerous to have a favorite. Emperors in your kingdom are unable to wed, and it has always been that way. Spouses are a vulnerability, something an enemy can easily exploit. The concubines exist, like the guard, to protect the emperor in their own way. By allowing him freedom of sexual expression, he is less likely to feel the need to have a romantic partner. Having a person be treasured by the emperor only makes them a weakness. Especially now.

“Nobody can know that you are important to me. Nobody can know that it is you who holds the king’s favor; that is why we must meet mostly in secret going in forward. You’ll be removed from the palace if the officials get a notion of my fondness for you,” he says, holding both of your hands in his, “and I never want you to be missing from me, my dove.” 

You understand. You have to. It’s part of the job. You knew all of this going in and you were okay knowing that you would be one of many. You didn’t come to the palace with only the clothes on your back to find a chance at love. You’re smarter than that. You’d be lying if you said being treasured by the king didn’t light a small fire inside of you, though.

You nod and give his beautiful, calloused hands a squeeze. 

“I cannot keep you any longer,” he whispers, “you deserve your beauty sleep, especially after all the… exertion you’ve just done. You think you can keep quiet on your way back?”

“I think I can manage, but,” you say, “if I may be so bold, next time, I don’t want to be able to sneak back to my room. I don’t want to be able to even walk after the next time you’re done with me.”

“You’re going to be the death of me, woman,” he says, hiding a soft smile, “but even then, I would welcome it if it came from you.” 

You think of the risk you’re both taking, and the consequences of being found out.

“Let's hope it doesn’t come to that, yeah?” you delicately ask, eyes asking a question you’re afraid to give voice to.

“My dove,” he says, “as long as I can help it, no harm will ever come to you. Now, get on to bed.”

You didn’t want to leave, but you know you needed to. The emperor opens the door a crack and nods at you, a silent confirmation that the guards were at the other end of the hall. A silent nod that said it was time. 

You ease yourself through the small crack in the door and slowly pad toward your Northern Tearoom shortcut. You look back once more, and you see him mouth “goodnight” with a smirk before shutting the door.

Your return trip to your wing of the palace is much quieter than your first trip, and for that you are thankful. You sneak back into your room where the rest of the concubines lie fast asleep in their own beds, some of them quietly snoring. As you curl up into your bedsheets, you drift asleep thinking about how sweet his smile is. He never shows it to anyone, so why are you the one who gets to see it? After all, you’re just a whore. The emperor’s favorite whore.

[starkerscoop]

A Blessing in Disguise

I am very excited to announce that this fic now has a Russian translation! I posted this in October on my old blog, and in honor of having a translation recently written for it, I’ve decided to repost it onto this one!

ao3  

Russian translation   

content warnings: discussion of abortion, issues with body image and self-esteem, pregnancy, non-graphic birth

-

Two red lines stared back at him, the image burning itself into his brain. A sudden wave of dizziness washed over him and he stumbled to the ground, too dazed to catch himself. He couldn’t believe that this was happening.

He was pregnant.

He was pregnant, and he wasn’t sure how he felt about it, too disoriented at the moment to really tell. He was in his mid-twenties; in his prime and at the perfect age to start making pups, according to society.

But Peter didn’t think he was ready. Of course, the Omega in him had yearned quietly for pups ever since he started going through puberty, but Peter’s priority had always been to make a name for himself in science. He wanted to get his PhD and go on to make revolutionary discoveries; to pave the way for all Omegas and prove that his secondary gender couldn’t hold him back. For years, he’d been competing with Alphas, constantly trying to prove his worth. He couldn’t let all of that go down the drain for a pup.

There was Tony to think about, too. Peter had no idea if he would want to be a father, and he was too terrified to imagine his reaction to the news. He toyed briefly with the idea of not telling him, but that thought was quickly pushed out of his brain.

Tony deserved to know, and Peter had to tell him soon; soon enough that he could still get an abortion, if that was what he wanted.

A knock on the bathroom door brought him out of his thoughts.

“Baby?” Tony mumbled tiredly, voice laced with the thickness of sleep. “Are you going to bed soon? You’ve been in there for a while.”

Peter stashed the cluster of pregnancy tests in the back of the cabinets below the sink. He would have to remember to get rid of those the next day, before Tony could find them. Another knock had him rushing to stand up and wash his face, clearing it of his silver tear tracks.

“Pete?” Tony called, louder now and with more concern, still waiting for a response. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” Peter answered, unlocking the door and stepping out of the bathroom.

Tony hadn’t finished scanning him for signs of harm when his nose picked up on the distress radiating from Peter’s body. It was a bitter scent; one that itched at Tony’s instincts, making him want to replace it with something more cheerful at once.

“What’s wrong?” Tony pulled him into his warm embrace, rubbing his back in small circles that bunched up his shirt.

Peter was tired of living in fear. Even if he’d only known about his pregnancy for all of ten minutes, he didn’t want to keep it from Tony for any longer. They didn’t keep secrets. They worked hard to keep their relationship honest, and Peter wasn’t going to be the one to ruin that.

“I’m pregnant,” Peter blurted out.

Tony’s hands faltered but remained on his back, which Peter took as a good sign. He didn’t dare to look up at his face, keeping his own hidden in the crook of Tony's neck. After a few minutes of mutual silence, the older man’s hands resumed their movements.

“You’re pregnant,” Tony repeated. “Sweetheart, that’s - that’s amazing.”

“You want to keep it?” Peter questioned, voice void of any judgement.

Tony recoiled away from him. “Do you not want to keep it? It’s your choice, of course, I’ll pay for the expenses either way.”

“I don’t know what I want to do,” Peter admitted smally. “I don’t want to give up everything I’ve worked for to stay home and take care of a pup. I’ve spent my whole life trying to prove that Omegas are more than pup-making machines. And now I’m pregnant.”

“You don’t have to give anything up,” Tony said firmly. “You can keep studying for your PhD, and get a job after that. I’ll stay home with the pup.”

Peter finally looked up at him. “You’d be willing to do that? I know it’s not - traditional, for the Alpha to be the one at home.”

“Fuck traditional,” Tony declared. “That’s our whole motto, honey. We don’t have to be traditional. And frankly, being there for my pup is a lot more important to me than what others will think of it.”

Peter beamed and threw himself onto Tony, who caught him and stumbled back a few steps from the force.

They quickly learned that pregnancy was not fun. At all. Peter spent most of the days of his first trimester alternating between clutching a trash can and a toilet seat, heaving up the contents of his stomach. Tony was always by his side, smoothing his hair away from his sweaty forehead and making him meals he could tolerate.

The second trimester was a lot more enjoyable. Peter’s stomach had settled down, for the most part, and started forming into a baby bump. He and Tony had completely opposite reactions to that.

“I’m so fat now,” Peter wailed into his pillow. “My body is ruined. I’m going to look distorted forever.”

Tony was patient with him, though, hiding his own glee until Peter was in a better mood. He thought that pregnancy looked amazing on Peter; he was practically glowing with it.

“You’ll be back in shape in no time, honey,” Tony assured him. “You’re still gorgeous as ever.”

Even more exciting than watching the baby bump grow was finding out the sex of their pup. Peter held Tony’s hand as they waited, shivering at the cool gel slathered on his abdomen. Slower than the couple would’ve liked, the doctor turned the screen to them.

They were having a boy.

Both Tony and Peter cried that day. They invited their friends over to the penthouse and threw a small party, accepting all of the gifts their friends brought with big smiles.

The third trimester, and thus the birth of their pup, arrived a lot faster than they expected. Tony had been at a meeting when Peter’s water broke, the latter of whom was in too much pain to drive himself to the hospital, and hobbled over to the bathtub instead.

“Boss,” FRIDAY interrupted the shareholder speaking unapologetically, “Peter’s water broke and he is now in labor.”

Tony’s face paled in less than two seconds, and he was out of the meeting room in less than one. He instructed FRIDAY to call the doctor and raced into the elevator, urging his AI to take him up to the penthouse faster than was allowed.

He found Peter curled up in the tub with a pained expression, whimpering in between each contraction as it came and went. He crouched next to him and offered him his hand, grimacing at the strength with which he gripped it.

The doctor joined them twenty minutes later with a nurse at her heels, ushering Tony to the side to crouch in between Peter’s open legs.

Tony knew that Peter would pull through. His mate was strong, with a will that matched his own. That didn’t stop him from wincing at every cry that tumbled out of Peter’s lips, or wishing privately that he’d never gotten him pregnant, because that way he wouldn’t be in pain.

Six hours after Peter went into labor, his groans were silenced by the loud cry of his newborn, who had finally come out. He was dirty, looking more like an organ than a human being, but Tony didn’t get to look at him for very long. The nurse whisked the child away while the doctor finished up with Peter.

Tony stayed with Peter, running his fingers gently through his damp curls. “You did it, baby. I’m so proud of you. You did it.”

The nurse returned soon after, the baby now clean and looking considerably more like a human. The baby was handed to Peter, who held him with shaky arms and watched him breathe through bleary eyes.

“Skin on skin contact is important,” the nurse told them, draping a blanket over Peter’s naked chest and the baby.

They moved Peter to the master bedroom, which was where he would spend his recovery. The baby would be there, too, resting in an incubator once he was taken away from Peter.

“What do you want to name him?” Tony wondered, laying on the bed with Peter. He’d insisted on having the incubator placed on his side of the room, so that he could watch over both of the people that owned his heart. Peter hadn’t minded, had just smiled at Tony fondly and nodded.

Tony was glad. If he looked to the left, he saw the love of his life, relaxing after giving birth to the baby boy on Tony’s right. He wanted to keep them close forever.

“Benjamin Anthony Stark,” Peter told him. “After the most important men in my life.”

Tony swallowed harshly. He’d never imagined naming his child after himself, or having someone else want to do so. He didn’t think there was much to live up to. Peter clearly didn’t agree with that, and there was his proof.

“Ben,” Tony whispered to himself, gazing at their little boy.

It sounded perfect.

[sevenkittensinatrenchcoat]

Headcanons: The Ages of Cats

After giving it some thought, I arranged the Cats in the 1998 Film from what I see as youngest to oldest. I’ll give their ages as “like a human at around X years old”, though I’ve tried to calculate it in years a cat might’ve actually lived as well.

I mostly wanted to write this to demonstrate how Cats shows every stage of life as a sort of theme:

Jemima: 12-13

I consider the Jellicle Ball to be a sort of PG-13 event that very young kittens usually don’t attend. They’d have difficulty staying up all night for it, even if they slept during the day. Even adult cats in their prime sleep a lot and kittens need even more sleep than adults do.

So, Jemima is just barely at the minimum age to attend. She’s not as far along in puberty as the other kittens, though she has the same crush on Tugger that the other girls do. It’s not quite as sexual, more about how cool he is.

Jemima contrasts with Grizabella by being the very youngest, a child with a full life ahead of her. She’s at the beginning of the cycle that Grizabella’s at the end of.

Etcetera, Pouncival, and Victoria: 16

These three all come from the same litter. They all have a bit more of a connection to Jellylorum than the other kittens do, so they’re her litter. They’re maturity varies, but they’re all hormonal teenagers, while also sometimes still acting like children. They’re also close enough to Jemima in age that she can fit in as one of their group.

Electra and Tumblebrutus: 17

I don’t know if they’re the same litter or not, but they’re a step ahead of the others. Electra and Etcetera are often seen together, as are Tumblebrutus and Pouncival, so they can be compared. In the female pair, Electra is quieter and more behaved than Etcetera, who is often a bit out of control. In the male pair, Tumblebrutus can talk Pouncival into doing stupid things (most of which involve bullying Grizabella). Electra and Tumblebrutus are still very much kittens, but they feel slightly older than some of the others.

Plato: 18

Out of all the kittens, he’s the only one whose kitten status is up for debate. I basically see him as being like a high school senior who’s already turned 18 while his classmates are still 17. Victoria is the junior whom he invited to the senior prom. They’re still both kids, but there’s a slight difference.

Mistoffelees, Mungojerrie, Rumpleteazer, George: Late teens or early 20s.

These four are all old enough to be considered adults, but they act like kittens half the time anyway. Your average college undergrad is only slightly more mature than your average high school senior. George isn’t very prominent, so I can’t say much about him, but, Mistoffelees is the sort of Barely Adult who really wants to prove that he’s an Adult™, while Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer weren’t ready to grow up when it happened and would rather just be kids.

Alonzo, Cassandra, Coricopat, Tantomile, Tugger: Mid to late 20s.

These five are a bit more established as adults, but they seem a little less mature than some of the other adults. Alonzo basically acts as Munkustrap’s apprentice, still looking for someone older to take the lead. Cassandra, as his love interest, I would assume to be his age. She is kind of immature in the way she treats Grizabella. Coricopat and Tantomile, despite their wise mystic status, when they’re doing anything other than being psychic, they’re a bit silly. Coricopat is on the same level as Mungojerrie when it comes to girls. When Munkustrap is hurt while fighting Macavity, Tantomile is the only adult nearby and she freezes up. Also, during Macavity’s number, she reacts to some of what’s said as if she doesn’t know who Macavity is.

As for Tugger, he’s an adult who’s still young enough to be the Obnoxious Little Brother of the tribe, but he demonstrates maturity when it’s needed. He knows How to Adult; he just usually doesn’t bother.

Bombalurina, Demeter, Macavity, Munkustrap: 30s

They’re just adults, neither young nor old. Bombalurina is a bit immature, enough to fit in with Tugger, but I hc her as Demeter’s sister, who’s closer in age to Munkustrap. She also knows more of what’s going on with Grizabella and Macavity than the five mentioned above.

We don’t see much of Macavity, so he’s hard to place, but I also try to put him at Demeter’s age. Munkustrap and Macavity are good and evil twins, basically.

These four are the youngest cats that might possibly have children.

Bustopher Jones and Jennyanydots: 40s

These two are mature cats, clearly on the older side of the cast, but Bustopher is, at least by his own standards, still in his prime and Jenny is very busy and active. They’re old enough that their age is starting to show a bit, and Bustopher’s obesity might shorten his lifespan, but it also might not.

Asparagus Jr. and Jellylorum: 50s

They seem more obviously middle-aged. Jelly’s most recent litter of kittens, which probably wasn’t her first, will probably be her last, though cats don’t have menopause, so who knows.

Honestly, I can’t figure out much about Asparagus, but he seems to be Jelly’s age.

Perhaps the casting of the 98 film is what makes me see Jellylorum as a bit older. I don’t know. But, she carries authority, enough to seem to be involved in Munkustrap and Old Deuteronomy’s conference to make the Jellicle Choice! She’s also reached the age where parents and adults that were adults when she was a child are beginning to get old and die off. She spends a lot of time with Gus, knowing that there isn’t much time left.

Skimbleshanks: Early to Mid 60s.

You might be wondering why I made him older than the other mature cats. Well, there’s something I noticed about Skimble that I haven’t seen anyone else point out: He’s retired.

The lyrics to his song are all in the past tense, talking about not just individual incidents, but the general routine of the train as being something of the past. He speaks of the railway in the same way that Gus speaks of the theatre, just with more energy. He’s young enough to still have that energy, but he’s not working anymore. He might’ve retired so he could spend more time with his family. The middle-aged cats, too old for physical labor but too young to be considered old, are the ones who raise the children. Perhaps that’s how Jellicle society works. “Working” cats who retire become homemakers and look after the kittens and seniors.

Grizabella: Late 60s or Early 70s.

Grizabella is old enough to be considered old, but she’s closer in age to Skimble than to Gus. She’s in worse physical conditions than Gus, because Gus is well taken care of and Grizabella has been living alone on the streets. She’s old enough to have lived a long life, but she’s also been prematurely aged by circumstance. Because of her health, she gets bumped ahead of Gus on the list for the Heaviside Layer.

Gus: 80s or 90s

Gus is old enough that he needs to be taken care of and shows signs of dementia. He’s had the chance to live a long, happy life, though. Hopefully, he’ll make it one more year to be the next Jellicle Choice.

Old Deuteronomy: So ancient that no one would dare to guess

He basically transcends the laws of age.

So, in conclusion, the cast shows us childhood, puberty, coming of age, taking on more responsibilities as an adult, aging, retirement, old age, and eventually death and rebirth.

[abbysfrenchbraid]

Because of personal experiences, can I get some headcanons or a scenario of Abby with a gf that gets tired really easily? Also I just wanna get this out there, I am really glad your blog exists

Thank you so much for your kind words, they really mean a lot. I hope this is similar to what you imagined 💌 (I hope you like poetry!)

about 2k words of fluff and a little angst at the beginning. content warnings for language, ableism.

“This is it, Y/N. I’ve let this behavior slide too many times.”

Your heart dropped and your breath caught in your throat. Trying to fight back tears, you forced yourself to answer.

“I’m so sorry James, I can’t help it. My body just can’t work for hours without break, I’ve tried everything.”

You threw a soapy towel back into the washtub and took a step towards your supervisor.

“Please don’t throw me out, I don’t know where else I could do my part!”

“Well, you certainly aren’t doing your part here.”

He was speaking the truth; he had caught you way too often, crouching in the corner with your head between your knees or sitting on the floor against the wall half asleep. You couldn’t help it; this was your third job at the stadium and every time you had managed to get yourself fired. It had nothing to do with the laziness your previous bosses had accused you of or with simply not wanting to work. Your body just seemed to work against you.

After more than an hour of standing, there was no way for you to stay standing up and working at the washing station now, the hard bodily labor was just too much for you. You constantly felt like you were going to faint, no matter how much you ate, drank and slept. As soon as you were unsupervised, you’d have to sit down or take a break because you couldn’t hold yourself upright anymore. It was becoming harder and harder to find acceptance from others and a place where you could work and contribute to the WLF while also taking care of yourself.

James rubbed the back of his shaved head and sighed.

“I’m sorry, I seriously don’t see how this is doing any of us any good. You should report in with task management tomorrow and see if they can give you a less physically straining job. I’m not sure how I feel about your little dizzy spells or whatever, but if you’re actually not fit enough for work, you should find something else.”

The rage that started boiling in your stomach sent hot tears down your cheeks. This wasn’t fair. You loosened the ties on your apron and tossed it on a table, then you left without another word.

The only person who didn’t constantly batter and scold you was Abby. She had met you in a stairway, sitting on the steps and leaning your head against the cold railing to stay conscious. The blonde had practically sprinted up the stairs toward you and asked if everything was okay; after you had explained, she had nodded and offered you her arm on your way back to your room. From that day on, she had checked in almost every day, bringing you snacks at work or dinner from the cafeteria when you were too exhausted to go yourself. She had believed you without hesitation and made it her purpose to help you out wherever she could.

Ignoring the surprised faces of the people you walked past, you stormed to your room. You were lucky to live alone, even though it was just a shoebox of a room. You had a bed, a locker, and a tiny window that you ripped open before throwing yourself on your bed.

You hated having to rely on others for support and you had spent the last year mostly on your own, hiding your condition and isolating yourself from others so they wouldn’t notice and judge you, even though the story of you falling asleep and taking too many unauthorized breaks at work had already made its rounds.

With Abby it was different. You knew she never wanted anything in return, she just liked to spend time with you and knew what it was like to be the odd one out, the one everyone had already heard about. In return, you liked to give her little drawings of her and her friends, short comic strips and poems you wrote when you had some time to yourself. She loved sitting on your couch and listening to you talk about poetry; although she was a big reader she had never really gotten into that genre.

She had gained your trust in no time and was the first person you really told everything that went on in your head. Well, almost. You hadn’t dared to tell her about how her presence made you feel like you were flying, how your heart sometimes started racing when she looked at you and how all you wanted sometimes was to fall asleep in her arms after a long day.

Your pillow was wet with tears and your head was pounding from crying for too long. Great. You reached under your bed and felt around for the water bottle you had accidentally kicked under there earlier. As you gulped down the lukewarm water, you finally felt the knot in your throat release its grasp from your airways.

Exhausted, you turned over your pillow and pulled your blanket up. This day was fucked anyway, you might as well declare it complete and hope to wake up in a better mood tomorrow.

It was dark when you awoke, disturbed by a quiet squeaking noise and the beam of light shining through a crack in the door. A big figure was squeezing through the gap and softly closing the door again. The light from under the door was just enough to see Abby tiptoeing toward you.

You couldn’t help but smile and pushed yourself up onto your elbows. She immediately froze in her tracks.

“Fuck, did I wake you? I just wanted to check on you and bring you some dinner.”

You switched on the lamp next to your bed and soft light illuminated the room. Abby had a burrito in one hand and an apple in the other. She looked genuinely sorry.

“It’s okay, I’ve been sleeping for hours. I just had a terrible day, that’s all.”

She immediately sat down next to you, putting the food down on the bedside table and brushing a strand of hair out of your face with a worried smile.

“What happened? Are you hurt?”

Her sweet concern brought back those stupid tears and you were too distraught to fight them. You shook your head and cleared your throat.

“No, I just got kicked out of work. Again. I honestly don’t know what to do. Maybe admin will just throw me out completely tomorrow.”

Abby squeezed your hand.

“Bullshit. I’ll talk to them. Why are they making you work these stupid hard labor jobs anyway? They could put you somewhere you can use your head instead, you’re the smartest person I know!”

She gently brushed her calloused thumb over your cheek.

“These assholes are not worth a single one of your tears, Y/N. James can honestly go fuck himself.”

You snorted and Abby beamed at you, happy to have gotten through to you.

“Hey, how much have you eaten today?”

You thought for a second, then you answered: “Some oatmeal for breakfast? I left work before lunch and came straight here.”

The wolf sighed and shook her head. “You’re terrible at taking care of yourself, you know that?” She handed you the burrito. “Here, it’s still warm.”

The first bite was delightful and you let out a moan without thinking. Blood shot into your face immediately as both of you stared at each other for a second, then Abby broke out in laughter.

“See? You’re practically starved. I should have gotten you two of those.”

She suddenly straightened up.

“Oh, I completely forgot!” She pulled out a small paperback from her back pocket. “Manny gave me this. Some fling of his gave it to him and he doesn’t know shit about poetry and never will. He remembered you liked poems so he said to give this to you.”

“You told him about me?” you asked in astonishment.

“Of course I did, we’ve been hanging out every day for the past few weeks! Do you have any idea how amazing you are? How much you’ve taught me?”

With your mouth full, all you could do was smack her shoulder and give her a doubtful look.

She looked down at her hands, twisting her fingers into each other.

“I mean it, Y/N. I know you don’t think of yourself as very interesting or fun to be around, but you’ve made my life so much better just by spending time with me. Even if you’re always falling asleep on me,” she added and grinned.

You didn’t bother trying to be witty and grabbed the book instead. The title surprised you.

“Selected Poems by Sappho. Why the hell would that woman give this to Manny?”

Abby shot you a questioning look. “Why not?”

“Abby, Sappho is the OG lesbian. All her poems are just about yearning for the touch of a lady lover.”

“Oh.” Now it was the wolf’s turn to blush. “I had no idea.”

Sitting up, you turned so you could lean your back against the wall. You tapped on the bed right next to you.

“Come on, Abs. Let me tell you about Sappho, then.”

Hesitating only for a brief moment, Abby took off her boots and scooted closer to you.

You spent the next hour reading her poems and telling her stories about women and romance in Ancient Greece. The blonde listened attentively, asking a few questions here and there. After a while, you felt your eyelids growing heavier and your concentration dwindling, as much as you tried to keep it together.

Abby gently laid a hand on your knee.

“You tired, babe?”

Your head flew around and you stared at her; had you heard that right? Abby gave you a shy smile.

“I can try to read some of these to you until you fall asleep. Only if you want me to, of course.” She shook her head as if trying to get rid of a thought. “I should just go. You need to get some rest.”

Before she could get up, you had already placed your hand on her underarm.

“I’d like that. I’m sorry for just drifting off like that all the time, it’s got nothing to do with you.”

She cocked her head. “Don’t apologize for that. No one can just change the way they feel.”

You slid underneath the blanket and, following an impulse, rested your head on Abby’s thigh. You could feel the heat underneath the fabric and her muscles twitched involuntarily as the wolf took a deep breath and opened up the book again.

deathless aphrodite of the many colored throne,

daughter of zeus, weaver of spells, I entreat you.

do not with grief and anguish

tame my heart.

Drifting away into that wonderful state between waking and dreaming, you let the words of Sappho, spoken by the soft voice of your most trusted friend, the woman who took care of you and listened to you, the wolf that was tame only for you, sink in.

Do not with grief and anguish / tame my heart.

There were so many things in this world that made life harder and turned people bitter. You would not be one of them. You would not tame your heart. You would let it speak freely, you would let it burn for the woman cradling your head and protecting you from anything the world could throw at you. Tomorrow you would tell her. Tomorrow.

stars around the beautiful moon

hide back their luminous form

whenever all full she shines

on the earth

silvery

All your life, you had felt connected to the moon. Its unwavering beauty, its consistent waning away and returning in full shine, it had always assured you that no matter how bad things got, they would turn around for the better. It would be okay. You would be okay, more than okay with Abby by your side.

-

let me know what you thought (especially if you requested this!)

[yandere-daydreams]

What about for bnha (any character) a darling that's actually happy to be getting this overwhelming affection and 'protection' like their touchstarved or something?

I decided to go with Bakugo for this if only because he’s the only one I can think of that wouldn’t take full advantage of a willing Darling. It’s nice to give him something to work with every once in a while, too, when I’m not seeing how often I can get away with making him cry.

Title: Protector.

TW: Unhealthy Relationships, Stockholm Syndrome, and Implied Kidnapping. 

~

You’d never been much of a provider.

It was a preference, more than anything else. It wasn’t that you were inactive or unmotivated, you just liked to be… stable, for lack of a better term. Stability came with routine, with predictability, even if Katsuki didn’t seem like the type to shower you in either. There were too many factors, in a normal lifestyle. You couldn’t control how much rent would go up or how nice the people you spoke to would be, nor were you eager to try and do so on your own. You’d never had that kind of drive. Not like Katsuki did.

You weren’t made to survive on your own.

Your boyfriend was just the one to make that fact clear.

He was so much bigger than you. Usually, it was the cute, domestic height difference the media had fawned over back when you were still a new, shocking celebrity couple, but you could never seem to forget that you were the lesser half of a whole when he insisted on being this… close. It wasn’t really his fault. His eyes were still closed, a thin sheet draped lazily somewhere below his waist, but his body seemed to eclipse your own, an arm snaking around your midriff and keeping you pinned against his form as easily as a toddler would cling to a favored stuffed animal. Pale beams of sunlight shined through parted blinds, warming your skin wherever they made contact. You shifted towards the sensation, Katsuki’s bed wide enough to allow the slight change, but you stopped the moment you heard the mass behind you groan, pulling you closer in an effort to minimize the nonexistent space between you.

“One more hour,” He mumbled, his voice weighed down by sleep and exhaustion and all the things you were sure a strong, hard-working Hero was afflicted by. “It’s too early for… whatever you’re doing.”

You were silent, for a beat, not afraid to speak, but still hesitant to. Instead, you rolled over, resting your head in the space between his collarbone and his chin, more intent on making Katsuki think you were comfortable than anything else. It was nice to sleep next to someone, even if you had to remind yourself of that, occasionally. Nicer than that empty, freezing room you used to be stuck in, anyway. “You don’t have to work today,” You said, the statement as much of a declaration as a rebuttal. “We should do something, it feels like you haven’t been home in weeks.”

Another groan, this one labored and throaty, signaling Katsuki’s exaggerated discontent. With a single, muscular arm, you were pulled from your place at his side and deposited unceremoniously on his chest, left to straddle his stomach and glower as he settled onto his back, the man smirking as he scanned over your disheveled form. It was a lazy sort of affection, only made more potent as he cupped your cheek, pulling you into a kiss that was barely a kiss, his lips only just touching yours before you both devolved into tired laughter.

Katsuki was the first to speak, only a touch more awake than he had been a second or two ago. It was the most you could ask for, though. “Exactly. It’s my day off, so I get to say what we’re doing.” He paused, watching intently as you sat up. You almost thought about moving, but something about the hands currently resting on your hips gave you the feeling you wouldn’t get very far. “And I say we’re doing absolutely fucking nothing. I don’t want to hear, see, or deal with anyone outside these four walls, not until Deku calls me to cry about whatever he stubbed his toe on today.”

You pursed your lips, glad he wasn’t capable of giving you his full attention. Any expression so mildly opinionated would never escape his notice, anytime else. “I was really hoping we could go out--”

“You want to go outside?”

You realized your mistake as soon as the words left his lips. “No, that’s not what I--” You cut yourself off, taking a deep breath and straightening your back, attempting to seem professional, composed. As if asking for his permission was a courtesy, rather than an obligation. “I want to spend time with you, ‘suki, and I want to do it out there. I’m not trying to trick you or find a way out or--”

“Or run away?” With one hand, his nails dug into your skin, rooting you in place as he pushed himself up with the other, coming to tower over you with little more than a change of position. He glanced towards his sides, looking for a way to restrain you, but rope and cuffs and chains weren’t necessary. Not when his glare was enough to pin you down. “Because least time I trusted you, that’s what you did. You attacked me, then you ran.” You could hear him choke on the phrase, his voice hitching and emerging as a growl in an effort to compensate. “And now, you’re trying to do it again. I don’t know why I thought you’d gotten better.”

“I’m not.” It was a weak defense, but you didn’t have a better option. There was rarely a good way to defend yourself against someone as insistent as Katsuki. “I’m not like that, anymore. I’m not going to leave--”

At that, he scoffed, rolling his eyes in a way that told you he was past the point of listening. “Remember what happened when you tried to take care of yourself? Remember how long it took you to recover, and how desperate you were when you finally dragged yourself back home? How long did you last? A week, two of ‘em, at most. We’re just lucky you made it out of that alive.”

You hadn’t realized you were still holding onto him, not until you found yourself moving to clutch at your own shirt, kneading at the fabric like that would ease your nerves. “It was a mistake.”

“Got that right,” He agreed, the scowl pressed into his lips never wavering. “There’s nothing you can do out there. No one’s gonna step up and protect you, not like I do. You’re helpless without me. There’s no point in tryin’ to deny it, not after we both saw what’ll happen to you.”

He might’ve had more to say. He might’ve gone on until you were silent and shaking and he was still ranting about criminals and villains and all the things he seemed so convinced would end your life the moment you took a step without his help. You’d been gone for a month, you’d escaped for a month, but that didn’t make your eventual submission any less painful to recall, and it certainly didn’t stop the tears from gathering in the corners of your eyes, or muffle the scratchy, uneven sob that was clawing its way up your throat, demanding your acknowledgment before it surrendered.

Katsuki went quiet as you began to cry, but he was far from finished. Rather, his approach morphed into one of faux-sympathy and inescapable affection, his arms wrapping around your torso and dragging you towards him, smothering you in a strategy so uncharacteristic, you had to melt into it. Resisting wasn’t an option, when Katsuki chose to be patient. “It’s alright,” He muttered, his tone suddenly so soft, so tender. If anything, it only made you cry harder. “That’s why I’m here, yeah? I need to keep you safe, even when you’re too much of a dumbass to appreciate me. I have to keep you grounded.”

This time, you didn’t respond. You couldn’t. You were too busy burying your face in the crook of his neck and clinging to him and letting him cling to you, not daring to wonder why you’d been opposed to it, earlier.

He was right. Katsuki took care of you, protected you, and you couldn’t afford to consider the alternative. You didn’t want to consider the alternative.

It was easier to let him hold you than it was to think about why you shouldn’t want him to.

[a-student-out-of-time]

That's not up to you to decide, GROW UP

…Alright, maybe it’s true. Maybe a lot of dangerous stuff has happened these last few months, and we should’ve let you and the rest of her family know she’s alright.

But...Hiyoko has a right to choose what she wants to do with her life. Did you ask her if she wanted to come back here?

As I said, she’s a child, she has no idea what’s good for her. Just like her mother.

That doesn’t mean she doesn’t get to make her own choices. Besides, she’ll be 18 next year!

And am I not allowed to make a choice? What about my choice to protect the legacy and future of our clan when it’s clear nobody else in this family cares about that?

There was a time and place the people of this country had pride in who we were, we had strength, unity and a vision for our nation. And it seems like none of your generation cares about that.

No, you’d rather spend your days on useless games, comics and television. You have no drive, no vision for the future, no hope to call your own. You’re leading this country to its extinction and nobody has the sense to stop you.

If that’s your idea of what Japan should be, it’s no wonder people are leaving it behind, especially if you think it’s okay to uproot someone’s life against their will.

Yeah! Do you even know what it’s like for kids when you force them to do things against their will?!

It hurts them. Hurts them in ways you can’t even imagine. And if all you can say is “it’s for your own good,” that’s a load of crap. It’s about you and what you want, not what they want.

What I want is for you to learn your place, you little brat.

Your parents obviously didn’t discipline you enough to show respect to your elders.

...

Maybe that’s because discipline isn’t as important as love. Do NOT talk to Kotoko like that.

Love. Tch. As if a two-bit bastard child would know anything about-

You really think you have everything figured out, don’t you?

Yes, I’m a bastard child. So what? This isn’t the Sengoku Jidai anymore, it’s 2012! You think it’s wrong for people to care about illegitimate children?

I think it’s wrong that this country is moving further and further from the values that made it what it is in the first place.

Our traditions are what founded this country and our traditions are what have kept it alive through everything. But ever since they started letting these pushy, grabby, selfish foreigners in, we’ve lost sight of that. Our morals have gone to shit.

Now your generation has the audacity to claim you know better than your elders. There was a time when the youth acted properly.

Was that before or after they tried to conquer Asia? Or Unit-731? Or those generations of Koreans, Chinese, and Ainu they treated as sub-human? Or even those laborers that got labeled as “filthy?”

They had the privilege of knowing their place and staying in it. But no, they’re nothing but greedy, coming into our homes, wanting our women and money, eating our food, trying to push us real Japanese around.

That’s why I can’t stand this holiday. It’s bad enough I have to be reminded of those disgusting Ainu parasites living in-

Bite. Your tongue.

Kimika...I would’ve expected better from you.

Better by whose standards? Yours? I’ve tried to at least be tolerant of your behavior, but now...now I’m done pretending.

How dare you. How dare you not only treat your daughter and granddaughter like trash, but refuse to even acknowledge your son-in-law.

And how dare you keep up this disgusting victim-blaming attitude. The Ainu and Koreans have endured because of us. For someone who champions Japanese ideals, you certainly seem comfortable with these imperialist ideals we assimilated from the Europeans.

Oh, because you’re a teacher, you think you know better than me?

Yes, as a matter of fact, I do.

I know you haven’t been honest to Hiyoko about her own lineage. Were you just hoping that would never be brought up?

Huh?

If any of you say one about-

Hiyoko, did you know you’re Korean on your Dad’s side?

Whoopsie.

[alexhogh7137]

The Battle Between Love and Fire-

Ivar the Boneless × Reader

Chapter Forty-Six

Chapter Forty-Seven: "..what on earth are you doing here...?"

Word Count 2.8k

Warnings: none

A week has passed since Asta was born. Your week was hectic, painful and long but your daughter made it all a bit easier. Your people celebrated her birth with a huge feast that you attended to, of course. You remember thinking to yourself, 'now I can have some ale.' Ivar made it known that Asta was his child and everyone basked in his magnificence because he is indeed a cripple. Hvitserk bit his tongue and played along as you did the same. Ivar has his ways and it is easier to obey him than to argue and cause heartache. All you want is for Asta to be happy, that is of utmost importance. Today, you have to write to Daario Naharis. Time has slipped your mind and it has come to your attention that you have yet to write to him. 

Ivar "Would you like me to take her while you write?" You look up at him, "I don't mind." He offers a smile, "I do not think that you will be able to write a proper letter with her wiggling in your arms-" you two start to giggle. 

"Thank you. I won't be long." You hand her to him and he puts her on his hip. 

Ivar "Take your time, my sweet. I want to spend some quality time with her." You nod, "I love you."

"And I love you." He bends down and kisses your lips before crunching his way out of the chamber doors. You sigh and stretch your arms in the air, trying to ease the soreness from holding her for so long. But you long her so much, that when she is not in your arms, you feel as if something is missing. Nonetheless, you appreciate the help from your beloved while Hvitserk is out hunting with Ubbe. 

You pick up your writing instrument and began to write: 

To the Commander of Wessex,

I have to apologize for not writing to you sooner, but I have some wonderful news. I am now a mother to a healthy daughter. I shall return to Wessex when she is old enough to travel with me so that my people can meet her, as well as you Naharis. I wish to hear of all the things concerning my people and their wellbeing. I hope all is well, including yourself. I am doing alright, given my circumstances during my daughter's birth but I am indeed alright. Looking forward to your letter,

Y/n Lothbrok 

You stamp the letter and rise from your seat, to give this to your news carrier. 

"Thank you."

He bows, "My queen." You watch him get on his horse and ride off into the distance. You look up at your dragon's, feasting on their animals and of course, fighting over the biggest carcass. You chuckled to yourself but you get startled from your name being called.

"My queen!" You turn to face the woman. 

"Yes? Is something wrong?" 

"No, thank the gods." You nod, "I just wanted to personally ask you if you are alright?"

"Oh yes, I am quite well." 

"Are you certain, my queen?" She asked, "because you look quite exhausted.."

"Mm, the beginning stages of motherhood is not easy, madame-"

"Of course-"

"I am tired, but I am very happy."

"That is good to hear. I know of the things you went through..I only wish the best for you my queen."

"I appreciate your kind words, ma'am. Thank you."

"My pleasure. Would you like to come in?" You look where she points as she points toward her home in the village. 

"Oh thank you, but I must find Ivar. He is caring for Asta while I take care of some matters." 

"Oh, I see. Thank you for talking with me Y/n." 

You place your hand on her shoulder, "Any time. If you need me, you know where to find me." She nods and you two part ways. 

…

When you reach the throne room, you see Ivar chatting up a storm: boasting about Asta. At first, you get annoyed but then you overhear Ivar telling his people how proud he is to call her his own. Then your heart turned into mush. You make your way up to him and he notices you right away. 

Ivar "My love, there you are." You sit down beside him on your throne. 

"My queen, she is simply beautiful."

"Thank you. She is very-"

Ivar "Perfect. She isn't just beautiful, she is perfect. A real blessing from the gods." You smile and reach over and caress her rosy cheeks while she is still in his arms. 

"I would have to agree. I am surprised that she is here." Ivar looks up at the man from looking down at Asta and makes direct eye contact. 

Ivar "What did you just say?" The man gulps. 

"I said that I was surprised that Asta is here..it is a real miracle."

Ivar "Are you referring to Y/n?"

"She...she went through a lot, my king. Many of us doubted that she wou-"

"I suggest you bite your tongue.." the man looks at you and takes a step back. 

Ivar "Sweetheart, can you hold Asta for a moment?" You do not answer, only quickly grabbing her from his arms before he loses control. Ivar gets off of his throne and walks towards the man who was suggesting that you were weak. 

Ivar "What is it? Huh..what were you all doubting?" The man did not respond out of fear. Ivar took out his dagger and grabbed the man by his throat, "What were you all doubting?"

"We did not think that she would be strong enough to deliver! Many women parish during child birth..we were expecting it." You knew that was a fact. But to hear your people think that you were too weak to survive, saddened you. 

Ivar points the blade towards the man's eye, "How dare you, huh?! How dare you question my wife?"

"We were wrong, she was strong-"

Ivar "That should never be questioned, she is your queen!" The man nods, "Look at her," the man looks at you, "that woman right there, is stronger than any woman that you could ever meet. Do not ever question her strength."

"Ivar, just let him go-"

Ubbe "What is going on in here, aye?!" Hvitserk and Ubbe come into the building from a successful hunt.

"Just having a discussion, Ubbe."

"I shouldn't have said anything-"

Hvitserk "You said what?"

"I told the Ivar.. that Asta is a miracle child."

Hvitserk "She is-"

Ivar "He said that he amongst others have doubted Y/n's ability to have her." Hvitserk's jaw clenches immediately. 

Hvitserk "Is that so?" The man does not respond. "Well she proved you all wrong, did she not?" 

"Yes, yes of course! My queen, you have my full respect."

"If you'll excuse me." You walk out of the room and into your daughter's nursery. You place her down into her bassinet. She coos and reaches for you, so you lean down and kiss her entire face. 

"My sweet Asta, sleep now." You watch her close her beautiful eyes and fall into a light slumber. You sigh when it is silent in the room. Reflecting on your life, who you are and what you have become as a person, as a woman. In everyone else's eyes, you have achieved it all: you've won battles, you overthrown your father and took back your kingdom, you are married and now have a daughter. To you, you feel lucky and blessed but at the same time, you feel lost. If Ivar's people loved and respected you like they should, then you would feel wanted here in Kattegat. But today, that feeling is nonexistent. 

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

Wessex England a day later..

Daario has been working nonstop: making absolute sure that the people of Wessex are safe, fed and doing their duties. Helga has been working as well, and keeping Daario company. 

Daario "Helga.."

Helga "Yes?"

Daario "Have you heard any news from Y/n?" 

Helga sighs, "I'm afraid not." He hangs his head, "I am sure that she is fine, Naharis."

Daario "She didn't look good Helga. You saw her when she left."

Helga "She was in labor, Daario. It is very painful-"

Daario "I know that. But she fell-"

Helga "What? Why was I not informed of this-"

Daario "It slipped my mind. All I cared about was her, not informing her people." She nods, "But yes, she fell. Not too long before she went into active labor-"

Helga "Well that makes sense now. If something happens to the mother when she is that far along during her pregnancy, that can cause the child to come quicker. Much quicker."

Daario "I just hope that she is alright. She has gone through too much Helga, she can't be gone now. She can't be." Helga takes a rapid and deep breath, "She fought too long and too hard to lose her battle now. Especially right when her life got brighter with this miracle child." 

Helga "I don't think that she is gone. If she was, I would be able to tell."

Daario looks up at her glaring at the floor, "What? How?"

Helga "She is like a daughter to me Daario. If she was gone, I would just know." He sighs and looks back down to the floor. 

Daario "Helga, could you leave me for a moment? I would like to pray in peace please." He says standing up. 

Helga "Of course sir." She walks out of the door, closing it behind her. He wipes a stray tear that has fallen on to his cheek from the sense of fear of losing you. So he gets down on his knees, in front of a cross that he has hung up on his wall in his chambers and prays.

Daario "Please Lord, be with Y/n. I have not heard from her in days, and I cannot stop worrying, my Lord. Be with her and keep her strong. If her child is in this world, keep her safe and strong as well, my Lord. Be with them all, keep them safe and...alive. In Jesus's name I pray, amen." As he stood up, he got a knock on his door. 

Daario sighs, "Yes?"

"A letter, sir." He rushes over to the man and grabs the letter from his hands. He breathes out loudly when he sees your name on the envelope. 

Daario "Thank you, you may go." Once the man leaves, he looks up and whispers, "well that was fast."

After he read your letter, he wanted to travel to Kattegat to see you and the baby. He did not know how he would be able to do so, but he did not quite care about anything else but you and the child. So he left Helga in charge and set off to Kattegat.

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

It is now nightfall in Kattegat and things are happy as can be. Hvitserk has been spending quality time with Asta all day and Ivar has been spending quality time with you. Ubbe and Torvi have been spoiling Asta and she's only a few days old. It has been joyus to say the least. 

Ivar "How is she doing huh?" He asks his brother once he sits down next to him. 

Hvitserk "Y/n or Asta?"

Ivar "Asta, of course."

Hvitserk "She's perfect."

Ivar "Yes, she is." He looks at you holding her while talking to Torvi. "They both are true perfection."

Hvitserk "Yes they are. And yet we are the lucky one aye?" He says, nudging Ivar. 

Ivar chuckles but it soon fades when he hears the gates to his kingdom opening. 

Ivar "Did you just hear-"

Hvitserk "The gates? Yes, I did." 

Ivar "We are not expecting anyone.." You see the double doors opening and your grip on your daughter tightens. You did not expect to see the man come through the door that did. 

Daario "King Ivar-"

"Naharis?!" His eyes met yours and his expression turned to pure joy. He sees the beautiful daughter in your arm's. 

Daario "Y/n!"

"What on earth are you doing here?! My kingdom-"

Daario "Is in good hands."

"Who's hands?!"

Daario "Helga's."

"An old woman." You look at Ivar in complete disbelief. Ivar's eyebrows scrunch down to his eyes and his mouth is closed tightly. "So you are telling me, that you left my kingdom, which is filled with women..in an old woman's care?"

Daario "I had to see you."

"I told you when I left, that I would come to you. I left you in charge of my people for a reason. I did not want you to leave Wessex!"

Daario "I'm sorry, I-"

"Torvi, give her to Hvitserk please." She takes Asta from your arms and walks Asta to Hvitserk and you slap Daario in the mouth. Ivar immediately tenses every muscle in his body. 

"How dare you defy me!"

Daario "I did no such thing."

"You left my kingdom, when I told you not to! You are in charge because you are capable, Helga is in no way capable of keeping my people safe."

Daario "I just had to see you. I was worried about you." 

"I appreciate your concern Naharis, but I sent you a letter."

Daario "I wanted to meet her.." you realize that fighting with him is no use. You can't do anything about his actions now. All you can do is pray to the gods that nothing bad happens. 

"Fine, come with me." You walk towards Ivar and Hvitserk, who are sitting next to each other. "Her name is Asta."

Daario "Wow..she is beautiful."

"Thank you."

Daario "May I hold her?"

Ivar "I don't think so." 

Daario "Why not?"

Ivar "Because I said no, so the answer is no. You came here..into my kingdom, unannounced, at night, and thinking that you can hold my daughter?" Daario takes a step back, "I don't think that you are in the position to do so."

Daario "I shouldn't have come here."

Ivar "No, you shouldn't have. But nonetheless, you are here..hmm?" He nods, "And you came all this way to..what exactly?"

Daario "Check on Y/n, make sure that she was safe, and okay after having Asta."

Ivar "You came here to make sure that she was safe..in her own home? Did I hear that correctly, Hvitserk?"

Hvitserk "You did, my brother."

Ivar "mm."

Daario "She is my queen and I was worried about her. She did not look very well when she left, and she wrote in her letter that there were complications during Asta's..arrival and I came here to make sure that she was indeed alright."

"I understand your worry, but I wrote to you that I was okay. You did not have to come."

Daario "No one has to do anything Y/n. It's what feels right in their hearts is what they end up doin-"

Ubbe "You have got to be joking, aye?" He said coming inside from checking on the village. "What are you doing here?!"

Daario "I came to check on her."

Ubbe "Y/n or Asta?"

Daario "Both, I suppose."

Ubbe "Y/n wrote to you, no?" He said, taking a bite of food. 

Daario "Yes but I wanted to meet her daughter." 

Ivar "Why did you want to meet her so badly, huh?" He said, getting up from his seat and walking towards him. "It couldn't wait until she got back to Wessex?"

Daario "I acted too quickly. I should go."

"You can stay the night here, but must leave by morning. Wessex is unsafe while you are here. I cannot allow you to stay longer than the night."

Daario "I accept that. And I appreciate that. I am sorry for coming."

"I am not mad at you, I am upset about the fact that at any given moment, I can lose my kingdom and my people. I fought too long and too hard to lose it now."

Ivar "You won't, my sweet."

"Well, if I do, you will lose your life..are we clear?"

Daario "Yes, my queen."

"Good, my maiden will find you a room." He thanks you and walks off. You sit down on Ivar's lap and sighed, "Well, we were having a peaceful day."

Ivar "We still are-"

"No we are not."

Ivar "Think of it this way, if anything were to happen, we can use his body as a sacrifice to the gods huh?!" He says in a high pitched voice to add drama, making you laugh. 

"But I would lose it all, and my people."

Ivar "I think that you are forgetting that these are your people, my love. Everything I have is yours."

"I love you."

Ivar "I love you most."

@hvitserkmarcosource @youbloodymadgenius @ivarsgoddess @heavenly1927 @saldelys @krissydclayton93 @conaionaru

[onyourzeus]

• in the mood for love | pjh

ykcyj ➝ arskyh

title: in the mood for love pairing: park jaehyung (jae of day6) & you genre: FLUFF words: 2.6k

author’s note: requested by this anon asking for a valentine’s day headcanon for our #1 twitch streamer, jae. i’ve never done headcanons before, so i kind of spun this in both ways: how i think he’d spend a special day with his s/o, and turn it into a fic(ish?) ngl these are fun to do

any requests? check my pinned post if i’m accepting any at the moment, thanks!

jae wouldn’t be the biggest fan of valentine’s day

as in, having one specific day assigned throughout the whole year

for you to hail gifts and love notes and roses and chocolates to the one person you love 

yeah, he’d definitely be the “complaining” type, that is to say

before he met you 

your relationship stands in the middle of being frenemies and actually romantically involved

there is never a day that jae corrects you on some weird unheard of factoid 

(in which case he gets it wrong 95% of the time) 

nor can you get away from his ridiculous antics that just tip you over the edge slightly 

like, putting your favorite snack on the highest shelf he knows you can’t reach 

or bombarding you with memes through texts while he’s in the bathroom

forcing you to play phasmaphobia, promising he won’t lock you in the room with the ghost 

and proceeds to do exactly that plus runs away without you

where’s the team effort in that? 

anyway, that’s basically the gist of your life having him as your boyfriend

so for valentine’s day, you know it would either just be 

a chill day at his apartment, maybe play games that would resort to turning into a fiery competition

or watch the latest release of your favorite animes while he talks over every two minutes about a theory he developed prior 

OR… hmm, well, you’re not really sure

this would be the first valentine’s you’d spend with him; and you’re very much aware for his

lack of fondness for the holiday

the days leading up to it, the only thing you’d hear from him is complaints upon complaints of this capitalistic expenditure that should be abolished

you know he jests, but you feel a little saddened

you spent so much time making a scrapbook for the memories you both shared in the few months you’ve been together

it’s not a lot, you rarely do intricate craftwork like this, but you were feeling sentimental 

there’s polaroids of him streaming on twitch with you sneakily taking the picture from the side

a polaroid of the two of you at your apartment eating take out while drinking a little alc

even a picture of yourself which he took when you were knocked out on the couch, waiting for him to finish band practice

for an added touch, you wrote down cute (or snarky, it depends on how he views it) comments on each polaroid, just to make it more personalized

the nervousness hits you, what if he thinks this is all too much? too clingy? he didn’t ask for this, that’s for sure

but it was made with the labor of love, and it just so happens that the 14th was the day you started dating him… yeah, maybe you can make that as an excuse instead 

usually, the both for you don’t really celebrate ~*~monthsaries~*~ and that’s okay

he’s busy with work and you have other duties to attend to as well— but one special gift shouldn’t be the cause of a problem, right? 

on the day of ~*~love~*~, jae had some meetings at the company bldg. and so you ask if there’s a time during the night you guys can hang out

he doesn’t respond until a few hours later, and the whole time your heart sank deeper and deeper into the pit of your stomach

you just have to accept him for who he is, you sigh, or maybe he’s just caught up with band stuff, which is usually the case— and you’re never not 100% supportive

he texts you that you can come over at his apartment, and for a little your excitement bounces back 

“sorry for the late reply, the boys were here for a lil” he adds, and you’re confused— did that mean they’re still hanging out at his place? oh

you try not to think of it too much, having expectations beyond reality is what breaks a lot of relationships

and you have to remind yourself: jae isn’t like that, and you like jae for jae

you still bring the scrapbook with you, and ought to leave it under his bed or something so he finds a surprise later on (considering the possibility that you’re accompanied by 4 of his best friends during your 6 month anniversary and valentine’s day)

you arrive at his doorstep, anxiety soaring out of your chest for some reason. with the spare key he had entrusted you with, you open the door

it’s dark

way too dark

is this a prank? is he trying to conflate halloween with valentine’s day 

“jae i swear to god if—” 

and the lights turn on, but it’s not his house lights. they’re fairy lights. all strewn across the hall (where did he get that?)

little heart cut outs of different shades of red and pink seem to be taped all over the walls 

you hear soft piano music humming from his speakers in the living room 

but there is no jae in sight

“jae, what…” you’re at a loss for words

he pops out of his bedroom, trying hard not to grin so widely at you

“you called?” he says in the most annoying, teasing voice in which you can’t help but laugh-cry at 

“wait wait wait this wasn’t the reaction i was going for” he says in panic, walking towards you and the sight of him just makes you cry a little harder

he’s wearing a tux inside his own house, and he’s holding a rose that’s bound to be crushed the moment he comes over to hug you

“wait, no the rose,” you say in between sniffles, taking it from his grasp and settling it on the coffee table

jae pauses, looks at you in a daze

you’re pouting, and you want to admire his outfit but also punch his silly face but he’s smiling at you and you’re embarrassed

“are you sad?” he asks a matter of factly, arms still spread open waiting for your approval for him to embrace you

“if you don’t hug me in the next three second i will be—” 

“i would be the worst person to ever exist in the world to do that to you,” he says in your ear, and you soon feel yourself melting into his embrace

he’s so warm

and so tall

and so confusing you kind of just want to poke him where it hurts 

but you indulge in the comfort of his presence

until you realize that you’re wrinkling his precious suit

“ok hol up” you interrupt the adorable moment, and jae seems to look confused 

“wha” 

“what’s all this?” you finally get the courage to ask, dried up tears on your cheeks yet a hopeful spark igniting in your chest 

“well, i uh,” this is ultimate Jae Trying to Find Excuses with Futile Attempts To Do So 101 

“did you really have a meeting today?” no answer

“did the boys help you with all this?” your head turns to look at all the cheesy decorations in the room

still no answer

just jae avoiding your suspicious stare, even whistling comically 

“jae!” your nervousness from a while ago comes out as relief, and bubbling laughter as you playfully shake him for an answer “i thought valentine’s suck and we’re too good for that”

“you’re never too good for anything, well. except for me, you’re too good for me,” he finally lets up, wiping whats left of the moist tears on your face with a soft caress. his voice was soft, too, and it’s a refreshing and wanted feeling to hear him speak to you this way 

“i know i can be a jerk about those kinds of things but… after meeting you, i think you deserve just the best,” he continues, finding your hand and holding onto it tight. “this isn’t even half of it” 

“there’s more?” you quip, already satisfied with the cutesy re-decor of his apartment, but once he leads you to the island counter you see two plates filled with dinner food, and wine glasses ready to be poured with what seems to be red wine on the side

the vase in the middle was empty, and  so you accept the rose that jae had picked up from the table, and carefully place it in its new home

“i’m… impressed. you did this?” you say

“if i said yes would you believe me”

“never,” you reply, knowing that younghyun probably had a little helping hand in here too

“well there you go, you know me better than myself already,” jae winks, and something flutters within you that causes your head to feel so light and just. focus on jae

pulling out the chair, he signals for you sit down with a royal gesture “before you, milady”

you’re laughing now, smiling from ear to ear at how ridiculous jae sounds but at the same time the two of you are having so much fun

you fall back into normal conversations with more banter than regular small talk; it’s so easy to be yourself with him 

you keep admiring the suit he’s wearing, even his hair is slicked back with gel to cast the perfect valentine’s day look. you compliment him in between bites, and then mutter under your breath that you should have worn something just as elegant

“this wasn’t my idea,” he defends, and you’re sure one of the boys dared him to do it

“still, i don’t look the part as your date,” you half-joke, but your tone sounded sadder than you anticipated

“this,” jae says, looking at you and only you. for a moment you can’t find your breath

“you. this is you. and that’s who i love”

you’re smitten. that’s it pack up your bags this is it

“jae maybe ease up on the red wine?”

“shutup youknowyouloveit” 

finally, you finish up the meal and you’re full

of food and love 

he tells you to just chill by the couch as he gets something from his room, and you wonder what else he has up his sleeve

you’re grateful for bringing the polaroid camera with you to commemorate something so rare 

but as you’re trying to take it out of your bag, you see the scrapbook (it’s hard to miss) and pull that out instead

should you give it to him now? or later? 

while you contemplate on this, flipping the pages of the book jae has sprung up behind you

“hey i was looking for that picture of you all sleepy and drooling” 

“JAE WHAT THE HELL”

you jump from surprise, almost flailing the scrapbook in the process as you see jae laughing his ass off from behind

you notice he has his guitar with him now (???)

“did you do this for me?” he sits next to you, setting the guitar on the side as you begrudgingly give him your gift. all of a sudden the unknown fear creeps up again and you hide your face in your hands

you hear him turn the page, a quiet pause, maybe a chuckle or two, and rinse repeat

“are you done????” 

“no give me about ten hours”

“WHAT”

“i’m kidding, dude, this is amazing” 

give it to jae to call you dude while in a relationship with you

but that’s when you know he’s genuine with his words

“i wasn’t expecting anything like this at all. this is so so so good, i love it. a lot,” he keeps complimenting you and it’s so hard to look at him when you’re red in the face and heart beating a mile a minute 

“it’s nothing… i thought it’d feel too much since we haven’t been together long,” you confess, finally giving into seeing what jae looks like

he pout 

he attac you with a flick on the forehead

and a pat on top of your head

“i don’t see it that way,” he says, sincerely. then he brings his guitar on his lap, and prepares his form as if he’s… about to sing something

the music from the speakers was soft enough to not disrupt his singing and guitar skills

you are one if not the biggest fan of jae and his band

and also, of eaJ 

so you are very well aware of every song he’s put out there even winning five times in a self-induced contest as to who knows the lyrics better: the actual band member or the significant other

but what he’s singing for you right now

what those fingers plucking romantic melodies on the guitar strings

you haven’t heard of it before

and yet your heart feels so connected, so in awe of the way jae passionately sings in front of you

the man is shy okay, he’s a genius in his craft but when it comes to doing it in front of you he clamps up like a toddler on his first day alone in school

but right now, you don’t see any of that. you see jae singing words of happiness, admiration, love

for you

and he might not be meeting your eyes right now, it’s okay, cause you’re crying again anyway 

you don’t want him to stop

you close your eyes and feel his words embed themselves in your mind

you want to keep this memory close to you, even if you can’t take a picture 

it’ll ruin how special this moment is, really

it was short, sweet, but you’re not complaining

he finishes with a soft strum, and then finally sees your face in tears again

“i’m a bad boyfriend aren’t i,” he whines and he is met with the forceful (hint: soft) punches on his chest

“you’re literally the best bf ever wtf are u on about” 

face wet, cheeks red, neck feeling warm from the wine

you’re a mess it’s as if you got dumped on valentine’s instead of serenaded by the love of your life

“why do you look like you got broken up on valentine’s instead of being—”

“yes jae i know” 

“did you like it though? it’s unfinished but, i figured i wanted you to be the first to hear it”

“since...well.. it’s a song about you” 

:( he wipes the tears with his thumb, and you steal a quick kiss on his lips 

“i love it, and i love you so much u dork” 

“i take it back you’ll never hear the finished version of this song”

“HEY” 

(spoiler alert: he now keeps bugging you for more supportive comments and suggestions on the song) 

(another spoiler alert: the night ended up the way you guys love spending time together: basking in each other’s company)

only this time, there’s poorly cut out hearts all over the walls 

and there’s jae drunkenly mistaking lyrics of his song for another

and you singing along off-tune

happy valentine’s you two :)

[aethelflaedladyofmercia]

One Hundred Days - Good Omens Fic

Another fic for @bingokisses - Part 1 fills the prompt “Back of the Head kiss/Knees Brushing under the Table.” For once, just some nice easy fluff, little bit of anxiety, and happy ending (in part 2). Also available on AO3!

Part 1: The First Fifty Days

The first night at the South Downs cottage, Aziraphale cooked dinner while Crowley finished setting things up on the upper floor. It had been ages since he’d cooked anything that wasn’t a pastry, but pasta was simple enough, and salad, and…well, rather more dinner rolls than two beings needed, but he’d had more time than expected.

They ate and talked for hours, neither quite believing that they had done it, that they were in their place. Their home. Sometimes, Aziraphale would hold Crowley’s eyes a little too long and need to look away, waiting for his heart to settle down again.

He kept glancing around, unable to shake the feeling that something was wrong. That they were exposed, that someone was watching, that something was about to happen, though he couldn’t say what. But no – only the long wooden table, the stone fireplace, the steps leading upstairs, dark carpet on pale wood.

He shivered anyway.

“Alright, Angel?”

Breathe, Aziraphale told himself and took another sip of wine. All night, his feet and his knees had brushed Crowley’s under the table. It was daring, and thrilling, and more than a little terrifying.

“Perfectly fine, Crowley.” The bread rolls had gone cool hours ago, but Aziraphale reached for one anyway, tugging at it with his fingers. “I was wondering what…what you…planned to do? Once we’re all unpacked and such?”

They should have discussed it more. Wasn’t that what humans did? Spend weeks and months talking about what sort of home they want, what sort of life, dreaming of what moving in together will be like. Making sure their dreams matched up, their expectations.

They didn’t buy cottages – in the middle of a forest, no less, half a mile from the nearest village – without considering questions of…of hobbies, and use of space and…and living arrangements. They certainly didn’t take such a step without…defining their relationships.

Three weeks. Six thousand years and then some of dancing around certain emotions, certain thoughts, and somehow Aziraphale had thought three weeks was enough time to plan such a drastic change?

“The garden.” Crowley nodded towards the window, but the sun had gone down and all either of them could see was his reflection. “Plenty needs to be cleared out. Maybe lay a new path. And the planting – not a lot of options for fall blooms, but some of the best spring flowers should be planted now.”

“Where would you start?”

Crowley tapped his fingers on the table. “Have to see what that garden shop in the village has. Tulip bulbs for certain, they need time to settle in before the cold. Daffodils or geraniums. Scilla, crocus, maybe fritillaria. Snowdrops, I think.”

“That all sounds…” Aziraphale glanced at the potted plants in the windows and the corners, the remnants of Crowley’s flat. All were tall, lush, and unvaryingly green. “Sounds very colourful.”

“Thinking of experimenting.” Crowley shrugged. “It’s a challenge. They need different soils, different amounts of sunlight, different watering schedules. And you always have to be thinking about the next season, and the next.”

“Seems like a great deal of work.”

“Only if the flowers try to be disobedient brats.” Crowley shifted his fork around his empty plate. “Might get some more trees, too. S’a good time to plant saplings.”

“Oh,” Aziraphale smiled just a little. “Apple trees?”

“Well…maybe,” Crowley grudgingly admitted, with that particular frown that was also a sort of smile. “Pears, too.”

“It would be nice to have some fresh fruit next fall.”

“Nah. Takes years for the trees to be ready, maybe a decade.”

“Ah.” Aziraphale glanced out the window now himself, trying to remember what the garden looked like. They really should have spent more time preparing, studying, learning the ins and outs of this cottage. A few days of feverishly sketched plans over bottles of wine. Hardly anything at all. “Well. I suppose I’ll be buying my fruit from the market, then. A few trees might be nice, eventually, though. If you’re willing to put in the work.”

“Nmmmh.” Crowley arched his back until it popped. “Speaking of hard manual labor, I think it’s bedtime.”

Aziraphale’s head whipped back around. “What? What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Crowley pushed to his feet, “I’ve been moving two-stone boxes of books all day and we’re not even half done. You want to order me around again tomorrow, I need some sleep first.”

“Oh!” Aziraphale’s stomach turned to ice. His eyes flicked to the stairs, remembering how he’d rushed down them to start on dinner that afternoon. “Oh, I – I – I, you know, I still have to – to clean all the dishes and – and pots and pans – there’s so much to do…”

The tall, dark form rounded the table quicker than he expected, and Aziraphale tensed – but Crowley merely stepped behind his chair and gently kissed the back of his head. “Take your time, Aziraphale.”

“I…” He shredded the bread roll in his hands. “I…think you…you’ll regret saying that.”

“Never. I mean it.” One more kiss, quick pressure on the back of his head. “Take all the time you need.” He squeezed Aziraphale’s shoulder. “Good night, Angel.”

The stairs creaked under his feet as he went up without another word.

On the second night, Aziraphale served mushroom risotto. It wasn’t the only thing he’d cooked that day – he’d been secluded in the kitchen since before Crowley rose, trying every challenging recipe he could think of. The bins were filled with burnt croissants and raw beef and a baked Alaska that had gone horribly wrong.

“You planning to cook that much every day?” was all Crowley asked, as they settled back in their seats after dinner. “You could probably feed the whole village with all that.”

“Oh.” Aziraphale glanced guiltily at the kitchen. “I suppose…I mean, it certainly fills the time, doesn’t it?”

Crowley tossed his head, the way he did when he was thinking, and his growing hair swirled around him in a red cloud. “I mean, yes, I suppose it does. But. Is that what you want? To fill time?”

“I’m not sure what else there is to do,” Aziraphale said. “Not much of a theater scene out here, no museums, no restaurants, no customers.”

“Do you miss the city?” He asked it a little too fast, and Aziraphale’s stomach clenched with even more guilt.

“No, dear, of course not. I just…well, I’ve been there so long…I’ve rather forgotten what there is to do out in the country. But I know I must keep myself busy.”

“Only if you like.” Crowley turned his plate. “We should be done with the big items tomorrow. I’ll be able to start the garden and…just, do whatever makes you happy, alright?”

They continued for hours. They seemed to have run out of the excitement of yesterday’s conversation, and now alternated between awkward chatter and pauses so long, Aziraphale feared they’d run out of things to talk about and would remain silent forever.

Finally, Crowley stood. “Better get some sleep,” he said, stretching.

“Oh! Is it – is it really that late?” Aziraphale glanced at the clock in a panic. “Oh, drat, there was, you know, so much more I meant to do today.” Crowley started walking around the table. “I – I – I mean, as you said, I wasted quite a good deal of food, a few miracles ought to put it all back into its original state and – and perhaps I can donate—”

Crowley paused behind his chair, and kissed the back of his head. Aziraphale closed his eyes, trying to memorise it, the feel of Crowley’s lips and breath stirring his hair. They hadn’t really decided if their new partnership would involve kissing, or hand holding, or…other things of that nature. They’d done a few anxious experiments, made rather more assumptions and…never really articulated anything.

But this…Aziraphale thought he might like this.

“Good night, Angel.” A quick shoulder squeeze, and Crowley headed up, stairs creaking under every step.

 On the fifth night, Aziraphale stopped making excuses. It was starting to feel silly, as Crowley never acknowledged them anyway. When Crowley rose from the table, he simply said, “Pleasant dreams, my dear.”

“Always.” A quick kiss to the back of the head. “Good night, Angel.”

 By the tenth night, nearly everything had been unpacked and put into some semblance of order.

They’d spent two hours rearranging Aziraphale’s armchairs, carrying them up and down the stairs as he decided which would go in the study, which in the living room. When Aziraphale was satisfied, Crowley had gone outside, leaving him to rearrange his books in peace.

Aziraphale soon discovered that, with the window open, he could hear the sound of footsteps in the garden, of spade into earth, of a grumbling, threatening lecture delivered to each sapling before it was lowered into its new permanent spot. It was a comfortable sort of background noise, and Aziraphale smiled as he worked.

There was a second door on the upper floor, across the hall from his study. Aziraphale did his best not to glance at it all throughout the day.

After supper, they moved into the sitting room, Crowley sprawling on the sofa, Aziraphale comfortable in his favorite armchair. They talked, glanced at each other, smiled. Crowley played with his mobile phone while Aziraphale flipped idly through a book.

“How was the village?” Aziraphale wondered, since Crowley had finally made it out to the plant shop.

“S’alright. They’ve got a bakery you’d like. And the market.”

“Mmmm.” They’d visited a thousand villages and towns together through the years, yet somehow the thought of walking together through this one in particular made Aziraphale feel cold.

“Whenever you’re ready.”

He wasn’t sure when that might be.

They sat in silence for a little while longer. At least Aziraphale no longer worried it would last forever.

When the demon abruptly stood up, Aziraphale’s fingers only twitched a little, curling around the pages of his book. “Well, that’s it for me tonight.”

“Of course.” He stared fixedly at the page. “Have a good rest.”

“I will.” A kiss on top of the head, almost absent in its familiarity. “Good night, Angel.”

 On the twenty-third night, Aziraphale waited for the Good night, Angel, then grabbed Crowley’s hand, a little too fast, perhaps. Studied it. Crowley had been in the garden all day, and the dirt was still there in the beds of his nails, his hair probably thick with sweat. Aziraphale rolled Crowley’s hand over, studying the lines, the shapes of his fingers, the length of his palm.

Finally, he gave it a squeeze. “Good night, Crowley.”

Perhaps there was something more he should do. Kiss the knuckles. Brush them against his cheek. Something.

But it all seemed so…much.

Every night, then, he simply gave Crowley’s hand a squeeze, and received a smile in return.

The thirty-second night, they returned to the cottage late. The weather had been just right for a walk through the woods, which had turned into a walk to the village, followed by dinner at the little restaurant, and ultimately Aziraphale trading recipes with the chef over a glass of wine.

Crowley had waited patiently, almost-smiling, and they’d finally started the walk back under the stars.

“Did you have fun?” Crowley asked, walking beside him, one hand in his pocket, the other dangling between them. “The walk? The village?”

“I suppose.” Aziraphale conceded. “I must try this squash au vin recipe soon. And it is…rather pleasant out here.”

“Yeah?”

Aziraphale was suddenly very aware of the forest, the brilliant stars, and his proximity to Crowley. “Hmmm. But I’d like to get back and finish reading, if you don’t mind. Rather a lot of lost...reading time.”

“Yeah.” Crowley tucked his loose hand into his pocket.

Aziraphale didn’t read, though, when they returned. He held a book on his lap as they sipped wine, talking about places they’d visited through the years. Then Crowley mentioned that time they’d run into each other at a performance by Mozart – one bottle of wine turned into three – and a great deal of reminiscing ensued.

When, more than a little after midnight, Crowley finally stood to head upstairs, he paused to give Aziraphale’s forehead a clumsy kiss. “Night, Angel.”

Aziraphale gave his hand an easy squeeze, and they smiled at each other without restraint. “Good night, dear.”

 On the forty-eighth night, Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and didn’t let go.

He wasn’t sure why. They had a rhythm now, a pattern, something sustainable.

Almost sustainable.

Aziraphale still never went upstairs after dark, still never looked at the door across from his study.

On some level, he knew what he needed to do.

They both waited, countless seconds, for the other to speak. But Aziraphale had lost his voice, and Crowley’s expression was as masked behind the glasses as it had been for many centuries.

The cottage was utterly silent, except for the ticking of the clock.

“Yes. Well.” Aziraphale swallowed. “Good night, dear.”

“Good night, Angel,” Crowley said for the second time, and Aziraphale finally relinquished his hand, heart racing.

But on the fiftieth night, fingers wrapped tightly around Crowley’s, on the fiftieth night, Aziraphale stood up, on the fiftieth night he let Crowley lead him up the stairs. He trailed slightly behind, hand clutching the bannister as they ascended, noticing how much heavier the creaks were under his own feet.

At the top of the stairs, Crowley turned right, away from the study, and pushed open the other door, the one Aziraphale could never quite bring himself to walk through, and—

The bedroom was just as they’d arranged it, fifty days before. Heavy red curtains, cream area rug over dark wood, bed in the center of one wall, an end table on either side.

The tartan pillow still lay at a skewed angle, exactly where Aziraphale had dropped it when the sudden panic took him, the sudden realisation of what they were doing, and it was all too much, too fast, and good lord, here he was again, what was he thinking?

Crowley led him to the left side of the bed, the side nearest the door, with black pillowcases and the down duvet slightly rumpled. Pulled his glasses off, and at the first sight of golden eyes, Aziraphale pulled back, eyes slamming shut, hand clenching, seizing up. Crowley snapped his fingers—

Then, for a long time, nothing happened.

Aziraphale finally, cautiously opened his eyes, to find Crowley in black pyjamas, watching him.

When Aziraphale nearly met his gaze, Crowley half-smiled, leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. “Good night, Angel.”

Crowley dropped his hand and climbed under the duvet.

But Aziraphale stood stock still. Now that he was here what was he supposed to do? Fifty days and nights, he should have had a plan but here he was, still just as afraid as the day they’d arrived.

Crowley’s voice, a little rough, with that curious burr in it: “S’alright, Aziraphale. Take your time.”

“But…But it’s already been…” He looked around the room, the one room they’d discussed all night in his bookshop, all the papers they needed to buy their cottage piled on the desk between them. The room they’d breathlessly planned, whispers escaping uncertain lips and bright red faces.

It certainly looked as though it had been planned by two drunken fools with no idea what to do with a cottage, the most atrociously mismatched combination of colours and styles.

But it was all here. The little shelf to hold his favorite books, the electric kettle for if he wanted tea in the night. The overstuffed rocking chairs by the largest window, overlooking the corner of the garden with the little duck pond. The planters lining the rest of the windows, filled with sweet-smelling herbs. The record player, Crowley’s awful music already organised in the stand below it while Aziraphale’s awaited him in a box nearby.

It was a jumble, a mess, it was everything that represented their life together.

And he wanted this life. He truly did. But it had all come too quickly, too suddenly, he wasn’t ready—

“Aziraphale.” Their eyes finally met. “Don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He hung his head, burning with shame. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t be.” He could feel Crowley watching him, but didn’t dare look up. “I…I mean, look. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”

After several more breaths, Aziraphale gathered his courage, stepped forward, and pulled the duvet up to Crowley’s chin. Bent down, lips hovering just shy of Crowley’s forehead, his breath stirring crimson strands. “Good night, dear.” His courage broke, and he fled the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

“Good night, Angel,” muffled but still as gentle as ever.

--

Part 2 to be posted on Wednesday. If you enjoyed, please drop a comment on AO3!

[itsadamcole]

all i want (for christmas)

fem!reader x roderick strong

it’s been four months since reader and roderick strong broke up. It’s been four months since they last talked, until they’re both invited to the same Christmas Eve party ... “all i want for christmas is for you and me to fix this”

word count: 3k+

warnings: angst, a little fluff, sad!reader, cheating accusations, mentions of cheating

— this is kinda based on liam payne’s “all i want (for christmas”. i love this christmas song so much —

masterlist || part 2 || request an imagine here

***

"Yeah, of course," you say, forcing a smile as you talk to Adam Cole. "I'll be there. I'm not going to let what happened get in the way of holiday celebrations."

Adam smiles, happy. "Yay," he says. "I'm sure the guys wouldn't mind see you there. It's been a very long time. Britt's even been saying how she misses hanging out with you and seeing you."

You give a little laugh and say, "Maybe I'll just steal her away from you for the night."

His smile fades and he jokes, "Don't you dare. I'd like to see my girlfriend at some point during the party."

"I'll think about it," you say. "See you in a few hours then."

Adam nods and walks off. The smile you've been managing to force drops immediately after he turns his back to you.

You would rather do anything else then attend a Christmas party that you know your ex-boyfriend will be attending. It's the Undisputed Era's annual Christmas party. They wear their green Undisputed Era sweaters and rent out a rental hall for the night from about seven until midnight the day before Christmas.

It's about three in the afternoon and there are four hours until the Christmas Eve party. You leave the Performance Center gym at four after you're done working out your anxiety about the party.

You head back to the house that you bought with said ex-boyfriend. You never found a place to move to after the breakup so you've been living here for the last four months.

After showering and blowdrying your Y/H/C colored hair, you curl your long locks and do your makeup. You do a dark red eye shadow with matching lipstick.

Once your hair and makeup are done, you walk to your closet. You look for anything that you could wear to a Christmas party. You find a dark red sequin dress.

The dress is short. ending about halfway down your thighs, with three-quarter sleeves. The sleeves cut off about halfway down your forearm, not quite reaching your wrists. The neck cuts right across your collarbone area, not showing a hint of cleavage. Usually, you'd wear something that shows off your chest but you decide against it tonight.

To complete the look, you put on a pair of dangly red diamond earrings and a silver bracelet. You wear a pair of dark red heels to match the sparkly dress.

As you finish getting ready, your phone begins to ring. You walk over to see that Kyle O'Reilly is calling. You sigh and answer the phone, saying, "Yes, Kyle. Relax. I'm about to leave to go to the party."

"Adam made me call," he says. "I told him to relax and that if you said that you would be there then you would. You're not one to back out on promises."

You close your eyes and sigh. Adam didn't make him call. You one-hundred percent knew that it was Roderick who made him call. You also knew that it was Roddy who made Adam ask you if you would come to the party.

"Tell Roderick that I'll be there," you say. "And don't tell me that it was actually Adam that made you call. I know it was Roddy."

Kyle stammers, "It definitely wasn't, uh, Roddy. He's, um, busy?"

You roll your eyes and say, "Sure. See you in a few, Kyle."

You hang up the phone and make sure you have everything you'll need. You take your car keys and leave the house.

The drive to the rental hall isn't that long. Well, it's close to forty five minutes that's not long enough to calm the anxiety you're feeling and the butterflies in your stomach.

It's been four months since you and Roddy broke up. You see each other at work all the time but something about an unprofessional atmosphere that is sending you into an anxiety attack as you drive.

Your hands are sweaty and your breathing is a little labored as your mind races. You have no idea what could happen tonight. You're terrified.

After you pull into a parking spot, you sit in the car watching several other wrestlers walk into the large building. It's close to seven before you get it together.

You form an objective as you click into the building. Find Britt Baker and don't leave her side.

Britt is your friend outside of WWE. You met her through Adam. You have several other friends that wrestle in AEW because of Britt introducing you since she wrestles for the brand. You hope that they're here too.

Christmas music blares from almost every direction of the room. You spot several pieces of mistletoe hanging on the ceiling as you look around at the decorations.

The boys definitely go all out but it's mostly Britt that makes them go all out. If it were up to the boys then there's be one tree and a few lights. But the room is full of decorations. A few trees are stationed throughout the room with bright bright lights. Gold garland is draped throughout the ceiling, almost hiding the green mistletoe.

The tables have red and green covers on them and each table has a little winter or Christmas themed figure in the middle.

"Ahh, Y/N!" you hear someone shout. You look to the left and see Britt Baker walking toward you with her arms out. She hugs you. "It's been too long, Y/N."

You smile and hug her back before you say, "It definitely has."

Britt pulls back and asks, "You holding up okay? I know how hard it must be to be here."

You nod and say, "I'm okay, I think. I'm just going to hope that I get through the night with no tears."

She smiles and says, "Well, you can stay by me. I was just hanging out over there with Reba and Brandi until I saw your cute ass walk through the door. That dress looks fabulous on you."

"Thank you," you say. "That dress looks good on you too."

Britt's wearing a strapless form-fitting red dress with a black belt around her waist. The top of the dress and the hem of the skirt is trimmed with white fluff. She's definitely dress as a more modern version of Mrs. Claus.

Your best friend smiles and says, "Thank you. Okay, lets go back to Reba and Brandi. We'll make sure you have fun tonight. No tears shall be shed while you're with us."

You laugh and walk over with Britt to Reba and Brandi Rhodes. Both Reba and Brandi both compliment your outfit. "It was a very last minute decision," you'd say when they compliment you, making both of them laugh.

As you're drinking and laughing with the girls, Adam walks over. He hugs his girlfriend from behind and kisses her cheek. "I hope that Y/N will let you come see me eventually," Adam says. "I'd like to spend some time with you."

Britt laughs and says, "Now now, Adam. She's having fun and that's our goal for tonight."

Adam nods and says, "It is." He looks at you as you take a sip of your egg nog. "He wants to see you at some point tonight, Y/N. He's sulking and staying away from you though. Please just go say hi to him and say thank you to him for inviting you."

You give a shaky sigh and glance around the room for your ex-boyfriend. You find him in a corner of the room as he talks to Kyle, Bobby, and one of the new girls that have started training at the Performance Center.

He's laughing at something the girl said and your heart wretches in your chest. "I think he's fine," you state. "And I think I'm gonna call it a night."

All the fun you were having for the past hour or so has washed away and now all you want to do is curl up on the couch with hot chocolate and watch Christmas movies on Netflix until you fall asleep. You don't want to be here anymore. No, you can't be here anymore.

As you start to get up, Adam says, "Y/N, I didn't mean to upset you."

You look at the leader of the Undisputed Era and say, "No, it's okay. I just promised myself no crying and if I stay then that's what's going to happen if I stay so I have to go."

Britt looks at you and says, "I'll come outside with you. Maybe I can convince you to stay."

The walls begin to close in on you and you shake your head. "No, that's okay," you say. "Enjoy the party."

You take once last glance at Roddy to see that he's looking at you before you start to walk toward door.

Your throat has closed up on you as you hold back tears. You walk to your car as you remember the laughter coming from Roddy as the girl said something.

"Y/N!" someone calls behind you as you reach the door.

The voice makes you almost lose it right then and there. You turn to see Roderick Strong walking behind you with a concerned look on his face. You shake your head and walk out onto the balcony area. On either side of this area are stairs that lead to the parking lot so technically you're just outside. The cool breeze whips through your hair and hits your face as you walk outside.

Roddy follows you. "Y/N, wait," he says. You sigh and look at your ex-boyfriend.

"What?" you ask, voice cracking. "Are you here just to walk out of my life again?"

Things didn't end very nicely between you and Roddy.

***

"Baby?" Roderick asks behind you.

You stand in your shared bedroom, holding his phone in your hands. Tears falling down your face as you look at the text notifications from his ex-wife on the lit up screen.

Roderick says, "Y/N? What's wrong?"

You sigh softly and read, "Roddy, love, when are you coming over? We want to see you tonight. Please text me when you get these." When you're finished reading, you look at your boyfriend. "What the fuck, Roddy? You told me it was over with her."

Roddy says, "It has been, Y/N. For two years."

"'Love'?" you say. "It's over but she still calls you 'love'. Okay, Roderick."

He walks over to you and he says, "It's not what it looks like, Y/N."

You cry, "I don't believe you, Roddy. I don't. I've seen you around her. You're happier when you're around her then you are with me. You constantly flirt with her and you disappear for days on end right after you talk to her."

Roderick says, "That's to see my son. You know that, Y/N. Do you really think that I'd cheat on you?"

"I don't know," you say. "You never let your son come over here and you just go over to her house. I've never even met your son after close to two years of dating. What's your lie for that?"

He looks slightly hurt as he says, "Because he's only three-years-old and he doesn't understand that his parents aren't together anymore. Adding you in there will only confuse him more. I've been waiting for the right time to introduce you to him, Y/N."

Things start to come together in your mind. That's a perfectly valid excuse. Troy is only three. He would be confused if you suddenly appeared in his life. He wouldn't understand why his parents aren't together. Roddy and his wife split shortly after Troy's first birthday and they've been co-parenting for years.

"I can't believe that you'd actually think I'd cheat on you," Roddy scoffs. "After two years, I thought you knew me better than that."

You immediately jump into defense mode as you say, "I'm sorry. I just never thought about how me being in Troy's life would confuse him. You're just gone for days on end and I-"

"Apparently don't trust me," Roderick says. He walks to the closet and grabs a suitcase. He puts clothes in it. "You don't trust me when all I do is go see my son, who I rarely get to see in the first place."

You say, "Roddy, please, I'm sorry. Please stay, let's just talk it out." You walk up to him and wrap your arms around his waist, not wanting to let go.

Roderick looks at you and says, "You don't trust me so why would I stay?" You look up at him and stay quiet. "Exactly." He takes his phone from you and walks toward the door.

You stand in the middle of the room, tears falling down your face. He stops, with his back turned to you and for a moment, you think he'll stay.

Your hopes are diminished as he walks down the hallway and down the stairs. Once the front door opens and closes, you start to cry. He left. He's gone.

***

You and Roderick stand face-to-face, alone for the first time in months.

"I never left," Roderick says. "You didn't trust me when all I did was leave to see my son."

Guilt hits you instantly and you say, "You could have stayed and we could have talked. I could have explained why I thought that you were cheating."

Roddy crosses his arms and he says, "So explain."

You say, "It's been four months, Roddy. What's the point?"

"I want to know if there was a reason behind why you thought that I was cheating on you," he says. "So explain."

You lean against the railing and you sigh. "It's because it wouldn't be the first time," you say. "When I first started in NXT, I met this guy and he would leave for a few days every few weeks. He would tell me he was visiting family. I received a DM from a girl who told me that she just found out that he was dating me and told me that him and her were dating each other. She had no idea about me. That's why I freaked out like I did because all I could think about was that message. I'll admit, I freaked out more than I should have but I was scared that it was happening again."

Roderick's expression and posture has softened as you explain your reasoning behind your freak out a few months ago.

Your words hang in the air for a few moments and you avoid looking at Roderick as soon as you're done talking.

Roderick finally breaks the silence when he says, "Kyle told me that you knew it was me that put him up to calling you earlier and that it was me that sent Adam to ask you to come. I wanted you here tonight, Y/N."

You finally look over at Roddy and ask, "Why? I thought you wouldn't want me around anymore after what happened."

"Because all I want this Christmas is for you and me to fix this," he says, reaching out and taking your hand. You look up at him with tear filled eyes. "I've missed you, Y/N. These past four months have been hell for me. I haven't gone a day without thinking about you and what would happen if we fixed things."

The tears start to fall down your cheeks as you listen to Roddy talk. You wait until he's done talking before you ask, "Why did it take you so long to try and fix this? Why did it take you four months?"

A car door closes and Roderick looks at the car. I look to see Roddy's ex-wife holding her son's hand. Her and Roddy's son. Troy.

Roderick says, "I've spent the past four months talking to Troy with Marina. We've been trying to get him to understand that his parents aren't together but that we're still his parents. Marina was talking to him about you, Y/N. She's been trying to get him to understand that she's his mother but that I'm with someone else."

Marina and Troy walk up the stairs and you look at Roddy. He looks at you before walking over to Marina and Troy. You stand in the same spot as Troy is picked up by Roddy. You see Roderick say something to Marina as she hands him a bag that was on her shoulder. She walks away and Roddy walks over to you with Troy.

Troy is looking at you and Roderick says, "So, Y/N. This is Troy. My son. This is the reason I left for a few days every few weeks."

You look at Roddy and ask, "After everything, you still want me to meet your son?"

Roderick nods and says, "I'm hoping that we'll fix things and that the past four months wouldn't have been a huge waste."

Troy says, "Y/N."

You raise your eyebrows and look at Troy. He smiles and holds his arms out to you. Roderick hands the toddler to you and you look at Roddy as you hold Troy in your arms.

Roderick smiles at the sight in front of him. "So what do you say?" he asks. "Give me a chance to fix things with us?"

You glance at Troy before looking at Roderick, saying, "Yes."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Prized Cattle.

Word Count: 5.4k

Written for an anonymous commissioner.

Synopsis: Life on a farm is difficult. What’s even more difficult is life underneath a farm, or rather, life in the basement of a farmhouse, where your captor’s content to treat you like a prized, albeit unwilling, hen. At least Zacharia’s never been a terribly cautious man. It makes breaking out of your pen that much easier. 

TW: Non-Con, F. Reader-Insert, Fingering, Dehumanization, Groping, Degradation, Captivity, Mentions of Kidnapping, Mentions of Stockholm Syndrome, Mentions of Past Abuse, Graphic Violence, Blood, and Phonetically Transcribed Southern Accents. 

Somehow, it’d never occurred to you that captivity would be this draining.

Logically, you knew you should be glad Zacharia was too busy to deal with you. He was your kidnapper, for fuck’s sake, a man who took you away from your home, your life, and beat every reason you should hate him into you over and over and over again until you couldn’t possibly forget your distaste. You had the marks to prove it, the lovebites and the lasting scars that had yet to fade, that you doubted every would, if you were being honest. Your hands weren’t bound, not anymore, but there were still a dozen different deadbolts on the basement door, a sturdy layer of wood keeping every window permanently shut, a locked box that kept everything sharp and useful out of your reach. You were free to roam around the basement, free to read the novellas Zacharia was so fond of and immerse yourself the few luxuries he was willing to provide, but you weren’t free. You shouldn’t let yourself start to act like you were. You shouldn’t let yourself stop thinking like a captive.

You shouldn’t miss Zacharia.

And yet, here you were.

You let out a long, languid sigh, rolling onto your stomach and burying your face in your bedsheets. It’d been like this for weeks, you’d been like this for weeks. Zacharia wasn’t a diligent man. He had farm-hands to take care of most of the manual labor on his land, leaving him with all the time in the world to pull at your hair and torment you to his contentment. Thankfully, blessedly, tragically, when one of his prized dairy cows fell pregnant, he’d taken it upon himself to care for the poor thing, doting on the creature as if he didn’t have a girl locked up against her will. You’d been relieved, at first. If he was busy, he wouldn’t have as much time to ‘look after you’, as he put it. You wouldn’t have to walk on eggshells or mind your manners, not when he only came down for breakfast and dinner, and even then, he was too distracted to do anything notably unpleasant. You should be happy, you should be elated, but after two solid months of being left to your own devices, it was hard not to feel… insulted. Neglected. Bored, but not just bored.

Horribly, guiltily lonely. Regardless of how much you wanted to be anything else.

Mindlessly, you gaze strayed from the sheets, falling to something you assumed you’d think about twice. A doll, no taller than your calf and painfully hand-made, all rough stitches and patchwork clothes and big, pupilless, unblinking button eyes, one beginning to loosen from the hours you’d spent picking at it. You hadn’t thought much of it. The toy was more for Zacharia’s enjoyment than yours, a jab at the fact that he could be a gentle, caring man and decided he’d prefer not to, but the purpose behind his gift didn’t matter, not to you, not now. There were scraps of fabric in your room, and you could scavenge thread from your clothes or a soon-to-be mutilated pillowcase. A needle would be more difficult to find, but it wouldn’t be impossible.

You already had a doll, and any doll could be modified.

~

Zacharia could make it very, very hard to hate him.

It was only when he wanted to, of course. Between escape attempts and punishments and shows of his superiority, he was capable of navigating the calm, domestic tranquility most couples didn’t need a list of rules and a flaying knife to reinforce. When he pulled you into his side, taking a lock of your hair to spin around his finger as he rambled on about his day or his plans or something particularly memorable one of his chickens did, it was easy to lay your head against his chest, play with the hem of his well worn, button-up shirt and be thankful for the change of pace. You could forget why you needed the doll (currently tucked safely underneath your bed), and you didn’t have to think about the fact that he was only visiting you to make sure he didn’t come home to a starved, emaciated corpse when he wanted the affection of something with two legs, rather than four. It was easy not to hate him.

And thus, it was easy not to want him to leave.

“It’s only been a few minutes,” You mumbled, keeping your voice low, quiet, doing your damnedest not to make your complaint stretch into a whine. It was only half-successful, but Zacharia was in a merciful enough mood not to point it out, his ever-present grin only broadening slightly as you swung your feet off the side of your bed, pretending to be more interested in the bare, cement floor than you were in him. “I just don’t see why you bother coming down here at all if you have to leave so soon. It’s not like a couple of seconds is going to stop me from trying to break out, again.”

“If you’re gonna say you missed me, you’re gonna have to say it,” He teased, ruffling your hair, forcing you to bat his hand away like a frustrated child before he stopped. Even then, he paused, taking a moment to scan over you before he continued, or rather, to scan over your new ‘dress’, a flannel shirt he’d been kind enough to give you for a few weeks of good behavior. The sleeves were a little too long, falling just below your fingertips, and saying the hem came to your mid-thigh would’ve been generous, but it was more conservative than anything else he’d given you, so far. It was a step closer to a full outfit, to proper clothes.

A step closer to being allowed to go outside, if you were being optimistic.

“Just be thankful it ain’t one of the mares,” He went on, letting out the indignant huff of someone who’d spent much too time around far too demanding animals. “Last one took two years to pop, and even then, the foal was just a touch to the right of premature. Not that he cared, though, we spent weeks fishing the poor, simple thing out of every ditch on the property. Kinda like you, the first time you made a run for it.”

Despite yourself, you smiled. It was hard not to smile while watching a grown man shake his head over a horse’s pregnancy. “How much longer do you think it’s going to take?”

“Much, much longer, pumpkin. These sorta things don’t happen overnight.” Another non-answer, the kind you were starting to get used to. You could suppress your frown, but your shoulders were slumping before you could catch yourself, an undeniable pout forming in the place of a more respectable expression. Zacharia didn’t take long to notice, humming gently as he bent down, coming just close enough to press a quick, comforting kiss into the top of your head before he pulled away. For a second, a traitorous part of you dared to want something more, something substantial, but thankfully, he was at a safe distance before you could act on the impulse, and you were too busy cursing your own mind to mourn the loss. “I’ll be back by dawn, this time, swear on the nearest grave. Wouldn’t want you throwin’ another hissy fit just because I missed a meal or two.”

You didn’t respond to that, glaring at your knees, and Zacharia chose to take his leave with a smirk and a breathy chuckle. You didn’t look up, not when you heard him climb the creaking basement stairs, not when the door fell closed and an array of different locks clicked into place, and certainly not when you felt that dark, cold air of loneliness return, frigid and cryptic and unwanted. You wanted him to stay. You wanted him to come back and hold you and spend hours with you, dolling you up or making you feel weaker than you really were or doing anything, as long as he kept you company while he was at it. He’d left you alone, and you wished he hadn’t. He’d left you to suffer, and you didn’t want any pain he didn’t care enough to inflict by hand. You wanted him to--

No, you didn’t want anything.

You needed to get out of here.

It wasn’t a matter of what you wanted anymore. If your current thoughts were any indication, you had to get out of here. You’d been in the same room too long, in your own head too long. You’d let your intentions and your desires and your selfish, selfish wants mix together, and the results were little more than a muddled paint of confusion and uncertainty and more misplaced trust than you were willing to admit. Part of you was tempted to linger on it, to dwell in the space between what you desperately wanted to believe and what you knew better than to chase after, and you took the sign to push whatever remained from your mind and force yourself to stand, your fists curling at your sides as you bit down on your tongue hard, blood soon coating the inside of your mouth a second later. It stuck to the back of your teeth, its metallic taste heavy and unpleasant. It was refreshing, though, and it gave you the motivation you needed to push yourself to take a step, then another, and finally, you found the will to root through the pile of spare clothes and blankets and supplies Zacharia kept in the back of your closet until you discovered your reward.

A simple, black toolbox. Minimalistic and cheap, and the exact thing you needed to get out of this hell.

There was a lock on the latch, a dial meant to keep nosy children and curious captives out, but rather than aiming for that, you aim for the thick plastic of the lid, something that wouldn’t stand a chance against your preferred method of destruction - the one leg of your bed unbolted to the ground, just loose enough to be forced upward and just heavy enough to break through anything less sturdy than solid metal. The toolbox just barely fit underneath it, and when the foot first fell with a loud, unignorable thud, you almost held your breath, refusing to let yourself relax until the basement door failed to swing open and Zacharia failed to emerge with whatever awful, creative weapon he could scrounge up in less than a minute. It took three blows before the lid gave out, cracking down the middle and giving you just enough room to pry the two halves of the container apart, your fingers soon aching and cramping with the effort.

You were successful, though. In less than a minute, the fruits of your effort laid in front of you in the form of rusted tools and loose screws and wires, things that may’ve seemed unimpressive to anyone else but looked like small, disguised miracles to you. In hindsight, you should’ve been in more of a hurry than you were. You should’ve gotten what you needed and ran, as fast as you could and as far as you could, but freedom was a tricky thing. As soon as you got a taste for it, however small, all you wanted was more, even when real freedom was only a handful of rusted nails and broken boards away. You weren’t thinking about time when you grabbed the small, silver box-cutter, testing the dull blade against a lock of your hair, nor were you thinking at all when you decided what your next show of self-sufficiency would be. No, you were too giddy for that. You were too excited.

It didn’t take long to cut away the most visible mark Zacharia had left on you - your hair. He’d let it grow out since he took you away, refusing to cut it, letting every inch become another thing to tug at and wrap around his fist when he wanted something you didn’t know how to give. It felt good to rid yourself of it - no, it was more than that, it felt right. You couldn’t tear off the feeling of his hands on your skin or wash the memories away, but you could draw the box cutter through your hair until you no longer felt its weight pulling through your scalp, until the ends of it barely brushed against your shoulders. You weren’t a professional, nor was your impulsive haircut anywhere near even, but the deed was done and that was all that mattered to you.

In comparison, getting rid of the boards covering the basement window was child’s play. You’d done it a thousand times before, and Zacharia never bothered to upgrade his security. He wanted you to learn your lesson, he wanted you to be too afraid to try to run, but by doing so, he underestimated your tenacity and overestimated your will to recall all the bloody, grisly things he tried to teach you time and time again. The curved back of a rust-coated hammer did the trick, and within minutes, the two bottom-most planks had fallen away, giving you just enough space to haul yourself from Zacharia’s worktable to the edge of the windowsill and out into the darkened world, your eyes closing as you took in your first breath of fresh air.

It was a warm night, the kind of breezy, humid atmosphere you used to consider an unnecessary, juxtapositional nuisance. But, for all your opinion was worth, tonight was perfect, welcoming you as much as you welcomed it. You paused while you were still in the farmhouse’s shadow, looking out over Zacharia’s farm, the terrain you so often heard about but so rarely got a chance to map out, so rarely got the chance to see. It was bigger than you thought it’d be, but smaller, at the same time. Acres of crops stretched out in front of you, lines of yellow and green marching into the horizon, and to your side, only separated by a generous expanse of open field, stood a barn, all faded paint and sturdy wood and lights that were too bright and too harsh to be anything but industrial. It’d be a good hiding place, even if the woods surrounding his property would be your haven tonight. There were plenty of places to tuck yourself into, though. Full of empty stalls and unlocked doors and…

And a boy.

A boy with blonde hair, tan skin, a feed bucket in his hand and a smile too wide and too eager to belong to anyone you didn’t know.

You blinked once, then twice, and then you broke into a sprint, not bothering to stay long enough to hear Zacharia take off after you.

~

You’d almost forgotten how it felt to be chased.

All of it was so familiar, and yet, you could feel the forest getting further away every time the soles of your feet beat against the leaf-littered floor, every time your lungs ached and protested and every time you stumbled over a branch or a root and cursed your own body for being so useless. You knew what was happening. You were panicking, and thus, you were trying to distance yourself from the fight, the hunt, the sound of Zacharia getting closer and closer and closer until his hands were in your hair and his foot was colliding with the back of your knee, sending you crashing to the ground. By the time he had you pinned, his body bent over yours as one fist kept your wrists trapped behind your back and the other pushed your cheek into the dirt, you could hardly hear Zacharia’s deep, labored breaths, feel the heat radiating from his chest. Even the pain was delayed, your mind going blank before a thousand different needles dug themselves into your skin, stabbing and burrowing and writhing, forcing out a scream you could barely bring yourself to hear.

Zacharia, meanwhile, didn’t seem to feel the tension. If he wanted to be anywhere else, he didn’t seem reluctant to draw out the experience, his teeth ghosting over the nape of your neck as he pushed a soft, airy kiss into your spine, the gesture as forgiving as it was fatal. His lips pressed against your shoulder blade, letting the edges of his smile bite into your bare skin and muffling his chuckle, not that you needed anything other than the quick, almost unnoticeable squeeze to your wrists to know he was either amused, relieved, or so, so angry.

You had a feeling you knew which one, too. Not that Zacharia wasn’t happy to clarify.

“You fucked up.” It was a simple phrase, distorted only by the levity in his voice and his natural, charming drawl, making the words seem meaningless, disarming. You almost didn’t register his meaning, not until he let out an airy chuckle, the noise just low enough to make you flinch into the unforgiving earth. “You fucked up and you made me wait for it. This ain’t shapin’ up too well for you, honey.”

You didn’t apologize. You didn’t have time. As soon as he finished, you were being jerked upward, forced to your feet only to be pushed to your knees a moment later, your back now pressed against the thick, rough bark of an oak tree, Zacharia’s fingers entangled in the roots of your shortened hair to keep you grounded. You knew better than to try to fight him off, but you still winced when he spoke. “Wrists up,” He ordered, his free hand pulling at the length of rope at his belt. Already, you could feel the ghosts of past burns around your arms, your chest, and you hesitated without thinking, memories of pain warring with the knowledge that, if you didn’t comply, Zacharia would find a way to force you into something worse. It was a momentary reluctance, but that didn’t stop him from taking the excuse to drive the heel of his boot into your thigh, drawing both a pained cry and an instinctual shove, the former earning a tight, faux-sympathetic smile and the latter, a coil of rope, thick and heavy and so suddenly tight around your wrists, pulling your arms against your chest as Zacharia worked, restaining you against the sturdy trunk. “Gotta make sure you keep your hands to yourself, don’t I?” He called, securing your restraints, leaving you squirming and shifting for a way out of his simplistic security. “We all know how much trouble you get yourself into, whenever I look away.”

“I don’t…” You started, but trailed off quickly, not sure whether to apologize, beg for mercy, or call him one of the many vile names swirling on the tip of your tongue. Any insult you might’ve conjured was quickly swallowed down, though, dissolved and forgotten as Zacharia came back into your line of sight, something long and silver in his right hand, and a similar shape now missing from the hip of his belt.

A thin square of leather, the pad wrapped around a handle made up of two intertwined steel rods. A fly-swatter

A fucking fly-swatter.

You could’ve laughed. You might’ve, but whatever sound made it through your lips was drowned out by a solid, quick snap, the noise catching you off-guard, silencing you before the pain kicked in. It was bright, sudden, firm, a spark to the side of your knee that spread over your skin, refusing to die until you let out a small, almost inaudible whimper. Zacharia only smiled, his sharp grin glinting in the moonlight as he reached down, fiddling with the first button of your make-shift dress. “It’s been so long since you acted up,” He muttered, tugging on the fabric just enough to pull it loose. You flinched in response, bringing up your bound hands to cover your exposed chest, but Zacharia flashed a smirk and shook his head, and you were left to avert your eyes and bite the inside of your cheek like a scolded child, letting him trace the shape of your collarbone. “Almost forgot why I don’t let my animals wear anything nice.”

You moved to protest, but with a clench of his jaw and a strong jerk, whatever defense your clothing offered fell away, buttons snapping or falling away and leaving you in little more than a blanket of red flannel and thin, lacy panties, neither providing much protection from the biting cold. An icy breeze ran over your skin, urging you to curl up and shiver yourself to a happier time, but Zacharia was nothing if not selfish when it came to your attention. His swatter crashed against your side, the bottom of your rib cage, and when that failed to satisfy him, your bicep, pure fire seeping into your flesh wherever the leather made contact. “Stop!” You cried out, mindlessly. “It hurts, Zach, it hurts. You have to--”

“Look at that, now she’s forgettin’ her manners.” He clicked his tongue, the noise accompanied by three strikes to your cheek, your head twisting to the side and your eyes clamping shut, this wound throbbing, aching, threatening to bruise in a matter of seconds. “You ain’t gonna tell me I’ve been takin’ care of an ungrateful bitch, are you? I don’t house brats, and I know I haven’t been treatin’ one of ‘em as well as I’ve been treatin’ you.” He paused, a ruthless growl crawling out of his throat as something hard and pointed rammed itself into your stomach. A kick, you realized, just in time for the second, this one forcing your eyes open as hot, metallic blood washed over your tongue. “Some fucking nerve. I should bridle you and send you to sleep with the damn horses, just for bein’ so goddamn rude.”

He was cruel. He was cruel and cold-hearted and evil, but more than that, he was persistent. Blow after blow rained down, your chest morphing into a patchwork of sensitive irritation and black-rimmed bruises, your nerves alerted and abused and your mind growing so overwhelmed, all you could think about was the pain, how it changed, how it got worse, how it never seemed to numb. Again, his heel dug into the inside of your thigh and again, you screamed, but it wasn’t just the pressure, this time. No, a thousand tiny needles seemed to burrow themselves into your skin and move, forcing themselves deeper whenever you shifted or bled or breathed, any action only driving the invaders further in. Nettle, you realized, green and thriving and happy to call your flesh its new home, but if Zacharia cared that your blood was staining his favorite boots, his concern was outweighed by his unadulterated, sadistic glee. His attacks became more focused, more aimed, determined to drive you deeper or bring you closer, to let the nettle tear you apart or persuade you to accept your kidnapper’s discipline with open arms. You didn’t know which you’d rather suffer through. You didn’t know where you were or how to leave. You didn’t care.

You just wanted it to stop. You needed it to stop.

You weren’t sure when you started crying, and yet, tears were streaming down your cheeks before you could wipe them away, mixing with the blood pooling underneath you as they fell from your chin. Your lungs burnt, your chest heaved, each inhale becoming labored and each exhale turning into something desperate, something raspy and exhausted and barely human, as animalistic as he seemed to think you were. That was what satisfied Zacharia. Not your capture, not your pain, but your depletion and the emptiness that came with it. You didn’t look up when he dropped to one knee, cooing as he kissed the top of your head, and you didn’t stop mumbling your small, pathetic pleas until his rope dropped into your lap, falling to the ground as strong arms wrapped around you, looping under your knees and pulling you against a warm, welcoming chest. For a moment, it didn’t matter who it belonged to.

For a moment, you didn’t care that you shouldn’t want to be held.

The walk back to the farmhouse was a blur. Zacharia didn’t speak, not beyond a gentle hush whenever your sobbing grew a little too loud, but it was easy to fall into his heartbeat, his soft touches, the idea that your suffering was over, for now, at least. For the first time, you let out a sigh of relief when the basement came into view, but rather than dropping you into bed and leaving you to wallow in your own self-pity, you were carried to the ensuite bathroom, instead, left on the counter as Zacharia disappeared, searching for supplies and, hopefully, medicine.

You let yourself take a breath in, then let one out. It was easy, the easiest thing you’d done all night. Your pain didn’t reside and you were just as trapped as you’d been the night before, but you could inhale and exhale and you could convince yourself that you’d be alright, that eventually, you’d be fine. Zacharia couldn’t do anything worse to you, not tonight. He couldn’t humiliate you any further, you were sure of that. There was nothing else he could--

“Hey, baby, care to explain this?”

Instantly, you snapped towards the bathroom doorway, only to reel back once you saw what he’d found. In your manic escape, you’d forgotten about that damned thing, that terrible gift, that doll, its hair cropped short and its clothing sewn into something more specific, something boyish and so sickeningly obvious. Heat rose to your cheeks in a matter of seconds, but your embarrassment did little to stop a lazy smile from pulling at Zacharia’s lips, his satisfaction only becoming more apparent as he approached, throwing the ragdoll carelessly into the nearest corner as he settled in front of you. He got to work quickly, popping the lid off of some unlabelled, homemade remedy, but the soothing, oily balm soon being rubbed into your wounds did little to save you from Zacharia’s voice, the feeling of his teeth ghosting over your neck as he made himself comfortable in the crook of your neck. As you failed to fight back.

“If you missed me that much,” He started, his fingertips skittering over the shallow wounds on your legs and lower back, neglecting the bruises on your upper-body. He took his time, but he worked efficiently, letting his ointment smear your drying blood. Letting you feel the pricks of sterile, healing pain before something icy took its place and stuck around, making sure your injuries would stay in the back of your mind. Making sure you wouldn’t forget the lesson he’d cut into you. “You could’ve spoken up. I can’t have my little girl gettin’ this lonely, can I?” He barely tried to muffle his laugh, only kissing your shoulder hastily to stifle the sound. Even that came off as condescending - a consolation prize in place of his respect. “It looks like you’ve been coddling the poor thing half to death, too. You slept with it, didn’ya? Held it whenever I wasn’t around? C’mon, don’t keep me in the dark…” His left hand trailed towards the inside of your thigh, his thumb tracing over your covered slit. “You tried to fuck it, right?”

The question was so blunt, so out of place, you couldn’t stop yourself from going rigid, but Zacharia was quick to take you by the shoulder, using a fraction of his strength to keep you in place as he slid your panties to the side, forcing two fingers inside of you without preparation, without ease, without love. The stretch was awful, the feeling of his gloves and his balm creating something slick and cold and unnatural, but Zacharia just hummed, kissing your temple as you let out a silent gasp, trying not to tremble as you fought not to collapse in on yourself. He gave you a moment to adjust, but only a moment, seeming to savor the way you whimpered as he began to pull out.

“Please, I’m not-” Your plea was cut short by another brutal intrusion, this one just as sudden, made worse when paired with the way his fingers curled inside of you, stretching you open with no plan or precision. No, you’d been through this before, you knew what he was doing, why he was doing it. He was trying to prove something, to force you into a drooling, blissful submission. To prove that he could make you unravel better and faster than you or anyone else ever could. “I’m not ready. Please, you can’t do this.”

“I don’t think I asked.” If he had any intention to make you feel something other than electric, invasive pleasure, you couldn’t tell. He didn’t favor your sensitive spots, he abused them, prodding and poking whatever made you stiffen and twitch and whine, his hips becoming the only thing keeping your thighs from snapping shut. “I’ve been treating you with nothin’ but kindness, but you’re awful mean to me, tryin’ to run away every chance you get then mouthing off without permission. You’re gonna take what I give you, and you’ll be grateful for it. I don’t wanna hear another word out of you, not unless you’re ready to thank me for bein’ so forgiving.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. Your mouth refused to form the words, your brain refused to work, your entire body somehow freezing and burning at the same time. Zacharia went on, but you couldn’t seem to listen, your own racing pulse and the wet sounds of his fingers plunging into you soon filling your ears, making it impossible to take in anything else. It hurt. It was the best thing you’d ever felt. You wanted him to stop, and yet, you thought you might die if actually did. By the time he thought to actually consider your pleasure, the heel of his palm haphazardly grinding against your clit in rough, patternless motions, you were clinging to his shirt, mumbling out nonsense and begging him to stop, to keep going, to just get it over with. It didn’t matter though. Even if you had managed to speak, it still wouldn’t have.

Zacharia was too busy laughing to hear a word you said.

Your end came abruptly, too quickly but not nearly fast enough. His right hand fell, grabbing your waist and pinning you down as his left arched, poising as another digit slipped into you, giving you just enough friction and fulfillment to shove you over that desperate, messy cliffside. Your vision went white around the edges, your form tensing as your cunt clenched around him, the wave crashing as shakily as it’d formed. You didn’t try to resist your exhaustion, anymore. As soon as Zacharia pulled away, his now-unsanitary gloves easily discarded in the bathroom sink, you fell apart, crumbled, turned into nothing more than a pile of limbs and afterglow and shame.

“Poor baby,” He cooed, lifting you off the countertop as if he wasn’t the reason you couldn’t walk on your own. “We’ll have to get you cleaned up good ‘n proper tomorrow, a bath and…” He paused, twirling a lock of your hair around his finger, evaluating your rush-job. “And a real haircut. We’ll see if we can’t get you somethin’ a little more effective than that doll of yours, too.”

You didn’t have the energy to retort. It was all you could do to stay conscious, and even that was a push, your eyes closing as he carried you past your bedroom and only opening again when your back hit something warm and plush, softer than anything in the basement. Blearily, you glanced around the new environment, but the plain ceiling and rafters above you did little to clear your confusion. “This isn’t…”

“Thought you might enjoy the change of scenery,” Zacharia explained, the mattress shifting as he sat down, leaning against the wooden headboard as he encouraged you to relax. You didn’t bother trying to resist, letting him guide your head into his lap, not batting his hand away when his fingers began to card through your hair. “The attic, sweetheart. There ain’t no windows up here, and you don’t have to worry about all the clutter in your last room. I made sure you have exactly what you need, no more, no less. Almost thought you weren’t gonna give me a reason to show it off.”

Dully, you noted that ‘exactly what you need’ probably didn’t include very much. “And you’re staying?”

“For as long as I can.” From anyone else, the sentiment might’ve sounded sweet, considerate. When the words fell from Zacharia’s lips, it just sounded like a warning. “Why wouldn’t I?”

It was a fleeting concern. An immature one. Something you shouldn’t have cared about, but you clung to nonetheless. Like you were still coming to terms with the events of the past few hours. “What about your--”

Zacharia smiled sympathetically, pityingly, and you stopped talking.

Only then, with your cheek pressed against the rough fabric of his pants and his blunt nails scraping against your scalp, did you remember that Zacharia didn’t keep cows. He never had, and you doubted he ever would. He’d said as much himself, repeated it countless times prior to the past two months.

You stopped trying to keep yourself awake, after that.

[lovesaadiqa]

BBL Costs, Prep + Recovery

Im booked!!  I talked to a few friends who I know either got this surgery or is getting this done.  I wanted one since forever but I wanted my teeth done first.  The deciding factor came down to my birthday plans.  

Originally I was going to do a birthday tour.  First weekend of October in Miami for carnival, 2nd weekend in Atl for Freak Nik, 3rd weekend in Bahamas and finally Nola for the finale.  Well Nola was just hit with a storm so yeah that’s out. Once I totaled up the flights, hotels, food and spending money.. I was like hmm, I can get a fat ass and started this process.  Immediately looked into surgeon and Dr. Pena was my favorite, his bodies come out so mf snatched, he’s located in Columbia.  Columbian surgeons can take out way more fat than American doctors however, the fatality rate is stupid and ultimately the factor that made me choose an American doctor.  

The next step was choosing the surgeon for the body I have and the one I want.  I weigh 151 and im 5′6″ I’m considered a “skinny bbl”.  I started researching doctors in Atlanta (so I could recover at home) and Miami (like duh).  I chose to go with Dr. Desouza in Miami with CG Cosmetics for a few reasons.  First, I love the look of his skinny bbl’s on other women with the same body type, weight and height as me.  Secondly, he was having a special for the end of the year (lipo 360, bbl, jplasma for $6500 for the surgeon I wanted) this almost sold me but it was the surgery date!!  Jplasma is skin tightening procedure to help with loose skin, you can only get this with lipo.  When they perform lipo they created canals under your skin to remove the fat.. well those same canals are essential when getting Jplasma.

Ok so I decided on the surgeon, contacted the cosmetic group and had a consultation which is pretty much just front, side and back view pictures.. I think they use this to make sure you don’t need a tummy tuck prior to surgery.  They also asked me questions about previous surgeries and if i’ve ever had anesthesia.  The next step went pretty quickly, we talked about what would be lipo’d (abs, waist, back.. I wanted inner thighs, an additional 2k, but was advised to wait on my pre-op to decide), when I wanted to book and how I'd pay.  My consult was on August 30th.. I bitched up when she attempted to take my payment.  I am a money hoarder and spending that much money made me feel like I was being financially irresponsible.  I called one of my Aunt’s who I felt wouldn’t judge me and also give me sound advise.  We talked about my fears, why I was getting the procedure and of course money.  My Aunt gave me excellent advice, reassured me and is a professional CNA who offered to accompany me so yeah I dare not turn that down, lol.  August 31, 2021, I called my coordinator (the contact between me and my surgeon) and told her I wanted to book, she asked me when I’d be ready and I requested first available which was 9/20/21!! Excited is an understatement.. I'd be 24 days post op on my birthday.  After I calmed down I paid in full for multiple reasons:  had to in order to secure the date, all surgeries book in this year had to be paid in full, it was the only way to get the discount.. My coordinator gave me so much information I couldn’t see straight (I was also high as shit off life thinking about a fat ass and me in the same sentence).. she emailed + texted everything, congratulated me and we hung up.

I get the emails:  “raise you hemoglobin with these vitamins” I purchased vitamin C $2, folic acid $2, iron $3 and floradix $35 - amazon, I take them as directed on the bottle and start eating my ass off (just to give my surgeon more to work with, lol).  Talking to one of my gf’s I realize I have to be cleared for surgery?!?!  What?  I open my email and sure enough I have to have blood work done 15-20 prior to surgery, it was 9/3 and a Friday.. SHIT!! I fly over to an Piedmont Wellstreet urgent care facility as recommended by my friend (she started this process as well so I was crazy grateful for her experience and that she shared it with me).  Urgent care was full but opened the next day, my ass was in that line at 7:32 am, I was the 13th person in line and they opened at 8.  I get to the desk and my appointment is at 10:30 and I'd have to pay the office visit fee to be seen, it was $155.  I came back at my allotted time and was told how much all of my labs would be.. $302.  My labs were to be processed and faxed to my surgeon by 9/9 because Labor Day weekend so.. yeah.  

I discuss accommodations with my Aunt and realize it’s cheaper, safer and more beneficial for me to go to a recovery house.  I search high and low baby and most of them were booked.. found one regardless with lymphatic massages included called Flawless Recovery House.  This wasn’t my 1st-6th option but the one with availability on my surgery date so I paid a deposit to hold onto my spot.  Total was $1312 for 5 days with 5 massages, I paid a $200 deposit.  Next, I booked my flight, round trip $116 with Delta.  My surgery date is on a Monday, I have to have my pre-op done on the Saturday prior so I booked a hostel from the 18th-20th on booking.com for $66.  I know I could have gotten an airbnb or hotel room but I wanted this experience.  I want to go to Amsterdam and stay in a hostel so I need to know what to expect.  Also I cannot party, smoke, drink or eat before surgery so fuck it.. a hostel will do, lol. 

I smoke big fucking weed and watched someone else’s bbl journey today and realize if I fail the drug test, my surgery will be cancelled and it’ll cost me $1500 to reschedule.  Boy the shit sent me into panic mode like I've never experienced before, only to find out the weed isn’t the issue nicotine is, it slows down your heart rate.  I can smoke weed just not out of a wood or a rillo and nicotine takes 3-4 days to get out of your system so a bitch barely made it.  I just won't be smoking until I get back home lol.  Just to be super informative no alcohol, diabetic meds, cocaine, pcp or anything that will fool with your heart or makes your bleed.  Today is 9/11 and im one week out from my pre-op... my body is a joke cause I haven’t gained a single pound and normally it’s nothing for me to put on weight.  I took my acrylics off, when you’re put to sleep they monitor your oxygen levels with those clamps they put on your fingers and they aren't the most accurate when you have on dark polish or acrylics.  I also cannot wear lashes cause when they go to fill this ass in I'll be laying flat on my face.  I mean my hair didn’t have requirements but I figure since im naked I might as well be bald.. y'all should see me rn, I look very much like a young man but im hype.  I’ll be back later to tell y'all what I pack and purchase prior to my flight.  Imma put the dates at the end of each update.. today is 9/11/21

My surgery group send me list of supplies  that I would need and the cost came to roughly $1100.  Naive me was definitely going to purchase everything on the list from them until I saw Leslie’s (@prettyhaute - on ig) bbl vlog.  I went on amazon and got away with murder.  Below I’ll list what I purchased and the price I paid versus what the surgery center was quoting me.

Faja - I paid $74.69 - Quoted $160.50 || BBL Pillow - $26.99 - Qouted $42.80 || Arnica pills - $8.95 - Quoted $37.45 || Compression socks - $13.99 for 3 - Quoted $10.70 for 1 || Foams - $17.99 for 3 - Quoted $64.20 for 3 || Scar Cream  $$29.82 - Quoted $80.25 || Arnica Gel - $7.92 - Quoted $21.40 || 

There a shit ton of items on the suggested list that I didn't purchase but way more items that wasn’t on the list I still need for instance:

Crocs, benadryll, robe, adult diapers, straws, earplugs, liquid iv, stool softener, antiseptic body wash, avocado float, back board, urinal, pineapple juice, throat calm, 3 moo-moo’s and a massage roller (the crocs are the only thing on this list that cost more than $20).  My flight is at 7:15a tomorrow and im so damn nervous but excited.  I will spend Saturday and Sunday gallivanting around Miami and then body , ody, ody, ody, ody, ody.  I still have to send my entire itinerary to my aunt but I think im all set.  9/17/21

Pre-op was packed but I went on Saturday and was in and out in an hour.  I was charged for a covid $80, 3 post-op massages $150 and a drug test $20.  I went over my clearance paper work with a medical assistant who also took 9 before pics of me.  Keep in mind, your surgery can be cancelled or reschedule if all of you labs aren’t at the surgery center on pre-op day.  I cannot stress how important it is to take your labs with you!!!  Mine were faxed over from urgent care but I was also provided copies which I took with me.  The photos were sent directly to my surgeon to analyze before surgery.  From my knowledge, I was also to be fitted for my faja but that never happened, do NOT leave pre-op without a faja!!! I paid for 3 massages from CG totaling $150 which I regret badly.  I do NOT recommend getting massages from the surgery center.  There are 4-5 different surgeons performing surgeries on any given day and they do at minimum 4 surgeries per day, that’s at least 15-20 different girls with the same surgery and post-op date.  CG had 2 massage therapists to drain 15-20 girls.  I was drained for 9 mins, your drain massages should last at least 45 mins for maximum drainage.  I only used 1 of the 3 massages I paid for and was denied a refund.  That is a huge downside to CG once they have your money good fucking luck getting it back! Ps. Ellie was a royal fucking cunt!!!!!  She told my medical assistant that I didn’t need a faja so I was never fitted for one and woke up out of surgery with a binder on versus a faja like I should have.  I wanted to slap the shit out of her and took the charge on the chin but I wanted my surgery so I refrained.. I was put on a 12 hour fast and contacted an hour after pre-op with my surgery address and time.  My fast started at 7pm the day before surgery and my surgery time wa at 6:30a, there was a $300 for showing up to surgery late.  All I could bring to surgery was compression socks and a faja (that I didn’t have), I was instructed to bathe with dial (the orange one) before surgery to make sure my incisions weren’t infected, no lotion, perfume, deodorant, makeup, nails, lashes, no jewelry/piercing or hair products and no personals ie, purse money, wallet also you will need a companion or surgery will be cancelled.  I’ll upload all my paperwork at the end.   Surgery day arrive at the surgery center at 6:15 am how about the entire fucking staff was late!  Bitch I was outside in Miami alone with compression socks on and a moo moo, LIVID.  No one arrived until 7:10 am, baby I wanted to kill everyone but fuck it, it was go time.  I’m escorted to a room, changed into a paper gown, piss tested, my labs were reviewed again and finally my surgeon comes in!  We were in the exam room alone which was weird cause I was asshole naked but he kept it 1000% professional, he asked me what I wanted and I say “the fattest ass” he looked me dead in my eyes without a single hesitation and said “it’ll heal like a diaper”  LMAO.  I showed him areas that I wanted lipo’d to death and he marked me up, I didn’t aka e picture of my mark ups but shit was rolling by then, he walked out I put my paper gown back on and the anesthesiologist walked in.  I expressed my biggest concerns to him, I didn’t want to die and I didn’t want to wake up during surgery.  He explain why the drug test was so important because certain street drugs will have adverse effect with the anesthesia.  My anesthesiologist walked me up to the surgery room and I hopped on the table, they put massage boots on both of my feet and inserted an iv, the mask was put on my face and my heart rate went to heaven, I wanted to shit myself bro.  The anesthesiologist told me to make a tight fist, I asked what time it was, 8:08am.. I woke up to a nurse helping me into a wheelchair with a binder around my waist and I was scream crying because my entire body ached, I didn't know where I was and the anesthesia is no hoe.  I was escorted to my recovery house’s transportation van and taken to my damn bed.  

I chose Flawlesss Recovery House with Ms. Opal.  I paid a $200 deposit before 2 weeks before surgery and the balance the day I left.  I opted for a 5 day stay.  I loved it there bro and couldn’t imagine trying to recover at a hotel or air bnb!  There were nurses there 24-7, I was roomed with one other girl but the house had a total of 4 bedrooms, one of which no one occupied and the door was always shut but my room was the only room with 2 beds, the others had 3 beds.  I had a call button, it was love, the nurses came expeditiously when I rang it.  They made 3 home cooked meals per day and I don’t eat meat, they accommodated me with no hesitation.  I loved it man.  So couple hours after surgery I attempted to use the bathroom on my own and blacked out, the anesthesia is really fucking strong and took an entire day to wear off (for me), the nurses helped me pee in a cup until then.  Post op day 9/21/21, I went in to make sure I looked good, got a faja finally and received that lousy as drain.  Back to the recovery house I was able to walk finally w/o passing out and in went my foams, I also could pee by myself with the use of a urinal.  I was constipated for 2 days, first bowel movement was on post op day 2. I paid for an independent massage therapist named Tatiana, she used a ultrasound machine to massage me so I cancelled her.  When I took my faja off for my massage it was washed and dried by the time I was done, I took a shower and put my faja on with my foams.  I cancelled Tatiana because don’t let nobody use no machine on you until you are at least 2 weeks post op, hand massages only.  All the girls were getting massaged by the literal best massage therapist (in my opinion) her name is Brittany, I could cry she was EVERYTHING, I was tender but she put the painful massage theory to bed!  She taught me how to drain myself and how to open my incisions without the q-tip looking thing.  In 45 mins she drained 5 of those doggy pad things worth of fluid off of me.  I received 4 massages in 5 days.  I left on Saturday 9/25/2021 on Sunday, back in Atlanta, I received my 5th massage and that when I was told I have not one but 2 seromas.  I swear on everything I love it was because everyone wakes up from surgery with a faja on but not me (Fuck you Ellie, lil bitch) I had on a binder (its what they use for tummy tucks).  The lady who did my 1st massage in Atlanta was Bri, not gone post her ig cause she did a damn good massage but when I asked her to syringe drain me the good sis stuck this long ass needle in my seroma but could get the fluid out, cancelled her too (the massage was good asf tho but nah).  Tired and tried I bit the bullet and booked a packed with Dream Body ($455 for 5 massage, I think, don’t quote me look it up on there site and follow them on ig)  because they are the biggest name in Atlanta, Jayda Wayda goes to them.  The  most painful massage yet, yes Michelle lil ass is so strong but she will get the fluid up off you.  She made me tear up bad and no matter how much I screamed or even tried to push her off of me she understood the assignment, Michelle helped me get back into my faja after my massage and told me my faja was too big and to have it altered.  She recommended a lady on ig @siri2sir but to know me is to know I altered my shit myself.  Allow me to tell y'all, I look good asf!!!!!!! 10/4/2021 

[cutieodonoghue]

dark gray (15/17)

summary: Killian Jones operates a lighthouse in the middle of nowhere, preferring a life of isolation, until one day a woman and a baby wash up on his little island and change his life forever.

read it on: ao3, ff.net

and also catch up on Tumblr!

///

Fifteen

Two Weeks Later

The media had finally decided the story was over just a few days before Christmas, probably because they’d rather spend their holiday with their own families rather than staring at the Nolan house all day with no updates to her story.

And somehow, after that, it’s normal again. Well, as normal as it can be.

It’s not easy to play the part she’d once performed so easily just a few months ago. For better or worse, the time she’d spent on the island has changed her.

Without any phone calls or messages sent from across the ocean, Emma feels stagnant. If she went back for him, there would be no guarantees of leads or direction. Leaving might even make it harder for Killian to find her.

Ruby and Belle, two of her closest friends, come to the house one morning and practically drag her out the front door to take her Christmas present shopping.

“So when will you tell us about what happened?” Ruby wonders, peering over at her from the driver's seat of Emma’s beat up VW Bug.

Emma rolls her eyes. “I’ve already told you guys everything. I fell into the ocean and washed up on the shore of a tiny island somewhere.”

“Yeah, and there was a hot lighthouse keeper. What’s he like? Killian Jones.”

Belle gasps from the backseat. “Ruby! Be kind.” The librarian turns, “Sorry, Emma. How about we talk about something else?”

Their favorite place to shop for odds and ends is on Main Street, so that’s where they find themselves, baskets in their arms while they stroll through the aisles chatting and laughing.

It’s easier to forget the sadness she feels in the back of her mind while instead thinking about what gifts make sense for her parents, or while she’s trying to keep track of the latest Ruby drama.

“Oh, Emma, Belle has a boyfriend.” Ruby suddenly announces, shaking her head in surprise. “I totally forgot to tell you.”

Emma looks at Belle, smirking slightly. “You do?”

Belle wears a bright red blush, covering her face with the mittens that she holds in her hands. “I do.”

She and Ruby share a laugh at Belle’s shyness over the fact that she’s in a relationship.

Emma reaches out to touch Belle’s arm, gently assuring her that she cares. “Who is it?”

Belle hesitates, looking between Ruby and Emma. She lowers her voice slightly, as if she’s going to be overheard. “Will. You can’t tell anyone. It’s so new, Emma.”

She has to laugh again. “Will Scarlet?”

Belle gasps. “Don’t laugh! I wouldn’t laugh if one of you were seeing someone.”

“The brooding sailor and the hopeless romantic librarian.” Ruby sighs wistfully. She plucks something off of a nearby shelf to add to her basket. “They’re really cute, though, Em. After Christmas, we should get together for dinner so we can interrogate him.”

Emma nods. “Sure.”

“I don’t see why you’d need to,” Belle rolls her eyes. “You both know him.”

“But we have to. It's our job!”

It always happens like this. In the middle of mundane conversation, a pit sinks to the pit of her stomach and she loses all of the joy she may or may not have had before.

Belle must notice, because she holds Emma’s arm, pressing her hand and chin against Emma’s shoulder. “Are you alright?”

Emma manages a smile. “I’m fine… I just think I should get going.”

“Emma…”

“No, Emma, stay.” Ruby begs, pouting her lower lip. “We can talk about literally anything else. Like, okay,” She exchanges a wide-eyed look with Belle. “Last week I was with my Granny and she said there’s no reason for us to keep making the apple crisp? What’s that about?” Her voice lowers, “People still order apple crisp.”

Belle’s gaze follows Emma, a small worried frown on her lips. “Why don’t we look for something to give Killian for Christmas?”

Somehow, the thought doesn’t hit her as hard as it could. In fact, she thinks it would be good to buy him a present.

“Okay.”

Belle thoughtfully turns to the shelves nearby. “How does he feel about candy canes? This store seems to have an endless supply.”

They all laugh briefly. Emma tucks her hair behind her ears, thoughtful. “Let’s see if they have any journals.”

/

He’s started thinking about fleeing the hospital in the middle of the night.

Everyday, it’s the same thing. He sleeps, he eats, a nurse comes and chastises him for trying to stand on his own. Rinse and repeat.

His doctor says he has to stay put for another week, but the newspaper Smee brings him claims that it’s almost Christmas, and he can’t possibly spend Christmas wearing a paper-thin gown and a pair of socks from the lost and found.

Not when he could be with Emma. Not when she’s out there wondering if he’s even alive.

“Smee, I need to get out of here.”

It isn’t the first time he’s suggested an escape, so Smee just glances at him briefly while he fiddles with the remote to the television that hangs on the wall ahead of them.

“Will you give me my clothes at least? This hospital gown is starting to chafe.”

Smee sighs, frustrated with the remote control, and drops it on the table. He looks at Killian again. “What?”

Killian groans. “If I could hit you, I would. You’re useless.”

His only friend pivots his chair toward him and folds his hands together. “How about we have a chat?”

“About what?”

Smee shrugs. “Do you think you’ll go live in America with Emma once you’re out of the hospital?”

“That’s the hope.”

Smee hums thoughtfully. “I think it would be worth looking for her online… maybe we could see if we can find a friend…”

“Smee, I need to get to her in person.” Killian interrupts Smee’s train of thought. “I can’t… I’m exhausted of this. I need to be with her.”

Smee thoughtfully stares at him. Then, he reaches for his bag, digging into it to remove a slip of paper. 

“I know it isn’t much, but a friend of mine found an address online. It might be Emma’s...”

Sitting upright, Killian’s brow dips as his eyes narrow. “Hold on. You’ve had an address this whole time?”

Smee stares at him blankly. “You’ve been bedridden.”

He thinks about his options very, very briefly, before he determinedly pushes back the sheets and forces himself to sit on the edge of the bed. 

Killian grits his teeth. It’s never easy getting out of bed merely to visit the restroom, but he can’t force himself to stay another minute with Smee suffocating him to death with his crossword puzzles and mid-afternoon variety shows.

With teeth still gritted, he yanks the IV out of his arm, much to Smee’s alarm. “Oh! Please, don’t do what I think you’re doing. Please stay in bed. Please.”

His stocking feet hit the cold floor with a grimace. He extends an arm to Smee. “Hand me my clothes.”

Smee stares at him, not moving. Killian stares back, lifting a daring eyebrow. 

“Now, Smee.”

The man jostles into action, grabbing his folded clothes from the bag he’d kept at his side. Killian sheds the hospital gown and takes each article as quickly as Smee passes them over.

It’s not easy getting into the shirt, which really should be a warning sign that pulling on pants will be impossible, but he dives into the task headfirst anyway.

He does it for Emma. He does it for Henry. He does it for sake of his own sanity.

After he dresses, he finds his breathing labored and he aches in ways he shouldn’t, but he looks at Smee again anyway. “The address.”

Smee comes closer to him, paper in hand. He hesitates. “I can’t give it to you.”

Killian begins to cradle the pain in his ribs, but refuses to slow down. “Smee. I’m not asking.”

He glares at the man until Smee caves, slouching his shoulders as he passes him the paper. “How are you going to get there? Look at you. You don’t even have any shoes!”

“Then thank you for offering yours. Bloody kind of you.”

Smee gives him a weary look, but kicks off his own boots to offer them to Killian. For someone trying to keep him from leaving, Smee isn’t exactly doing a good job.

Holding his head up high, Killian knows the only way he’ll be able to get past the nurses and doctors is if he does so quickly and with a level head. 

He takes a deep breath and takes one step forward, already regretting the decision to wear a size of shoe too small for his feet. 

“I’m only going to ask you once more to stay. Please. You can’t make the trip like this alone.”

Killian stares at Smee. Smee stares back at him. 

Almost as if Smee reads Killian’s mind, his shoulders fall and he sighs. “I’ll collect my things.”

/

It has been four weeks. Four weeks since she’d last seen Killian. Four weeks since she’d last kissed him. Four weeks since she asked him to come back to her.

There was a voice in her mind that whispered darkly to her sometimes. Maybe he stayed on purpose. Maybe he didn’t actually want to leave. Maybe he hadn’t actually changed.

Maybe everything she thought she’d experienced on a mysterious island in the middle of the ocean was in her head.

Emma does her best to shed these thoughts, but sometimes, she clings to them.

She drives to the diner, where she’d told Mary Margaret they could meet for lunch, and sits parked in front of the building for far too long.

Her phone buzzes twice.

Mom: Henry and I are at the diner!

Mom: Come whenever you’re ready (smiling emoji)

Deciding she should go inside, Emma sighs deeply and unbuckles her seatbelt. Making life normal again felt wrong without Killian here.

She sits beside her mother at the diner, leaving room for David to join opposite them in a little while. Henry happily bounces in Mary Margaret’s arms, giggling when Emma leans in and kisses his cheek. “Hi, baby.”

Her mother smiles at her. “I think he’s going to start standing on his own soon.”

“Yeah?” Emma asks, excited. Henry squirms from Mary Margaret and into Emma’s arms. She sighs happily, pressing her cheek into his baby soft curls. “I’ll miss him being this small, though.”

Mary Margaret chuckles. “We all will.”

All too easily, Emma’s delight with being with her family fades and she finds herself taking a breath just to hold it.

“If we knew where he was, I would tell you to go find him.” Mary Margaret says, seeming to know exactly where her mind went.

Emma nods. “Yeah.”

She pauses, a pest of a thought gnawing at her, begging to be shared. Emma fights with that impulse for a few seconds. Mary Margaret didn’t need to know the very worst of her inner thoughts.

And yet, the thought gnaws. Emma peers at her mother, the ever kind and compassionate source of hope and love in her life.

“What’s on your mind, honey?” Her voice is without meaning harm or pity. It hardly ever is.

Hesitating just a few seconds more, Emma adjusts herself in the booth so she can face her mother more.

“Up until the last few days, he still wanted to stay on the island, and I don’t know if he really meant what he said. How am I supposed to know for sure? I mean, it isn’t like we’d known each other for a long time.”

Her mother frowns. “Emma, you can’t think like this.”

“It’s just being honest.” She sighs. “If he deep down had any doubts… maybe he took the easy out where he could and that’s why we haven’t heard from him.”

Her mother, who has always been filled to the brim with fairytales and happy endings, reaches for Emma’s hand and shakes her head.

“You have to have hope, Emma. Without it, there’s no chance for a happy ending. Do you think we ever gave up hope we’d find you?”

Guilt hits her in a hard pang. She swallows thickly. “No. Of course not.”

Her mother tilts her head to the side, smiling gently. “Then why should you give up on Killian?”

Abruptly, Emma’s phone buzzes on the table and her eyes widen in surprise. “Oh, shoot. I have to take this outside. It’s the doctor.”

Doctors visits had become a weekly routine. Between herself and Henry, the tests and exams seemed endless, although necessary to make sure they were alright after everything they’d been through.

Her mom takes Henry as Emma answers the phone, “Hello?”

“Hi, Emma, it’s Doctor Whale’s office. I’m Nurse Bell calling about your blood test results.”

Emma hums as she steps out the diner’s front door, the bell tinkling in her wake. Taking the steps down to the snowy patio quickly, she isn’t paying any attention when she runs straight into another person.

“Oh!”

Her phone almost falls from her hand when she staggers after the impact. Before her stands her father, who laughs, apologetic. He steadies her with his hands on each of her arms.

“Oh, geez. Sorry, Sweetie.”

She laughs in response, using his shoulder as a balance while she pulls herself back together. “It’s okay. I should’ve been watching where I was going.”

He gently reaches up to adjust her hat on her head. “There you go.”

Emma smiles in thanks, softening a little at the gentleness of the interaction. “Mom and Henry are in our favorite booth.” She holds up her phone. “I have to take this. Be right in.”

David nods in understanding and Emma quickly pulls her phone back to her ear. “So sorry about that. I just... had a run-in with someone.”

The nurse laughs. “I heard. Do you want to hear your results over the phone or would you rather come into the office?”

Emma shakes her head. There’s no need to visit the doctor again if it was just a routine blood test. “I’ll take them now, if that’s possible.”

Nurse Bell pauses. “Okay, well… everything looks good. Um… well, except…”

Her heart skips an anxious beat. “What is it?”

“Well, congratulations are in order, Emma,” the nurse says with a smile she can hear even on the phone, “you’re pregnant.”

All of the blood completely drains from her face and she finds herself standing so still, so quiet, that she almost forgets that she’s on the phone.

Her voice breaks when she finally squeaks out, “What?”

The nurse rattles off a bunch of information, but Emma isn’t listening.

Pregnant.

How the hell did this happen?

Of course, she knows how. She just doesn’t... know how.

Somehow, she ends the call and finds the will within herself to lift her feet, though her mind races with thoughts of Killian.

His eyes, so blue. Would their child have blue eyes too?

Once she stands inside Granny’s Diner, she casts her gaze onto her parents and Henry.

Henry is going to be a big brother.

She’s going to have a baby.

And Killian is still missing.

Every excuse she’d made up for not going to look for him now seems so insignificant. There wasn’t a doubt in her mind that they were meant to be together, but now she actually felt it in her bones.

She shouldn’t have waited for so long to go… maybe she shouldn’t have even left so quickly after reuniting with her parents. But staying here now, with the knowledge that both of her children could be without their father… it felt wrong in the worst way.

Guilt floods her mind, squashing the darkness that had been bothering her all day with a bitter flavor. She almost allows it to overwhelm her, to anchor her to the premise it feeds her, but somewhere deep down, hope stirs within.

Hope that this is only a hiccup, that she would find him, and they would be together again. No matter where, or when, or how, Emma would see Killian again.

When she comes back to the table in the back corner of the diner, she sits beside her mom, who immediately turns to her with worry knitting her brow.

“What’s wrong?”

Emma’s mouth opens, words refusing to form on her tongue. She shakes her head slowly. “I’m going to find Killian. I should get on a plane tonight.”

Mary Margaret looks across the table at David, as if she needs help wrangling Emma in, but her father nods, a kind smile on his face.

“Whatever you need to do. Let’s go. I’m with you, Emma.”