#or how she must have felt when he was accused of murder

[midsummer-semantics]

wiggly wednesday 🪱

Okay sure, this sounds fun. I was tagged by @medusapelagia to share a brainworm/headcanon, and I've been trying to get one to develop more fully so here we go.

Today, I'm thinking about...

Steve and Eddie going through some of Eddie's old things as they pack up to move into their own place. Nancy and Robin are there to help even though that mostly consists of Robin picking through already-packed boxes because she keeps getting distracted by all of the things she finds.

Steve finds what looks to be a really old photo album, the sticky pages holding the photos down yellow with age.

"Oh, shit," Eddie says, taking it from him to flip through. "I haven't seen this in ages. I was sure it was lost when all the shit went down."

"Oh my god, please tell me there's embarrassing baby pictures of you in there," Robin grins, trying to snatch it away.

Eddie holds it out of reach, nearly throwing it as Robin tries to tackle him for it.

"Jesus Christ! I'll show you, just keep your insane paws to yourself!" Eddie gripes.

Steve scoots in closer while Robin and Nancy crowd in on his other side, all wanting a closer look.

There's not many pictures in it and most are grainy and out of focus, black and white and hard to distinguish. But there's a few of a baby with an unmistakeable crop of riotous curls.

"Holy shit, you were so cute," Steve coos, running a finger along the 2D cheek of one photo.

"Excuse you, Harrington, but I'm still cute," Eddie snarks, flipping to the next page.

There's one photo of a young man holding baby Eddie, dark curls so similar to his own atop his head. The photo looks to have been torn down the middle, the right side pressed right against baby Eddie's back, like whoever was on the other side was better left out of the picture long term.

"Huh," Steve hums. "It never occurred to me that I had no idea what your dad looks like."

"And for good reason, babe," Eddie says, fighting not to rip the photo out and burn it. "Thankfully all I got from him was his hair and penchant for hot wiring. Everything else I got from my mom I guess."

"You guess?" Nancy asks.

Eddie nods. "She died when I was a baby and the old man kind of went off the rails after. I suspect this—" he runs a finger along the jagged edge of the photo in the book, "is his handy work."

"That's a shame," Steve says softly. He lifts the plastic covering the photo and peels it off the sticky backing, holding it up to his face to get a closer look — his eye sight is pretty back after so many concussions after all.

"Ya know, if his hair was a little longer, like mullet style, he'd almost look like a dark-haired Billy Hargrove," Steve points out.

Robin snatches the photo out of his hand, holding it out stretched like she can see it better that way instead. "Oh, shit. You're right. That's so weird."

Eddie snatches it back, top lip curled in disgust. "I don't want to speak ill of the dead, but how fucking dare you in any way compare my gorgeous existence to that guy."

Steve snickers and presses a kiss to Eddie's cheek. "I'm sorry, babe. You're right."

The photo gets tucked back into its place and they keep flipping through the book. There's more of Eddie as an infant, a few more of his dad, even a couple of a young Wayne in his military uniform holding a toddler Eddie by his arms as he jumps up, legs gangly and wild. Any photo that might have contained Eddie's mom is ripped, none of them cleanly, and there's only the occasional hand or blur of dark hair. Even still, it does stop happening once Eddie's about six months old.

"Wow. So you really don't know what your mom looks like?" Nancy asks finally as they're setting the photo album in a box.

"Oh no I do," Eddie says. "I have one singular picture of her from right after I was born. Wayne saved it for me."

"Oooooo can we see?" Robin pipes in. Eddie shrugs, getting up to dig through a shoebox that Steve's seen before but somehow managed to avoid snooping through — not that he didn't think about it all the time for the last year they've been together.

He comes back with a photo, plopping back into his spot while his friends and boyfriend crowd around him once more.

It's dead silent for several minutes, all of them staring at the picture. Eddie always figured his uncle was on to something when he said Eddie looked more like his mom, but now that he's about her age when this photo was taken, he thinks he can really see it.

On his left, Steve is trying to process exactly what he's looking at. Sure, the woman in the photo looks like she has the same dark hair that Eddie does, though it's a lot less curly, but aside from the hair and the tired look on her face, she could be a dead ringer for —

"Either Mrs. Wheeler has a doppleganger, or a secret twin we don't know about," he says.

He glances at Robin for a second before looking at Eddie and Nancy. They're heads are bowed over the photo, wearing matching expressions of wide-eyed shock.

Wait.

Matching.

Oh shit.

"Eddie," Robin says carefully. "What's your mom's name?"

His jaw opens and closes a few times before he croaks out, "Elizabeth, but Wayne said she only ever went by—"

"Her middle name?" Nancy asks, the fear of knowing the answer obvious in the wobble of her voice.

Eddie flips the photo over to look at the names and date written on the back. He's looked at it a million times, tracing her loopy handwriting so much over the years that it's slightly smudged, but still legible.

Karen Elizabeth Harvey + Edward Wayne Munson, November 1965

"Oh shit."

——————————————

no-pressure tags if anyone also wants to share a brainworm: @tedewitt @hornedqueenofhell @malikat24601 @spectrum-spectre

[trippinsorrows]

looking through your eyes + seventeen

authors note: this chapter covers the aftermath of solana's attempt in the previous chapter. please heed to content warnings in order to make an informed decision regarding reading this chapter.

i'm going to handle solana's experience in the hospital as realistically as i can, but there are creative liberties taken as well. and don't come for me for the ending either. :/

cw/tw: angst, discussion and coverage of the aftermath of a suicide attempt, mental health discussions.

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist

words: 15k

Roman has a long to-do list. He always does and always will. But, this is by far one of the last things he wants to do. 

He’s going on 24 hours of no sleep, which isn’t the first time he’s done as such, but it’s the first time he’s done as such and actually felt the impact of the sleep deprivation. And truth be told, deep down he knows the exhaustion that he feels is more mental than anything.

It’s the result of the toll that finding out Solana tried to kill herself has taken on him. 

Is taking on him.

But, he can’t deal with that shit right now. He can’t deal with it because he’s got his Wise Man, Rikishi, Solo, Jimmy and Jey all sitting around him, wearing various levels of confused expressions. Which only irritates Roman more because Rikishi and Paul are the only ones who should be confused. The twins have been with him dealing with all of the shit the past 24 hours. 

Solo too.

Rikishi is the first to speak, studying Roman. The Tribal Chief is more than sure he noticed the grimace on Roman’s face as he went to roll his shoulders, remembering yet again of the wound that probably won’t heal as quickly as predicted given the fact he’s done the complete opposite of ‘taking it easy.’

��You gonna tell us what happened or—”

“There was an assassination attempt on Solana’s life last night.” Roman’s sentence is matter-of-fact and to the point, nevermind the fact that his right hand forms into a fist at just saying as such. 

Rikishi and Paul share shocked expressions, Roman’s older cousin being the one to ask, “is she—”

“Bullet hit me instead. Didn’t lodge. I’ll be fine.” Roman only adds that last part because of the horrified look on Paul’s face, already knowing his Wise Man will bombard him with questions about his injury. “Xavier Miller and his boy were behind the attempt. I’m handling them now.” 

“But sir, why would Miller want his own daughter dead?”

Roman closes his eyes and rolls his neck, working to settle his rising temper. He hates talking about this shit. It only spikes his eagerness to get his hands on Miller and rip him apart limb by limb. “Because she didn’t go along with his plan.”

Rikishi speaks up again. “Plan?”

Roman’s jaw clenches. “He wanted her to kill me.” 

The rest of the men look equally shocked, Paul gasping loudly, asking, “she’s a traitor?”

If looks could kill, Paul would be six feet under. Roman has to mentally restrain from acting out on his suddenly murderous urges. “She’s my wife.”

Rikishi, however, seemingly tosses his longtime friend a lifeline, trying to reason with his younger cousin. “Uce, that doesn’t mean she can’t be both—”

“What I’m hearing….” Solo surprises the men around the table as he sits forward. “—is that she can’t be trusted.”

Roman isn’t sure just how much of his anger and rage at the accusations being slung against Solana is showing, his Solana, but it must be enough for the twins, of all people, to try and de-escalate.

“Come on now, this is Soso we talking about.” Jimmy is the first to kick off peacemaking. He looks at his father, “pops, you was there when we first met her. She was nervous as shit. Ain’t nothing about that girl dangerous.”

Jey chimes in, handling Solo. “And you of all people should definitely know that’s not Solana. She would never hurt nobody, let alone kill nobody.”

Solo, however, simply scoffs. “Like she ain’t hurt her brother?”

“What was she supposed to do? Let him beat her?” Jimmy is the one to snap, shouting back with a suck of his teeth, “man, that bitch deserved it!”

Rikishi jumps in, defending his younger son. “I think what Solo is trying to say is that it proves she is, in fact, capable of hurting someone if she wanted to.”

“Why would she want to hurt Roman? That don’t even make no—”

“Enough!” Roman’s fist slams down on the table. “The next person to say one more negative thing about my wife is getting a bullet in their fucking skull.” There’s a blanket of silence, all of the men knowing that Roman would absolutely carry through on this threat. A promise, really. 

Roman swallows, both from anger and something else he can’t pinpoint. “Solana tried to kill herself last night. What in the fuck about that presents a danger?” He doesn’t care enough to observe the reactions of that news. Doesn’t give a fuck. “The only person she’s a danger to is herself.”

Paul is the brave soul, or perhaps just stupidly and naively asking, “is she—okay?” 

“I said tried, didn’t I?” Roman snaps, forcing the pudgy man to recoil back in his seat. Roman clenches his jaw yet again, directing his statement to the next older man. “Rikishi.” He runs a hand over his face. “Meet with the Elders. Tell them about the assassination attempt. That it was Miller. Nothing about the plan. And leave it at that.”

Rikishi removes his glasses, sitting up at the table. “Roman, the Elders should know—” 

“The Elders know what I want them to know, and I want them to know that someone tried to kill my wife, and I’m handling it. That’s it.” Incapable of dealing with any more of this shit, Roman stands up from the chair, turning his back on the rest of his family. “Wise Man, let’s go.”

The obese man also shoots up from the chair, nearly tripping over his feet as he wordlessly follows Roman out of the room. 

Left alone is just Rikishi and his sons, the patriarch asking, “she tried to kill herself?”

Jimmy and Jey wear similar frowns, recalling the horrific truth they learned about their ‘Soso’ just hours prior. Jimmy shuts his eyes, unable to push away the memory of a hysterical Naomi throwing herself into his chest at the memory of finding Solana unconscious. 

“It’s….it’s a long story,” Jey answers in a low voice, wanting to be respectful. Aware or not, Solana’s story is hers to tell and hers only. 

Truthfully, he’s slightly surprised Roman even disclosed that part of the past 24 hours. 

“Yeah, there’s a lot of the story that Roman left out,” Solo suddenly finds his voice again, sharing directly to his father and brothers. “Like the fact that Roman took that bullet for her.”

“What?” Riksihi asks, shock stamped all over his voice. 

“I was right there. I saw the whole thing. He pushed her out the way.”

Jimmy shrugs. “He protected his wife. What’s wrong with that? We all would have done the same.”

Jey nods in agreement. Rikishi looks torn. 

Solo continues, pointing out. “But, Roman ain’t like us. He’s the Tribal Chief. He needs to act like it.”

“Careful, son,” Rikishi cautions, seemingly breaking from his conflicted state. “Your Uce sits at the head of the table for a reason. His ways may be unorthodox at times, but his reign won’t be questioned. We won’t disrespect him.”

Solo scoffs. “But you’ll disrespect the other Elders by lying for him?”

Jey jumps in, chiding, “man, what’s up with you tonight?”

Solo scoffs, pointing to himself. “Me? I’m not the one whose judgment is clouded. We all know if this was one of us and the roles were reversed with our wives, Roman would want them executed. He’s not thinking straight.” Solo looks around the room, noticing there’s a brief second of silence. “Ya’ll see it too. I’m just the only one who’s willing to say it. Roman is losing focus—”

“That’s enough, Solo.” Rikishi raises his voice, firmer, that of a father. “You’re out of line, son.” 

Solo looks around the room, halfway waiting for his older brothers to jump to his defense, to agree with what they have to know is the truth. But, when that doesn’t happen, he also shoots up from the table, rocking it in the process, leaving the room without another word.

Once gone, Jimmy motions with his thumb. “Man, he is tripping.” He shakes his head, asking his father, “you want us to talk to him?”

“No.” Rikishi answers almost immediately, sighing heavily, running his hand over his face. “I’ll do it….you all just….watch Roman.” He stands up, as Jey mutters something about having the hard job. “And sons….this conversation doesn’t leave this room, understood?” Jimmy and Jey look slightly confused and taken back, Rikishi explaining, “I know you’re both closer with Roman. But, he’s just your cousin. Solo is your brother. He’s definitely tripping, but he’s still your family too, and there’s nothing more important than brotherhood, alright?”

________

Roman awakens with a heavy sigh that’s followed by his eyes closing. 

His sleep has been shit the past few days, and it’s been solely because his bed is cold and empty on the other side. Because he’s sleeping alone, something he once cherished but now can barely tolerate. He didn’t realize just how much he enjoyed Solana’s soft body pressed up against him, the satisfaction he felt waking up to her every morning.

Now, he just awakens to silence or the sound of Dulce whimpering or barking. 

Dulce’s whimpers on the side of the bed remind him of the fact that she’s still sleeping in his room. In their room. On Solana’s side.

Her empty side.

Moving the blankets off, Roman swings his big body over the side of the bed and walks over to motion for her to follow him. “Come on.”

He knows she has to empty her bladder, but he’s grateful for a reason to leave the space that reeks of Solana, a constant reminder of her absence. 

It’s….an experience, to say the least. 

Picking her up, he carries her down the steps, through the house, and out the back sliding door by the kitchen. Roman places her in the grass, letting her do her business as he goes to sit down on the edge of one of the chaise lounge.

He closes his eyes.

Love. 

Suck a weird fucking thing. Something he’s never really understood. 

Or felt. 

Not….not in this aspect at least. 

He’s always been confounded by the emotion that makes people act so outside of their character, clouds their judgment, and seizes their brain in crippling ways. He never saw the appeal in it. Never wanted it.

And then came Solana. 

If someone had told him four months ago that he’d not only be married to a woman he actually cares about let alone would end up loving, he’d probably knock them flat on their ass. Harshly criticize their stupidity at the very least. 

Falling in love with Solana was never the plan. He never wanted this for himself. He just needed to marry to create an official heir. And that was it. She would do her thing, taking care of the kid and whatnot. And he would still do him, continuing his life of commitment free sexual relations with whoever was his flavor of the week. Or day. 

And yet all of that, just the thought of it, sours his expression. 

He doesn’t want anyone other than Solana. Doesn’t desire to be intimate with anyone other than her. It’s her he wants to wake up to every morning, her he wants to make happy. He just wants her. Nobody else.

Because he loves her.

And it’s a shocking, life changing realization he finally stumbled into while sitting at her hospital bed. An epiphany he’s certain was heavily transitioned from subconscious to conscious given the events that transpired that night.

She almost died, was almost shot, and there’s not a fucking part of him would do anything differently. He’d take that bullet and any other bullet for her anytime. 

Because he loves her.

He stood between her and her piece of shit father, not thinking twice about it, only knowing that decision would forever negatively change her life. Thinking how he promised her he would never let her end up in that position. 

Because he loves her. 

And he sat at her hospital bed, holding her hand, pouring his heart out to her because the second those infamous words left Jey’s mouth, his world nearly collapsed. He couldn’t think straight as he rushed to the hospital, uncaring and uninterested in anything except being with her, holding her, catering to her. Whatever she needed. He just needs her to be okay. 

Because he loves her.

Roman’s head tilts back, the weight of all this lying on his chest. 

He can’t deny it. Can’t deny he loves her. Not to himself, at least. He just doesn’t know what the fuck to do about it.

There’s…..there’s no room for love in his life. No place for it. Love is weakness, and Roman has never and can never be weak. He’s the Tribal Chief. The Head of the Table. The leader of the Bloodline and Cosa Nostra. There is no space for weakness.

Or love. 

And yet….it’s there.

It’s there for her. 

Dulce walking over to the chaise lounge that Roman realizes is usually the one she sits on when she’s writing brings him back to the sadness that creeps in at her absence. Dulce must feel the same as she lays down, ears also down, whimpering.

Roman beckons her over, watching as she slowly walks over to his feet, ears still down as he picks her up and places her on his lap. It’s something not even a week ago he would probably do. But, that was then, and this is now. 

And now, he almost feels a sense of duty to Solana’s puppy. 

Because it’s this same puppy, he’s learned, that barked nonstop at Bayley and Naomi, running over to Solana and starting to cry, effectively alerting them that something was wrong.

Very wrong.

With an uncharacteristic level of emotion, Roman gently strokes the top of her head. “You saved her life….” For his own mental sanity, Roman chooses not to think about what the alternative could have been. What his reality would be if this small, five pound animal didn’t have such a close, protective bond to her human. “Thank you.”

Dulce whimpers in response, laying her body on his lap, staring at the empty pool chair. 

Roman sighs, eyes shutting again. 

The emotion is undeniable as he acknowledges in a soft voice. “I miss her too..”

This shit is much harder than he realized. 

________

Roman: How are you doing? 

Solana glances at her lock screen at hearing the familiar, personalized notification sound. The sound she set specifically for texts from her husband. Her smile is already set on her face but settles into something deeper as another message slides in.

Roman: Do you need me to come home?

Placing the pencil down on the nearest surface, she swaps out her task at hand for a brief break to respond to the question she anticipated would be proposed at some point in the day. 

Just not this soon, perhaps.

Solana wipes one hand on her shorts, the other unlocking her phone to open his thread. Preparing to reply, her gaze shifts over to her sweet baby boy, sleeping peacefully in his infant pillow. Low, relaxing music plays from her Alexa on the nightstand, lulling and keeping him in his slumber. Similarly, Dulce lays peacefully in her bed on Solana’s side of the bed, curled into a little ball.

The smile somehow grows deeper.

Solana: I’m okay. You don’t need to come home, really.

Solana quickly snaps a photo of the baby and includes it with her next message.

Solana: We’re good. :) 

Solana brings her finger to gently caress her son’s cheek. He has such a calm disposition about him. Even at 6 weeks. She can just see he’s taken on more of her demeanor than his dad’s. Granted, she also noticed the same thing about her oldest twin, only for her to gradually be morphing into the female version of her father.

Roman hearting the photo captures her attention once again followed by his reply, which seems to be the result of long distance mind reading.

Roman: He’s been a lot easier than the girls were. But, time will tell. 

Roman: Where are they?

She giggles, imagining his elongated sigh as he considers what could be in store for them once their son starts to get bigger and older. Can move around and get into things with his sisters. It’s more likely than not bound to happen.

Solana: In their playrooms. They’ve been surprisingly quiet too….for now. Lol

Solana knows her girls well enough to know silence with them, mostly when they’re together, isn’t usually long lived. The quieter of the two is very much like Solana, able to stay and keep to herself just fine without making much or any noise. Her sister, however, older by 6 minutes exactly, is not.

She is rambunctious and loud and loves to be moving. And when they’re together, that adventurous nature rubs off on Solana’s twin, usually resulting in them getting into something. More often than not.

Roman: I talked to them last night. Reminded them it's important they listen and help you out.

This is something she already knew, having overheard as he put them to bed while she catered to their newborn. He’s done that a lot since the birth of their son. Really taken over as much as he can with helping the girls, when it’s something he can do. And if he can’t do it, like them wanting to do art with her or bake something, usually the youngest vs the oldest, he’s on baby duty. 

Whether he realizes it or not, he truly is great at being a dad. Though something tells her, always has, that even three kids deep, he struggles with that insecurity at not being good at it.

Not being good enough.

Roman: I still think it was too early for me to come back to work and leave you alone with everything.

And there it is. What Solana already knew he was thinking but is happy to see him finally admit. Roman’s been working from home the past six weeks, since the birth of their son. And while she’s appreciated having him home, helping her out with managing their growing family, it was time for him to return back to the ‘office.’ 

She knows he worries about her, worries about her feeling overwhelmed, but she’s been good the past few years with being open with him. That hasn’t and won’t change. 

Solana: You were going to have to go back eventually, Ro. I’m okay, really. The girls really don’t cause me any issues. And he’s easy.

Solana: Outside of when he’s groping and squeezing the mess out of my breast. 😅

Breastfeeding has never been much of an issue for Solana. And, while it was definitely a bit of a challenge breastfeeding twins, there was never a pressing enough problem for her to not consider doing the same for her third child.

Granted, unlike the girls who, at most, felt around her breast while getting their fill, her son is more handsy. His little palms often slapping, squeezing and even scratching with his nails she makes sure to try to keep cut low. 

She chuckles, thinking about how this could very much be another small sign she’s in store for yet another energetic child. It lines up though. Even when he’s sleepy, little scowl on his face, she sees Roman. In all of the children, really. But with him, the way his little lips dip and light eyebrows cave into a look of unmistakable disapproval, usually when she takes too long to pick him up or feed him, that’s all Roman.

Roman: Smart kid. 

She giggles, sending out a reply that’s a result of years of growing more comfortable with teetering the lines of risque topics and innuendos.

Solana: Your kid, clearly. 😅

Roman: Damn straight.

Chewing on her bottom lip, she keeps the conversation going with another risky text. 

Solana: Just two more weeks until I’m….cleared. 

Over the years, and as she’s continued to heal, Solana has found herself with a sexual appetite that’s nowhere near her husband’s nor most women her age, but it’s there. Coming and going. Ebbing and flowing. And lately, it’s been on the flowing side.

Roman: We should wait longer. 

Roman: I’m not taking any risks.

She sighs at his reply that’s not entirely unsurprising. He absolutely would want to go past the recommended 8 weeks that she was told by her doctor that they would need to wait to resume intimacy. An extended period of time than the usual 6 weeks due to the second degree tear she sustained while birthing her third child. A thing that can happen during childbirth and wasn’t anything too serious, but something she knows her husband sees as just that.

Thus him wanting to not ‘take any risks.’ 

Solana: I understand.

Understanding is different from agreeing, but she won’t push him on it. 

Solana: Besides, don’t want to risk another baby.

Solana: Just yet anyway….

Having this conversation over text probably isn’t the way to go, but she has no doubt he’ll talk with her about it more in person when he comes home tonight, after all three kids are down for bed.

That doesn’t mean they can’t start it now, at least, though.

Roman: Seriously? You really want another baby?

Roman: He isn’t even a year yet.

Roman: You forget I’m 10 years older than you. I’m getting too old for all these kids, Solana.

It’s true they just welcomed their baby boy not even two months ago. And Roman is aging. He’s older, the gray in his beard spreading by the day, but he’s still just as active and fit into his forties as he was when they met years prior. Thus, he’s exaggerating. 

Solana: No, you’re not.

Solana: And that wasn’t a no…..

His reply comes in a bit quicker than she was anticipating. 

Roman: It wasn’t. 

She smiles. Solana has learned her husband well over the years. Knows him well enough to know that if there wasn’t a part of him also interested in maybe having another child, he would be clear about his standpoint. He would express his disagreement. 

So his comment would suggest he’s not team no. That he’s open, and his following texts confirm as such.

Roman: But, this would be it. Four is more than enough.

She smiles, knowing that this definitely will still be discussed in person tonight but happy that he’s unwilling to deny himself. Solana’s love for him has only deepened since seeing him step into the role of fatherhood. 

She just wishes she could get him to see how good he is at this. The girls wouldn’t adore him as much as they do if he was bad at it, per se.

But, he’s not.

If only he could see it. 

Solana: Unless we get another set of twins….😅

Roman: Jesus Christ 

Solana giggles, imagining the look he must have on his face. Probably similar to when they found out about the girls. She wasn’t entirely surprised given how strongly twins run on his side of the family.

But, he most certainly was.

A quiet knock pulls her from the conversation as she lays her eyes on the twins who are waiting by the door with hesitant expressions. She waves them over, placing her finger over her mouth to remind them to be quiet to avoid waking up the still sleeping baby.

They tip toe over to her, moving to her side of the bed, leaning over and looking at him. The oldest is the one to ask, whispering, “why does he sleep so much, mama?”

Solana chuckles. “That’s what babies do. They need a lot of sleep to grow big and strong.”

The quieter of the two of them deviates from her usual silence to predict, “he’s gonna be big and strong like papa.”

The oldest, however, doesn’t hesitate to reiterate. “I’m still gonna be the tribal chief though.”

Solana has such a torn reaction she does well at hiding. As much as she loves how much her technically first born admires Roman and wants to be just like him, she also has no idea just what it is that Roman really does. The true weight that comes with wearing the Ula Fala. 

Or the fact that by his family’s laws and traditions, their son is the true heir to the Bloodline. Granted, she also suspects it’s those same laws and traditions Roman will fight tooth and nail to change should their daughter, even after knowing the truth about the Bloodline, still want to pursue taking his place when the time comes for him to step down.

Roman would do anything to give her just as much a chance to the keys to the kingdom as her brother.

But, that’s so far down the line, and Solana doesn’t like thinking about it too much. She just wants to enjoy her children as they are now, innocent and oblivious.

Ms. Quiet stays on her talking streak, asking quietly, “can we still go to aunt Bayley’s house today?”

Solana nods. She briefly forgot about that, but it’s still very much doable. “Of course.” 

The girls gasp and look at each other, Solana already knowing another request is about to follow. Roman’s little twin ends up being the one to ask, “mama, can we go see papa at his office before?”

She shouldn’t be surprised. One of their favorite things to do is stop by and see Roman while he’s at work. Something she hasn’t done in some time, not since the birth of her son and even then, it had been a few months.

Solana starts to text and ask him if he’s busy, but one look at the happiness on the girls’ faces at being able to see their dad, and she knows she doesn’t need to.

She knows there’s no way on God’s green earth that he would turn them away, even if he stopped or canceled a meeting just to interact with them.

That’s just the kind of father he is.

His kids come first. 

With excitement bubbling in her stomach at seeing her husband, Solana takes a glance at her son, smile growing as he stirs, clearly just as ready to see daddy. 

She then looks back at her just excited girls, sharing, “time to go see papa.”

“Time to get up.”

Solana has to blink a couple of times to reorient herself, almost entirely due to the shocking nature of her dream. A dream she’s now had every night since being admitted to the hospital, glimpses, and what feels like peeks, into the future.

Her future.

But, at the same time, it’s a distant thing that seems unattainable and unrealistic given where she is now. On a legally mandated psychiatric hold after attempting to die by suicide.

“You up, sweetie?”

Solana nods and sits up in the bed, accepting the water and pills in the small medicine bowl. She doesn’t hesitate to swallow all three, offering a small smile to the nurse who’s been assigned to her, making sure she takes her medication as prescribed.

The nurse, Carol, she thinks, reminds, “breakfast starts in twenty.”

Solana nods, pushing back some of her hair, waiting for the older woman to leave before she lays back down on the bed. 

She shuts her eyes. 

The past few days have been…..an experience. An emotional ride unlike any she’s been on in years. The last time she can recall struggling and feeling as heavy as she was was when she woke up from her coma and had it confirmed that her mother was dead. Something she knew but held onto the invisible string of hope that Nina somehow survived. 

Even though Solana still recalls the moment she heard and saw her mother take her last breath. 

It’s a weight that’s lessened tremendously over the past couple of days, since she woke up yet a second time, less irrational, not as hysterical. Part of her reaction was most definitely due to still feeling suicidal, still believing that being dead would be better for everyone. But her reaction was exacerbated by the fact that two male nurses moved to restrain her as she tried to move from the hospital bed. Having male hands on her like that was triggering and made her emotions that much more difficult to manage in an already tense situation.

But the second time she awoke, Solana saw nothing but women. Truth be told, she’s only had women on her care team since being admitted. It’s made such a big difference. 

All of it has.

Being in this space, so separated from the outside world. It’s been both difficult and welcomed. A nice escape from a recently draining reality but also a heavy separation that she’s brought up a couple times now in her individual therapy sessions with her therapist, Gail.

That is the difficulty in being separated from Roman. It’s a dichotomy. As much as she wants to see and talk to him, she wants to hide and avoid him. She wants to explain yet also never have to discuss it again. An avoidance behavior that is typical for survivors of suicide attempts, another thing she’s learned in therapy thus far. 

But more than anything, Solana just wants to talk to him. She remembers from when she was admitted as a teen following her first attempt that communication is typically cut off from the outside. She just didn’t realize it would be the same protocol as an adult. 

Something intended to avoid patients from being re-triggered. She gets that, but it doesn't make her miss him any less. 

This is the first time they’ve been separated from one another since before the wedding, and it’s not a fun experience. 

But yet….

It’s not a horrible experience either.

No one wants to be in the hospital. And no one definitely wants to be in the hospital on a legal hold because they’ve been deemed a danger to themselves and thus needs 24/7 supervision.

That part sucks, but what hasn’t sucked for Solana is being able to be as honest and vulnerable as she needs to be. To cry and fully acknowledge the extent of her feelings, to be as raw as she’s been in her therapy sessions thus far with Gail. The woman whose kind smile, non-judgemental and self-disclosure of also being violated has created such a safe space for her. 

Solana knew, knows, that she can talk to Roman. That he’s made it clear there’s nothing she can’t discuss with him. But, there’s something about speaking to another woman, someone who’s also sadly been through something similar that’s….that’s healing, almost. 

Knowing Carol will be back for another reminder about breakfast, Solana pulls from her thoughts and leaves her bed to start her day.

Everything in the hospital is planned, time cut out for everything from meds, breakfast, group therapy, individual therapy and more. There’s only so much time in the day that’s reserved as ‘free time,’ though being hospitalized doesn’t present a ton of options for one to choose from during said ‘free time.’

However, Solana has always been able to occupy herself and keep herself busy, and this is no different. 

Later that day, she’s in one of the common areas, utilizing her free time with one of her favorite coping mechanisms. One she’s recently revisited and brought back to lean on. Pencil in hand, Solana uses the sketchbook she was given by Gail. No particular drawing in mind, it’s not missed on her how the bare bones outline of the face she’s drawing has very similar features to that of her husband.

“Hey.”

Solana lifts her head from the page, landing on two women who she’s seen in passing and up close in her group therapy. Both are brunette with similar heights yet different builds. The shorter one looks like she keeps herself in the gym, slender muscles visible even with the hospital provided clothing they all wear. The other is a few inches taller and curvier, her breast stretched against the material. The shorter one is the one who spoke. One looks amenable, the other does not. The one who spoke is, unfortunately, not the one with the friendly expression.

Solana swallows, gaze somewhat traveling as she sees one of the orderlies already watching the interaction. Closely. He’s a big man whose size looks disproportionate to the job he holds here, and she’s noticed him watching her a couple of times. Yet, it’s never been a predatory gaze. Almost…..protective.

“Solana, right?” She nods as the two women plop on the other sofa adjacent to the one Solana sits on. “I’m AJ, and this is Candice.” She gestures to the other woman with her thumb, the brunette waving and smiling almost giddily. Before Solana can say anything else, AJ is leaned over, asking in a low voice. “You’re Roman’s wife, right?”

Solana tenses. For some reason, that rubs her the wrong way, sends an unfamiliar chill up her spine. Something in her tells her to lie, but it’s no use in denying the obvious. “Yes.”

AJ snorts and sits back, arm lazily lounged up on the top of the sofa. “Well, I was gonna ask you how’d you end up here, but I guess that’s an obvious answer.” AJ laughs darkly, making her comment to Candice but directing it towards Solana. “I’d try to off myself too if I had to be married to that son of a bitch.”

Clearly, Solana has not been in a good place recently, hence her current situation. Her emotions have been all over the place. That’s why she chalks up her next actions to the fact that she’s still coming down from her relapse. 

Closing up the sketchpad, Solana sits up and doesn't stutter as she states clearly and concisely to AJ, “you have no idea what the hell you’re talking about, so why don’t you just shut up and leave me alone?” 

Candice's shock matches that of Solana’s, but the former doesn’t back down. Doesn’t suddenly regret her statement. Maybe it’s adrenaline. Maybe it’s the fact that Solana feels the anger stirring inside her at even the insinuation that Roman could ever be the cause of her trying to end her life.

When he’s the one that saved it. 

AJ, however, doesn’t look shocked. She looks pissed off.

And then she’s smiling. 

“Oh, sweetie, you have no idea who you’re messing with.” AJ starts to stand up, Candice following suit though she looks more confused and dumbfounded than anything. Like she’s there but not here. “Your psychopath husband isn’t here to save you—”

“You lay one hand on her, and I’ll snap your fucking neck like a twig.”

Three sets of eyes land on the figure who’s way too big for them to have not heard his footsteps, but that’s exactly what’s happened. The orderly who Solana has noticed watching her since her admission is standing almost protectively beside where she still sits on the sofa. His gaze and voice are hard as steel, focused on AJ and Candice. “I suggest you leave. Now. And stay the hell away from her.”

Solana looks between this man who, for some reason, is defending her and AJ, who still looks more amused than anything. She scoffs. “Of course.” Frowning, Solana is still stuck on the fact that this orderly who’s working in a psychiatric wing for women who’ve tried to kill themselves just threatened to kill another woman when AJ simply turns to walk away, Candice hot on her heel.

And as soon as they're out of the vicinity, the man steps back, as if wanting to grant Solana space. He then exclaims, further deepening her shock, “you’ll be safe here, Mrs. Reigns. You have my word.” 

Mrs. Reigns…..

Solana is suddenly taken back to her birthday trip, the way she was addressed by the pilots, the chef, and anyone else that Roman hired to assist them on their vacation. And that’s when it hits her.

“Bloodline…..” It makes so much sense. Why he’s always seemed to be around when she’s not in her room, the way he’s watched her almost nonstop since she arrived, the way he intervened just now. “You’re Bloodline.”

“Dave.” He offers a small, respectful smile that’s all the answer she needs. “But everyone calls me by my last name, Bautista.”

________

“Hey.”

It’s interesting how a simple word can bring on such a reaction.

Just yesterday, the same word was said to her and followed up with a not terrible but strange interaction.

She can only pray this time around is different. 

Solana takes a second to pause and shut her eyes before she looks up from her inner arm where she works on the assignment given in her first group therapy session.

Her eyes land on three women, all familiar faces because they’re all in her group. However, she’s never directly spoken to them prior to now.

Solana swallows and offers a small smile. “Hi….” 

Solana studies all of them, different in skintones, builds, hair colors and even facial expressions. The one who spoke first pushes her raven hair over shoulder and clears her throat, asking, “is it—is it true that your husband had the orderlies and security replaced with Bloodline members?”

The question takes her back, Solana unsure of how to respond, not because she doesn’t know the answer. She does. Baustista indirectly confirming that he was sent by her husband to watch over her has made Solana realize that it’s not just him who she catches watching her whenever she’s not in her room. It’s other men as well. Big, strong, much too in shape for a job like this.

The only logical thing that makes sense to her is that Roman is, once again, looking out for her. As he always does. 

“That’s pretty fucking cool. If so.” Another one comments, her brunette pulled to the side of her neck as she sits down on the sofa opposite Solana. “It was even better seeing AJ put in her place.”

Solana swallows, quite unsure just how to respond to that. “I—I don’t want to cause any problems.”

The first woman scoffs, also sitting down next to the other lady. “You might not, but AJ does. I honestly don’t know why they don’t put her in the other wing with Victoria.”

“The other wing?”

The third woman breaks her silence, explaining, her voice quiet and typical for her equally unassuming demeanor. “There’s two psychiatric wings here. The one we’re in and another for more….severe cases.”

“I.e. the really crazy bitches.”

“Melina!” The woman with brunette hair shakes her head, smiling a little as she formally introduces everyone. “I’m Mickey. This is Melina, and that’s Cameron, but we call her Cam.”

For some reasons, the names fit all of them, Solana moving to the side as Cam gestures to the space next to her and takes an almost apprehensive seat. 

“Solana—”

“Oh, everyone knows who you are, girl.” Mickey snickers, leaning back into the sofa and crossing her legs over one another. “You might just be my new favorite person.”

Solana frowns, completely lost at this seemingly random title. “I don’t—-I don’t understand.”

“AJ thinks she runs shit around here. Her and that dumbass friend of hers, Candice Michelle.” Melina explains, shaking her head. “AJ definitely should be in the other ward with Victoria. She’s the psychiatrist that runs it. Doesn’t put up with shit. Almost polar opposite of Dr. Stratus.”

Solana doesn’t know much beyond what’s being said, but something tells her she’s most definitely in the better of two places. Even if just getting to have Dr. Stratus manages her meds. She really likes her. 

However, this conversation brings up a very valid question that Solana doesn’t exactly know how to word very well but finds it in her to ask. “So you all….you’ve been here before?” 

It’s obvious, given the fact that they’re all so familiar with each other and dynamics. Same with this AJ and Candice person, but Solana doesn’t want to assume.

There’s a silence that falls over the women, and Solana instantly feels bad, feels silly for not recognizing how invasive that question is. However, before she can apologize, Cam is the one to speak up.

Shrugging, her smile is tight and undeniably sad as she says so simply, “demons are hard to kill.”

And just like that, Solana has never related to something more.

Feeling overcome with an almost duty to share, her eyes drop to her arms, the intricate outlines of butterflies camouflaging the scars that will never fully go away. “I get that……I really do.”

Looking up, Solana feels the set of understanding gazes on her, instantly knowing without any of them needing to share specifics that they just get it. They understand the specific and tragic ways one can end up in a place like this, oftentimes due to demons beyond their slaughtering capabilities. 

Mickey clears her throat, gesturing to Solana’s arm. “You’re really good.”

She glances down at her still unfinished art, a small smile falling on her face. “Thank you.” An idea crosses her mind as she notices each of them attempted to follow through on the assignment as well but clearly struggled. “I can—I can help, if you want?” 

Cam gasps, obviously excited by the idea of it. “Really?”

Solana’s smile grows as she explains, “I—I love art.”

Mickey squeals almost and pulls out a black sharpie from her bra, shrugging with a playful smile. 

“We were kinda hoping you said that.”

________

“You’re quiet today.” Gail’s assessment continues as she asks in a gentle voice, “are you nervous?”

Nervous is an understatement. Solana fidgets on the sofa, running her hands down her sweats. “I—I haven’t seen or spoken to him since….you know.”

Gail presses her lips together, nodding. “You don’t know what to expect.”

Solana nods, eyes starting to water. “I don’t—I don’t want him to be upset with me.” 

It’s officially been a week since Solana has been admitted into the psychiatric ward. An interesting experience, to say the least. She’s made enemies, made ‘friends’, worked through and started to process with a professional so much of her trauma, and more. And while her longing for seeing and speaking to her husband has only continued to grow by the day. The day finally being here where she’s allowed a visitor, where he will come to see her this evening feels almost….it feels too soon.

She’s just so nervous, unsure of what that reunion is going to look like. 

Gail sees the thoughts brewing in her client’s head as she asks in an attempt to redirect, “are you responsible for his emotions?”

“No, but….but I—” When she struggles to get out a coherent response, Gail presents a thought provoking question.

“Solana, based upon what you know about Roman, what’s more likely? That he’ll be upset with you or that he’ll just be happy that you’re alive?”

It’s such a good question, one that has the emotion bubbling in the back of her throat, emotion she shows as silent tears begin to fall. “I—I want him to be happy, but…..”

“You’re still struggling with feeling like a burden to him….” It’s an assessment by her therapist that is wholly correct, but one Solana can’t verbally comment on, only offering her agreement with a silent head nod. “Do you remember the exercise we did a couple of sessions ago about faulty thinking? About the ways your trauma influences your thinking.” 

Solana reflects back on that session, so heavy yet so helpful. It provided her such insight on just how deeply her experiences have painted her view of so much. Of everything, really. Including how she so lowly views herself sometimes. 

“I want you to think about that and compare it to the thoughts that you’re having now……where are they coming from?”

Solana closes her eyes and blows out a breath. “My…my fear.”

“And if your fear was a living, breathing entity sitting opposite beside you right now, how would you combat it? Think about the cognitive challenging we discussed.”

Keeping her eyes shut, Solana travels back to that session, utilizing the skills and tips and knowledge she’s learned since her admission.

She takes an ‘efficient breath’, as Gail calls them. “I’d tell my fear that….that you don’t get to control me anymore.”

Gail smiles softly, gently encouraging the young woman to continue. “What else?”

Silent tears continue to fall, but Solana’s voice remains firm and unwavering. “And that….that Roman cares about me and just wants me to be okay and….and get better.”

Gail hasn’t felt so proud and pleased with a client’s response to the empty chair exercise in quite a while. “Exactly.” She sits back in her own chair, jotting down some notes. “Can I ask what you’re feeling right now?”

Solana finally opens her eyes and wipes at her eyes, scoffing quietly. “A…a little better, actually.” She motions to her chest. “It doesn’t….it doesn’t feel as heavy.”

“Good.” Gail makes note of this and starts to ask a follow up processing question when Solana’s soft voice beats her to it.

“Can…..can I talk about something with you?”

Gail’s grin is warm and welcoming as she offers genuine assurance. “Solana, there’s nothing we can’t discuss here.” She’s pleased to see Solana’s smile grow at this reassurance. “What would you like to talk about?”

Feeling on the spot all of a sudden, despite being the one who initiated the conversation, Solana does her best to manage and push through her anxiety. “I—I’ve been….I’ve been having dreams since I got here.”

Gail is mindful of her expression as she asks in a soft voice, “dreams or…..”

Sensing what she’s asking, Solana quickly shakes her head. “No. Not those. Not nightmares. They….they really are dreams. Good dreams, I—I think.”

Studying her, Gail assesses. “You seem unsure.” 

Deciding to bite the bullet, Solana shares in a low voice, “they’re dreams of me in the future…..as….as a mother.”

Gail nods. “I see.” She makes note of one of Solana’s nonverbals. “You’re smiling right now.”

Sniffling, Solana continues to share and exhibit so much vulnerability, most of which is solely because of how safe and non-judged Gail has made her feel. “In the dreams, we have three kids. Twin girls and a baby boy.” She wipes at her nose and swallows deeply. “I—I want to be a mom someday, but I don’t….I don’t want to be a bad mom.”

If these dreams have shown her anything, it’s that she wants more than anything to be a positive influence in her future child, or children's, lives. She doesn’t want to cause them even a fraction of the parental trauma she’s experienced. 

And deep down, Solana knows that she’s absolutely nothing like her father.

But, she knows she’s very much been deeply impacted by her fathers’ abuse. By all of her trauma. And the last thing she wants is for any of that to negatively influence her children. 

“Solana, what makes you think you could ever be a bad mother?” She shrugs, shutting down a bit. Gail sighs lowly, offering words of affirmation and support. “You are not a bad person. You are not a broken person. Not a damaged person. Just a person who’s been dealt some not so  great cards, but you’re here, working on these things. Working on becoming a healthier version of yourself.” Gail chuckles, pointing out, “that doesn’t sound like a bad future mother to me.”

Really sitting on the words of encouragement and doing her best to not let the self-doubt creep in, Solana asks in a voice barely above a whisper, “do you….do you really think I could be a good mother?”

Gail’s response is almost immediate, not a thought to be had as she answers honestly, “Solana, I think you could be a damn good mother.” 

Solana laughs, emotion seeping in as she nods, utterly grateful for such kind words. “Thank….thank you. That….that means a lot to me.”

“Of course.” Gail would like to process this more, maybe get into some additional trauma work, but there’s another important thing on her agenda for this session. “Solana, as you know, your hold will be up exactly one week from now, meaning you’ll be officially discharged and allowed to return home.”

Solana eyes lighten up at that, an expected reaction as Gail gently slides into a deeper conversation pertaining to her release. “But, there’s something I would like to speak to you about.”

________

Roman doesn’t think twice as he walks into the room that’s suspiciously quiet to be located in a hospital, decorated just as one would expect a therapist’s office to look. He only briefly takes a look around before plopping his big body down on the sofa. 

He didn’t even pay any attention to the fact that Gail was attempting to extend an olive branch, offering a handshake that he so rudely ignored, clearly ready to get this over with.

She keeps her togetherness, offering a verbal introduction. “Thank you for com—”

“This has to do with Solana, right?”

Gail makes a face, pressing her lips together as she chuckles quietly. “Of course.”

“Then get to it.” Roman is quick with the demands, asking, “how is she doing?”

Gail offers a tight smile. “I’m Gail Kim, the therapist on staff who’s been handling Solana’s individual therapy sessions.”

“Did I ask you who you were?” His stare is cold and uninterested. “I asked you how she’s doing.”

Sighing, Gail refers to the tablet on her lap, opening up the notes she’s happy that she prepared ahead of time. This is going exactly as she predicted it would. “Your wife is no longer endorsing suicidal ideation which means she’s denying any thoughts and plans to take her life, which is significant progress considering it’s only been a week—”

There’s a hint of hopefulness in both his expression and voice as he asks, “so, she’s ready to come home?”

Gail hesitates. “Not exactly.”

The previous hopefulness melts into something cold and harsh. Roman is visibly and understandably irritated. “You just said she’s not suicidal anymore.”

“Yes, but it’s not that simple. Solana is….she’s an interesting case. Her trauma history is significant. Though she seems to be on the way to stabilization, there’s still a lot of work that needs to be done. She needs continued professional help.”

“Isn’t that why she’s here with you?” His tone is cruel and condescending. “If you’re too fucking incompetent to help her, let me take her home, so I can.”

Gail bites the inside of her cheek. If this was anyone else, she would set them straight on the importance of mutual respect. But, this isn’t just anyone. This is Roman Reigns, and she’s well aware of the fact that one wrong statement or sign of disrespect could very well end her life, so she does her best to remain calm and professional. And she tries an alternative approach. 

“You know, one of the exercises she did in an individual session asks about what safe spaces she has, sources of support and whatnot. And you know what she put down for almost every answer?” Gail gives a small, closed mouth smile. “You.” Well trained in reading nonverbals, she picks up on the brief giveaway sign of emotion that flashes in Roman’s eyes at this. “She put down that you are her number one reason for wanting to live.” 

There’s a good minute of silence before Roman asks in an uncharacteristically low voice. “So why did she do it?”

Gail's smile shifts into a solemn frown. “I’ll leave that discussion to the two of you. She’s expressed wanting to talk with you about that directly.”

“I’m asking you.”

Gail leans back in her chair and goes a different route. “It’s okay to be upset with her. To be angry at her. To be angry at and blame yourself.” Gail catches just a glimpse of surprise in his eyes at the last part. “To actually feel your feelings.”

Roman, however, is uninterested in any of this. Offended even. “Why the hell would I be angry at her?”

“Why wouldn’t you be? She tried to leave you. That’s essentially what suicide is. Escapism. It provides the patient with the peace they’re looking for but leaves the loved ones left behind with a world of questions and emotions.” She explains, mindful of her tone and voice. “Two truths can exist in the same universe. You can be happy she wasn’t successful and still angry at her for trying in the first place.”

Roman is quiet for a good two minutes, Gail wondering if she should transition to another topic when he breaks said silence in that same low voice. 

“I don’t understand why she didn’t call me. I told her to tell me if…..if those thoughts ever returned.”

“But she didn’t…..” Gail’s voice softens as she adds, almost empathetically. “I think you’ll find talking with her will give you some of the answers you’re looking for. But, they truly should come from her.”

Roman won’t push. He wants to, but won’t. If this is something Solana wants to discuss with him herself, he’ll respect that. So long as it’s not triggering to her, which it seems, surprisingly, it’s not. 

Gail clears her throat and transitions to the next section. “Dr. Stratus started her on a medication regimen of Sertraline, 50mg and Wellbutrin, 100mg, once a day in the morning as well as Hydroxyzine, PRN, which means as needed. The Sertraline and Wellbutrin are antidepressants, and Hydroxyzine can be taken when she starts to feel overwhelmed or triggered. So far, she’s responding well, though it typically takes 4 to 6 weeks for patients to truly notice the full benefits.” 

Roman nods, as Gina or whatever her name is, continues to explain what’s otherwise obvious. 

“We’ve been administering her medication and given how she attempted to take her life, Dr. Stratus and I strongly advise that you or someone else take over that administration upon her discharge—”

“Do you honestly think I’m stupid enough to allow her to have unmonitored access to pills again?” Roman doesn’t even try, not that he was before, to hide his frustration and irritation. She’s acting like he’s stupid. His degrees may be in business, but one doesn’t need to have a degree in behavioral health to know thatyou don’t give a formerly suicidal person free access to the same method they used to take their life. 

Gail, however, decides to not feed into it. “You know, anger is sometimes just anger. Just people mad as hell. But sometimes….sometimes it’s what we call a blanket emotion, meaning there are other feelings hiding beneath it, being presented as anger.”

Roma sits forward. “Just what the hell are you trying to insinuate?”

“Nothing at all, Mr. Reigns.” A small smile falls on her face, and that only pisses him off even more. Is this bitch trying to patronize him or something? “But, you should know that we offer support for spouses and loved ones like yourself who are supporting—”

“The only thing I need for you to do is to help my wife, so I can get her the hell out of this place and home where she belongs.”

Gail takes a deep breath. 

It was worth a try. 

“I want to show you something.” She stands up from her chair, moving to her desk as she pulls out a key to unlock the drawer. “Solana signed a full release authorizing us to share all details regarding her care with you. But, there are some things she’s explicitly expressed you not being okay with knowing and seeing. This is not one of them. And I think you would find it interesting….”

If not for the fact that the therapist already made it clear that safety concerns and suicidality are exceptions to confidentiality, Roman would be concerned, wondering just what exactly Solana doesn’t want him to know.

But something tells him she’s perhaps opened up in therapy about specifics regarding her trauma more than she has with him, and if that’s the case, his only hope is that this woman knows what she’s doing and doesn’t trigger Solana further.

She walks back over, handing him a set of sheets. Roman takes them, immediately noticing the handwriting. 

Solana’s handwriting. 

He gets to reading the bolded question that each has answers of varying length.

Who is your safe person? What makes this person safe?

My husband. He’s the first man in my life to not hurt me. The first man I’ve ever trusted.

On a scale of 1 to 10, how much do you trust this person with 1 being none and 10 being absolute trust?

 10

How does this person make you feel safe?

He’s patient with me and listens to me and makes me feel beautiful.

How does this person serve as a member of your support system?

He listens to me and always checks on me. 

How long have you experienced thoughts/urges/practices of self-harming behavior including suicidal ideation and/or attempts?

The first time I felt like I didn't want to be alive anymore was when I was ten. I woke up from my coma and realized my mother was dead. I just wanted to be with her. But it’s my brother constantly telling me I should kill myself after my mom’s murder that made me seriously think about doing it. 

He would tell me that it should have been me who died, and I should just kill myself because no one wanted me.

And I started to believe him. 

It’s been on and off since then.

Has there been a point in time where you have not had these thoughts/urges?

Yes. For the past four months. 

If you answered yes to the previous question, what caused or contributed to the cessation of these thoughts/urges?

I met my husband. I had real friends for the first time. I found myself having a real family for the first time in a long time. 

I was happy.

Prior to this gap, when was the last time you experienced any of these thoughts? What triggered them?

The day of my wedding. This was before I got to know my husband. I was scared he was going to beat me like my dad and brother.

What happened to re-trigger you? If uncomfortable sharing, list the emotions you felt during this episode. 

Sadness. Anger. Confusion.

Do you remember what thoughts you were experiencing before the suicidal and self-harming ideation returned? What were they?

I couldn’t stop thinking about my rape and my mother’s murder. It was like I was reliving them over and over again, and I couldn’t get the memories and flashbacks to stop. It felt like all my progress was reversed, and I’d have to start over, and I didn’t want to put my husband and family through that, as they’re the reason I even started to heal.

I just didn’t want to be in pain anymore, and I thought everyone would be happier if I was dead. I didn’t want to be a burden to my husband.

Looking back and reflecting on your thoughts, have they changed? And if so, how?

I don’t want to die. I still don’t feel as good as I was feeling before I found out the truth, but I’m not thinking or wanting to kill myself anymore. I still have a lot of things I want to do. I’m not ready to be done here. Just want to get better.

 Do you wish you would have done something different? What could you have done differently?

Yes.

Called my husband. 

Can you identify at least one reason your life is worth living?

Roman 

Roman has oscillated through so many different emotions reading through this worksheet from beginning to end. Anger seems like the dominant emotion, his jaw clenching as he learns how close to the paternal tree Solana’s bitch brother remained..

He’s not much better than Xavier. 

If not worse. 

And Roman is determined to find even more, additional ways to make that fucker suffer the way he made Solana suffer for so many years.

He’s also livid and something else unknown that on a day that should have been special for her, she was considering taking her own life.

And he hates himself for putting her in that position in the first place. He was the one who wanted to speed everything up, not even considering how traumatic that process could have been for her. 

But he especially doesn’t know how to feel reading just how highly Solana views and feels about him. She hasn’t been very quiet regarding how much she cares about him, but reading her words, her writing, her honesty, it makes him aware of just how much she cares. 

“You mean a lot to her. And her healing and progress moving forward will require your support.” Gail cuts in, voice calm and almost soothing. “One of the things I ask clients all the time is who their support system is and is there anything else they need from this person or persons….she couldn’t tell me a single thing she needs from you that you don’t already give her.” Roman says nothing, not even offering a nonverbal gesture or movement for her to analyze. Thus, Gail continues, reviewing her notes of topics she wanted to touch on with him prior to his seeing Solana in a few hours. “Now, I will say, Solana does exhibit strong codependent tendencies. Specifically with you. She’s extremely attached to you, and while that should probably be addressed at some point, her stabilization is the priority.”

Roman doesn’t pay much, or any, mind to that last part. He doesn’t care what this woman says. Whatever Solana needs, she’ll get. 

Especially if what she wants is him.

Cause he wants her just as much. 

________

Roman doesn’t get nervous. 

Ever.

But, he’s certain what he’s feeling in his fucking stomach is some level of nerves.

And he hates that shit.

Cause why the fuck is he at his grown age feeling anxious about seeing his wife? Perhaps it’s the fact that it’ll be the first time in a week that he’s actually laid eyes on her, seeing her not lying unconscious in a hospital bed. That he’ll be able to have her big brown eyes focused on him. Hear the sound of her voice, so soft and light.

He shuts his eyes.

Fucking nerves.

He decides to pull out his phone as a distraction while security escorts her to him in the visitors section, remembering a text from Paul that he should probably respond to. Not that he wants to, but it’s better standing here feeling fucking stupid and—

“Roman…”

He wasn’t sure just sure how he would respond or react or even feel seeing her for the first time in a week, but Solana is barely able to get his name out of his mouth when Roman snaps his head up from the phone in his hand to the direction of which the voice came. 

It happens a bit too fast for him to even process. The rise and easy falter of her smile, the gloss of her eyes, the tiny scoff of disbelief that leaves her mouth before she’s running toward him.  Roman wastes not a single fucking second to pick her up the minute she throws her body against him. And just like that, almost every trace of irritation, of vexation, of anger melts away.

Roman’s eyes shut as he holds her close against him, noticing how tightly she’s holding him back. 

Her voice cracks followed by a sniffle as she murmurs against his shoulder. “I’ve missed you….”

For a brief second, he’s angry again. Angry because has she been asking for him? And if so, why was he not informed? Stratus has been texting him frequent general updates. That she’s been consistently opening up in individual therapy, not as open in group sessions, often writes and draws during their designated free time, etc.

But nothing about her asking for him. 

He makes a mental note to ask Stratus about that shit, but not now. Now, his focus is entirely focused on the woman in his arms.

“I missed you too.” Saying he missed her feels like an understatement. Roman has been fucking miserable without her around, but what good would it serve her to share as such? So, he keeps it simple but still accurate.

He ignores the small part of him that dislikes when she finally pulls away, but that dissatisfaction is easily shoved to the side when he sees her eyes watering. “I’m so sorry. I—I didn't mean. I just—”

Roman’s focus is now solely honed in on stopping her from crying. He can’t see her upset. Not after what happened. He moves his hands to her face, gently cupping her cheeks and brushing away her tears. “Let’s talk, okay?”

She nods, stepping back, forcing his hands to drop but easily sliding her hand into one of his as she leads them in the direction from where she came. Roman won’t lie. He’s not paying attention to much in passing. Just her. It’s like there’s a blurred lens on them, distorting everything around them except his wife.

And he has zero issues with this. 

He has zero issues until they’re walking past a group of three women who seem to notice that Solana is crying and stop her, the one who almost looks like she could be Hispanic asks Solana, “are you alright?”

Who the fuck is this? Roman would most definitely ask as such as well as tell her to stay out of their damn business if not for the fact that Solana answers almost reassuringly. 

“Yes, of course.” 

To make matters worse, this irritating ass stranger has the audacity to almost send a suspicious damn near glare his way. Just who the fuck does she think she is? 

The woman on her right suddenly asks, her quiet voice strangely reminding him of Solana. Right off the bat, he can see they have similar demeanors. “You’re still joining us for breakfast, right?”

Solana answers right away, shaking her head. “Of course.”

Joining for breakfast? What the fuck is this? A psychiatric ward or summer camp?

The women all seem to give Solana that ‘call us if you need anything’ nod before finally leaving him alone with his wife. Roman has to keep his sigh to himself.

Only Solana would make ‘friends’ at a damn hospital.

She finally leads him into what he would guess is her ‘room.’ He’s instantly not impressed and annoyed because he directly instructed Stratus to make sure she had the best this place has to offer.

This clearly ain’t it. He adds it to his list of complaints to bring up to the psychiatrist. He’s also annoyed by the ‘sheet’ that serves at the door, irritated that they won’t have total privacy. But, he understands. It’s a psychiatric ward. Not the Four Seasons. 

Roman allows Solana to guide him over to her bed where she motions for him to sit down. He does as such, partially surprised when she climbs onto his lap, legs on either side. He doesn’t protest though, simply holds her by his hips as he shifts so that his back against the wall. 

Solana, however, keeps her head down, her hands scrunching the bottom of his shirt as she seems to force out, “I don’t want to talk about this—”

That’s an easy thing, Roman quickly moving to remind her of her autonomy. “Then don’t—”

She cuts him off. “But, I need to.” She finally lifts her gaze, and my God, he’s missed staring into those pretty eyes, seeing her pretty face. “I can’t—I won’t avoid it.” She takes a deep breath, asking, “what do you want to know?”

He’s partially surprised by how direct she’s being, but in his defense, the last time he spoke to her directly, she was in such a different place. A much darker place.

That doesn’t seem to be the case anymore, but he knows looks can be deceiving, so he remains cautious. His voice is surprisingly gentle, as he answers, “I think you already know the answer to that, Sol.”

Her eyes shut again, and he can’t tell if it’s because of his use of his nickname for her or the emotionality of it all. 

Both, probably. 

She brings her gaze back on him, and he hates seeing the emotion building back up. Logically, he knows that there’s no way to have this kind of conversation and emotion not be present. Doesn’t mean he has to like it though. “I just….I couldn’t think straight that night, Roman. I just kept reliving every bad thing that’s happened to me but now with the knowledge that it was my own father that was responsible. And I just….I couldn't handle it.”

This is the part he can barely handle. The knowing of the role, a large role, he played in what landed her here. He feels like shit about it and prepares to take ownership when she continues. 

“And I thought….I felt like….I felt like all the progress I had made was now gone and that I’d have to start over, and I just—-I couldn’t fathom going through all that again.” She swallows, tears starting to fall. “I felt like I would just be a burden to you and that….it would just be easier for you if I was dead.”

Gutted. Reading it was one thing, but hearing it is an entirely different experience. To know this is truly how she felt, the thought process that led to her making the decision she made. The most likely reason she didn’t call him.

Because she thought she was a burden.

It kills him.

She drops her head, and he moves his hands back to her face. “Solana, look at me.” When she continues to keep her head down, he repeats himself, voice still low and gentle. “Look at me.” She seems to hesitate but follows through, Roman hating how devastated she looks. “Nothing about my life would be easier without you in it. You are never a burden to me. You never have been, and you never will be. I want to help you. Listen to you. Whatever it is you need, I’ll do. I just need you to tell me.” This time, he’s the one swallowing back unfamiliar and uncomfortable emotions. “I just need you to not leave me, alright?” She seems slightly taken back by his honesty and vulnerability. Truthfully, so is he. It was one thing to be so honest with her while she was unconscious, but it’s another when she sits before him, aware and conscious and hanging onto every word. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about your father. I should have—”

“No. Please—please don’t.” She shakes her head, interrupting him with that same small voice. “I’m glad you didn’t.” The ‘shocked’ ball is back in his court as she explains, “I don’t….I don’t think I would have ever wanted to know the truth. It’s….it’s been too hard to have to deal with that.” 

Clearly. He can’t even begin to imagine what that’s like for her. To be stuck with the knowledge that her own flesh and blood could be so cruel, so hateful, so evil as to do what Xavier has done to his own daughter.

“The therapy has….it’s helped.” He believes it. Roman has noticed the sheets of paper that have positive affirmations and what he would guess are coping skills taped to the wall opposite her bed. She cracks a small, sad smile. “It’s….it’s been good for me.”

He believes that, too. He can see that. There’s a stark difference in her appearance, even with her being emotional as she is with the conversation at hand. She doesn’t look as fractured as the last time he saw her.

She looks stronger. Happier, even. It makes his chest swell with yet another unfamiliar sentiment.

Love, perhaps?

Just thinking about it has Roman clearing his throat, needing to focus on something other than that right now. “Have they been treating you okay?” This has been pretty high up, if not the highest, thing on his priority list.

She nods, Roman noticing and grateful that her tears are starting to dry up. “Yes. I….how many Bloodline men do you have here?”

“Enough.” She doesn’t need to know the full extent of just how above and beyond he went to ensure no one on staff at this hospital could be questionable about their intentions towards her. “I’m always gonna look out for you, baby. Always.”

Her eyes shut, not from feeling overwhelmed but something else. Something that seems less heavy and more comforting. 

Solana moves around on top of him, Roman somehow sensing what she’s trying to do, and he has zero hesitations.

He shifts his body, so he’s laying on her bed, his feet dangling off the edge of the bed, but it makes no difference to him as soon as she lays on top of him, her head cradled in his neck, her arms around him.’

“I’ve missed you.” Her arm laid against him, Roman reading to close his eyes when he catches onto something for the first time. He doesn’t know he missed it either, because it stands out. Roman gently takes her arm, turning it over.

On her inner forearm are a set of beautifully drawn butterflies of various sizes and colors, the largest being a dark blue color and the smaller one next to it, different shades of red and pinks. There are three much smaller butterflies under the two larger ones, two of them pink and the smallest also that same dark blue.

She looks up at him, offering a small smile. “It’s something they have us do in group therapy. They call it The Butterfly Project.” She shifts her body to show him her other forearm, revealing additional butterflies before she lays back down as she was. “You draw butterflies that represent the people in your life you care about and every time…you think of wanting to self-harm, you remember that you’re killing the butterflies. It’s like….like a reminder that people care about you.”

It’s an interesting concept, and judging by the emotion in her voice, a concept she resonates with deeply. Roman’s long index finger ghosts over the larger blue one as he asks, “who is this one for?” 

Solana’s smile deepens. “You.” He’s grateful that she continues to explain so he doesn't have to think much about that sentiment very similar to love that comes up at that admission. “And this one,” she gestures to the pink and red one. “--is me. My future self.” 

That doesn’t help the building emotion, so he again goes for distraction, motioning to the remaining three, asking, “and those?”

She swallows, something flashing in her eyes he can’t identify, answering gently, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready.”

Her answer confuses him. He doesn’t know what to make of it, but he doesn’t want to push her either. 

“How is Dulce?” She asks suddenly, the sadness in her voice returning.

Roman won’t tell her the way her puppy sometimes sits by the front door around the time she usually gets home from work or the way she whimpers at night every so often, clearly missing her owner. He’ll spare her that, offering only a morsel of the truth. 

“The usual. Sleeping most of the day. You can tell she misses you.” 

Solana frowns. “I miss her too.” She licks her lips, asking almost nervously, “how are Bay—”

Roman is quick to shut that down, a hint of harshness in his voice. “I don’t want to talk about them.”

Truth be told, he’s not sure if he’ll ever be able to look or view them the same ever again. It may be a bit irrational and unfair, but it’s how he feels. And truthfully speaking, he’s got ten million other things on his mind and in his heart he’s trying to sort through. 

“Roman…..” Solana sits up a bit, and he’s taken back for a second by how fucking beautiful she is. Even with the sadness in her eyes. “It wasn’t their fa—”

“Not now, Sol.” His tone takes on a gentler tone as he adds on, for good measure, “please. I just want to enjoy you.”

He knows she’ll bring it up again. She cares too much about the two women who Roman will never trust her with again to just let it go permanently. “Okay.” She lays herself back down on top of him, and Roman kisses the top of her head.

“How are you?”

He’s not quite sure why her question surprises him. But, the answer is an automatic, “fine.”

He’s far from fine, but she doesn't need to know that.

Again, Solana sits up, that frown almost deepening. “Are you sleeping?” She reaches over and caresses his beard. “You look tired. H–have you been taking your medicine?”

Roman is truly dumbfounded. She is the one who is currently a legally mandated patient in a psychiatric ward because she was actively suicidal only a week ago, and yet, she’s laying here worried about him. 

Roman has to push back that love feeling that’s returning. 

“I keep telling you not to worry about me,” he reminds, once again wanting and almost needing to stress to her that worrying about him should be the last thing on her plate.. “I just want you to focus on yourself.”

Her retort surprises him, bold and almost uncharacteristic of her. “And I keep telling you that I’m always going to worry about you.”

Roman chuckles, commenting, “you’re becoming more outspoken….”

She gives him a small smile. “I told you the therapy has been helping.”

Roman scoffs. She’s right. Maybe that Gemma woman does know what she’s doing. 

“Do you need anything?”

Solana says nothing, just lays back down against him, her hand moving over his chest, resting on his heart. “Just you.” She must glance at the clock on the wall as she comments, “we only have 40 minutes left….”

He knows she’s referring to the one hour time block allotted for visitors. Something he absolutely couldn't give two shits about. “I’ll stay as long as you want me to.“ He’d stay the whole night if that was what she wanted. 

“Roman….” It’s funny how he already knows what she’s going to say. “The rules—”

His interruption is sharp, but it’s not aimed towards her. And she knows that. “I don’t give a fuck about rules when it comes to you.” She sighs into his chest, offering no protest, saying nothing else.

Conversation is intermittent over the next two or so hours, Solana eventually falling asleep on top of him. He doesn’t mind. As much as he enjoys talking to her, having her body on top of his is an easy, acceptable alternative.

He’s missed this. Missed being with and around her. Roman is just now realizing just how much he benefits from having her around. He’s been a complete nightmare for everyone around him outside of Dulce, even more temperamental than his usual default setting.

But the minute he laid eyes on her, saw her innocent smile, had her in his arms, everything suddenly felt so better.

That’s what she does for him. What she is for him. 

Medicine. 

An antidote. Something he never knew he was missing until he met her. It seems like it was almost impossible for him to not fall in love with her. 

Love….

Thinking about it again brings a frown to his handsome face, forcing him to face a reality that’s so easy to escape when he’s with her.

Roman may love Solana, but….he can never act on it. Not really. Can never tell her he loves her. That makes it official. That confirms that he finally has something his enemies can use against him, a distraction, a weakness.

Loving her openly would make him vulnerable, would put her at risk, and he couldn’t do that. Not just for himself but most definitely not to her. 

To be with her like this, open and vulnerable, behind closed doors is one thing. It’s an entirely different ballpark though to make that visible and public, even with just telling her.

Feeling her stir against him, Roman kisses the top of her head, tugging her closer. 

He won’t deny that he loves her. 

But, he can’t act on it either. 

He’s just going to have to find someway to push that down, tuck it away for safekeeping.

It’s just better that way. 

________

Roman stays for about two hours, Solana waking up and reluctantly expressing her okayness with him leaving. It’s not what she wants, definitely not what he wants, but it’s what’s necessary.

If even for the fact that Dulce can’t be left alone for too long.  

Solana holds onto his arm as she walks him out, Bautista not too far behind to escort her back to her room.

But, it’s when he turns to tell her bye, Roman about to ask her when she wants him to come see her again (fuck visting days), she surprises him by reaching behind her back and pulling out a sealed envelope. 

Brows furrowed, Roman is curious just how the hell he missed that when she presses it against his chest. “Promise me you won’t read it until you get home.” 

Now he’s extremely confused. It’s been a while since Solana has written to thim. They’ve progressed way past that, and it does concern him a bit that she didn’t just talk to him about whatever lies between the lines of this letter. 

But, he also knows she’s been working hard in therapy and even in being able to open up to him about what happened that night had to have been a lot for her, so he won’t push it and will respect it.

Accepting the letter, he simply says, “okay.”

She offers a close mouthed smile, a sign of appreciation and moves to hug him once more, mumbling something in Spanish against his chest that he can’t make out. When she pulls back, he doesn’t hesitate to cup her cheek, reiterating, “you need anything, you let me know, alright?” They’d already briefly discussed how she had picked up on the fact that he had his men stationed strategically all over this place, and any of them were able to get a message to him. 

She nods, repeating to him, “okay.” Solana tugs on his shirt and leans up to kiss his cheek, murmuring against his ear, “bye, Roman.”

It seems saying goodbye is difficult for her just as much as it is for him, Roman unable to reciprocate it, only letting his gaze follow her retreating form until Bautista gives him a nod and closes the door behind them. 

He stands there for a good minute or two before actually leaving.

Fuck. Leaving her seems to be getting harder and harder. 

Roman is barely in the SUV, door not even shut when his long fingers are moving with all the determination to open up the envelope. He unfolds the piece of paper, unsurprised to find her neat handwriting. 

Roman,

I need to ask you to do something for me, but I need you to please hear me out before you settle on an answer. And please know I wouldn’t be asking this of you if I didn’t believe it’s something I really need. 

I’m so sorry for putting you through this. I never want to cause you any stress or create any problems for you. 

I wasn’t in a good place, and this experience has made me realize there’s still a lot of parts of me that still need to heal. I still have a lot to work through. 

That’s why I’m asking.

Gail mentioned a treatment facility she runs about an hour away. It’s a 6 week program for women coming out of the hospital like I will be. 

Roman, I think I should go. 

I don’t think I should come home just yet.

I don’t feel ready. I’m not having those thoughts or urges anymore, but there’s still things I think I need to work through. I don’t ever want to put you through something like this again. I don’t ever want to end up back here again, but the only way I can do that is by making sure I’m good before I leave.

And I don’t know if another week can do that. 

I miss you. So much. It’s been hard being away from you and Dulce and everyone else. But, I feel like I have to do this. I need to do this. 

For us. 

But mostly for me. 

I want to get better.

Please let me.

Te quiero mucho,

Solana

BTW, I’m saying ‘I love you very much’ in Spanish. 

Because I do. 

I love you, Ro.

And I don’t need you to say it back or feel the same. With what you’ve been through, I’d never expect or ask that of you.

I just need you. Your continued support. That’s all. That’s enough.

With all my love,

Solana

________

“I’m so sick of your bloody fuckin’ shit, Seth! It’s the same fuckin’ thing over and over again, and I’m done!” 

The cadence, melody, and even tone of his wife’s rant serves as the perfect resources for Seth who is lazily sprawled out across their sofa, beer in one hand, the other hand moving as if conducting an orchestra. 

And he is.

Because this has become a song and dance with his fiery tempered, Irish wife.

Seconds later, she’s practically stomping in the living room, their daughter in hand who is most definitely old enough to remember this little spat. He cackles to himself. How unfortunate.

However, Becky’s enraged gaze is focused on him, disgust plastered all over. “Were you even listenin’ to me?”

He makes a sound, unbothered eyes falling on her, that infamous smile growing. “Of course, dear.”

Becky, however, knows better. Has been with this man long enough to know better. And she’s done. “Ya know, I thought you were getting better, yeah? But then that bloke Breaker comes over here looking for you, and I—” Becky cuts herself off, refusing to start yelling with her daughter in her arms. Her accent is even thicker, as she shares while adjusting the bag on her other shoulder, “I’m gonna go stay with Charlotte til’ I can figure out just what I’m gonna do.”

What she’s not saying is that she’ll stay with her closest American friend until she can find the funds and resources to move back home. 

She’s just done.

Seth, however, seems unconcerned by the fact that she’s leaving with their kid. “Okay, dear.” He snorts, falling into that all too familiar maniacal laugh. The one that typically accompanies the reckless and dangerous behavior that has her packed and ready to go. It was one thing when it was just the two of them, but with a child now, Becky has a responsibility to keep her daughter safe.

And there is nothing safe about her husband rekindling ties with the Nightmare Factory.

Not wanting him to see the pending tears, Becky kisses her daughter’s cheek and heads for the door, not allowing herself to hesitate as she rips it open only for her jaw to drop.

She scoffs. Unbelievable. With even more support for her decision to leave, Becky looks over her shoulder at her husband who climbs to his feet. “First the Nightmare Factory, and now the fuckin’ Bloodline?” She shakes her head. “Yeah, you dig your own fuckin’ grave, Seth.” 

And with that, she moves past the figures, determined to not look back this time.

Meanwhile, a massive smile grows on Seth’s unshaven face, delight dancing in his dark eyes.

This is certainly proving to be such an eventful day. 

He practically stumbles over but manages to stand firm as he takes a swig of his beer, burping loudly and then asking with all of the excitement, evil smile on his face.

“How can I help you?”

[firstfirerebel]

𝕳𝖎𝖘

Sumary: Tom Riddle is obsessed with reader and won't tolerate her being somewhere else than his side (Reader is against the hate on Muggles or Muggle-Born wizards)

Pairing: yandere Adult!Tom Riddle/Voldemort x fem! reader

Warnings: Dark content, obsession, mention of the three Unforgivable Curses, implied kidnapping, death, yandere, toxic behavior

Time: First Wizarding War (meaning Voldemort/Tom is still a normal man)

English is not my native language!

I DO NOT SUPPORT OR ROMANTICIZE YANDERE BEHAVIOR!!!

"Why won't you just understand that all I want to do is create a new world, a better one. One were you, and I will rule together!"

"But I don't want that! In fact, I don't even want to be near you! I'll never join you nor support you. Just give up already and let me free!"

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

It was another day in the Malfoy Manor where you were captured by none other than the dark lord himself. And another day, where you just hoped to escape or die. Sounds harsh? Listen to your story first...

You have known Tom since your Hogwarts time. You weren't in the same house but in the same year, and even though you weren't close, you did happen to have some lessons together. Never you would've considered him a friend. He was just a classmate who sometimes helped you with potions, and in your free time, you sometimes met him in the libary by coincidence, but that was it.

Yeah, you did find him attractive, but you would have never thought to date him or something like that. After all, he always wanted to be alone and didn't like company. You also preferred being alone, to be honest. Still, he somehow scared you from the beginning. His eyes hold no emotions, but in his actions and his aura, all you felt or saw was pure hate. Tom didn't talk about his past, but he didn't have to for you to figure out that it must have been no good one.

Once you were in sixth grade, attacks on muggle-born students happened, and in the end, Myrtle, who was a friend of yours, was killed.

Yeah, she was very difficult , but she didn't mean any harm towards anyone. Besides that, she was bullied by so many students that you just felt pity for her. You were also bullied in your first years at hogwarts until the students stopped out of nowhere. Since then, you have had problems with being social. Most people who were close with you ended up using you for their own benefits or saw you as their therapist or something like that.

Okay, Myrtle was known for being over sensitive, but still, if people knew she would cry because of mean comments, then why make them? She was in her third year when she died, and she only flew to the girls' toilet because Olive Hornby made fun of her again, which made you more sad about her death. It's not like she chose to have glasses. What was wrong with some people?

In the end, Riddle accused Hagird of being responsible for her death. Only you and Proffesor Dumbledore were convinced that it couldn't have been Hagrid. He was way too nice and kind-hearted for such a terrible crime as murder. Though you didn't think it was Tom either.

But it didn't matter. Hagrid was suspended, and that was the end of it.

Since that time, you didn't trust Tom Riddle anymore. He was the one who made everyone believe that Hagird was guilty. And somehow, since the incident, Tom's aura has become even more intimidating and dark. At least that's how it felt to you...

Once you graduated, you didn't hear of him again, which didn't bother you at all. You lived a peaceful life for a long time. You loved your job. You had true friends. You could do your hobbies. And sometimes you even went on a few dates.

But, if it would have stayed that way, you wouldn't be at Voldemorts' side against your will, would you?

The day that ruined your life was a rainy day. It wasn't too cold nor too warm, so you decided to take a walk in the nearby woods. You loved to spend your time there. All the creatures and plants fascinated you every time without fail. Sometimes, you even saw unicorns, which felt like a miracle everytime Besides, it was one of the last peaceful places left.

War would soon come. It was only a matter of time. Everybody knew that. Maybe you only had two months left, or you still got two years. No one knew except the ones on Voldemorts side.

At that time, you only knew that 'The Dark Lord' was a user of the dark arts. And he hated Muggles and Muggle-Borns. Which was enough for you to despite him. Dark magic was never something you approved, and you didn't care about the blood status of anyone. What mattered to you was always the person.

Usually, the woods were filled with life and joy, but that day was different. The forest looked intimidating from the outside, and you even thought about going back home.

Sadly, you didn't listen to your inner voice. But, it wouldn't have changed your fate...

Once you entered it, you didn't hear the happy cheers of the birds like always. And you didn't see any nifflers running by or other creatures in general. Something was definitely wrong.

But you continued to walk, which would soon turn out to be a fatal mistake. As soon as you reached the river, that was in the forest, you realized why everything was so different than usual.

Death Eaters had chased and killed a Muggle-Born witch with her family. They were on a camping trip, as you could tell from the scenery. But there was still a girl, most likely two or three years old, still alive.

Without a second thought, you hid behind a big tree and some bushes around it.

It seemed like the Death Eaters didn't know what to do with her. Maybe she wasn't part of the plan? At first, you thought that this was not an important mission for them, but then you saw Bellatrix. She was very well known as Voldemorts' right hand. She personally learned dark magic from him and was definitely the most loyal Death Eater there ever was. So this must be a really important matter.

You couldn't stand her guts and wanted nothing more than to just slap her even if you didn't know her in person. Dark magic wasn't something you supported. But still, you couldn't deny that she was dangerous and powerful. Her madness didn't lower that fact.

Since dying wasn't on your to-do lost today, you ran away as fast as you could. Since they were arguing so loud, they didn't hear you. Of course, you wanted to help the little girl, but it was simply impossible to get her without getting caught. And against a whole troup of Death Eaters with one being BELLATRIX, you didn't stand a chance.

But luck wasn't on your side...

As you ran away from the horrible scene, you ran into a Death Eater. They wore their typical black clothes and their mask was on, so you didn't see who it was.

Before you could grab your wand, you heard an angry mumbled 'stupor'. You fell onto the ground and blacked out.

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

When you awoke, you didn't dare to open your eyes. After all, you got caught by a death eater, so you being alive was a miracle. You didn't hear any voices around you. It also wasn't cold and wet around you, so being locked up in a cellar wasn't the case as well...

Beneath you was a comfortable mattress. It was soft and made you want to fall asleep on it. But what the hell was this all about?!

If you're caught by the bad guys, you normally don't wake up in a soft bed. Did they bring you back home? No, that would be too risky. Maybe they wanted some information, but you weren't really someone well known in the wizarding world.

Patiently, you waited a few more minutes, but still not even the slightest noise. So you opened your eyes.

You were in a dark room. The main colors were black and dark green. Black wardrobes and black walls. The bed was made of black wood, but the sheets were dark green, the big carpet on the floor as well. No one was with you in this room. Desperately, you wanted to know where you were. From the colors, you would have guessed that it was a Slytherin Dormitory in Hogwarts. But kidnappers don't bring you to your old school!

Scared you inspected the room once again. Nothing was familiar...

You took a deep breath and stood up. If you would die, fine, but as long as you had the slightest chance of escape you would take it.

The carpet felt also really expensive beneath your feet. By the way, your kidnappers were so nice to pull off your shoes before laying you into bed...

Everything in this room seemed to be just made for this specific room. Which frightened you even more.

Suddenly, the door was opened, and you saw a pretty woman (walking down the street 🤣) in the doorframe. She was slim and tall, had long blonde hair that was tied up in a bun. Her tight dress was rose gold with a black cloak over it. All in all, she looked like a wealthy woman. Her face was pretty as well, but she looked like she got a dung under her nose. Weird.

"Get up and follow me, My Lady," her cold and clear voice told you.

"Uhm, I'm not your Lad -" but she was already on her way to your goal. You had no clue where it was, but following her was better than sitting around, right?

"I know this must be really confusing, but our Lord will explain it to all of us soon. I was just told to get you and call you that. Now, please, don't make this harder for us than it already is,"

You managed to catch up to her. Now you also saw that her eyes were ice blue. Matching her cold voice.

"Who are you?" you asked softly. Kowing her name could be a good hint to where you were.

"Narcissa Black, soon to be Narcissa Malfoy," the woman didn't look at you for one second, her eyes were focused on the walls. So you were still in the claws of the death eaters. Family Black was well known for their puryity, not a family you would have gotten along with.

The corridor was huge by the way. Dark colors still dominating. Only the chandelier was white. Did this belong to one person or was it the headquarters of Voldemort and his minions or what? Instead of getting awnsers you only got more questions as you walked after Narcissa.

Downstairs. A few steps upstairs again. Left. Left again. Right. Straight forward. The second right.

Was this a house or a Labyrinth?! How were you supposed to find your way in here? You even got lost in Digeon Ally!

But after what felt like an internity, you both reached a large black table, people gathered around it. A tall man stood up from his chair as he heard you two enter. As he turned around, you saw your old classmate Tom Riddle, but if he was here, he wouldn't help you. If he became a death eater, he was behind after everything you swore to fight. He wasn't an ally or a friend anymore. He was a danger and a threat to you and many innocent people who weren't here.

You tried to hide behind Narcissa. After all, she was the only person who seemed at least a little trustworthy, and she was another woman. Maybe she knew how unsafe you felt because mostly men were in this room. The only other woman was a mad Bellatrix, never ever you would trust her.

"Ah, there they are. Come in, " Tom spoke. His voice had changed, and it was more intimidating than it was before.

You didn't move an inch, but Narcissa started to move forward. Being all alone without someone to hide behind was more scarry, so you followed her, but you were still behind her.

"Oh no, don't be afraid. No one here will even dare to glare at you, my dear. They knew the punishment would be worse than death," You couldn't recognize Tom anymore. The hate in his presence, his voice, his appearance, everything scared you. Back in school, you didn't fear him, at least not for his house or his roots. Just because he was a Slytherin, it didn't mean that he was evil, but now? His opinions were completely different than yours, and this was not a stupid novel of the stereotype enemies to lovers cause he was just plain and simple wrong with his thoughts on muggleborn or muggles in general.

[Funfact: I don't get the hype on this topic, see, for being autistic I got bullied for many years and than reading a story about two people hating each other's guts and than falling for each other just feels wrong for me, you can read whatever you want ofc, this was just my unpopular opinion]

Still, you hid behind Narcissa, but as she tried to go towards a man with long blonde hair and her crazy sister, you felt completely defenseless. The only person you used to know seemed to be the head of everything here, and Narcissa wasn't at your side anymore. Sadly, Tom saw your fear. He went towards you and pulled you in an unwanted hug. Softly, he petted your hair and whispered sweet nothings. As soon as this horror hug ended, he smiled at you and turned towards the others.

"If anything should happen to her, everyone will be held responsible! You know the punishment, now go! We are done here!" As the last word fell, everyone disapparated, and only you and him were left.

And then you realized it. If he could order the death eaters around, he must be the dark lord himself. Tom Riddle, your old classmate, was Voldemort.

You backed away from him but regretted it soon. Tom didn't take rejection good...

"Why are you scared? I won't harm you. In fact, I am the one who has kept you safe since I saw you!"

"Are you mad?!" You yelled back into his already mad face. Wrong choice again. In full rage he stormed through the room and kicked everything in his way. Chairs and even the whole table practically flew through the room.

"Who protected you from those bullies back in Hogwarts?! Who kept you safe from all filthy boys who just wanted to break your heart?! Who killed the mudblood Myrtle so you were safe from her?!"

So Dumbledore was right... Tom opened the chamber of secrets all those years ago. And killed your friend.

"Myrtle was my friend! I never asked for your personal protection, Tom!"

Somehow that calmed him down! Yep, that man was a complete psychopath...

"But you didn't have to, my dear", he ran towards you and cupped your cheek while looking into your eyes.

"Keeping you safe will always be my priority. I loved you the moment I laid eyes on you and I knew that I would always protect you. Look around, here in our mansion you will always be safe. No one will ever harm you again. We'll be safe here! After I've won this war you and I can live here in peace. Just imagine it, I'll make us so many horcruxes that we won't ever die. Here we will raise our kids and they'll never go through the pain of being an orphan like I was", pain and hate was in his voice at the simple thought of 'death' and 'orphan'. But having a family with this insane man? Hell nah, you'd flee the moment you got the chance!

"I know now this is scary for you, and you might think of escaping, but this whole mansion is surrounded by death eaters, the moment you even think of fleeing you'll be brought to your room and trust me, I know how to punish or torture someone so that no mistace will ever happen again",

And that's how you ended up here. Behind you was the man that claimed to love you fast asleep. Yet he was the one who made you go through all of this. Most traumas you had were because of his action. If this was love, than you could already drown in it.

You had no idea if you could ever escape or if even the try of escaping was a good idea. This man wasn't well known for his kindness or his patience.

Maybe playing along would make it easier, but would your mental health take that well? Or would that make him do worse things 'out of love'?

Still, you rethought your first actions towards Tom, trying to figure out what made his obsession start. Was it your look? Your hairstyle? Your body language?

Or was it just being unlucky?

[wc-confessions]

I truly believe that Mapleshade's revenge against Oakstar for exiling and indirectly killing her kits absolutely did NOT stop at her killing of Frecklewish. She must have placed a curse of some kind on his ENTIRE BLOODLINE. Think about how much the characters descended from him have been through.

Pinestar got horrible visions from StarClan about Tigerkit and ended up abandoning him to become a kittypet, which tarnished his reputation.

There's...everything Tigerstar did. Nightkit and Mistkit died very young.

Brambleclaw never truly escaped his father's shadow and would be looked at differently all his life, just to get possessed by Ashfur and get severe PTSD that would cause him to step down as leader. Tawnypelt defected to ShadowClan just to be the only one who supported Rowanclaw during a dark time and lose two of her children. Mothwing would be ostracized for not believing in StarClan and have to deal with her apprentice's death, plus Mistystar unfairly exiling her PLUS Splashtail's plot. Tadpole died young. Hawkfrost would follow the same path as his father.

Dandelionkit and Juniperkit died young. Sparkpelt lost her mate, one of her kits, and suffered from severe depression afterwards, along with dealing with Ashfur's takeover of the clan, getting a dog sicced on her and almost dying, being temporarily exiled, and having a strained relationship with Nightheart for a while. Alderheart got the medicine cat role forced upon him when he didn't want it, and he was forced to watch what were basically his two adoptive little sisters get separated from each other forever, plus also dealing with Ashfur's leadership.

Finchlight and Nightheart GREW UP under Ashfur's leadership.

Tigerheart would get the same looks for being a Tigerclone, have the love of his life break up with him, (even if it was only briefly) he'd abandon his clan during a dark time for them, gets killed after being dropped by an owl (though he gets better), and has to watch his son get ostracized by,,,everyone and is unable to do anything about it. Dawnpelt has to deal with a severe mental episode after the sudden loss of her brother and unfairly accuses a medicine cat of murder at a gathering, has to stay behind in a failing clan with her children because they all refused to leave, only to watch her daughter become a monster and gets killed by Darktail when she tries to escape. Flametail died young JUST after becoming a medicine cat and almost gets killed in the Dark Forest.

Poucestep, as a small kit, gets stuck on a drawbridge and almost dies, being saved by Spiresight who sacrifices himself in the process, surely giving her at least some degree of survivor's guilt. There's everything Shadowsight went through at the claws of Ashfur and others only to end up never having the power to speak to StarClan. Ever. Lightleap felt extreme guilt over being too nervous to go to the Dark Forest, so she tries to make up for it by unintentionally putting herself and others in danger, as well as trying to save her younger brother's life, only for him to die anyway. Birchpaw had to become an apprentice alone because Rowankit died what could have been a preventable death.

Juniperclaw's actions led to him getting disowned by his entire family, and he sacrifices himself for Shadowkit's life, only to end up in the Dark Forest anyway, and when he redeems himself a second time, StarClan still rejects him, this time right to his face, so he'll never be able to see his deceased family. Strikestone got his ear mangled badly enough that he became half-deaf, and shortly after he ends up getting killed, his ghost stuck in limbo for a long time, mind-controlled by Ashfur while being aware of what's going on but unable to control his body, and only gets to rest after Ashfur's defeated. And finally, Sleekwhisker ends up turning her back on the clans, killing her best friend with no remorse, tried to kill two innocent children, and permanently driven out of the clans with nothing known of her whereabouts.

I rest my case.

.

[ssoruko]

my predictions (bingo?) for drdt, chapter 2 culprit and also everything beyond, because i'm hyped, and why not!!

the original version of this post was too long and i was yapping. it felt like i was saying everything there is to say, but also nothing of real importance, so i decided to throw everything here, without all my overcomplicated rambling (some stayed though), and hope for the best that this will satisfy the fixated monster in me that needs to get my thoughts out there. also it will be fun to see in the future what was right or wrong.

so, for all of these predictions, please assume that my reasoning is either:

theorists made such well put together points that i checked the evidence on my own while also overanalysing the heck out of it and now i'm convinced

there's not much concrete proof but i think it would make narrative sense, or it would be a great direction for some character's development from what we've already seen of them

i don't even know but sometimes we just vibe and sometimes things are real in our hearts

funny thing is that i find drdt so interesting with how it handles its themes, how it foreshadows, establishes, and resolves, that i'm not actually certain about any of these. my mind wants to analyse it like it's a standard danganronpa game, like it's easy to predict smaller plot points because of the obvious bigger picture, but the special thing about drdt is that i have no idea what the whole bigger picture really is. all i know is that we're focused on trust and distrust, and we will surely follow that path, but i actually have no idea what else is in store. and i'm rambling again but bear with me. point is: i like the writing for drdt and i know i'm not prepared for whatever will be happening later down the line.

so now, for my small predictions bingo:

as most of the community on tumblr thinks, eden and levi are culprit and possible accomplice. that's the part i'm almost sure of, one of them is getting executed. i, however, am not sure who played which role. i'd like to think levi is the one who came up with most of the plan to help eden win the trial, and he's the one with the secret of killing before the killing game (which arei got), but i can't tell why exactly eden would kill arei. eden is not secretly evil. logically there should be some trick here, or it was an accident, but the eden thing to do would be to immediately admit she did it. unless that's where levi comes into play, and he's the one who pulled even more strings, not only setting up the crime scene, but also getting eden to play along. which makes me think eden would still be the one qualified as the blackened, then levi gets to blame himself and gets sick development or whatever. and maybe he lives to try to kill or at least beat the shit out of ace but ace will not die. let's say i'm going with that. eden is the culprit

whit has some special role. he's either the mastermind, or traitor, or key to ending the game, or whatever you want to call it. there's something off about whit with how he seems to know too much

rose sleeps a lot so i think there must be a point in time where someone uses that to accuse or even frame her for murder. although i don't think she will ever get killed when sleeping. i think she's going to be a survivor

ace won't be a victim, and he doesn't seem like a culprit either, so by process of elimination he needs to survive the game

david is not evil or malicious at heart, it's his depression talking. we're dealing with someone burnt out from keeping up his optimistic persona. all this act is self-sabotage and self-deprecation. he cared for arei and now he's spiraling. he will get better though, trust

i know i already talked about chapter 2 culprit but quick hu mention: she is not the culprit simply because i have no idea what her character really is yet. all i know is she is morally grey and she will not die yet because she needs to interact with nico, david, and others some more

arturo is not going to make friends with anyone other than maybe veronica, because everyone hates him, BUT he will not die that soon. i can feel him surviving at least one more chapter just out of spite. if he dies, it's not earlier than chapter four

j will not kill and she will not survive to the end. she will be a victim. my guess is chapter 3, for no particular reason.

contrary to the two points above, there's an alternate scenario i have in mind, with arturo dying next chapter and j being accused, but still innocent. and she would still become a victim later in the game, probably chapter four

veronica is too much of a wild card but if i were to predict something regarding her role... IF she was a blackened (and i can't tell if she will be), she wouldn't be all that happy or excited about it. there would be some reflection on her part. some subtle commentary on how enjoyment of darker media doesn't, or shouldn't, equal supporting or resorting to real violence. also basically everyone in the fandom agrees her secret is the one about harming herself just to feel something. this ties to what i said, i think. maybe she would kill to test herself, but taking a life will not bring her contentment

teruko will trust less before she learns to trust more (especially if eden really will die), but if there's someone she will learn to trust first, it's going to be charles. if she gets a "pep talk" about trust, it's somehow going to be from david. one asshole to another type of conversation where he's trying to help because he does genuinely care for his classmates

nico will not try to kill anyone again, but they also won't survive

this is probably all, i don't know because i wrote this at night and fell asleep. if anyone other than me stayed to read this, thank you for coming to my ted talk

[envihellbender]

Eddie Munson as a killer, seeing Steve in a trial

Rating: Mature

Fandom: Stranger Things

Characters: Eddie Munson, Steve Harrington,

Content: Character death, court room, rape mention

Summary: Steve is brought in as a witness to testify against Eddie who is on trial for a murder charge against Billy Hargrove.

—

Eddie knew Steve was being brought as a witness, and his gut ached ever since he found out. When he was brought into the courtroom in his orange jumpsuit and his arms handcuffed behind his back his biceps and wrists had been ticcing violently but the restraints forced them into place. He knew he’d have some bruises when he got back to his cell. His lawyer, Harold Peterson, had assured him that all of the evidence was circumstantial, and was confident that Eddie would walk. He didn’t care so much about that right now, as he watched Steve, handsome in his best suit, approached the stand. He didn’t even look at Eddie, he’d been crying with a dark red bite mark on his hand. His hair at least was immaculate, Eddie knew that meant he had spent too long fixing it up like he always did when he was anxious. Still, Eddie felt a twist of anger in his chest and tears begin to swell, dampening his thick dark brown eyebrows as he thought about how Steve wouldn’t even look at him.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?” The Clerk asked, which seemed to cause Steve to jolt. He cleared his throat and placed his hand on the bible, his voice hoarse and sore.

“Uh-huh. Yeah. I swear,” Steve stammered. Eddie didn’t dare look up, he knew this was coming. Steve was too good he was too moral. Too naive, still believed the cops would help in situations like this.

“Can you tell me where you were at 10:30pm on the night in question?” The prosecution asked. Eddie vaguely recognised him from his billboards around Hawkins - Jeremy Oldman. He was expensive, Billy’s dad must be really sore, he thought.

“I was at work, at Family Video. Store closes at 11 on Fridays.” Steve spoke as if he’d rehearsed his responses, they reminded Eddie of when he had to give evidence against his dad. Stay calm, say what’s relevant.

“And your colleague Miss Buckley can verify that?” Prosecutor Oldman asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“And when did you find out about William Hargrove being hospitalised?”

“Erm, the next morning from my bro- from Deputy Harrington, sir.” Steve threw a look towards the audience, Eddie turned around and sure enough Gator Harrington was there in his uniform. Eddie had to admit after being interviewed by the guy he did lose a lot of respect for him.

“And do you remember seeing the accused the night of the murder?” When Oldman asked Steve winced, Eddie felt some relief at that. Maybe they weren’t over.

“I- well, I saw him that afternoon. He spent the night at mine and then I- dunno.” Steve paused, he threw a look at Eddie, a disappointed frown. “I drove him to school. I would’ve picked him up but he had the Hellfire club. Or so I thought.”

“Can you elaborate on that? So you thought?”

“Erm. Dustin came into the store-”

“That’s Dustin Henderson?” Oldman interrupted forcefully.

“Yeah he’s a buddy of mine and Eds- Edward Munson’s, sir,” Steve corrected. He was using his masked voice, the same he used when on the phone to his dad.

“So he came into Family Video?”

“Yeah and he said Eddie had cancelled this week’s meet which is weird. He never does that.”

“And what do you think he was doing-”

“Objection, your honour,” Attorney Peterson said suddenly from Eddie’s right making him jump. “Conjecture.”

“Approved,” Judge Wallace confirmed. Eddie looked at her for the first time, before he’d been far too frightened and felt as if she suddenly appeared before him. She was in her fifties, her tight curls pinned back and her glasses were on the end of her nose.

“Let me reword that. Did this worry you?” Oldman said, a tense irritation to his voice like he wasn’t used to being challenged. That felt strange to Eddie given his profession.

“Yeah. I thought he was sick or something.” Steve sounded hurt when he said that, and Eddie’s neck snapped up. His thick black eyebrows were furrowed as he stared at Steve who wouldn’t meet his eyes. Is that what this is about? He was upset that Eddie didn’t tell him?

“Tell me, Mister Harrington, how did Mister Munson feel about William Hargrove-”

“Objection. Hearsay. We’re not gossiping here are we?” Peterson said with a mocking laughter on his voice. Eddie was lucky that he got him as a public defender he had to admit, he had slicked back blond hair and twinkling brown eyes that made him look a mixture of professional and sleazy.

“I’ll allow it but tread carefully, councillor,” Judge Wallace repeated. She reminded Eddie of his old Math teacher.

“Thank you, your honour. So how do you think Mister Munson feels about William Hargrove?”

“He- he doesn’t like him but- but hardly anyone does. He has good reason-”

“Do you think he’d wish harm on him?” Oldman interrupted a little forcefully.

“I- well-” Steve hesitated. For the first time he looked at Eddie properly, his cheeks burned red and his eyes began to water.

“Answer the question, please, Mister Harrington.”

“The erm, I’d find it difficult to picture him acting on anything.”

“But you think he’d wish him harm?” Oldham insisted again, Eddie almost wanted to tell him off.

“I- erm- I mean, I guess- I mean thinking and fantasies aren’t illegal, right?” Steve joked awkwardly.

“But he did wish him harm? Yes or no, please.”

“I- erm- yes.” Steve had an apologetic look on his face as he turned to Eddie, who in turn gave a small smile and relaxed slightly, he was still terrified of jail but at least Steve didn’t completely despise him.

“Can you tell the court about how you found out about William Hargrove?” Oldman asked, even thought it was clear from the jury and the audience that they were more curious about Steve’s conflict, Eddie thought.

“I- erm- well, Gator- the deputy was round for breakfast and he said he’d had a late night because of it. Everyone was really freaked out.”

“And did you talk to Mister Munson about it?”

“I- erm- yeah- I text him. Why-”

“And what did he say?”

“I- erm-” Steve stopped. “I don’t-”

“What did he says Mister Harrington?”

“That it was only Billy. And he deserved it,” Steve mumbled reluctantly.

“Thank you, Mister Harrington. No further questions.”

“Anything to add, councillor?” Judge Wallace directed at Peterson. He stood up immediately, his suit looked fancy, you could barely tell it was thrifted, Eddie thought.

“I’d like to circle back to something the prosecution said,” Peterson began, pacing back and forth. His demeanour was far friendlier than Oldman’s. “Mister Harrington, can you tell me again, do you think my client is capable of murder?”

“I- erm- well, I didn’t think so.” Steve’s tone was reluctant, Eddie felt pang of irritation at how Steve was talking to his lawyer, as irrational as it was.

“I know, it’s tricky when he has been accused.” Steve looked taken aback by Peterson’s friendly tone and actually managed to relax. Eddie was relieved, his fingers were entwined in front of him ticcing back and forth. “But do you truly think that my client did it.”

“I mean, he’s a suspect so-”

“I’m going to have to insist on yes or no, I’m afraid,” Peterson interrupted.

“I- No. I don’t think he did it, necessarily,” Steve eventually admitted. Eddie’s back straightened and he held his breath as his brown eyes lit up. He stared at Steve in disbelief, he threw a look behind him. Gator was not happy.

“Necessarily?”

“I dunno, Billy hurt people in the Hellfire club really bad. And Eddie likes protecting people.” There was an odd look on Steve’s face, like there was something he’d been told to keep quiet about even thought he thought it was important.

“So if my client suspected one of his friends of a murder, what would he do?” Peterson asked calmly.

“He’d take the fall,” Steve answered immediately.

“And, Mister Harrington, you do know what school has been like for Mister Munson don’t you?” Peterson gestured at Eddie as he spoke, almost like he was using Steve’s connection to Eddie to benefit them.

“Yeah, he got bullied pretty bad,” Steve answered quickly. The opposite of how reluctant he’d been with Oldman, Eddie glanced at the jury… They seemed receptive.

“And did he ever resort to violence then?”

“No.” Steve was more certain of that than anything else he’d said.

“Tell me, is he a very physical guy?”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

“Is hitting William Hargrove so hard with a baseball bat that he was comatose and then hospitalised - is that extremely out of character for him?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“And even if he did, hypothetically, do it, which obviously my client has pled not guilty.” Peterson spoke as if he was protective of his client, and Eddie found himself feeling like a child with his parent. “There’s no way he could have known that William Hargrove would die of his injuries? He wouldn’t know how to hit him to hurt him on purpose.”

“Yeah. Yeah, exactly. If Eddie did do it. It was an accident. He’d have just meant to scare him. He’s never even used a bat outside of gym class,” Steve joked, or attempted to. His voice sounded more desperate.

“But even then, that isn’t the Eddie you know, is it?”

“No. No, sir.” Steve shook his head as he spoke for emphasis.

“Do you know about everything Mister Hargrove did to various members of the Hellfire Club, Mister Harrington?” Peterson asked, causing Eddie to tense. He told him not to bring any of that up. He looked over at Oldman who looked worried, he knew something, Eddie thought.

“I- erm- I know he was a real dick to them,” Steve said, more as if he was trying to think rather than he was reluctant to.

“Do you think any of them might have a motive to hurt William Hargrove?”

“Yeah, absolutely.”

“Any names spring to-”

“Your honour. Objection,” Oldman said as he stood, it was obvious to everyone he was starting to panic. “There’s no evidence for any of this, it is clearly hearsay and conjecture. The police already interviewed everyone in this club.”

“He’s right councillor,” Judge Wallace reluctantly admitted. “Can you justify this line of questioning?”

“Yes. I’m pointing out the many holes in the prosecutions story and showing there is plenty of room for reasonable doubt. As well as raising other potential suspects,” Peterson said calmly, a small smirk on his lips.

“I’ll allow it, but tread carefully, councillor.”

“Thank you, your honour.” He bowed and then turned back to Steve. “Do you know what William Hargrove did to Mister Gareth Walton?”

“Objection! Mister Hargrove is not on trial here,” Oldman spluttered, getting to his feet.

“Yes, councillor where are you going with this.”

“I received information that I think the prosecution and jury should know, and if someone else knew they should have disclosed,” Peterson said, his cheerful expression had hardened. Oldman was silent. Steve looked at Eddie and could see he was visibly panicking, his chest was starting to heave, he told the lawyer not to use this. Peterson promised, he feels himself rocking back and forth, wanting to say something but his jaw is doing the anxious tic where it clicks side to side and he can’t make it stop. Steve wants to run over and hold him, but all he can do is stay put.

“And what is that councillor?” Judge Wallace asked.

“One of Edward Munson’s close friends, Gareth Walton was viciously beaten, raped, and left for dead by William Hargrove. Who wasn’t questioned by the police, by the way.”

“Your Honour-”

“I want to know why wasn’t Gareth Walton given the same treatment as my client?” Peterson asked as he turned to Oldman.

“Your Honour this is-”

“No further questions,” Peterson said. They dismissed Steve as he got to his feet, he looked at Eddie with pleading eyes. He returned a small smile, he felt terrible guilt that what happened to Gareth was dragged over the court room… But the feeling of the steel in his hand from when he smashed the bat into Billy’s skull? That had redeemed him, he hoped.

[sharper-than-a-serpents-tooth]

Reminder that Claude neglected Diana when she was pregnant because she chose the child over him and then let her die miserably, alone and in pain. We aren't talking enough about how bad Claude's treatment of his lover was when she went against his will and told him she wanted to keep the baby.

He ignored her for months unless he wanted to grab her to yell at her, pressure her into changing her mind, accuse her of playing with his heart, and when she was about to pass away, he couldn't even bother to move his ass from his throne and bid her goodbye.

He was the best magician in the kingdom up to date and didn't even try to help Diana through her complicated pregnancy. Even if it was known the delivery would have killed her for certain, he could have at least attempted things to alleviate her pain or made the process of the birth easier. Seeing how useless the court magicians were during Athy's mana-sickness and couldn't even numb her pain or put her to sleep, Diana must have been giving birth to her baby in agony in horrible conditions. Were even specialists present? I saw no bodies of magicians, doctors or even nurses lying among the corpses of the murdered concubines and servants of the Ruby Palace, yet I find it highly unlikely that Claude would have spared their lives. After all they had failed at their job in his eyes. If Claude had summoned once in a lifetime geniuses from all corners of the world to his palace and then killed them after Diana's death, then this must have caused a public outrage which should have affected Obelia's international relations with their neighbouring countries negatively.

I wouldn't have taken Claude as the kind of person who would deny his lover medical attention out of personal slight, I would have assumed he would have searched the entire continent for a specialist who could deliver the baby safely, yet Claude not even sending her a single magician, because he viewed Diana as a lost cause and felt offended by her choice, could fall in line with his character. Secretly he may have wanted her to suffer as punishment for her "betrayal" of him. The thought that he could make her departure from this world more comfortable may not even have crossed his mind because she was already "dead" to him.

[gaysindistress]

Van Helsing Retold - three

pairings: vamp hunter!reader x vamp!bucky

Summary: Under the cover of night, vampires and their hunters have been at war for centuries, never letting their bloodshed reach the light of day. That is until the wife of a powerful vampire leader, Steve Rogers is murdered and he demands revenge. Y/N Van Helsing is the target of his crusade and she comes face to face with his right hand man, Bucky Barnes.

Warnings: cursing

Word count: 2.5k

two | series masterlist

Tag list: permanent @hidden-treasures21 @cakesandtom @isabellatb @vonalyn

disclaimer: credits to original creator/poster of image/gif. found on Google/Pinterest. The women in the banners are purely for aesthetic purposes.

The smell that hasn’t left my mind for the last three, no four, I don’t know how many days but that’s besides the point. That smell has wrapped its imaginary arms around me and is holding me tight against its strong chest as I wake up. Sam’s voice is floating around me but the heartbeat in the chest I'm leaning against is louder, pounding in time with my own. Another voice, one that’s vaguely familiar and pulls at a thread somewhere inside of me, says something to Sam.

I feel something shift and I squint my eyes in an attempt to see my surroundings. We’re in a car now and Sam is driving. There must be someone else with us if he’s driving and I’m being cradled like a child.

Wait.

Fuck.

The vampire from the warehouse.

The vampire from the warehouse that’s been haunting my every waking and sleeping moment.

He was the one who barged in on our meeting with Helumt. He was the reason I felt an anger so violent and hostile that it threatened to make me sick. He was the reason Sam and I got out of there safely while I was a limp noodle in Sam’s arms.

Scratch that; a limp noodle in his arms. He’s the one who carried me out and is holding me tight as if i'll turn into ash if he lets me go.

“Van Helsing?” Sam’s voice calls to me and I blink at him through the rearview mirror, “Oh good you’re awake!”

“Thank you for the insightful observation, Wilson,”I shoot back and I feel a small rumble of laughter against my back. I want to look and confirm what I know to be true but I don’t want to admit it. I don’t want to admit that this vampire has saved my ass at least twice now. I don’t want to admit that I’m comfortable and I feel safe nestled in his arms. I don’t want to admit that I haven’t stopped thinking about him or that I’ve seen him in my dreams. I don’t want to admit that there’s a part of me that awoke that day and it aches when he’s not around.

“Wanna explain what happened?” Sam asks, throwing an accusing look at me

“Well if I had to guess, I’d say I fainted because I’m fresh out of the infirmary and I have a mild head wound that’s still healing. Oh and don’t forget the venom that’s eating away at my hand. I’d say I’m not exactly in fighting shape and my brain knocked me out so I wouldn’t hurt myself anymore.”

The vampire recoils a bit at the mention of my head wound and loosens his grip. Whatever anger of his that is left in me causes me to push off of him and face him.

“And you need to explain why you were at the club and the warehouse.”

His pale eyes widen at the anger directed at him but nonetheless he explains, “I was sent to find Peggy after she didn’t show up for an appointment and Sam asked me to come to the meeting with Helmut.”

It’s my turn to be wide eyed as I snap my eyes to Sam in the rearview mirror, “Sam did what now?”

“I said I had a lead,” he mumbles, not meeting my gaze.

“You didn’t tell me your lead was the fucking right hand to the leader of the Captain’s Guard!”

“If you know how I am then why did you ask me why I was at the warehouse?” The vampire asks, annoyed like I’m the problem.

“You,” I point my venomous finger at him, “don’t get to talk until I say so. As for Sam, you need to explain right the fuck now how and why you’re in bed with the Captain’s Guard.”

“I’m not in bed with them, Jesus,” he scoffs, “he called ME as a matter of fact and i knew that if we were going to make it out of that nightclub alive, we would need backup.”

I narrow my eyes at the vampire and he raises his eyebrows at me as if to remind me that he’s not allowed to speak until I say. I roll my eyes and tell him to start talking.

“As much as I hate all of you hunters, I hate your Guild Master even more. Killing Peggy was a shit call on his part and he’s going to let you and anyone else who tries to help you, take the fall. I told Sam that I would help him find the anti venom for your hand if he helped me frame Walker for Peggy’s death.”

I stay quiet for a moment as I try to process what he’s said, “that doesn’t explain why you’re doing this. I’m a Van Helsing, you should hate me more than any other hunter.”

He studies me, his eyes looking me up and down before he speaks, “I made a promise to your mother and she scares me more than you do.”

“My mother?”

Sam clears his throat and I shoot him daggers with my eyes.

Confusions hits me.

“She died when I was a baby. Peggy killed her.”

“That might be what she told everyone but it’s not true. I took your mother to a safe house to heal and she made me promise that I would never hurt you or let any hurt befall you.”

“You’re lying.”

“Trust me, I fucking wish I was.”

“Sam?” I look at my fellow hunter, “Is he telling the truth?”

The Falcon as he liked to call himself, refused to meet my gaze once again. He’d been maybe 17-18 when I showed up at the Guild as a small and crying baby. In true Van Helsing fashion, I had been wrapped in a black blanket with one of my family’s stakes tucked next to me and placed in a wicker basket on the doorstep of the previous Guild Master’s house. Tony had only been in his early 20s, the youngest Master to take over but he, Sam, and Happy raised me like I was their own. Now that Tony was dead and Happy hadn’t been seen in years, Sam would be the only person who knew what happened to my parents. I’d thought the story he’d told me, the one that Peggy had thrown at me, was the truth but from the way his eyes stay trained on the road, I realize it was a lie.

“Sam,” I try as my voice trembles, “is he telling the truth?”

The vampire’s hand gently grips my chin and pulls my face so that I’m looking at him.

“He’s not to blame. She made us all promise to keep you safe even if that meant lying to you.”

I slap his hand away, “Don’t touch me. I don’t give a single fuck what my mother said or what she made you promise. I don’t even know you so how can I even trust anything you have to say? As for Sam, he’s just as bad as you are and the moment we get to the Guild….”

He grips my chin again and forces me to stare into his eyes as he persuades me, “You will not speak of this to anyone and until I say so, you will stay silent and not move.”

My mouth and body comply without my permission.

Without control over my body, I zone out. Disassociate is a better word for the way I can’t remember the drive, getting out of the car, or how I’ve come to be sat on an emerald green tufted couch. Sam and the vampire are conversing in low voices but it doesn’t matter. I can’t hear them. My brain has effectively shut out everything but the sounds of rain hitting the window behind me and the fire that crackles out to my right. My eyes are trained on an open book that sits on a coffee table in front of me. I can’t read the words from this distance but I can at least appreciate that the owner of this house likes to read.

I feel a hand gently grip my chin and I find myself looking into those pale eyes as he grants me freedom of my body. Sam is tense, ready to grab me if I attack but I don’t. I stay in my corner of the couch and pull my legs up, not caring if my boots ruin the upholstery. I drop my forehead to rest on my knees and I would’ve assumed that anyone else would’ve walked away but the vampire doesn’t. He, instead, sits on the coffee table and leans forward so his forearms rest on his thighs.

“I’m sorry I persuaded you,” he offers the olive branch of pleasantness in a small voice, “I couldn’t let you get yourself hurt.”

“Or worse,” is unspoken but I can feel it in the weight of his gaze that’s fixed on top of my head.

“I still can't understand why you care what happens to me,” I say barely above a whisper but I know he hears me.

“I already told you.”

“And I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t have to nor do I expect you to,” there’s an odd heaviness in his words that I also feel in my throat. Rejection and frustration sit on my chest, constricting my breathing but it’s not mine.

“Good to know we’re on the same page.”

“Y/N,” Sam chides me from behind the vampire, “he’s not the enemy here. He can help get rid of Walker like you’ve been wanting.”

“I didn’t mean kill him!” I shout at him, “sure he’s annoying and pushy and the worst hunter I’ve ever seen but that doesn’t mean that he needs to die.”

Sam gives me a blank stare, “how many times has he sent you to do some crazy shit where you’ve almost gotten killed?”

I don’t answer. He’s not wrong; Walker has sent me on several suicide missions, Peggy being the most recent but most certainly not the last. Once again I can feel someone else’s emotions rise in me, squeezing the life out of my internal organs as they try to crawl out. Stealing a glance at the vampire, I see that his face is contorted with anger but he’s trying and failing to hide it.

I swear to all things holy if this is somehow his doing.

“It’s not for certain that Steve will kill him,” Sam adds.

The vampire before me shoots me a concerned look before looking over his shoulder at Sam, “I hope you’re joking.”

“I didn’t say he wouldn’t make him wish he was dead, just that he might not kill him.”

The vampire turns to me again, “it’s up to you, Y/N.”

I furrow my brows at him, confused about how he knows my name.

“That’s the least of your concerns,” he shoots back as if I’d said it out loud. I didn’t think I had but I shake it off.

“Give me the anti venom first and then I’ll decide.”

“That’s not how negotiations work.”

“Do I look like I give a fuck? Anti venom and then I’ll decide if I’m going to sell my soul to the devil.”

He rolls my eyes at the dramatics of my statement, “it’s not that easy.”

“It really is.”

“No it’s not,” he says sternly and I want to fire back more but he continues, “Helmut was right. Whatever anti venom we find won’t work on you. What you need is damn near impossible to get unless you’re willing.”

“And what do I need to be willing to do?”

Sam tenses and shoots nervous glances between us. I narrow my eyes at him and then look back to the vampire, repeating my question.

“Drinking the blood of the vampire that infected a moral can reverse the turning process only if they’re in the midst of it.”

“Peggy’s dead, how does that help me?”

The vampire doesn’t seem to even register that I asked a question, “Do you know what mates are?”

I blink at him, “excuse me?”

“Do you…”

“Yes I know what they are, why?” I snap and interrupt him.

Annoyance flashes in his blue eyes, “the mating bond doesn’t awaken until a mortal has completed the process. There have been a few cases where it can happen during. If that happens, the blood of the vampire mate can reverse it but it severs the bond completely and can kill the vampire. It’s like taking out our hearts and expecting our blood to keep pumping.”

“Well you don’t have a beating heart so…”

“You get the point,” he snaps back.

“What does this have to do with me?” I ask while looking between him and Sam. The latter is already looking at me with a mixture of sadness and… hope in his dark eyes. Whatever hope he’s placed in this vampire is sorely mistaken and he’d be better to place it in our Guild Master John Walker.

The vampire’s watching me, studying me for any indication of what I’m thinking or feeling. It makes me uneasy to have his full attention on me but I can’t show it. Instead I drop my feet back to the ground and cross my arms over my chest as I repeat my question, “I’m not a vampire nor am I in the turning process so what do mating bonds have to do with me?”

“You are in the process. Stopped, frozen, or slow, you’re still turning and since you killed the one who infected you, the mating bond is the only way to save you.”

I laugh.

I laugh so loud and so hard that both men flinch. I laugh so long that my chest hurts and my lungs burn. Tears prick my eyes and my entire body aches from how long I laugh. When my laughter finally stops and I’m clutching my sides, I look between the two men. Neither mirror my amusement and it’s only slightly concerning.

“What?”

Sam shakes his head, “this is serious, Y/N.”

“I’m well aware that this is serious but you can’t seriously believe that I would fall for any of the bullshit he’s spewing.”

The vampire flinches slightly, “I’m telling the truth. What reason do I have to lie?”

“Oh just about a million,” I scoff before standing up, “my head is starting to hurt again, is there somewhere I can lay down?”

The vampire doesn’t respond but Sam stands too and leads me out of the room. Hurt beings to deep into my chest and it twists around inside me, causing a deep ache to start throbbing.

“He’s trying to help you,” Sam says softly with an edge of disappointment.

“But why? Sam, he’s Bucky Barnes, the right hand of the Captain’s Guard. He has no reason other than his own selfish ones to help us and I can’t trust just that.”

“Then trust that your mom and I trust him.”

I stop dead in my tracks, “as far as I’m concerned she died that night and your word has come to mean nothing to me.”

[simonalkenmayer]

One of the historical figures I just missed, but always wished I could have run across, was Anne Boleyn.

Her daughter, Elizabeth, was my queen, when first I arrived in London. She reigned long, and well, and though I know that as modern people we might just her differently, for her treatment of the new world and so forth, I did quite love her at her time. I saw her only twice, on her usual ath through the city on parade. Her face, I recall very well.

At the time I arrived, the ghost of Henry was no longer stalking the air. Men some freely about how unfair her situation had been. I often say that one must put oneself in a different frame of mind, and it is true, some vast context may be missing—like the other day, with the fly in the picture—modern folk don’t quite have a good grasp of the true feeling of things.

Believe it or not, the first time I ever broke into the Tower, was to see if I would find the ghosts of Anne, and her predecessors in death, the two princes. These spirits were already known, by then. I never did see her, though I’ve no doubt that there is at least one Drifter there imprinting things since there is so much suffering there. But nevermind that.

I had a point.

Usually I say you must look at it with a historical lens, but in this case, no. Look at it entirely from the modern perspective, and you will see the height of misogyny!

A woman who demanded to remain chaste until marriage, for whom the king broke with the Pope! A woman who gave him a daughter that would bring about a golden age! A woman who was cast aside by a bloviating tyrant who believed she was at fault for not having a son. We know it’s the male DNA that determines sex. Women cannot make anything change. She miscarried a boy the very day the King’s ex-wife, Katherine of Aragon, died of cancer. She was cast aside for not giving him a boy after multiple pregnancies, at a time when women died every day from child bearing fever! Her sister was his previous mistress, and he had the nerve to be so emotionally abusive?! Not to mention he casts her aside by accusing her of incest and adultery with her brother! Why? Because he was her emotional support. She kept him close and the king wanted him dead too! He felt so entitled that he cut off her head just to marry her maid while she was dumped into an old arrow chest.

And her final words were to praise him, to say he is gentle and merciful. She begged people to pray for her and for the king. She went to her death praising her abuser who was about to murder her.

She was one I always wish I’d come across. I think I should have liked her, based upon her daughter who it was said was very like her. I think we should have gotten on well, and I’d have been able to do one small thing.

Likely wouldn’t have mattered.

At least they used a sword for her. Monmouth got the worst executioner I’ve ever seen. Not the worst execution but worst executioner.

That’s another story.

Anyway, she’s one I would have liked to have met.

[sokkastyles]

Hi,

Hope you are doing well. Thank you for the response on TSR. I had another question regarding TSR.

I was reading a comment about Kataang, and in that comment one thing that caught my attention was that Aang never asked about Kya's death, whereas Zuko did and that got me thinking. It shows that Zuko is willing to figure out why Katara was angry, whereas Aang did not ask, and from my memories of TLA episodes, its never implied that Aang ever asked about Kya, even off screen, otherwise he may have understood in TSR, why Katara needed to make the trip at the start or perhaps not. This seems like a problem with Aang and Katara's friendship. I am not sure whether Aang's age can be used as a factor here.

This is not about the ships, just a thought I had. I would like your thoughts on this.

Yes, I definitely think this is a huge reason why Katara felt alienated by Aang, and not just Aang, but Sokka, too. In general, I think the lack of support Katara gets vs how much she gives to others came to a head in that episode.

As other people have pointed out, Aang's reaction to Katara talking about her mother's death, which she does in order to prepare him for what he might find at the Southern Air Temple, before he realizes what has happened to his people, is to dismiss her. He's not doing this because he doesn't care about her loss, but he's doing it because he doesn't want to face the truth about his own loss, and is very unintentionally careless and condescending.

Katara: [Close-up of Katara.] Well, I just want you to be prepared for what you might see. The Fire Nation is ruthless. [Sadly.] They killed my mother, and they could have done the same to your people.

Aang: [Ponders over her words for a bit. Hopefully.] Just because no one has seen an airbender, doesn't mean the Fire Nation killed them all. They probably escaped!

Katara: [Places one hand on Aang's shoulder.] I know it's hard to accept.Aang[Cheerfully, as Katara moves her hand back to her side.] You don't understand, Katara. The only way to get to an airbender temple is on a flying bison, and I doubt the Fire Nation has any flying bison! [Caresses Appa's head.] Right, Appa?

(He also, ironically, tells Katara that she doesn't understand, but when she says that to him because he's being dismissive to her, she's the one in the wrong, somehow.)

Of course, I feel for Aang not wanting to admit that his people could be wiped out that easily, but what he says to Katara is that while it could have happened to her mother, it can't possibly have happened to the airbenders. They must have escaped! I mean, he has a point - how DID the Fire Nations single-handedly destroy a nation of flying nomads - but still, that's kind of an awful thing to say in response to someone telling you their loved one was murdered and fearing it also happened to yours. Like, RIP to your mom, Katara, but my people are different!

If you think about Katara's other experiences telling people about her mom, Jet was sympathetic but used her mother's death to try to get Katara to go against her morals (something antis often accuse Zuko of), Haru is sympathetic but too scared to act until Katara pushes him, and Sokka, who she also gets angry at in this episode, tells Zuko in the very same episode that his mother's death is not something he likes to think about.

Again, Sokka is not intentionally being callous, his reaction is born of trauma, but it clashes with Katara's trauma because Katara NEEDS to talk about what happened.

Aang and Sokka have similar ways of compartmentalizing their grief, and they expect Katara to do the same thing. Zuko not only is in a position to know that this is not what Katara needs not only because he connected with her in the caves, but also because he and Katara are similar in temperament in that they are unable to repress or deny their emotions in the same way, and both have people around them telling them that they should do that.

And the age excuse...the thing about it is, whether Aang's age is a factor in his behavior or not, it's still the same behavior, and it still hurts Katara. But I especially find it frustrating when people act like Aang isn't old enough to know better in comparison to Zuko. Zuko may be older, but unlike Aang, he is not presented by the narrative as a person wise beyond his years, and did not grow up with excellent role models and circumstances that would turn him into a mature young man. He did do a lot of growing in the short time between when he talked with Katara in the caves and TSR, and that shows in his behavior, but he shows more sensitivity towards Katara's mother's murder even when he's still loyal to the regime that killed her than Aang does. Aang is a twelve year old raised by pacifist monks, but somehow he can't empathize with Katara enough not to belittle her grief, whereas Zuko is able to overcome sixteen years of fascist propaganda in two minutes?

[noforkingclue]

Hey how are you? Are you still battling the heat? I hope work is okay.

If it's okay with you I would like to request a Dhawan!master x reader request where the reader is a huge fan of Agatha Christie and the master notices this and so he takes the reader to meet Agatha Christie as a surprise. The reader meets Agatha Christie but when this happens there is a murder and the master is framed for the murder, the reader works with Agatha Christie to prove the master's innocence.

Sorry for making such a long request, I know that you like Agatha Christie. If you're not comfortable writing this then it's okay. I hope you have a great day/ night.

P.S not sure if you saw the commonwealth games closing ceremony but there was Peaky Blinders tribute featured.

Note: requests are currently closed

Oh yes! I do love Agatha Christie. I got the complete collection and I'm currently writing my own murder mystery.

Title: Whodunit

Doctor Who tag list: @v4n1r, @queerconfusionthings, @yourneighbourhoodclown, @love-of-fandoms, @emilythezeldafan, @fabulous-jj-style, @theseeker945, @pleadingeyes, @kjaneway1, @truthbehindthemysteries, @im-a-muggleborn, @startrekkingaroundasgard, @mythandmagik, @geocookie21, @zerocanonlywriteshit, @thewinterpoet2, @anteroom-of-death, @night467, @clarasoswaldd, @sessa23, @mxacegrey

Dhawan!Master tag list: @agentmalfoy24601, @b-bae-27, @praxeus-13

Everything tag list: @greenrevolutionary, @byebyebreezywrites, @spngingerbread21, @layazul, @lov3vivian, @simonsbluee

You folded your arms and raised your eyebrows at the Master. The Master just rolled his eyes and sat down on the bed.

“I didn’t kill that human.” He said

“You were standing over the body,” you said, “you must see how it looks.”

“People stand over bodies all the time.”

“I haven’t.”

“Then I’ve been showing you the wrong things.”

“I haven’t no desire to see any more corpses.”

“I can’t grantee anything, love.”

You sighed and sat down next to the Master. You nudged him gently and said,

“Some treat this turned out to be. You promised to take me to see my favourite author and you got accused of murder. Only with Agatha Christie right?”

“What do you mean by that?”

“It’ll be like us going on the Orient Express or a Nile river cruise and there being a murder. Bit of a coincidence don’t you think?”

“Isn’t life just made up strange little coincidences?”

You wrinkled your nose in disgust and the Master smirked at you.

“That sounds like something the Doctor would say.”

“Now why would you insult me like that?”

“And why-“

It was at the moment the door to the room opened. You sat up straight and felt your face get hot as you came face to face with your idol. Agatha Christie stood awkwardly as she shut the door behind her. Silence fell over the three of you and eventually she cleared her throat and said,

“The police have been called.”

“Oh joy,” the Master said, “Twentieth century human policing. I’m sure they will be very effective.”

Agatha frowned and said,

“You really do say the strangest of things. You remind me of someone but…”

She trailed off and shook her head.

“I really must be going now. I only came here to inform you of the update.”

Once she left the room you look over at the Master and said,

“What was that about?”

“I had another reason for taking you here?”

“There always has to be an ulterior motive with you, doesn’t there?”

“Time energy.”

“Huh?”

“There’s residual time energy surrounding her. It’s a mystery.”

“And you can’t let a mystery go unsolved.”

“I have a strong suspicion I know who is involved.”

“Ugh,” you groaned and shook your head, “can’t we have one trip without the Doctor being involved.”

“With how much she’s travelled we’re bound to bump into her sooner or later. However,” the Master held up a hand when you opened your mouth, “next time I’ll be sure to find a place te she hasn’t graced with her presence.”

“Next time,” you grimaced, “if we manage to get out of this situation.”

“Then you better get out there and find out whodunit.”

You rolled your eyes and stood up. Before you left you pressed a brief kiss against his forehead before you slipped out of the room. You stumbled slightly when you realised that Agatha was outside the room. She seemed embarrassed when she spotted you and you said,

“Miss Christie, umm, err, hi. I just wanted to say that I’m a big fan. Oh, you probably get that all the time but I…”

You trailed off, your face hot.

“You probably that all the time.” You muttered

“Yes, well,” Agatha gave you a small smile, “it’s always good to meet a fan.”

“Can I ask you something?” you said quietly

“Yes. I’ve been meaning to ask you something as well.”

“What are you doing out here?”

“Ah,” Agatha looked away, “it’s actually linked to your friend in there. I don’t believe that he is the man we’re looking for.”

“Really?”

“Yes. What do you say that you and I do some investigating? I have a feeling that I’ve come across something like this before and not a plot in one of my books.”

“Investigate a murder with Agatha Christie. I’d love to help!”

Maybe this trip wasn’t going to end in disaster after all. 

[fake-married-my-dead-fiance]

To me Jing Li's father is the absolute worst because everybody else had a motive to act the way they did, while he was simply a spinless man who waited for somebody else to tell him if and how much he had to love his daughter. He sent her away and never visited or wrote to her ( if I'm not mistaken only her grandmother did, even if her letters and her gifts didn't reach her, right?), he made her come back because of a scandal, he doubted her every word she said because her wife told him to, he valued her because she won the entry exam, he gave her the benefit of the doubt because she won the appeal case for the magistrate. Even during the showdown between Fangfei and the eldest princess, when he realized her accusation made sense and there was actually something that didn't add up with Jiang Li, he didn't push the matter further. He used his body as a shield to protect the family honor but as soon as the matter was solved he never worried to understand what was going on, if her daughter was really safe under his roof or if he needed to rescue her or at least give her a proper burial. He would have died with that doubt, but he would have never pursed the truth, because it could have harmed him. He is not even selfish, he is a self-serving character, which is worse in my opinion.

I mean, I just can't put his wrongs above murdering an actual child, personally (even though that would have been a manslaughter conviction instead of premeditated murder, I'm talking about the second wife and the first daughter). And just because someone has a motive doesn't make them more justified, the mom wants her daughter to be first, that's her whole motive. She caused the death of two children because she was that desperate for her daughter to be first. And her husband liked her! Her daughter was still going to get good things! She literally wanted everything.

The father is blind and easily led, but he did think that his daughter committed a pretty big sin (pushing the mom and causing a miscarriage) and none of the many servants around stood up for her as far as we know, so the evidence would have seemed clear. There were a bunch of witnesses.

Also, I interpreted the father not asking questions differently. I thought when everything clicked for him, he decided not to ask because he knew, and his silence was him respecting what Xue Fangfei was doing. He also told her he would defend her with the sexual assault accusation even though that would probably harm his family more than help, and when she suddenly took back the accusation. He gave her full support by the end even though he knew she wasn't his real daughter.

For me, the biggest villain ended up being Shen Murder Husband (who can't even murder properly). At first I felt sorry for him, but his turn around where he demands to be forgiven and throws blame on everyone else for what he ultimately decided to do (he had options, he could have refused or run away or something) made me hate him. Yes, he acted under duress, but he still attempted murder. Forgiveness must be given, not forced or demanded.

(The father here really reminded me of Sir Thomas, the father in Mansfield Park by Jane Austen, if you happen to have read it. He makes similar mistakes, he listens to the lies of his SIL, and also redeems himself by the end)

[conniesanchor]

stop I saw your “you are in love” prompt and thought of spencer reid and wildest dreams

YES, THIS FITS SO WELL. this fic is a part of my 300 followers celebration!

spencer reid x fem!suspect!reader

summary: you're a suspect in a homicide. what happens when you fall for one of the fbi agents working the case?

I thought Heaven can't help me now

Nothing lasts forever

But this is gonna take me down

when you heard a knock at your door, you didn't suspect anything. it was a friday night, so you figured it was just one of your girlfriends coming to pick you up to go to the club. when you opened the door to see two men standing there, your heart dropped. the man on the left was tall and skinny, his hair dangling in front of his eyes. if you weren't so afraid, you would've been more attracted to him. the man on the right had a darker skin tone, and he was more buffed up than the other one, "hello, mrs. l/n. im agent morgan, this is dr. reid. we're with the fbi, could we ask you a few questions?" the man on the right. asked, a silent request to come in.

you were concerned, but you let them in anyway, "yeah, of course. come in." you walked in, trying to tidy up in any way you could. "can i get you two anything?" you asked, your throat dry.

"no, that's alright. you worked with lani perez, correct?" dr. reid asked, he received a nod in response, "she was murdered last week. some of your coworkers have said you were the last one seen with her. do you know what happened?"

you shook your head, and if you had any saliva left in your throat before, it was gone now. how could she be dead? you just saw her yesterday. thoughts were flooding through your head, "um, no. i was the last one in the office, i think she might have said 'bye' or 'have a nice night', but other than that, no. we weren't that close." you rambled on.

after a few more questions that you didn't really listen to, but answered anyway, the agents made their way out. the taller one handed you a business card, "don't leave the state, be prepared to be called in for questioning at any time. right now, mrs. l/n. you are a suspect in the murder of lani perez." and then they left.

He's so tall and handsome as hell

He's so bad, but he does it so well

I can see the end as it begins

it wasn't long before you were called in for questioning. you sat in a cold, dark room, with only one window. you were in there for what felt like hours until the doctor that showed up to your house walked in. "i know how hard this must be for you, y/n. we aren't here to accuse you of anything, but you understand how it looks for you, don't you?" he asked, his eyes meeting yours intently. "you're gonna be here for a while. do you want water or something?"

"no. im okay."

he sighed, "for the record, i know you didn't do it. we just don't have any other leads. i know you're stressed, but you need to take care of yourself. let me get you water and food." he placed his hands on top of yours.

"okay." you couldn't really speak, and your hands were shaking too much. you were doing everything in your power to keep the tears from falling onto your face.

spencer moved toward the door to get you what you need. then, he turned around to do something that he normally doesn't do (and that would probably cause him to burn his suit at a later date), "do you need a hug?" he asked, and when he received a nod, he moved to wrap his arms around your neck. on instinct, you wrapped yours around his torso. you only stayed there for a moment, but you needed it.

Say you'll remember me

Standing in a nice dress

Staring at the sunset, babe

Red lips and rosy cheeks

your name had officially been cleared. however, another one of your coworkers had been killed the other day. you knew it couldn't have been a coincidence. after the second murder spencer himself had an officer put outside your door. it was weird how close you had gotten recently. he was checking in on you every night, and he even stayed at your house for a couple hours one night.

now, it was ten pm when you heard a knock at your door. you knew no one should have made it past the officer sitting outside. so you rushed up the stairs and locked yourself in your bedroom. you pushed your dresser in front of the door and closed your curtains before dialing spencer on your cell.

he picked up after the first ring, and before you could get a word out, there was a crash downstairs. "spencer," you whispered. "spencer there someone in my house. please help."

"im on my way, okay? just stay calm. i will be there soon. don't hang up," he started. you were thankful that the police station he and his team were based at were just down the road from your house. "where are you?"

you tried to slow your breathing, "im in my bedroom. the door is locked, and i put something in front of it, but im not sure how long it will hold him off," your words were rushed, and you were panicking. the only thing that was helping you was the sound of police sirens on the other line.

"okay, that's good. were two minutes out. just stay calm and quiet, baby." baby. your life was on the line, and all you could think about was the fact that he just called you baby.

as promised, it was only two minutes before you heard the police sirens outside your house. two gunshots went off, and all you could think about was spencer. you had only known him for a week, but it felt like longer. it felt like you already knew everything about him. you kept worrying until you heard his shaky voice, "y/n. are you okay?" he asked before pushing the door and the dresser out of the way.

you quickly got up from your resting spot on the ground and rushed toward him, throwing your arms around his neck. "it's okay. you're safe now."

You'll see me in hindsight

Tangled up with you all night

Burning it down

Someday when you leave me

I bet these memories

Follow you around

spencer and his team had stayed in the city for a while longer. you shouldn't be happy about another case popping up in your hometown, but it gave you more time with spencer. the short amount of time he did get away from the case he spent at your house. in your bed. spending time with you.

when they solved the new case, spencer had to leave. virginia wasn't that far from your hometown, so you and spencer agreed to make it work. you would take turns flying out each weekend.

Even if it's just in your wildest dreams, ah-ah, ha (ha-ah, ha)

a year later, you moved in with spencer. you found a job and you were happy.

thank you sm for requesting ml. this is pretty angsty. hope you liked it.

[lya-dustin]

All is Bliss

(in the Court of Aemma the Great)

Chapter 60

A/n: rewrote parts of it and then added more to the og chapter

Cw: mentions of a past murder, murder accusations, good ol misogyny.

She hasn’t even been crowned yet and already she is sick of being queen.

Kingslayer, kinslayer, whore, unnatural, usurper, monster.

These and many more are the insults the pockets of Green Loyalists hurl at her face and behind her back. Some never liked that some houses like the Velaryons and Celtigars are black, others do not like her for being a woman. A crown wasn’t going to make them change their minds.

A cock would, but alas the only one she has is Aemond's but he isn’t in the mood these days.

“Helaena isn’t speaking to me. She thinks I was part of it.” Aemond confides as if she wasn’t in the same boat.

“We will deal with this later, for now we must prepare for the arrival of our guests, dearest.” Actually, she is treating Jena almost as badly as Helaena is treating them. Well not badly, just giving them the silent treatment. But they can’t worry about it now. Not when the Wolf of Winterfell comes too late to be of much use.

Everything was already done; peace had been achieved and should last through the winter.

Atleast.

Green and black can’t be worn in court unless paired with other colors or for funerals. Court will have new rules and the realm as well to protect the rights of heiresses and bastards claimed by their adoptive fathers.

Aemma has many plans and won’t stop until the realm shines in the golden light of progress.

Easier said than done.

She must wait a year to wed Aemond as a widow and to confirm Aenys’ status as Aegon’s heir, she must find a way to keep the realm from rioting after most lords and men have been maimed and killed, and worst of all, find a compromise that works for all.

She has a council and a court, but everyone demands she personally oversees it to mollify their fucking egos.

Some seek to humiliate her for being a woman the other seeks to put her on a pedestal for being a woman. Aemma must be unimpeachable, she must be perfect in every way or else they will think she is unworthy of crown. Aegon never had to prove anything, he had a cock and in the end that’s all they care about.

“Your grace, your highness, the Northern Envoy has arrived at the gates.” The guard notifies them interrupting Aemond who had been about to speak. Likely wanted to remind her that his sister believing they are murderers is not something you can just deal with it as if it were a state matter.

“We will continue talking about this later, Aemond. I promise.” Aemma amends her earlier words as they follow her security detail to the throne room where they will receive Cregan Stark and those with him.

Westeros, unfortunately, now had to come first.

Her first thought when she met Cregan Stark was: do I look as mature as him?

Followed by: how much of this so-called maturity is actually life beating the living shit out of you and making you age prematurely?

Either way, Cregan Stark with his fearsome reputation looked closer to thirty than his actual three and twenty. This was not a man to take lightly, and his great sword felt more earned than inherited when you knew what he has lived through.

“Well met, Lord Stark,” Aemma offers the bread and salt as is custom and he takes it with a courteous nod.

“My condolences to you for the deaths of your kin, your grace.” He would either bend the knee or demand something before it.

Everyone wants something, none of them offer anything to prove their worth. A lord’s so-called loyalty, Aemma has learned is not free.

Cassandra would be Lady Arryn and have her father reinstated as Lord Baratheon, Joffrey would wed Great Uncle Malentine’s only daughter, nine year old Daena, to ensure his claim goes uncontested for generations to come while Lord Royce demanded a match to replace him with, Sabitha wanted House Vypren for her daughter, Joan, and the Reach wanted to bleed her dry because they blamed her for all the problems their kin caused the realm.

“My thanks, my lord.” Aemma had an inkling as to what Stark would want, but she needed to see what else he would want beyond the Pact of Ice and Fire.

“There are rumors that you were participant in your husband’s murder.”

Well at least he got to the point.

“Just rumors, my husband was murdered by his own followers. They have been arrested and tried; I assure you.” Aemma had turned the tables on the council and arrested them all the moment she returned to the Red Keep as the last monarch standing. “The war is over; I thank you for leal service to me even after my brothers’ deaths.”

They were awaiting trial, well, those who were confirmed participants were arrested and tried. Whether their families cared to ransom them back or they’d be sent to the chopping block was left to Daemon, the generals for the Riverlands, the Vale and now the North.

The war had been a costly beast. Even those who held most of their money and lands were hesitant to beg for mercy. But there were people here complicit of her mother’s death and the ensuing bloodshed, and while Aemma was generous, her mercy had limits.

Cregan Stark would allow her the opportunity to show her claws.

Unfortunately, he had claws as well. He wouldn’t leave without showing them either.

“By whose hand and at whose word? Oldtown has not put down their swords, Lord Borros has not either, and you hold in your dungeons. If we march now on the Stormlands and the Reach, we will have taken their seats before winter comes.” The burly man speaks with authority and makes a good case for his cause, but Aemma will have to say no to this.

Too much has been lost, and they simply cannot afford more bloodshed. Besides, as the Starks say, winter is coming, and they should focus more on that.

“A good plan, and meant with good intention, but I do not intend to take their castles with violence.” Just a threat that she will.

Jaehaerys threatened Rogar Baratheon with Vermithor, Vhagar or Caraxes would do, Silverwing too, but she shouldn’t be flying I to her enemies’ stronghold if she can help it. If not ,well, Lady Tyrell can execute Garmund Hightower, and dear uncle Borros would be publicly executed but not before making Cassandra his heir.

The loss of status, the divestment of holdings, and other assets sometimes hurt more than a physical blow. Baratheon couldn’t afford to lose face now that his son was born, Hightower couldn’t lose another son, not when Samantha has not become pregnant since a misscarriage, and Lyonel refuses to wed because he is fucking Samantha.

Those were usually more effective than terrorizing people with actual violence.

Her grandfather, and hand until a better man is found, speaks, “You speak of taking Storm’s End, Oldtown, and Casterly Rock, my lord, but the men who held those seats were slain in battle, every one. Small boys and suckling babes sit in their places now, no threat to us. Grant them honorable terms, and they will bend the knee.”

She should’ve had him arrested too, but there had been no real proof of his involvement. Besides, he was her grandfather, and that would look bad. Her allies from the beginning were spared. Those who stuck out until the bitter end learned their lesson the hard way.

“Small boys become large men in time,” he replied, assuming her grandfather was the one pulling the strings, “a babe sucks down his mother’s hate with his mother’s milk. Finish these foes now, or those of us not in our graves in twenty years will rue our folly when those babes strap on their father’s swords and come seeking after vengeance.”

“King Aegon said the same and died for it. Had he heeded our counsel and offered peace and pardon to his foes, he might be sitting with us here today.” Aemma warns, reminding the Lord that no one made decisions for her here.

“Is that why you poisoned him?”

Ah ha, so he didn’t believe her! Why does no one believe her?!

“I. Did. Not. Poison. Him!

If I say the war is over, it is because I, Aemma Targaryen, say it is over! You may be Lord of Winterfell, but do not forget I am Queen by right of blood and marriage!” Aemma shouts at him, standing up to him at eye level because they are almost the same height.

Even worse, in her anger, she had slapped the Wolf of Winterfell.

[hungergamesheadcanons]

Murderer/Protector

Johanna felt like she was born to look out for Finnick.

To be fair, she hadn't at first. She had entered the Capitol thinking like every other Victor did - that Odair had fallen into degeneracy from the moment he'd arrived, dressing in little clothing and flirting with everything with a pulse. She had been prepared to thoroughly despise the man, to fight off unwanted advances for the rest of her life.

She had been proven wrong the instant her family had been killed.

She had rejected Snow's proposition, of course she had, but it still didn't prepare her for the grief that had torn through her system. Finnick - though at the time she had referred to him as nothing but Odair - had been the one to find her, screaming and wailing on the ground floor of the tribute centre. He must have known what happened - how couldn't he? - as he'd simply helped her up and taken her to the lift, up to his and Mags and the other tributes from 4s floor. He'd deposited her on the couch, sniffling and coughing, walking to the fridge and pouring her a glass of water right in sight so she could see he'd put nothing in it.

She'd done nothing but react, throwing it back in his face and screaming at him instead, that it wasn't fair and why did he keep his family and a whole lot of other accusations that seemed to roll off him like the water dripping down his chin. He had said nothing, simply letting her scream her woes out before she collapsed onto his shoulder in a mess of tears. He had loosely held her, enough for her to pull away when she wanted, and when she did he had dutifully poured another glass of water. She drank it that time, shamefully averting her eyes from the sea green ones that were filled with nothing but concern.

They'd talked for a long time that night - about her situation and Finnick's. About how he hadn't even been allowed the choice, about how his family were threatened by his noncompliance as well. He'd told her, his voice distant, about how his first client was on the night he was taken out of the games. Before the Victor interview, even. As he was airlifted from the arena, he had found himself in the arms of one of the prominent gamemakers, who had proceeded to take him then and there - bloody, dirty, and terrified. He had been drugged just before, so he couldn't move, couldn't fight back, even though the golden trident was still in his hands. He told Johanna that it never stopped, that you never left the arena, simply changed the playing grounds.

She'd asked him if it got any better. He didn't respond.

From there on out their relationship changed. They weren't romantically involved, as many rumours liked to believe. She had seen them on social media, the idea of tiny angry Johanna Mason dominating big hunky Finnick Odair. The rumours ranged from speculation to full on sexual fantasies - ones that had caused her to throw her phone through a window and into a fountain. No, they were friendly, that was it. More than best friends, but nowhere near lovers.

There were only so many labels you could give to someone who knew your life so intimately.

They spent many a night together simply chatting, Finnick leaning on her as she didn't like looking or feeling weak in any way, whereas he didn't have those restrictions. She tended to speak about home, about the lumber mills and her family. She spoke about her siblings, about their chaotic antics that caused her father to laugh til he cried and her mother to shake her head with a tiny smile. She spoke of small children climbing big big trees, feeling like no one could touch them there, and adults luring them down with treats so that work could resume as per usual. She spoke of wild cats that the children would ply with food, lightly stroking their heads so they wouldn't get spooked. The nights she spoke were the good nights, both of them smiling and laughing.

Sometimes the nights Finnick spoke would be good nights. Sometimes he too would talk about home, about the shanties sung on fishing vessels. He would sing for her, on those nights, any shanty she wanted. She liked the upbeat ones, ones like Randy-Dandy-O, Drunken Sailor, Chicken on a Raft. Finnick preferred the slower, sadder ones, like Leave Her Johnny and Lowlands Away. He would talk about the ocean, himself and his brothers running into the cold water on an evening and splashing each other as the sunset painted the sky and sea in hues of orange and pink. He spoke of building sandcastles, collecting shells, his first catch, his learning to swim.

Most of the time though, Finnick's nights were the bad nights.

He spoke of clients, too cruel and callous to care that the person they were having sex with was a child. He spoke of clients who wouldn't let him say no, who would beat and bruise him and make him thank them for the privilege. He spoke of people who would tie him up and abuse him, of people who forced him to tie them up and abuse them, of people who wanted nothing more than to feel powerful. He spoke of forced drug use, of being plied with alcohol, spoke of people who wanted nothing more than to tear him to shreds, spoke of being kicked out of the door in pieces and trying to glue the shards together before Mags saw him. He spoke of Mags, who had apologised to him for helping him win the games, who had cried in his shoulder when she heard of what had been done to him as Finnick solemnly held her frail body close. He spoke of his father, who had bought into the Districts hatred of the Capitol's Golden Boy, who would not let him near his younger sisters or brothers for fear they would also fall into degeneracy. He spoke of his mother, who wrote him tear-stained letters asking him what happened to her little boy, and that he could tell them anything and they would help him. He spoke of how that was the problem, that they would get themselves killed were they to know that Finnick was being raped on the daily. He spoke of his two older brothers, strong and muscular, who would have crushed clients skulls if they knew what had been done to him. He spoke of his two younger sisters and little brother, all 3 incredibly skilled with creating and throwing fish-hooks, who could silently murder anyone who had touched him and probably not get caught.

On these nights, Johanna held him tightly, feeling him tremble in her arms. Neither of them cried, too far gone for that, but both of them grieved the lives they could have had, the childhoods that had been torn from them, the blood that had been forcefully put on their hands. Sometimes Finnick would break beneath her, and she'd try to comfort him. She remembered one night in particular, where it had felt like he'd shattered, great hulking sobs tearing out of his throat as he hid his face in her neck. She had tried to stroke his hair for comfort, but her nails had snagged in the knots left behind by someone who had pulled too much and too hard, and Finnick had frozen.

"Gentle, please." He had whispered, voice thick with tears.

Guilt had filled every inch of Johanna's body, and she had pursed her lips. "I don't know how," She had said back, and it was true. Johanna didn't know how to be gentle anymore - violence was her thing. She was crude, brash, horrible, a nasty person. She was a murderer, through and through, and this nasty, horrible persona she adopted kept her safe.

But Finnick had looked up to her, those same sea-green eyes that had looked at her with such gentle concern filled with trust. "It's like petting a cat." He had mumbled, and the pieces fell into place.

So when they were alone, they had a pact. Johanna could relearn how to be gentle, to not be brash and abrasive, to feel her emotions without hiding them behind a cocky front. And Finnick would let himself hurt, would let himself seek out soft touches and affection with no expectations behind it, would let himself be imperfect and ugly-cry with no fear of cameras catching him.

She refused to tell him how her public mask had shifted though.

Her mask had changed the instant she had been forced to a party, seeing some sleazy so-and-so put his hands all over a distinctly uncomfortable Finnick, forcing alcohol into his hands, getting close, too close, far too close. Johanna hadn't even noticed her feet carrying her forward until she was behind her friend, nearly going to punch him in the face, before she stopped herself.

Finnick's mask couldn't be shattered by Johanna - he still had people he needed to protect. If she assaulted this man here and now, both of them would be in danger.

Johanna may be a murderer, but at the very least she could try and protect Finnick.

So she lied, tapping Finnick on the shoulder and telling him that Mags needed him urgently for mentor responsibilities. She let him make his apologies, a scowl instinctively painting itself on her face when the greasy git tried to make another pass for Finnick, before ushering him away. She could hear the man complaining behind her, about how getting a slot with Finnick was so expensive and life finding gold in a river, and grinned.

She had no problems being the bad guy if that meant Finnick had at least someone on his side. If that meant Finnick had someone who could protect him from some of the cruelty of the Capitol, even if she couldn't protect him from all of it.

The more they liked him, the more protected he was. The more he appeared to be the agreeable, flirty, fuckboy persona they had assigned to him, the more they supported him, elevating him to this level of almost untouchableness. Were Snow to take any action against him or his family, the Capitol would riot, but that would only work while Finnick was in their good graces. So Johanna would willingly become the crass, rude bitch who cockblocks the Capitol's elite to keep Finnick and his family safe, to keep Finnick from being forced into another bed, to keep Finnick from being hit and hurt again.

And if when she managed to pull him back to District 4's floor they collapsed onto a couch, talking quietly about home and their experiences, the Capitol would never see it.

They didn't deserve their vulnerability.

[pennyngram]

48/52 Flavours: Will You Forgive Me These November Days?

(my masterlist)

[ prev // 48 // next ]

John Trevor was having a splendid day. His splendid fiancée Priscilla had accompanied him to visit the splendid farm where they would start their splendid married life together.

It was a very beautiful and well kept property. The only problem to the house was its past, a past which made it advisable for him to steer clear. But Priscilla was an out of townie and would never know his past with that house.

It had recently been requisitioned by the bank and Priscilla had agreed to the tour only after he had assured her that nobody had been murdered on the property. The previous owners had just been incautious with their financial choices.

During the tour, Priscilla and himself had fallen in love with the house, the barn, the great fields. Her skepticism vanished and they found themselves envisioning again many happy days spent there with her, their future children and the many dogs he was going to raise.

Towards the end of the tour, he spoke quietly with the bank employee that had accompanied them about the money. The employee looked a bit judgmental, but didn’t say anything outright and agreed to the couple’s offer.

John smiled with satisfaction while getting back in the carriage. Yes, everything was going as he had hoped. The town would forgive and forget, and he would get the house of his dreams.

“John, where are your gloves?” Asked Priscilla just while he was ready to leave.

John felt the pockets on his coat and trousers, finding them empty. “I must have left them in the house. Wait for me here, darling.”

“You would forget your head if it wasn’t on your head.” She giggled.

John laughed politely and then jumped out of the carriage.

He remembered taking off his gloves at the entrance and leaving them on top of a drawer, but he couldn’t find them there anymore. Was he remembering wrong? It was confounding.

“Looking for these?”

A woman stood on top of the staircase. On one hand she held forward a pair of leather gloves and in the other a bird cage. Her smile was filled with contempt.

Leonie! His past come back to torment him!

“What are you doing here?”

“Me? This is my house. How dare you think about bringing your bride here?” “This property is not yours anymore, Leonie. The bank—”

She threw the gloves with such force that they smacked his face.

“We would have lived together if my mother had lived, you and I, you despicable monster.” He ignored her completely. “Are you squatting here? Where are the children?”

She started walking down the stairs. “So now you care about us. Where were you when my mother died? After my father left us? Are you going to offer your help, John?”

She came to a stop. Their faces were now on the same level.

Her eye held no accusation, nor regret or pain. Only rage and a contempt entirely focused on him. It made him feel foreign feelings, like guilt.

“No. I’m going to ask you to leave.”

“When I heard you were getting married, after not even having the decency to break your engagement to me, I was not surprised. But that you have the audacity to try to buy our farm— What? Were you with me solely because of my property?” A new wave of guilt flashed over him and the rage in her eyes died. “You are less than an insect.” Her voice could have frozen a forest fire.

Leonie walked past him, towards the back of the house, and he realized that the force of her gaze had kept him still in his post since she had first showed herself.

He picked the gloves off the ground with flustered speed and ran after her. “Leonie, if you could just forgive me—”

“No. And if you even try to make an offer on this house, I will go straight to your lovely fiancee’s family and tell him all about our past. I’m sure the senator would be happy.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“Don’t test me. You don’t know who I’ve become.” With her free hand, she swung open the backdoor. “Ah, and one last thing.” She turned her profile towards him. “I am dumping you, John. Remember that.”

The silence that came after she slammed the door made the house tremble.

---

Well, that was cathartic, thought Leonie on the brisk walk to Miss Patty’s saloon. She had gone to her old house to get her mother’s old bird cage from the attic. When John and his new fiancee had shown up to visit the property, she had gotten the surprise of her life! A small revenge on the rotten fellow was in order.

She had no fear of repercussions. The guy was too mellow to kill a fly. What had her mother ever seen in him to make her insist Leonie accept his suit? Perhaps because of the prophecy, but that didn’t seem reason enough to saddle her daughter with such a dead weight.

In any case, Leonie had her bird cage now: she was one step closer to securing a snow bird and the reward that would come with it.

She whistled for the rest of the walk home.

xxx

[ prev // 48 // next ]

This was meant to be more on theme (he was going to kinda cry and ask her to forgive him these november days) but Leonie has more spunk than I had imagined.

If you are intrigued, you should go check out the leonie tag, where you will find her previous and further adventures.