#papas helping with anxiety attack

[smolvenger]

The Baronet Seeks A Wife, Chapter Two

A Crimson Peak Multi-Part Fanfiction.

Thomas Sharpe x fem! Reader Arranged Marriage AU.

Summary: England in the 1890s. When your spirited sister, Charlotte, defies your family by running away from her arranged engagement to Sir Thomas Sharpe, you are the one who must keep your family from scandal and ruin...by taking her place as the baronet's bride.

Word Count: 6441 (have your tea and biscuits ready)

Chapter warnings: Grammer and spelling mistakes that missed my radar. Hints of past child abuse and a brief mention of sex, but nothing explicitly discussed, my performing arts side rears its head. I do my best to portray the period as accurately as I can and Thomas as accurately as I can. Some angst and something of a small anxiety attack/meltdown if you can call it. But fluff! Lots of fluff!

If I miss something and you see something in my work that could be triggering that I didn't mention, then it is your responsibility to please please please tell me. I will take full accountability for how I portray marginalized groups and sensitive subject matter and make sure to better my writing and warnings so affected parties are protected.

A/N: Missed it? It's back, baby! I had some BAD writer's block with this miniseries, but I figured it out. Thanks to your help!Without it, part 2 wouldn't see the light of day. So enjoy!

A03//My Ko-Fi//My Etsy Shop//Masterlist//Wattpad

Taglist: @villainousshakespeare @holdmytesseract @eleniblue @twhxhck @lokisgoodgirl @lovelysizzlingbluebird @raqnarokr @holymultiplefandomsbatman @michelleleewise @wolfsmom1 @cheekyscamp @mochie85 @fandxmslxt69 @skittslackoffilter @mischief2sarawr @asgards-princess-of-mischief @steasstuff @anukulee @kimi01985 @goblingirlsarah @foxherder @giona45-5

@muddyorbsblr @goddessgirl43

The Baronet Seeks A Wife Taglist: @stainlessciel @mjsthrillernp @thegodofnotknowing @magicalmichelle96 @princessdragon23 @heavyymetalchick @xalphafox (if anyone wants to join a general taglist of my work or just be on this specific one, let me know!)

The sun beat down on you for the opening day of Ascot and your little lace parasol and hat could only shield so much. You were in light-colored laces and full trim. Your dress was a light pink. You needed a lighter color to not attract heat  

Plenty of other ladies would be in lighter fabrics for the June weather. But their eyes would flicker to you and whisper. You held up your open parasol and hid beneath it. Wishing it would block more than the sun. You scurried behind your mother.

The men, that is, papa and Sir Sharpe were with one servant picking a spot for the picnic before the horses could be released.

 It would be your first outing as the betrothed of Lady Sharpe in the public eye. Your schedule had already been booked for a one breakfast party, a reception, and a ballet next week. The last one you were particularly excited for as they were doing Tchikovsky’s The Sleeping Beauty and scrambled to get tickets. But ballet or horses or breakfasts could not hide the fact that you would be a figure of attention, weather you wanted it or not.

You closed your parasol and set it on the ground. Walking with it like a cane. 

The stretch of grass continued like the sea beneath you. How big the Ascot grounds were! And people were crowding everywhere all over the grass. Plenty of picnic blankets were already stretched out, a healthy distance away from the stands and the dusty tracks. There were people all around, standing and chatting. 

Eventually, you noticed two men. Two familiar voices, though one a little less familiar than the other.

“Here, let’s put the marmalade right here- and I think we’re ready,” you heard Sir Sharpe advise a servant. He nodded as the fellow got out jars from a picnic basket and put it on the red blanket.

His voice. There was something about it that made you falter. It was a rich, creamy baritone that made something inside you shiver. And all he did was talk about food!

Yet, even as attractive as he was, the Baronet was a stranger. You knew very little about him and you were about to enter his title, his house, and his bed-

No, now was not the time to dwell on such matters.

Taking a deep breath, you walked forward, meeting your mother’s brisk pace to greet the men.

Your father perked up as did Thomas, in their typical dark suits and their top hats. Sir Sharpe even lowered his hat and smiled at you in greeting.

“Why, ladies, it is good you both made it in time,” he wished. 

All of you sat down, obediently sitting next to your fiancee. Nibbling on sandwiches and fish and fruit. Waving away flies that dared disrupt finery. For that was the true purpose of the race,  far more than the horses- to be part of a walking parade of who was the most elegant in London.

“Now, Thomas, how has the clay mining been coming along?” your father asked.

You were sat down next to him. He grinned at your father, his posture relaxing.

“Very excellent, sir. The warmer seasons meant the mining has been smoother,” he reported.

“Hmph, well- that is all good. But, speaking of seasons, where the devil is old Mr and Mrs. Barnes? They never miss as Ascot and I’ve yet to see them!” your father teased.

Turning around, you noticed people turning their heads to watch you. They would pause. Then turn to their neighbor and whisper something in their ear. Men and women, the young and the old. Studying you. Looking at every last speck of marmalade you spread on bread and every crumb you ate. 

Suddenly, your stomach was too turned to have cake.

Thomas looked over at you.

“Miss Y/L/N?” he asked.

You leaned closer to him, your shoulders hunching up. You got closer to his ears.

“Everyone- they’re looking at us. Talking about us,” you hissed.

He followed your eyes, scanning and seeing the invisible court displaying their silent judgment. He turned to you.

“I notice them too,” he whispered.

“I’m glad. I’m not going mad and seeing things.” you confided.

“Then, let’s give them something to talk about,” he replied.

He offered his hand outstretched. You accepted it, your bare hand meeting his as he helped you up. He pulled you up as easily as you were air. He then positioned your arm to be wrapped around his.

“I would like to walk with my fiancee, if you don’t mind,” Thomas announced.

“Oh, of course!” your mother replied.

 With his top hat on, you retrieved your parasol and opened it for shade. Then you walked on. 

Faces turned and a few heads bowed, you returned the gesture. 

But you noticed Thomas. His head was high and his chest up. He smiled with a pride not even the most wily gossip could deter. Thomas would look at you and smile, and you would smile back.

He was happy with you, or at least acting like it. And you could not resist a smile with him. And anyone who came up to Thomas, he introduced you as “my charming fiancee, Miss Y/L/N.”

The message was then received. No figure of pity was Miss Y/F/N.

Let them look. Let them see. You would not let the murmurings of strangers make you fret. Thomas seemed perfectly fine and happy with you and you would appear perfectly fine and happy with him. Strolling with him on the grass beneath a sunny day felt natural. Something any ordinary couple would do.

Reaching near the stands, it seemed as people were less interested in the two of you. Crowds more intrigued as to who would win and watching for jockeys and steeds than scandal.

You had to learn more about him. A little by little. You turned over to Sir Sharpe.

“I never hear about your own family. You know everything about mine, but I know nothing of yours. What were they like? Your mother and father?” You asked.

Thomas kept walking forward, you passed the stand for lemonade but you brought no cash to pay for some. Thomas kept his eyes forward as you strolled on past everything.

“My father- his name was James and his wife was Beatrice. He was…an intimidating man. He He wanted me to be like him- taking me with him to work or on hunting trips. He ran a clay mining buisness, but he lost it in an accident. There was…a disaster occured, costing him the mining lives and much of his fortune. We lived over in the countryside, near a small town. I grew up in a large manor house with my sister.”

“What was her name?”

He hesitated.

“Lucille. Lucille Sharpe,” he answered.

“Was she older or younger?”

“Older. We…we lost both of my parents. First my father, and then my mother when I was young. I was sent to boarding school and then reunited with my sister. She fell ill. And never got better. So since then, I have no close family and only distant relations.”

“Oh, Thomas, I am so sorry!” you cired.

His face turned a little white when you turned to face him. He looked down. “I think of them. Lucille, especially. She in many ways was an astounding woman. Intelligent, careful, brave, hard-working...she cared for me. She loved me, in some way, and did so much to help me. And she suffered quite a lot. Especially in her sickness. I could at least make sure her passing was peaceful.”

“Would she have liked me?” you asked.

He paused in his steeps. It was so abrupt, you felt a small jolt.

“No, she wouldn’t have.”

You tilted your head.

“Why?”

He again hesitated.

“She was more…cynical of the world. Life had been hard for her. And for mother. And for me.”

You blinked. He kept his eyes lowered, and began to blink rapidly. At one point, he just squeezed them shut. Part of you felt guilty for pressing it.

“I…I do not wish to discuss it now. Please,” he replied.

You took a step back, releasing from his arm.

“I’m so sorry, Sir Sharpe. I didn’t know it would be-”

“Don’t be,” he replied

His eyes were back open. A small, cold shiver ran down you despite the heat. Then you closed the gap, placing a hesitant hand on his arm in comfort.

“A sibling is like having your closest friend always with you. I was inseparable from Charlotte. And then when she ran away out of nowhere, with no warning…it was like she died. I grieve her still. I cannot imagine what it is like for you.”

He looked up at you. It was as if the crowds never mattered and it was only you both alone around the tracks.

“We have something in common, then. We have both lost sisters,” he pointed.

“We’ll grieve them. But we don’t have to greive them alone. Not anymore,” you assured him.

There was a sudden excitement among people as they scurried over to their seats. You had jumped. How much time had passed?

‘I think it’s best we get our seats, the race is about to begin.” he advised. 

It wasn’t long before you found your parents and joined your seats for the races. 

But your mind was elsewhere.

You remembered Sir Sharpe’s words. You knew a little bit more about him. He seemed less a stranger and more an acquaintance now. Yet- what happened to make him turn so pale? To not wish to speak? If that made him act like that, then whatever happened with his family…it wasn’t good. At least Lucille seemed interesting…but whatever made her so cynical? To where she would have hated you if you met her alive?

Part of you knew the answer. And it made your heart break for him- he was hurt as a child. His parents were cruel to him and his sister. But he didn’t want to discuss it in such a public area.

You settled into your seats from your tickets with your family. You passed around small opera glasses. Watching and watching for the stampede to pass by. For the hooves and horses and rush of wind to bring you to the present, and not the past of a sad little boy in a big manor frightened of his father.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

It seemed the week swirled by. Now as an engaged woman, there was less pity and gossip.

At least, negative gossip.

 Sir Sharpe played the role of a good fiancee in public. Appearing to help escort you around gallatnly and smile at you warmly. Though he was a quiet man, observing everything. Sometimes a loud noise made him seem to want to shrink his tall frame. 

You still put in your mind the bits and pieces about him. That he lost parents, the father mistreated him. He even lost a sister he was close to. That he ran a mining business harvesting clay. He was always polite at least and charming at most. You did feel your stomach flutter when he would smile at you.

But at the breakfast and garden parties women flocked to you like puppies. They bombarded you with questions about the wedding. What you would pack. Where you would hold it. If you have picked a dress yet. You had always replied with a demure “Well, I don’t know,” yet. Sometimes you threw in “I am only grateful that Sir Sharpe is a good man,” for good measure. That seemed to please them for now. They would offer their congratulations and hopes for an invitation for the marriage where you would become a lady.

Lady. You would be a capital L Lady. Steps below earls and viscounts, but still among them. You would outrank some of these very women. No wonder they flocked to you- it was good to be an ally to a baronet’s bride, not a foe.

Tonight was finally the ballet. No one would run to you to congratulate you or pepper you with questions you couldn’t answer yet. Not for long. Instead of socializing, you could sit back and watch something long for once.

You were dressed in a lovely gown. It was satin, a deeper, more womanly color of rich, dark blue than the fluff at Ascot. You had long matching gloves and the sleeves were small but showed off your shoulders. You had a train cut into scallops. A soft flounce of tulle extended to your shoulder. Jewels across your bodice tinkling as you moved, the satin touching the floor. None needed to doubt that soon you were going to be a baronet’s wife. You had to look the part one way or another. By far, it was the most expensive of your wardrobe this season and the most beautiful. Now was the time to unleash it.

Your father praised you as a vision as you descended the stairs. “Won’t your baronet be beside himself! Now, go enjoy, my dears,” he wished your mother and you.

You headed to the carriage. London was lovely at this dark hour. There were lights on to contrast with the night’s shadow. The opera house appeared like a temple above any house on the street.

Though there was a crowd of audience members, who should be out on the steps but Thomas Sharpe. He had an opera coat and his classic top hat. He was standing watching other go by.

The carriage stopped and the door on your side was opened.

 Sir Sharpe paused and took you in. The coachmen helped you down  and your mother after. You felt a little exposed in all this. Self conscious it was too much.

Sir Sharpe then went up to your hand.

“How are you?” you asked.

“I hardly know. I only know that you are radiance itself,” he replied. He took your hand and wrapped it around your arm.

You got warm all over from his voice saying that. Oh, blast him! Blast how he could make you feel so giddy and fighting the urge to giggle like a girl!

You walked up the stairs into the lobby of the theatre. Your shoes touched red carpet and you passed the creamy insides- all marble with vases of flowers and paintings and electric light. Some stared at the Baronet and his Lady, and you let them. Giving them a show as good as any dancer could.

You had your tickets approved and were escorted to your seats. You had a certain box where the three of you had some privacy to sit amongst each other. As you sat on red velvet plush, you rested your gloved hands on the high railing and looked at Thomas. In his tuxedo, his dark curls combed back, he still seemed like every bit of a ladies’ dream.

“Have you ever been to a ballet by Tchaikovsky?” you asked him.

“Oh, no I haven’t. Only concerts of his music,” he replied. But then he smiled. “They’re such lovely pieces, though.”

“Then you’re in for a treat. When there are dancers added to tell the story, it becomes something very special. I saw The Nutcracker two Christmases ago and adored it. Lottie only liked it when the little girl in the ballet hurled a shoe at the mouse king,” you reported.

He let out a light chuckle

“I’m not surprised,” he said.

You sat down with the pamphlet, re-reading the title and the cast list. Your mother was using her opera glass to watch the audience below. You returned to your fiancee. 

“The Sleeping Beauty- did you ever like fairy tales when you were little?” you had to ask questions, know a bit more of him.

“Oh, yes, I did,” he replied. “I enjoyed many of them. But I don’t remember them too vividly.”

“What kind of stories did you hear?” you asked.

Thomas leaned forward. His voice quiet.

“Well…ghost stories.” he explained.

You squinted, surprised at his reply.

“Ghost stories!? Isn’t that much for a little child?” you asked.

“Perhaps it was. But that was what was told,” he answered.

 One could hear the orchestra warming up. You put a gloved hand on his arm. Thomas didn’t say a peep and the crowd could only mutter. Besides, that always felt a little rude to you. When people lounged about during performances like it was a party and chatted loudly, unappreciative of the artists at work before them!

The conductor arrived to applause and bowed. Then he turned around, lifted his baton, and began the ballet as he lowered it like a magic wand. A spirited introduction blasted, almost making you jump. 

The stage curtains parted and dancers entered as the music slowed down with a harp and sweet flutes as the king and queen entered, holding a bundle in their arms.

For those three hours, you were not an adult. You were a child again who could believe in such things. A child who believed fairy tales was what life was like. Complete with pink ribbons, lace, and magic, fairy’s wings, and princess’s crowns. Where flutes and strings surrounded you. Where dancers smiled as they stood up on their toes and leaped like it was as simple as sleeping. 

You glanced at Sir Sharpe once when the Lilac Fairy entered. He didn’t whisper to you. You only met his eyes to see he was already looking at you. Something warm crawled up you. You didn’t know if you wanted to touch him or to not be touched by him. Then hearing the sound of feet hit the ground on a leap, you turned back to the stage, hypnotized by what you saw.

It was a world where the politics of society didn’t matter. Scandals were trifles, and sisters didn’t disappear. Where fairies could be met at parties. Where magic would prevent a couple from losing their daughter. A princess may be smiling and full of life- but even when she pricked her finger, she would not have had her life cut short because of forces beyond her control. It was where a cursed princess would be kept safe in a deep slumber. Soft and cozy on her beautiful bed. A world where a prince and a fairy could overcome evil. 

When the prince awoke the princess, they knew they were meant for each other. That the one person they waited their entire lives for was right before them. They could marry and not be afraid the choice was wrong. The wedding would be blessed and celebrated with everyone smiling and dancing to sumptuous music. 

As it got close to the end, no one wondered if the prince and princess would be miserable in their union or if another wicked fairy would arrive to hurt them or their families or their people. Everyone would be alive, safe, and happy.

If only things were that simple in real life.

You had to remember yourself after the applause. Blinking rapidly, you then squinted your eyes as the house lights came on. You re-emerged from the darkness like Orpheus returning from the Underworld, transformed by what you saw and returned. You then rose to your feet and applauded. You were watching with a heavy heart as the curtains closed and people left their seats. You had to remember that you were you and this was the real world. No magic. No fairies. No princes. Just baronets.

“Here, let me walk you to the carriage.” Thomas offered, giving you his arm. 

You held onto him, leaning tight. How easily he was able to pull you through! Despite his leanness, he did have strength! 

As you walked down the hall, you clung to your program, making sure you would always have a reminder of tonight.

“What did you think?” your mother asked as she scurried up to you.

“It was…it was incredible,” you replied, your voice suddenly breathy from wonder.

“Well, I was fighting the urge to sleep!” your mother replied. 

She stopped both of you in your tracks before you could proceed a step.

“Now, my dear Y/N, we have a wedding to discuss and plan. So I hope you sleep well, ready for some discussion the next morning, won’t you?” she asked.

“I shall.”

But when you went to bed, your mind was torn. Imagining yourself in stories was a way to help you go to sleep, you found. As music from the ballet kept playing in your head, you found yourself split into two characters.

One was a stoic, obedient bride of a wedding out of convenience who would not cause one toe to step in the wrong place or else ruin everything. The other a fairy tale princess protected by fairies who would survive her curse and find true love. 

But only one of those was real.

❀⊱┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄┄⊰❀

The next morning, as soon as you woke up and went down for breakfast, your mother stormed you with books. They were journals and catalogues, listing courses and decorations, and options of churches.

All of your parents wanted you all of the time. 

“I like these colors,” you pointed out, seeing samples of cloth.

“But no! It’s not in fashion!” your mother cried.

There were invitations to pick. And then trying to decide who to send them to. You had to include family members, sure, as well as the few people Thomas was related to. But there were also father’s business partners, with whom he wanted to share cigars and brandy and business. Then you had to pick who to invite and if they would gossip or appreciate the triumph. But you had to think of Miss So and So or Mrs. So and So who was rumored to do this and that and wouldn’t it be unbecoming if she so much as turned up on the steps of the church and-

A heaviness grew on you. How much did you actually sleep last night?

But then deciding on family members meant your mother got out her boxes of photographs. She had a hobby of familial history and photographs and would lovingly tell you all about them. For one hour. Then two. You were itching to get up, do something productive, but stuck with your mother in her distracted cycle.

The next days passed and you had to select wedding cakes. You wished for a certain cake, but you felt ashamed choosing it since you knew it might not be what everyone wanted. Aunt Jacqueline coudln’t eat it because of her indigestion. That would be rude. But Mr. Linnet, Papa’s buisness partner, had a particular hatred of almond cake. Any and every flavor was wrong. You had to plan a wedding they would not scoff at or think otherwise.

You were running between shops, spending more on ribbon samples than actual ribbons and there was no color everyone was happy with.

As for the wedding gowns, you had visited one boutique and you had tried on so many dresses that it seemed you were going to hallucinate looking at so much white. And no one would all agree on what gown would be the best one. One wasn’t even decided on and you all ate lunch in sour moods.

And that was on top of callers and people coming in and out from the season and trying to keep up with events.

The week was going by in a flurry. Your business tripled. You were certain at every meal and when you sat down, your mother brought out photographs because the  invitations made her sentimental and by the second week, you were certain you were hearing her recall the same stories over and over again until you could even predict the cadence of her voice.

The gatherings only tripled. Your parents were always asking you to change this or that, or what do you think of this flower or this color or this ribbon or this food, or here is a picture of this great aunt you barely remember but you must care about, and oh- you have to select what flowers you want for the bouquet and which ones on the reception table and to please start planning your trousseau, Y/N, because you must decide which things you wish to take with you when you move into Sir Sharpe’s home, you must consider what to bring, you really ought to-

The few hours you had to yourself, you wanted to relax. Sew something or read a book or anything…but your mind would not focus, would not settle. And those were the hours when no one called for your presence, word, or help. You felt exhausted, and yet at night sometimes you struggled to go to sleep from how wound up you were.

Your head was spinning one afternoon a week later. At luncheon all everyone would talk about was the wedding as they flittered around with vases of flower examples and ribbons and pictures of cakes and dresses from advertisements. As your mother got out her photograph box. But you could only sit there, drained and silent, and feeling like you were staring into nothing.

You were trying so hard to be everything to them. The good daughter. The virtuous bride. The one who could make everyone happy. One who could have her entire life change at once and endure it with only a stoic smile.The one so glad to help and listen and who knew everything. 

As your mother got out a second pile of photographs and began to tell you for the fourth time all about your great grandfather Kenneth and his wife, Bertha, going on a camping trip in nature and getting lost, you had a sudden urge to scream “I’ve already heard this stupid story enough! I don’t care about them!” and rip up the photos before you.

But you swallowed it down, your face hot. Your chest was tight. Ashamed you would even consider wrecking something that made your mother happy? Priceless momentums of your history destroyed in a flash of weakness? Of losing your temper in front of everyone? 

Everything got tight, tight and you were getting warmer and warmer. People began to crowd around you. Their chatter swirling around you like the sea and you could not breathe for air.

“Miss Y/L/N-”

‘St. Joseph is a lovely church-”

“What about blue for the-”

“There should be duck with wine sauce and-”

At once you pushed away your seat from everyone. The lump in your throat growing. A dull, heavy ache all over your body.  A weight in your head and your mind about to break.

“I-I-I..” you began as they gaped.

You tried to calm yourself. To put the feelings in a box and push it away for a little bit. But still it rumbled on.

“I need a moment!” you claimed. You then turned around, starting to make a brisk walk out of the door.

In walked one maid.

“Oh, we have a visitor!” she announced.

You made no reply and went past her, down the hall, hurrying for your room. Once inside, you locked the door.

Legs trembling, you tried to make it to the bed. 

Instead, you collapsed in a heap on the floor. 

Finally, alone, you did not have to pretend. Crumpling up into a near fetal position despite your dress, the long-suppressed tears coming out. There was no dignity, no strength. Just the washing of your tears as it ebbed and flowed out of you.

 It didn’t make sense. You had a wedding to look forward to, and so much you took for granted. Your future was secured. Your family’s reputation was revived. You had no reason to curl up and sob. Someone would look at you and say you were acting immature, that you were too old for your age to be lying down and crying. 

‘That’s what I am. An immature, ungrateful fool,’ you thought.

It made no rational sense. Emotions never made any rational sense. 

Despite all this, here you were sobbing. Crying out the exhaustion, the overwhelm. Hot tears sprang out and went to the floor. At this rate, you’d ruin the carpet. Your throat scratchy and your body shaking as each new cry heaved out.

There were footsteps. Then three knocks.

Your mind spun on in its cycle of misery. ‘I even ran away when we had callers. I am the worst. I waste my time. I’m foolish and wasteful. I don’t deserve anything good, I’m so miserable and scared and I hate myself and I don’t know what’s going to happen to me and I hate who I am and I wish I could change that, but I can’t and I-’

The knocks returned. 

But you got up and turned. You reminded yourself of how hard it felt. To be back in your body, and not in your head. You turned around.

“Come in,” you croaked out.

Outside was Anne. Your lady’s maid curtsied.

“Sir Sharpe is here. And he wishes to speak to you in private in the parlor and your father consented.”

She reached a hand and helped you up. You wiped off any remaining tears from your eyes.

“Tell him I shall join him soon,” you replied.

Anne nodded and hurried out. You made sure to fix yourself. Your eyes looked a little tired and you dried off any tracks of tears from your cheeks. After checking that your appearance was decent, you followed out to the parlor. 

Your parlor had green and white patterned wallpaper and portraits watched your every move as you got inside. Thomas stood. Dressed in his usual black coat, his hat to his side. He looked odd amongst hte ostentatious furniture of red velvet couches. But he bowed to you nonetheless.

No chaperone. No eyes. Only the two of you. One of the blessings of being an engaged couple.

“Would you like me to ring for some tea?” you asked, eyeing the long chord from the ceiling on one corner of the room.

Thomas stepped closer. 

“Miss Y/L/N…you’re distraught,” he observed.

Your lips parted but did not make a sound. Then a small string of them came out.

“I…I…I shall be fine, sir-” 

“Miss, you do not speak as a content woman. Tell me- what is it?” he asked.

He gestured to the couch to sit next to him. You joined next to him, your hands folded and nervously fidgeting. You noticed you were close to him. His warmth from the dark colors and the smell of his light cologne. You felt your chest heave a little, the words so heavy on your tongue. Eager to come out.

“I’m so sorry…it’s just..everything is changing…” you began.

You looked down at your hands. How close his thighs were next to your skirt. Then you looked up at him. There was a…a gentleness in his face, in his eyes. A softness. He was not judgemental. And if he was, he wasn’t saying anything.

“It’s changing so fast. My sister is gone. I’m going to live in a different house and not see my parents. I’m going to be Lady Sharpe and I don’t know what's going to happen to me after we’re married. I- I want to be married, I always have. Now it’s finally happening.”

Your breath was shallower. The emotions burst up. But Thomas made no change in his gentle expression.

“But it means I have to plan a wedding in a month. And all of the time that I have is taken up on this wedding. No one can agree on anything. I can’t find the right decorations, food, or dress. And everyone asks for me and needs me. They need me to listen to them babble on. And I’m trying so hard to be good, to make everyone happy, and get everything done but I…I…”

The lump in your throat returned. Your eyes felt heavy with tears again. They began to well up in your eyes despite yourself. Right when you thought you were done, that there would be no more, they came again.

“I am just…I… there’s so much to do, I don’t even know where to start. And I…I want to shut it all off, but I can’t. And I’m scared. I’m scared I’ve already ruined everything. Or I’m about to…” you babbled on.

He offered his handkerchief. It was a plain cream with lining.

“Thank you, Sir Sharpe,” you said.

“Thomas, please.” he insisted.

You took it in your hand.

“Thank you, Thomas,” you said.

His lips curled up as he heard your name. 

“You can say it. I’m making a big fuss of nothing. That I’m a fool,” you replied.

Thomas shook his head.

“ I’ve met foolish people. You are not one of them,” he answered. 

He leaned closer.

“And have you considered that it takes months to plan a wedding? And you are doing it in one. That is Herculean, don’t you think?”

His voice was a whisper.

“If there are any fools, it is your parents,” he teased.

You wiped your face with the handkerchief again. A small smile grew on your face.

“I…I…I suppose”

He offered you his hand and you took it. It was comforting- warm and large and beautiful. You liked it when he offered his hand, you liked touching it, touching him. Something about it always comforted you.

“We will have a wedding. I don’t think it should matter if it is a spectacle or not. What does matter is…is that…”

He began to hesitate. Then he looked up.

“I know you don’t know who I am. Or much about me. Or if you can trust me- but what does matter, Y/N. I will do my best to make sure you are provided for. That you are safe. Content, if not happy. We will make sure our wedding is a fine day. And if it is not, then It will only be one day and then it will be over.”

You felt his thumb trace over your hand. A small little back-and-forth movement, just grazing your skin.

“The wedding- how will I plan it?” you questioned. 

“You will choose what you want. And forget them all. You are the bride. You should have a final say. And if anyone disagrees- you can bring them to your husband.”

Swallowing, you lowered your eyes briefly. Timidity overcoming you from all of this for a moment.

“We’re not married yet,” you reminded him.

A light laugh got out of Thomas in an exhale. 

“Well…no…”

You looked back up at him.

“Thomas, will you- will you help me with all of this? Speak to them, perhaps? Reason with them? Try to- to help?” you asked.

“Oh, of course.”

You felt yourself breathe out a sigh of relief.

“I’m glad…and yet…Thomas, I confess, I’m scared.”

“I am too.”

He paused. You looked into him and saw fear in his eyes as well. It struck you that of course, he would be feeling the same as you regarding this. Marrying someone he knew partially out of convenience. 

“Y/N…you…you do not hate me, do you? Because that is what I fear,” he asked.

You placed another hand over him, leaning closer.

“Oh no! Thomas, you have been nothing but a gentleman. I don’t hate you at all.”

He smiled.

“There. That’s better than a quarter of the marriages here already,” he replied.

Part of you laughed lightly. To think both tears and laughter could be shared in so short of a time with him. That you could release your sorrows and then have cause for sudden bursts of joy.

“ But…we will adjust to it. Everything won’t be horrible. We’ll just become acquainted with each other. Bit by bit. We could be friends,” you replied.

He took your hand and leaned down, pressing another kiss to it gallantly. He then released the hold and reached into his inner coat pocket.

“I have a gift for you. It was going to be a wedding gift, but I was wondering how you were feeling amidst all of this and  thought it might cheer you up.”

Perhaps it was something sweet. Or a tiny book? What could be a small, but tasteful and not too expensive gift he could give? 

Out came a small box- that is, if “box” could apply. It was a small circular item. Like a lady's powder or dusty blush container. But there was a knob on its side.

“Turn it,” Thomas instructed.

It struck you- it was a music box.

You turned the knob with a small “krrk” sound. The lid opened to reveal tiny, mechanical ballerina spinning on pointe. The chimes crinkled out a tune in three-quarter-time time. It was the Sleeping Beauty waltz.

You gasped. He placed it in your hand to cup it as the ballerina twirled to the music. You saw a crown on her head and a smile on her face, just like the prima from when you saw it.

“Do you like it?” he asked shyly. Something of a blush on his cheeks.

“Thomas! It’s exquisite! Where did you find this?” you asked.

“I made it,” he explained.

You turned around, careful not to drop it.

“You made this?” you asked.

“I did,” he confirmed.

Looking closely, it was so lovingly detailed and crafted, it had to be the work of a person. Not a common souvenir from the theatre.

“You…you make things?” you asked.

“Yes. I have since I was a child. And now I made a machine that harvests clay from all of the times I fiddled with gears. I find lately now I can come up with toys as well, Isn’t it silly?”

“No, not at all! It’s more business! And…you made the machine from the business! It’s- it’s incredible…” you rattled in your excitement. 

His hand returned to yours, joining it as the lid of the music box closed.

“Y/N, I know there are concerns, and I may not have the affluence of your family, I promise, you won't be marrying a pauper.”

You looked

“With something like this, I may as well be the richest woman in all of England,” you said.

His smile returned, his posture relaxing.

“I’m glad of it. Should we return to them now?” he asked.

You nodded your head. You got up by his side. You were not afraid of the hordes of things to do and people to meet, not overwhelmed.

“Yes...I’m ready, Thomas.”

[dantesunbreaker]

Hey Ghestie! If you are currently taking requests, may I please have some headcanons for how Copia & Secondo (individual headcanons for them ofc) act as father figures to a Sibling of Sin 🥺 preferably one w/anxiety and is touch starved totally not projecting

Fatherly Papas

Of course Ghestie! Though I took the liberty of doing all the Papas because I also could use some fatherly Primo in my life. Also I'm posting this while on mobile so I am scared to see what it looks like when I get back to my computer 😅

Primo

There are many days spent working in Primo’s garden together. Not only just because Primo needs help with the physical labor in his older years, but because it is a quiet relaxing activity that gives you time to bond with each other

Physical touch is often, ranging from small reassuring pats on the hand to warm heartfelt hugs pulled tight to his chest. Primo wants you to physically feel the promise that he will always be there in your time of need

Sits and listens to you troubles as an active listener, asking questions that get to the root of the issue and then offering what advice and comfort he can if and when needed

Primo knows the signs of when you are getting burnt out or straining yourself too much while working and will bring you tea or treats that help you relax

Is beyond touched and flattered should you ever give him gifts on Father’s day, might even get a bit emotional. Will thank you by pulling you in for a hug followed by a chaste kiss on either the cheek or forehead. There is no toxic masculinity in him, so Primo is very open to giving kisses in non romantic relationships

Secondo

Secondo told you that you were always welcome to come to him in times of need, he never really expected much to come of it

On occasions that Secondo catches you in the halls or in public and notices you displaying signs of anxiety, he is quick to step in and help. Starts with a call of your name as to not spook you before putting a firm yet comforting grip on your shoulder

Even Secondo will admit he is not the best at comforting others, especially with his words. But that does not mean he will not give it his all

Brings you to his office so you have a private place to let go, sitting in silence as you let out whatever has been causing you to struggle

Once you have gotten everything off your chest, Secondo will pull you in for a tight hug, paying no mind to whether or not you are soaking his robes with tears

Will hold you for however long you need, a warm and comforting embrace that makes you feel safe and accepted 

As you are pulling away from the hug, Secondo will look you in the face while telling you how proud he is of you. Tells you that he sees everything you do, how hard you work, and he could never feel anything but pride at that. Success or failure, does not matter, Secondo will also support you and always be proud

Terzo

Absolutely wants to be seen as a sort of  “fun dad”, and always tries going out of his way to keep you smiling even when you really don’t feel like it

Terzo is very open about all sorts of physical affection and never holds back. Will give you as many hugs as you need, will brush your hair if it helps you feel calm, greets you with a kiss on each cheek, anything that you need Terzo would try to give you

Always wants to be caught up on whatever is happening in your life whether it be big or small things. If something important happens that Terzo doesn't know about it kind of crushes him because he will feel like he is failing as a paternal figure

Good active listener when you come to him needed to vent, responds with concern and empathy and always asks if you want advice for the issue or simply to get it out

Whenever Terzo catches you having anxiety attacks or getting over worked, he stops everything to whisk you off to do something more fun and relaxing. Sometimes this means impromptu trips to theme parks

Totally also gives you extravagant outfits for your birthday and Christmas

Copia

Equally touch starved, expect that when Copia provides comfort that it will entail a fair amount of physical affection

When walking together, Copia will place a hand either on your back between your shoulder blades or on your opposite shoulder 

Copia is also not always the best at comforting with his words, but his awkward ramblings and signature Copia noises are comforting enough at times

Makes you promise to come to him if you are ever struggling with anxiety or any other mental strain. Does not matter what time of day, Copia will always set everything aside to be there for you. Whether you just need someone to vent to or if you are seeking advice, he is there to offer what help he can

The times you come to him crying, Copia will hold you tight to his chest and softly reassures that you can get through this and that he is with you every step of the way

Honestly, the type of guy that would also treasure anything you ever make for him. Instead of hanging drawings on the fridge, he will hang them in his office. Also the type that would cry at your plays or dance recitals should you ever have anything of that nature. The ghouls go with Copia to keep him from making too much of a scene

Introduces you to the rats as “their much larger and less hairy sibling”, immediately feels nervous about it and will give you a look that says he is waiting for your response. It will make his day if you are on board with being a big sibling to his rat children

[kudos-2-you]

Hi! I was wondering if you could write an Alastor helping his fem little!reader through a panic attack fic? Thank you ❤️

Notes: Sorry this took forever to get out and if it's a bit short! The sickness bug hit me hard as heck. I hope you like it!

Pairing: Alastor x Regress! Little! F! reader

tags: regression, soft alastor, his shadow, panic attacks

It was the middle of the night and you had just woken up from a nightmare you couldn’t quite remember that caused a horrible sense of panic. The anxiety rose so much in your chest that you started breathing rapidly as you looked around. The room felt too big and empty which caused your own regression to trigger. You felt tiny in the room as you climbed out of bed, bringing your blanket that had an antler pattern on it from your papa, Alastor.

When the all-powerful radio demon first laid eyes on you as a new arrival at the hotel after the extermination he took a great interest in you. From how you handled yourself to when you would slip into your room without anyone else taking notice, well… besides him. One night when he was roaming the halls, he passed your old room and heard soft giggles along with cooing. He decided to just hide in the shadows to see exactly what you were up to and his findings piqued his interest even further.

There you were, giggling to yourself as you played with a little deer plush in your hands and making noises as you gently brushed its back. Alastor immediately knew you went into regression, having been bored some years back he decided to look into it and found it quite intriguing. The next day he pulled you off to the side in private and revealed that he found out that you were a little, which made you a bit upset until he asked you if he could be your caregiver. It surprised you in all honesty, the horrifying overlord wanted to take care of you? You had to be dreaming. He had assured you that it wasn’t a deal and you could deny it if you wished. In the end, though, you accepted and he’s been nothing but soft with you in and out of regression since then.

Now thinking of your papa, you left your current room of the hotel and quietly made your way to his room. The lights helped you find your way as he was only a few doors down, he had specifically asked Charlie to move your room as close as she could while also giving you enough space should you wish it after your agreement without letting the princess know exactly why. You noticed his light was on as it shined under the door. You padded over to it and knocked softly with a trembling hand.

Instantly Alastor’s shadow wormed its way under the crack of the door, smile ever present with a furrowed eyebrow like it was angry. It immediately softened though when it saw your shaking form holding your blanket close to your chest. It began giving you cooing-static-filled noises as it placed its’ hands on your face as a means to calm you down. It only worked a little as your breathing became more shallow and deep. Its grin grew as it moved its hands off your face before holding up its hands for you to wait as it retreated back under the door.

The panic slowly started setting back in as it left you alone, feeling like it was just going to leave you alone but you knew better. Not even a moment later you heard hasty footsteps before the door opened to reveal Alastor, smile ever present though his eyes held concern.

“Y/n? What’s wrong my little doe?”

You sniffled as you looked up at him, your breathing growing more rapid as your chest tightened. Instantly Alastor picked you up into his arms and brought you into his room, his shadow closing and locking the door behind him. He carried you over to a chair and sat you down as he kneeled in front of you. His shadow wrapped around the back of the chair, making more cooing noises as it ran its’ hand along your head.

“Darling, what’s going on?” His smile seemed strained as his eyes showed concern for you. You knew he wasn’t great with feelings but he seemed to try for you when you were in your regressed state.

Your small mind couldn’t voice what you wanted in your panic state so instead you only managed a choked gasp of air as you gripped the front of your nightgown in an iron grasp, showing you needed something to hold onto.

Alastor, quick to action, scooped you back up in his arms and sat on the chair with you in his lap as his shadow whisked out of sight only to return a fraction of a second later with your deer plush in its shadowy hands. The radio demon gently peeled your grip from your shirt for his shadow to gently hand you the plush which you held on for dear life.

A radio on a bookshelf crackled to life as it played a soft melody, you knew he would have wanted jazz but opted for something a bit calmer in the moment. You rested your head against his chest to listen to his heartbeat as he rubbed your back and hummed softly along with the song. His shadow even joined in, making the cooing noises as held your hands around the plush.

Your breathing slowed down, small hiccups and giggles sounding from you as the shadow started kissing your nose with the plush.

“Little doe?” Alastor spoke softly as he noticed you had calmed down from your panic. You looked up at him, noticing the concern was still there but his smile softened. “What happened, my darling?”

You gave another hiccup before you looked back down to your plush and mumbled out, “Bad dream.”

The shadow cooed again as Alastor petted the top of your head. “Would you like to talk about it?”

You shook your head no. “Can’t remember…” And that was the truth, try as hard as you could in your regressed state, you really couldn’t remember what the nightmare was. Truthfully, you didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

His shadow's expression softened more as it gave you a kiss on your forehead a small kiss, along with having your deer plush kissing your nose. You smiled and gave a yawn as you nuzzled into Alastor more.

Alastor hummed as he held you closer, a blanket appearing from the shadows and landing over the two of you. “It’s okay, my little doe. Why don’t you go back to sleep and I’ll be with you the entire time, hm?”

You nodded and nuzzled into his chest a bit more as you closed your eyes and fell asleep to the soft melody, cooing from his shadow, and the humming from Alastor.

Dreamland was sweet and kind to you as you were held safe in the arms of your papa.

[ramblingoak]

Idk of you do x reader requests but if you get the chance maybe do a copia helping reader calm down from a overwhelming/over stimulated/anxiety attack, type of breakdown? Thanks. :)

Hello my friend, here's a little something for you. I hope this helps and I hope you are doing well 💙💙

I Love You, I Like You

Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader ~ Copia is there to help you when you need him the most

Warnings: mentions of anxiety/panic attacks and the aftermath, gender neutral reader, sfw, 700 words, not proofread forgive me

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

Copia understands what you're going through.

He knows what it’s like. The odd sensation like something is crawling under your skin, like something is gnawing away inside of you. He hates it just as much as you do. Hates not feeling in control. Hates that sometimes there’s nothing he can do about it but wait for it to pass.

Mostly he hates that you experience it too.

Copia watches out for the signs. For the days you are quiet and slow to get out of bed. Days where you are withdrawn and keep to yourself. Even his best horrible jokes don’t work on those days. His “Papa Jokes” as you like to call them. They are typically very stupid and usually very dirty, but they always get a laugh out of you. After you groan and roll your eyes of course.

On bad days though Copia doesn’t bother with his jokes, sometimes he doesn’t even bother speaking much at all. He’s been with you long enough to know exactly what you need when the panic and the anxiety becomes too much. When all you can do is sit in either your room or his with the lights off and a blanket wrapped around you.

He makes sure you know he’s there, that he’s ready to give you anything you need. Copia would sweep you off to a cabin in the middle of the woods if you asked him to. But most of the time all you ask of him is just for him to be nearby. His presence, the sound of his breathing, the smell of his cologne…just him being there helps you get through your attacks.

Your love for each other is strong, strong enough to handle days like this. No matter how often they happen. No matter how hard they get. Copia shuts out everything else when you need him. His ghouls helping to run interference from the outside world if necessary.

When the moment comes that you need his touch or his voice he’s there. He waits for you to whisper his name, hating how shaky and unsure you can sound. Like you’re worried he will have left. His arms are gentle as they pull you in, his voice soft as he whispers how much he loves you. Softer still when he eventually starts singing whatever song comes to mind.

Your body will go limp in his arms, exhausted from being on edge for so long. Your mind finally drifting away from the thoughts that had been racing around in your head. Thoughts that weren’t true, that you knew weren’t true but that you still couldn’t get to stop.

Those thoughts were replaced with Copia’s words now. With tales of what the ghouls had been up to, complaints about his brothers and all the ideas he had for his next album. He sings you a few bars of what he came up with, then a few of his older ones he knows you love.

It isn’t until he starts singing “Rats” that you feel like yourself again. By the end of it both of you are smiling so wide your cheeks ache. It’s here where he’ll pull you closer, where he likes to kiss you and remind you how much he loves you. How he’ll always be here for you whenever you need him.

The final step to getting you back on your feet is easy. You bite the inside of your cheek as you wait for it. Copia has to take a moment to think of the best dirty joke he can and the best way to deliver it. He knows you’ll groan and try to shove him away. He knows you’ll whine and roll your eyes at how immature he is. But he also knows what you really mean when you do these things.

He knows that when you growl and call him a dirty old man you’re really saying something else…

“Thank you for being here, thank you for loving me.”

Copia’s response is always the same, it’s always whispered into your ear and it never fails to make you feel whole again…

“I love you, I like you. I will be here for you. Always.”

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

my masterlist of fic

my archive of our own page

[bwoahtastic]

Random rambles:

I think stepmom nico and Toto deserves a fun threesome with someone okay? Okay

Omega Max having a pup with a donor and at first the pack is a little hesitant? But Max is clearly so happy and glowing in pregnancy!

On that note, Nico wanting to be a momma and going to Lewis? Lewis is the only person he would ever trust even though they are on bad terms

Strong independent queen Nico marrying Toto just because he wants to have an heir, bur Toto is very smart and Nico feels a little threatened, afraid Toto will try to take his place!

Momma Seb dealing with maxy kitty having bad anxiety? Poor thing has anxiety attacks sometimes and only really Seb or Toto can soothe him. The papas can help too, but it works better if Seb or Toto is tbere🥺

[emeritus-fuckers]

Papa Emeritus IV/Cardinal Copia Masterlist by emeritus-fuckers

What do these emojis mean?

ONESHOTS AND DRABBLES:

♡ Every breath you take ⸸ Yandere Cardinal Copia x Reader

COMING SOON. Written by Nosferatu.

♡ Sick Like Me ⸸ Yandere!Papa Emeritus IV

Written by Nosferatu. Part of the 2023 Music Event. // 🔪🩸 DISCLAIMER: Please read the CW section before reading the fanfic itself.

♡ Mama ⸸ Papa Emeritus IV

Written by Nosferatu. Part of the 2023 Music Event. // 🥀💔 // 🚫💘

♡ The Main Character ⸸ Papa Emeritus IV

Written by Nosferatu. Part of the 2023 Music Event. // 🥀💔 // 🚫💘

♡ Biggering ⸸ Cardinal Copia

Written by Nosferatu. Part of the 2023 Music Event. // 🚫💘

♡ “Player 3 loading...” ♡ Copia x gn!afab!Reader

Written by Nosferatu. // ☁️🧸

♡ Face paint date with Copia

Written by Nosferatu. // ☁️🧸

♡ Dancing in the rain with Copia

Written by Nosferatu. // ☁️🧸

♡ When you aren’t in the mood - GN! Reader

Written by Death.//🫦🔥//☁️🧸

♡ Yandere Cardinal Copia falling in love at first sight

Written by Nosferatu. // 🫦🔥//🔪🩸//⚠️🚨 tw for non-con and somnophilia

♡ Tummy kisses with Copia

Written by Nosferatu. // ☁️🧸//🥀💔 //rhrn spoilers

♡ Frater Imperator becoming your father figure

Written by Nosferatu. // ☁️🧸//🥀💔 //❤️‍🩹🫂

HEADCANONS: (will be "renovated" later-)

Copia with an awkward, easily flustered s/o (headcanons)

Drunk Copia and the Grammi celebration (headcanons)

Yandere Copia and Sister Imperator headcanons

Face paint date with Copia (oneshot/drabble)

Dancing in the rain with Copia (oneshot/drabble)

Copia with an s/o who loves being overstimulated (headcanons)

Dracopia headcanons

Copia with an insecure plus sized s/o NSFW headcanons

Copia as a dad headcanons

Trans Copia headcanon

Comfort after losing a loved one headcanons - Primo, Copia, Mountain, Swiss, Sodo, Rain and Cumulus

Copia's kinks

Copia helping his s/o with an anxiety attack

Terzo and Copia comforting their s/o

Copia with s/o who loves his thighs

Ghost characters comforting their s/o after the loss of a pet

Hopeless romantic Copia headcanons

Copia taking his s/o's virginity

Yandere Cardinal Copia headcanons - tw for noncon somnophilia, a bit spicy

Cardinal Copia with a darling who bursts into tears at the mention of doing art

Copia with a touch starved s/o

Copia finding out he's a dacryphiliac

Raising baby Copia with Sister Imperator

Papa Emeritus IV with an s/o who has benign essential tremors

[serene-sun]

𝕾𝖆𝖋𝖊 𝖜𝖎𝖙𝖍 𝖒𝖊, 𝖗𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𓅓

Pairing: rain x gn reader fluff/comfort

Warning: panic attack, separation anxiety, fear, overthinking, fear of something bad happening, hyperventilation, crying, if I need to add something let me know!

Summary: being far away from home is never anyone’s desire, especially with so many people to care about

A/n: so I’m writing this falling asleep so I apologize for any grammar mistakes. This is pure comfort that I need rn bc this is my exact situation rn and my anxiety is through the roofs. Nevertheless, just being on a big ass tour bus freaks me out rn. All of this is based on what I’m feeling rn. TYSM for any comments, likes, and reblogs! <3 (Plz excuse the amount of times I say “rn”)

The bus rocks gently as you roll over to your other side, now facing the cold window. You felt the metallic side of the glass swoosh cold air onto your skin, the itchy blanket being pushed down to your feet in a temporary fit, the soft blanket you brought from home wrapped you into a warm embrace.

You brushed the hair out of your face, stretching an arm to move the curtain to reveal the moving road. The interstate signs passing by like shreds of light, the passing cars with different people in them. The landscape changed from high mountain tops and trafficked roads to small hills and starry skies.

As cars passed by, the red lights shined through the bus windows and cast dancing shadows across the many accessories across the rooms.

The windows ripple as rain softly runs down the sides of the bus. A tingling noise scattered about the walls, getting louder than slowing only to repeat that process.

Besides the sound of wheels on the road, you could hear faint honking and sirens as the city roads faded in and out between modern and rural.

You wondered if everyone at the ministry was doing ok, what if there was a fight between aether and the older ghouls? What if the higher members were plotting against papa? What if there was a fire? What if?

You’ve caught yourself on your own tongue as you realize you are too far away to do anything about it if you wanted. Just knowing that you were thousands and thousands of miles away from home made your stomach flip.

What if we were to get into trouble? What if someone saw what we advertised and wanted to hurt us? What if they were attacked? What if someone had a medical emergency? What if-?

Your heart beats, it pounds and it begs your brain to stop running so fast. You’re forced to put a hand over your mouth, realizing that you had forgotten to breath. You exhale, a shaky breath as your body desires more air. Your chest burns, and your skin starts to sweat.

It seemed like you were alone now, everyone was asleep so if something happened nobody would be able to help.

You saw how all of their privacy curtains were closed, it was so late even Swiss and rain were far off dreaming about the next show.

We are billions of miles away from home.

You feel the darkness creep into your top bunk, the air turning on you and swallowing you whole. The rain starts to pour onto the bus harder, streaks of water now blurring every car.

Where could I go? There is no where to go! I can’t escape, I can’t escape, I’m all alone!

You feel a thud, and realize that there’s a webbed hand on the side of your bunk. It dips into the mattress, although it’s dark, you can make-out a slender form that slithers its way up into your bunk.

Of course it’s rain, why would it not? Maybe the rain outside woke him up, or did he ever go to sleep?

“What’s going on up here?” Rains voice is just barely audible, so soft the rain over powers it, “I could hear you all the way down there.”

You pretend to be asleep, hoping the water ghoul will just go back to his own bed. You shuffle a little as he brings the blanket under his own legs.

“Sorry.” You squeak out, you knew you can’t ever lie to him. Number one because he would know, number two because he had such a kind sense to him that why would you need to?

“Hey, it’s alright.” He nudges his head over yours, laying behind you and wrapping a hand around your abdomen. “Woah, sunshine what’s the matter?” Rain feels your heart beat, that’s currently acting like you’re in a marathon.

Your lack of air won’t allow you to speak, all you can do is count the cars that speed by.

One, two, three, four, five, six…

“Honey….” Rains concerned now, he tries to turn you to face him, but you’re forced to stay still.

Your mind taunts you, every second that passes by, the further you get from safety.

“Look at me.” The ghoul demands, now scared of what’s overcome you.

He watches your chest rise and fall rapidly, you’re shaking so hard the others might wake up.

Rain forcefully turns you over, hearing a whimper escape your lips.

Your eyes let go of the built up tears, they begin to run down your face just like the rain drops one look away.

The bus shakes and bobs with the road, rains grip on the sides of your arms release. He grabs your hand and places it over his own heart.

“Hey, hey, hey look at me little drop.” He hold your hand there with his own, making you feel his heart beat, “I’m right here, I’m not leaving.”

You quiver, your eyes finally meet his.

“It’s ok…it’s all ok.” He brings his other arm around your back and brings you into a tight hug.

“I want to go home. I need to make sure they are alright. Are we alright?” Your breath fogs up the window and rain wipes away the tears on the apple of your cheek.

“We are fine. We are safe. We are together.” The water ghoul states firmly, as if it wasn’t anything anyone could ever change or question.

“You are safe with me, right here.”

[galacticwarpedlense]

Soooo I kinda wanna give the idea of Papa Elliott some thought.

Let's get the obvious out of the way, any kid Elliott has is going to be a very literate and imaginative child. Like...just look at Elliott's Spouse room. It is packed with books. That's going to be the child(ren)'s main entertainment. Man probably rents a bunch of books from the library/museum for his kids specifically.

I don't know why but I get the feeling that, at least during young childhood, Elliott would be the type to be like "Oh he's got my eyes, she's got your hair, hunny" even if the child is adopted. It sounds cute so it goes into the headcanon.

I wonder if being so lonely throughout his life would make him slightly distant from his child, overbearingly there in their life or would he find a balance in time? I assume it would be the latter two. I think he canonically says that he tends to come off strong with friendship since he's lonely.

Also I can just imagine the anxiety during pregnancy if Elliott got an afab partner that didn't want to adopt. Just-

"My very reckless and pregnant spouse is doing all the farm work. I know they're independent but I can't help but worry- wait, why are they taking their pickaxe? Hunny no! Do not go into the Skull Cavern again! You are heavily pregnant!"

And then after a while of stress-inducing pregnancy, a child is just dropped off in the middle of the night. The farmer didn't even wake him up to get taken to Harvey, I don't even think they went to Harvey. Their water broke and they were just like "Welp, baby's coming" and then they just went outside and gave birth in the little pond outside their house.

And Elliott just wakes up to an exhausted spouse and a baby in a crib.

Adoption Route Elliott got it so easy in comparison.

He is probably praying that his kid(s) isn't too much like the farmer. He loves his chaotic spouse but he would have a heart attack if his child did even half the things the farmer does regularly.

[carpehistoryandthepens]

Legacy (what is a legacy?) Part 19

It’s planting seeds in a garden you never get to see I wrote some notes at the beginning of a song someone will sing for me

Hamilton, the world was wide enough. LMM.

one, two, three, four, Five, six seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen

Summary: Mike is 13. Born May 2009. Sid didn’t know he had a son. All Mike had was hope and a prayer for his and his half-sister’s safety.

(Sid is a dad of a teen he didn’t know about AU) Sidgeno.

Warnings: (for the total story) post-child abuse (all off-screen but it affects things and is spoken about often), learning how to parent, panic attacks, anxiety, based on the 22-23 season, that said last season when i wrote these tags originally, but hey, it takes me a LONG time to write, so now its no longer last season, OCs?, the realization about sexuality. Post breakups. Desperate lack of in-depth research for CPS in both PA/CA, melodrama?, kidfic, angst, slowburn, playing fast and loose with the law for drama/storytelling purposes.

-

Mike stared out the window of the kitchen, where he was putting dirty dishes in the (working!) dishwasher from breakfast. They just had a full breakfast that was more than just pop-tarts. He debated putting the food on the list to pay Sid back. He had an Excel spreadsheet on his mama's phone now. Children were expensive.

"I mean, he's weak on the right side. I think I can take advantage of that." Sid said, in between helping Marisol with some alphabet homework in Spanish.

Mike chose not to add what they ate as he finished the loading dishes. Sid already had the ingredients in his pantry. They had other things to worry about today.

Marisol sat at the kitchen table, trying to figure out how to write some of the alphabet. She was having trouble remembering what language had the double ll's and that English didn't start sentences with an upside-down exclamation point.  Nikita was next to her, packing his small backpack, talking with Geno in a mix of primarily Russian and some English.

"Think that goalie coach would have work on right side since last game. He must know." Geno said. "We saw in video review. That big of a weakness? Must have been worked on."

Sid sighed and immediately launched into his counter-argument. "But yeah, right, but so doesn't mean it's always been fixed!"

The sounds that filled the kitchen were familiar, but Mike couldn't place what it reminded him of. He missed the sound of his Mama's Spanish and his Papa's Spanglish.

Sid and Geno leave in the afternoon for the first roadie.

Mike was terrified. The nanny Geno and his wife hired for Nikita had also agreed to watch them. It was just an overnight trip, flying in the night before, morning skate, game, then fly home. They would be back early morning the next night.

The nanny, Bea, a lovely older lady who spoke passable Russian and Italian, was arriving in less than ten minutes. She understood enough Spanish to understand Marisol. It wasn't the perfect setup, but clearly, Sid, Geno, and Anna had tried. Mike was grateful to them all; he was sure they were complicated.

From what Mike overheard Sid and Geno discussing during Bea's interview, Anna wanted a nanny who could speak English, Spanish, Russian, and French. However, that combination was hard to find. Let alone someone willing to sign an NDA. Honestly, Mike wasn't quite sure what to make of Anna. He hadn't seen her except for the two nights she had spent at Sid's, but he heard her often - Nikita liked to call his mom. Understandable. The only thing he was sure of about Anna was that she loved her son dearly and wanted to ensure he was happy and well-educated.

Marisol's voice was what Mike heard the most in the hubbub of the kitchen. That might have to do with knowing her for much longer, or it could be from the need to ensure she was safe, but she sounded happy.

In the last two months, Mike had gone from being unsure he would have a safe place to sleep at night to having his world shift upside down. He had gone from living solely to protect Marisol and worrying, let alone being able to skate again, to having a personal trainer, private ice sessions, a therapist for Marisol and him, and a private tutor, hell-bent on getting them both onto grade level.

It was a little overwhelming.

Mike turned from the dishes and slid into a chair at the table. Geno said something in Russian that made Nikita laugh; Sid snickered, understanding the joke, but he didn't take his eyes away from Marisol and her homework. It was almost like being at home, with his Mama and Papi getting ready for work as he and Marisol were dropped off at the YMCA before school.  Mike felt like he was outside of the room, just watching the action happen.

It was a feeling that Mike was slowly getting used to that he was allowed to watch, and when he was ready, he could join in. In the past few weeks, the conversations he and Sid had participated in made that clear he was allowed to choose.

Just before the season's first game, Sid had sat him down with Helena to figure out what Mike wanted.

It had been a difficult question to answer, Mike had found out. Helena had spent most of the meeting reassuring Mike that not knowing what he wanted yet wasn't bad and his future wasn't set in stone. However, She and Sid told him that having an idea of his future would help them ensure he would be happy. They didn't mention Marisol for the whole conversation.

All Mike had been able to say was that he wanted to go to college on a hockey scholarship. It was the only thing he knew for sure. He had to pay Sid back somehow for the care of Marisol. Maybe a degree in tech or engineering? Something that made money. He wanted a college degree and hockey. He didn't even know what school. Before, he had some dreams of UCLA, Cal State, or maybe even Arizona State? When he voiced the schools, he realized he was now on the East Coast; he might need to look into universities that were local to him now. RMU was a good state school, wasn't it? Did he count as a resident of California or Pennsylvania now?

Helen had said it was complicated, but they would know by college entry time, and she could get him a list of schools with engineering degrees.

(Sid had nodded and said that was totally possible, but by the way, had he ever been talked to by USA Hockey? Helena had given Sid such a stink-eye at his question.

Mike had been blind sighted by the question. Sid and others (including coaches!) saw something in his skating. Mike had answered honestly that no, but he never really could go to the camps that USA Hockey was at.

Sid already had the information for Mike's old coach, Robert Jones, but he had retired and moved since Mike and Marisol were picked up by his Aunt. Coach Rob was the only reason he was on that team. Usually, it would have been out of Mike's reach.)

Sid looked up from helping Marisol, "Thank you for getting the dishes, Mike."

"Yeah, for sure. No worries," Mike said, sitting down across from the kids and adults. Geno grinned at his words for some reason.

Mike was still getting used to the idea of being thanked for being assigned chores. His Aunt and Rodger had just demanded, and he would be yelled at when he didn't do the chores exactly right. His mom and dad hadn't openly thanked him, but Mike had always felt appreciated for his work.

The chores conversation was another that was weighing on his mind. Geno had brought it up. Saying it was good for Nikita to have an assigned chore and asking if Mike would help Nikita learn responsibly by also having a chore.

Mike was a little suspicious, but his parents had him doing his own laundry, and he was responsible for cleaning the bathroom. His Aunt and uncle were very determined that Mike would do everything around the house, even the stuff he had never done before – like vacuuming. That was his mom's job. His dad cooked, and they all did the dishes.  

Sid had suggested that Mike take over the dishes. He already had a person who came and did all the cleaning, and everyone did their own laundry - even Nikita. Mike agreed, but only if Marisol could also get a chore. She was assigned to pick up the toys in her and Mike's room.

It was odd having a say, but Mike appreciated it all. It was something he could do to be useful and not a burden to Sid. (The whole thing had made Geno smile broadly. Nikita's chore was to take out the trash every night.)

"Did you have an idea, Mike?" Sid asked, going back to the upcoming game that night. "About the goalie?"

"Is this Primeau?" Mike asked, the question coming to him out of nowhere.

Geno shook his head, "No. Montembeault."

Mike crunched his face in thought. "The one who's weak on the upper glove side?"

"See!" Sid said, "Mike sees it!"

"And, goalie coach would see it too," Geno said firmly.

"Isn't he also weak on the meld with the posts?" Mike asked. "On the left?"

That got a pause from Sid and Geno before Geno nodded slowly. "Yes, yes. Mike right, goalie weak on the left, always leave a gap between him and posts in video."

"He does," Sid breathed. "That's an option to deal with it."

With a happy noise, Nikita finished packing his backpack. His uniform was more like the catholic school down the street from Mike's parent's old apartment than like a charter school. Mike hadn't worn a uniform after elementary school, and even then, it was more like a strictly enforced dress code rather than a uniform. Nikita raised the backpack up for Geno to inspect.

Geno took Nikita's Switch from the largest pocket, "Not allowed, Nikusha." He said. "Know better. School gets mad."

Nikita frowned mutinously. "But no one wants to play during lunch! Or at least not play soccer!"

"Then read book. Not game. Game for home after homework." Geno said sternly.

"Papa!" Nikita protested, but he fell silent under Geno's stern look. "Могу я хотя бы выбрать книгу?" (Can I at least pick the book?)

Mike didn't understand what Niktia wanted, but Geno seemed to agree. "Da." Geno said firmly. "Go get."  As Nikita dashed away to his room, Geno sighed to Sid. "Anna better at this. She say, he do. No complaint."

"It's ok, G," Sid said, reaching out and fixing Marisol's pigtails before they fell out completely. Mike hadn't done them very tightly earlier – he would have to do better to ease the burden on Sid. "Some things come in time – isn't that what you said to me?"

Geno nodded, but he still looked worried. Nikita returned with two books – one in English and another in Russian. Geno raised an eyebrow but didn't protest. He gently collected Nikita and herded him toward the door.

Nikita called out a farewell, that Mike responded to absently, but Marisol was enthusiastic in her goodbye.

Mike chewed his lower lip. It had been a long time since he had heard happy goodbyes in the mornings. Rodger and Aunt Cynthia didn't talk to him like that, to either of them like that. Just demanded that he respect them and 'love' them in ways he never would. Mostly, they lost their chances when they treated Marisol like shit.

The latest conversation involving Sid's lawyer and Helena occurred two days earlier. Helena and Sid's lawyer explained it to him, faces serious but not hopeless. His Aunt and her husband had threatened that they would fight for custody.

When Helena's counterpart in California had told them that Mike was safe in another state but refused to tell them where he was, apparently Rodger lost his mind at the care worker.

This was being used as evidence Mike was right to run away. However, he did essentially kidnap his sister, which made things more complicated. According to Helena, his Aunt and her husband wouldn't push for custody of Marisol.

If they won, if a judge agreed that Mike needed to stay with them rather than Sid, then Marisol wouldn't have a legal base to stay with Sid. She would either return to Cynthia and Rodger or end up in the foster system.

Mike was terrified of his Aunt and her husband and the power they still held over them both. They weren't even sure what state they would be filing in. The parental information was in Pennsylvania, but Mike and his Aunt were from California.

The whole thing would be complicated. "Mike!" Marisol said, thrusting a paper at him just as the doorbell rang, "Mira!"

Marisol's paper was work she had been working on with Sid's help.  "Oh, that's nice," he praised. She had gotten more of the letters correct than the last time. And her 'e' only had three lines rather than four. "You did so much better!"

In the distance, in the front hall, Sid greeted Bea, their nanny. Mike hated the idea of needing a nanny; he was a teenager! Except, Sid and Geno (and Helena) were determined not to let Mike take care of Niktia and Marisol alone. Mike had to accept not being responcible for the kids would be nice.

Apparently, Bea was short for Beatriz, but she insisted on 'Bea.' At first, it was 'Aunt Bea' but one meltdown by Marisol later, it was just 'Bea.' Mike was simply relieved that Marisol's actions didn't cause Bea to quit on the spot – like Cynthia had always said she wanted to do when Marisol started to cry. The less Mike remembered about Rodger's reaction to Marisol crying the better.

"You ready for a fun day with Bea?" Mike asked. The plan was that the four of them (him, Marisol, Bea, and Sid) would go to the rink soon. Mike and Marisol's tutor would meet them there, and then a trainer would meet Mike on the other rink.

While he and Marisol hadn't been to a game yet, seeing the Pen's practice was still cool. Mike was learning a whole lot just watching the practice. Sid said something about introducing Mike to a coach soon.

Bea would not usually come with them to the rink from Sid's house, but as Sid was leaving on a roadie immediately after, they decided they would take two cars.

Marisol cheered.

[ashthewaterghoul]

While Phantom and Copia are indeed the cuddle buddies, nothing can take that away, I feel like other ghouls and ghoulettes also probably have had a hard time dealing and processing with with their Papa no longer being their frontman…or papa in general

Oh absolutely.

Dew, Mountain and Aether especially. They remember what happened to Terzo and they couldn’t help but feel like it was all a trap to get Copia away from his Ghouls for their own nefarious purposes.

To be rather macabre, they were expecting their own deaths. Ifrit and Zephyr died last time, there’s no way they’re surviving again. Dew was also mourning for whichever Ghoul met the same fiery fate as him.

Despite the years following Copia’s ascent, they still have that niggle in the back of their minds.

(Below the cut bc surprise surprise I yapped✌🏻)

Ghoulettes are insanely loyal, and their emotions are 1 or 100 with very little in-between. They’ve only ever known Copia as their leader and they struggled to recognise the authority of the new guy. They kept calling Copia “Papa” which he didn’t mind but the rest of the Clergy did. The four ended up having a lot of detentions because the Clergy thought they needed “correcting” with their behaviour and dedication to Copia.

Small-but-mighty Aurora was in a constant state of anxiety, less used to the Clergy’s bs, and thought she’d be sent back when she adores her family so much. Cirrus and Cumulus got very good at using their air to calm her down from a panic attack, and Sunny’s Fire made her very cosy and relaxing to snuggle with.

There was absolutely some misogyny as well from some. Comments along the lines of “This is why we shouldn’t have summoned the females. They’re too emotional” and shit like that.

Rain was also terrified of the pack being taken out because he had himself convinced that he would be made into a Fire Ghoul just like Dew was. The Clergy don’t like summoning Fire Ghouls but Water Ghouls are easy to summon, eager to get to the 75%-water-covered surface. His element would be easily replaced, as would he.

Swiss had jumped through a summoning portal not meant for him and he certainly faced the wrath of the Clergy after the portal shut behind him (it was Rain’s portal in my hc). The new Water Ghoul was flocked with affection and instantly taken in. Swiss though was isolated from everyone but a few Clergy who were to “teach him some lessons”…

It was Copia who heard him singing to himself in his cell one day, and managed to persuade the Clergy to let him be in the Ghost project. Well, he needs to come from his cell to rehearse and meet everyone doesn’t he? The cells are so far and the den’s so close to the rehearsal space so we should move him right? Without Copia there, now more detached from the Ministry thanks to his new role, he feels like he’s going to be marched back down there any day now.

And we all know how poor Phantom’s taking it… (the ramble is coming soon!!)

For them all, it feels like Copia is gone forever. It doesn’t help that they rarely see him and he’s not allowed to come to the den nor them to his quarters. Swiss, Mountain or Aether sometimes get called on for security when he has business trips, but other than that, it’s only Clergy get-togethers where they can’t shower their Copia in love and affection because they have to keep it professional.

The new guy is… the new guy. He’s not Copia and they all struggled to accept him. Copia was the hand that summoned them (excluding Aether, Dew and Mountain ofc). He had earned their loyalty and respect on Earth. This guy was brand new and they tried their best, but nearly every night for the first few months was spent in a large and teary cuddle pile…

[fandomgoesahhhhhhhhh]

Lego Monkie Kid(LMK) x Reader Headcanons

SEASON 5 SPOILERS(not major but still)

🥘Dadsy Headcanons🥘

Pigsy’s Fluff and Angst headcanons(with GN Reader who’s around Mei and MK’s ages/platonically)

We all know he is the best cook, but I imagine whenever his kids(including you) is tired or haven’t eaten. HE ALWAYS and I mean ALWAYS find a way to make you sleep or eat. No one even knows how..he just does-

I headcanon him being fatherless, but grew up with an amazing grandma and mother so he wants MK and everyone else(who have bad parents) to have a father figure in their lives..something he didn’t had growing up.

After S5, Pigsy starts questioning himself if he’s doing a good job raising MK and if he’s a good father to him. He blames himself for his sacrifice and was goddamn scared of losing his son

HE AND TANG ARE BASICALLY MARRIED!! I’M TELLING YA! They just had a secret gay wedding and keep their gay marriage a secret..I mean yes, you, MK, and Mei knows(also Sandy cause like they see the gayness in them), but that beside the point-

PAPA SENSE!!! DADSY SENSE!! Doesn’t matter where you or any of his kids are! HE IS GONNA BE THERE AS SOON AS HIS FATHER SENSE GOES OFF!!! You best believe he gonna run all the way to you. He might be tired and sweating as hell, but it’s the love that counts

Beside his rake, he use a roller or a fry pan as his next best weapon. I imagine one time, during their adventures, Pigsy couldn’t find his rake so he just use his fry pan. He’s basically Rapunzel, but in a male, Lego, pig demon form(Tang would say that)

He taught all of his kids(MK, you, and Mei) how to cook and how to make a perfect dish(like from S5 Ep1) and would sometimes supervise any of his kids as they cook by themselves

Despite him being all hot temper and have anger issues, he always make sure that you’re doing ok. If you’re sick or have an emergency, that’s something he can deal with and would always check on you and make you an amazing noddles to help you

This PIG DAD will immediately close his noodles store to help any of his kids if they’re in grave danger. He doesn’t like closing his store early, but I swear if any of his kids gets hurt, he will not hesitate by a second.

If you have a panic/anxiety attack, he will immediately go by your side and comfort you the best he could. He will not leave you until you’re 100% better.

Albums…picture albums scrapbook! He have TONS of them! All in order! If you ask for baby pictures or any pictures, he got ya..Tang can’t even stop him from getting all excited of showing off his kids

(I hope you guys enjoy. Been a long time since I’ve done this, but here we are. If you have any requests, let me know)

[earthry]

I know I haven't posted in forever... but brain is going brr.

TLDR I've been very sick the past 6 months and turns out it's severe asthma and I now have an inhaler which has been such a big big BIG help and lifesaver.

Last night I had a bad asthma attack at a party due to someone bringing a not great white elephant gift that triggered it. I was very out of it after (also being tired because it was late at night) but my friends were there for me and helped get me liquids and told me to sit down and rest etc.

So now my brain is bouncing around the papas being very doting, protective, and worried after an attack (asthmatic, anxiety/panic, any kind of situation similar!) where the situation has been de-escalated and everyone is safe but he's still concerned and making sure you're hydrating, you're comfortable and have the space you need to sit or lay down to rest and recover from the whole ordeal because he understands how tiring and sometimes scary, it can be.

[missdarhk]

I posted this comment on "you'll be here in my heart" (is that an anticlea reference I see ?) and I thought i would expand on it cus my brain actually produced some ideas for such an interaction . (Also I generally think of epic!laertes and odyssey!laertes being the same for reasons I explained here )( I also imagine odysseus being in his late 40's by the end of epic for timeline reasons)

So my brain immediately turned it into a reaction fic like it does for any AU . Here are some moments i cooked up for such a potential fic

You'll be here in my heart!laertes: your son is 47, how on earth does he still need coddling?

Epic!laertes who was helping odysseus through a PTSD induced anxiety attack cus they just finished watching survive: have you been in a 10 year long war followed by 10 years of suffering? No? Then shut up and pay attention to the screen like you didn't in school.

Odysseus from where his head is buried in Laertes' shoulder:🤭

You'll be here in my heart!odysseus: your hair used to be black?

Epic!laertes,who has gone white :nah,i just used to dye it on the argo

Epic!odysseus: we should get you more of that stuff, papa

Epic!laertes: oh for you too cus, my boy, what is this? grabs one of odysseus's gray streaks and tugs it down makind ody whine and laugh.

You'll be here in my heart!laertes: struggling to comprehend healthy father-son relationship. His eyes are very much tweaking

I can also imagine epic!laertes telling embarrassing stories about his kids like how odysseus would get into trouble cus he would go places he wasn't allowed to and accidentally lose his jewellery that had his name on it and you'll be here in my heart!zeus and laertes realising they have no such stories or if they do, they certainly aren't happy ones and they start to realise what shitty parents they are. Also you'll be here in my heart!athena and odysseus cannot compute epic!laertes and odysseus's healthy relationships and it makes them very sad

AAHHH HELLO!! (ohhh it's actually a tarzan reference, but anticlea fits too, I'd never noticed that until now JXHSJHSKSKSK AND I LOVE THE UNDERWORLD)

ah I'm a SUCKER for a good reaction fic tbh HXHSJDHEJDJSK so this is perfect

TAG YOURSELF IM ODYSSEUS GOING 🤭 LMAO. YES EPIC!LAERTES, YOU TELL HIM!! SPEAK YOUR TRUTH KING

ybhimh laertes just being confused at a healthy father-son relationship is so real 💀💀 he's just like "tf is that"

OOF ZEUS AND LAERTES REALIZING THEYRE SHITTY PARENTS LOL yeah that sure would be something 💀💀 laertes is about to get worse and zeus is... zeus. he's already THE worse. awww ybhimh athena and odysseus looking at epic!laertes and odysseus and just being shocked. I think ody would be extra upset because if that laertes could be a good dad then why couldn't his version be like this as well? why couldn't laertes love him enough in this world to just be a good father? 😭😭😭

athena just wants to jump at ybhimh!laertes' throat even more

[bwoahtastic]

Maxy having anxiety poor baby! Seb can smell it very clearly on him when he is having a panic attack and will huddle his baby up in blankets, gently soothing him. Maybe Max has a paci for moments like that or he sucks on momma's finger to soothe himself.

Toto is sometimes needed when it's very bad, pulling his cub and grandkitty close! Maybe sebby had anxiety as a cub too so Toto knows how to help, and Maxy loves his grandpapa so so much. Maxy just curled up small between seb and Toto sucking on his paci as Toto reminds him he is safe and Seb just softly strokes maxy's ears

Plss! Some days Max's scent is so muted, not cinnamon-y like usual but much more bitter and tense. Seb knows Max will spiral into a panic attack and quickly scoops tbe kitty up, taking him aside where it's nice and quiet because sometimes the house is too loud for maxy! Maxy having his Paci for moments like this, sucking on it whilr momma holds him and sings for him, making sure Maxy knows he isnt alone!

Sometimes when it's bad, Seb will call Toto foe help. Toto is just Maxy's comfort adult and Seb knows Toto is very good dealing with panicked little cats because he was very good with seb too! Toto hugging both Seb and Max close, mumbling that heis little kittens are safe and pls even Seb just feels so relaxed and safe with his papa!

Inevitably little Charles will come check on his twin (not by birth) and curl up with maxy and let him hold his fluffy tail!

[chvnnie]

Letter Two: Nightmares

Love Letters Series Page

wc: 4.7k

genre: angst

warnings: apocalypse au, creature feature, use of weapons, HEAVY MENTIONS OF PTSD AND DESCRIPTIONS OF ANXIETY ATTACKS. this chapter is heavy and sad as it dives somewhat into the backstory of one of the members. please keep these warnings in mind. if i missed anything, PLEASE LET ME KNOW.

summary: when the world's a nightmare, it's hard to deal with your own.

this is a work of fiction. this fic in no way represents the stray kids members as people or as a whole. you are responsible for the media you consume. please read responsibly.

series taglist: @straystayvlive, @fawnpeaks, @strayingawayy, @almighty-obsession, @ershyni, @chai-papa, @moon0fthenight, @djeniryuu, @boomfrogg, @everglowdaisies — comment to be added

Hey, you.

You know what I’ve been thinking about lately?

The day the world went to shit.

I know a lot of people consider the day of the lab breakout the turning point, but I don’t. That was to be expected; we knew nothing about Nots. Keeping them in those glass chambers, studying their habits and transforms didn’t help much. A domesticated animal always acts differently than a wild one.

The day that I consider the end, we didn’t even know about Nots. You and I were in bed for the evening, the television playing softly while you read. I was in the bathroom shaving, hardly paying attention to the cheesy sitcom joke and recorded laughing. 

I remember the razor nicking my jaw, tongue between teeth as I hissed. Fuck, the sting of it was awful. The razor fell in the sink, taking your attention from your book. 

“You okay?” You ask, leaning in the bed to get a look in the bathroom. You laughed when you saw the little toilet paper square stuck to my face. 

“It’s not funny.”

Though, I was smiling. I like hearing you laugh. God, I can’t wait to be with you again. 

I remember washing my hands before I started to clean the wound, the show cutting to commercial break. 

If you or your loved one have ever taken the drug by the name Nottingal, you may be entitled to financial compensation.

You asked what that medication was for. I said I wasn’t sure, but texted Seungmin to ask. He responded within seconds: A blood thinner. That’s all it was, just a simple pill taken once daily to reduce the risk of blood clots. A lot of people take it. Nothing out of the ordinary. 

It still gives me the chills how easily we forgot about the medication, going to bed without a second thought. We moved past it, went to work the next day. The world kept turning, and the name faded from our memory. 

Just a common, everyday drug. Why would we give it more thought?

An oddly cold weekend in March. You walked the dog, I went to the gym with Changbin. Our lives crossed over around lunchtime, stuffed in the tiny apartment kitchen as we tried to make our meals. 

“We need a new apartment.” You complained. “I can hardly move in here.”

“What, you don’t want to be pressed up against me all the time?”

You scoffed at my joke, taking your sandwich and chips over to the couch. I was steps behind you, leaning close to my bowl of cereal so I didn’t spill any as I walked and ate. I sit, and you turn the tv on, left on the news channel for some reason. 

“Ah.” I said through a mouth full of cheerios. “Turn this shit—“

And then, we saw it. The early stages of a Not. A woman in her 40s, hospitalized for an adverse reaction to Nottingal. She reported having chills with extreme nausea, nothing holding in her stomach. Admitted overnight just for observation, her symptoms got worse. At first it was just a fever — but then it kept climbing and climbing and climbing, to the point where the woman was almost boiling. She would claw at her hospital robe, screeching from the intense heat. Doctors eventually had to secure her to the bed. 

Then, it started to get weird. They called it mania, at first. She wouldn’t speak, only responding with this terrible screeching sound, comparable to metal doors scraping against concrete. Her nails started to grow (both hands and toes) at a rapid pace, which was odd enough on its own. 

Only made worse by the way they started to fuse into the skin, the color darker than the night sky. Claws. A nurse checked on patient zero one day and reported hearing something that sounded like the snapping of bones. After further examination, she saw that the woman’s back was starting to arch, spine taking a new shape—

The claws scratched the nurse across the forearm. The nurse said it didn’t feel like anything more than a deep cat scratch, bandaged up and went about her day. Just to end up at her workplace that night, stumbling into the emergency room. Chills. Nausea. A fever that’s a little too high for comfort. 

That’s how we found out that it’s not only the pills that could cause a transformation. If the claws scratch you, the tip comes in contact with your bloodstream. That’s what it all comes down to; blood.

Two months. That’s all it took. From that commercial to the fall of humanity. Two months, and the world went to shit. 

I’m not really sure why I wrote all of that. You experienced it too; the fear, doubt. Really, does anyone see the end of the world coming? I don’t think I’ve fully grasped that this is my reality now, that it’s not some kind of fucked up dream an edible gave me. 

I so badly wish it was. Because even if this is the demise of mankind, not having you by my side is greater than my worst nightmare. 

Speaking of nightmares, Jisung’s are back. I was sure that after we settled at our new base (right next to the mail stall, conveniently) that they would settle more. It’s been a while since he’s had one, especially this extreme. 

We found an abandoned house. It’s not very big, but it fits all of us comfortably. Two floors, four bedrooms. The bathroom is still functioning, which is a treasure we’re not taking for granted. It’s funny how we still have running water, yet most places we hide out are missing that feature. The first shower I took in there almost made me cry; it was freezing, but it was a shower. Little things really do make the apocalypse easier. 

Jisung’s in one of the upstairs rooms. It looks like it belonged to a child — bunk beds decorated with floral sheets and stuffed animals. The walls have drawings tacked on them, a bulletin board with movie tickets and notes from friends. It’s hard to look at. Wherever that child is, I hope she is safe. She was well loved. 

Nobody wanted to stay in that room. It’s difficult to swallow, to be surrounded by the reminders of such an innocent life. But it has the best view of the front of the house, the boarded up windows have enough space for the barrel of Jisung’s sniper to fit through. He dropped his duffel by the closet, setting up his gun. 

“Are you sure?” I had asked Jisung, an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. It still happens now whenever I walk in there. “There’s space on the office—“

“I’ll be fine.” He looked through the scope, positioning the gun accordingly. “It has the best view.”

“I can stay in here, too—“ Hyunjin started to say, but was quickly cut off. 

“I said I’m fine.” Jisung doesn’t spare us a look. “Don’t worry about it.”

It was weird how he snapped at him. Honestly, ever since we left midtown, Jisung has been a little rougher than usual. Especially with Hyunjin. Remember how long it took to convince him that picking him up was the right thing to do? I feel like every letter I wrote you after we found Hyunjin was about his distaste for him. But I thought we had turned a corner — in fact, they were literally inseparable in midtown. Then we left, and…

Jisung is hiding something. 

There was no reason to push the issue. You know Jisung, once his mind is made up, it’s almost impossible to change. Hyunjin is bunking with me in the master bedroom. He’s a cold sleeper, I’ve learned, often waking up with him huddled by my back. It’s made me miss you even more; how many mornings have I woken up with you attached to my back like a koala? Face buried in my shoulder blade, snores vibrating against it. 

I can’t wait to wake up to that again. To you again. 

The nightmare came a night when I wasn't on guard. I had been sleeping pretty soundly, actually. Hyunjin’s fluffy hair was right in my face, the cotton sheets nice and cool against my bare chest. It had been a while since I slept so well.

Earth shattering screams tore me from that peaceful sleep. Both Hyunjin and I practically jumped from the bed, weapons easily accessible and in hand. Did something get in? Were one of our men hurt? 

Hyunjin’s face went pale when we heard the scream again. He dropped his knife, mumbling the younger man's name before sprinting from the room. 

Jisung was on the bottom bunk, comforter low on his hips. He wasn’t dressed in anything other than sweatpants, the scar on his left rib cage looking more red than usual. Almost irritated, raised. The perfect circle as angry as the cries coming from its owner. 

His nails were scratching at his neck, thrashing in the bed as he cried. Round tears rolling down his cheeks in earnest, voice cracking and turning raw. Whatever was happening behind his eyelids was devastating, all of his fears brightly burning for him. 

“Jisung.” Hyunjin had said, climbing into the tiny bunk with him. His body jerked, trying to resist the hold he was put in. Head cradled to his friend’s chest, he starts to rock. “It’s not real. It’s not real.”

Jeongin came over the walkie. It’s his night on guard. “No breaches at the back. Bin?”

“Front is clear.” Changbin responds quickly, the unasked question obvious to all of us. 

“Clear up top.” I responded, keeping my voice as low as possible. “It’s Jisung.”

No response. None needed. Everyone will keep their post, or try to go back to sleep. Too many hands and it only makes things worse for him. 

Hyunjin is good at soothing him, bringing him out of the nightmare with minimal damage. Softly, he brushes the fluffy hair from his face, keeping a firm rocking motion. Gentle reminders whispered to him; he’s safe, it’s just a dream, it’s not real. I watched him rock my friend for at least five minutes, the screams coming to an end as he started to twitch awake. With a string of fearful whimpers, Jisung’s eyes finally opened and found Hyunjin’s. 

The moment felt like years. Their eyes locked, the tears finding an end as they stared at each other, seemingly lost in the gaze. Hyunjin smiled softly at him, and it looked like Jisung was melting. An immediate peace washing over him, the nightmare so far out of grasp it’s forgettable. 

Then he’s shoving himself out of his arms, cursing and mumbling under his breath to “let him the fuck go”. It was hard to miss the way Hyunjin’s face crumbled, though he quickly composed himself. 

“You had another nightmare.” Hyunjin’s voice is so gentle, though it cracks with an emotion he’s trying to suppress. 

“I know.” Jisung snapped, bringing his knees to his chest as he huddled into the corner. Body pressed against the wall, avoiding his gaze. 

“Do you want to—“

“Can you fucking leave?” He asked, though it didn’t sound convincing. “I want to talk to hyung.”

Hyunjin smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. With a nod, he climbed out of the bunk bed, patting my shoulder as he walked past me. When the door shut, I heard him release a shaky gasp. 

I stayed by the door, wanting to give Jisung as much room as I could. He kept his head facing the wall, breaths starting to even out as he worked on grounding himself. In and out, like you taught him. Think of happy thoughts, remind yourself that the world is more than the darkness that consumes you. I watched as his shoulders relaxed, body starting to slump as he found the peace he was looking for. 

“Sit with me?” It was hard to hear, the question whispered into the foundation of the house. I crossed the tiny room, sitting by the ladder leading up to the top bunk. Giving him as much physical space as I could. 

It was silent between us. Our breaths filling the dark room—

Wait. It’s completely dark. When I stood, I could hear his lips part, the start of protests rolling from his tongue. I didn’t walk far, only to the closet. Flicking on the light, I pulled the door open, letting just a sliver of it spill out. 

“Why didn’t you turn this on?” I asked softly, trying to keep my tone steady. I didn’t want him to think I was accusing him, or blaming him for the nightmare. 

Jisung shrugged. “I wanted to try.” He pressed the heels of his palms to his eyes, rubbing tight circles. “Obviously it didn’t work.”

I returned to my seat. With the light on, it was easy to see what Jisung was doing before he fell asleep. His journal face down on the floor, an uncapped pen right beside it. His favorite book, worn out and damn near falling apart, was tabbed open with a photo of the two of you (remember that beach trip we took last year? When he was home on leave? It’s from when the two of you were building that sandcastle, the polaroid still as clear as the day I took it. It’s one of my favorites) and a sketch of what looked like daisies. Yellow and pink, they cover the page, only broken up by a little signature in the bottom. One we all know too well at this point. 

There was something missing from his pile, something that the picture reminded me of. “Where are your dogtags?”

He seemed tense at that question, sighing as he brought his hands down. “I think I lost them in midtown.”

It didn’t feel like the truth, but there wasn’t any need to press it. I simply nodded, taking the lie for what it was. 

“I’m sorry I woke you.”

I huffed a laugh. “Don’t apologize for that shit.”

“Sleep is so precious now, I hate taking it from you—“

“Seriously, Sung.” I looked at my friend, who I was surprised was looking at me. When our eyes met, I gave a reassuring smile. “You know we don’t mind.”

Jisung didn’t believe me. He never does when I tell him that. Yet, he nodded, knowing that doubt will never leave him. “It was bad.”

“Sounded like it.” Never push him. That’s what I’ve learned. If he wants to open up, he will. But when it’s so fresh, so heavy in his mind, focusing on the details could drive him mad—

“The Nots.” He said softly, resting his chin on his knees. Not once did his gaze stray from me, wide eyes filling with fresh tears. “They came. Here.”

I will admit, it confused me as to why this upset him so badly. We had seen at least five groups of them by this point, a few even crossing the front gate. They never stayed, always distracted by something in the distance. He had even shot a few. 

Staying in this room was a bad idea. I knew it from the moment we arrived, even though he was insistent. I should have forced him into a different room, made him sleep anywhere else but here. It’s no surprise that the previous owner appeared in his dream, her small body twisted into the horror that we’re too familiar with. 

“It got me thinking.” Jisung started to cry again. “Nots like to stay close to home—“

“No.” I cut the thought off before he could finish it. “You can’t go there, Jisung.”

He knew I was right. But you know him; stubborn as can fucking be, clinging to things with an annoyingly tight grip. As soon as it crossed his mind, there was no way he was letting it go. Instead of arguing, he just nodded. Mumbles something in agreement. It wasn’t going to escape him, and it would be silly for us to pretend it would. 

“Will you sleep in here with me?” He asked. 

I couldn’t help but wince. It didn’t feel right, the idea of resting here. “Why don’t you come to the master bedroom with me? There’s enough room for you, me, and Hyunjin—“

As soon as I mentioned his name, Jisung’s eyes went dark. “No.” He said simply. “I would rather stay here.”

I wanted to tell him no. To go back to the comfortable bed where I could sleep easily, not worrying about being haunted by a life not fully lived. 

“I just don’t want to leave my gun.” Jisung said. “That’s it.”

Another lie. I had no choice but to take it as is. Nodding as I climbed the ladder. 

As far as I know, Jisung didn’t talk about the nightmare with anyone else. The day following was spent with Minho, organizing the weapons in the living room. He sat on the ground, wiping the blood and dirt from barrels of guns. Sweat beaded his forehead, glasses low on his nose. But he laughed, joking with everyone who walked past.

Except Hyunjin. 

I cleaned out the old pantry with Seungmin, still keeping the good food while disposing of the others. “They left in a hurry.” He said as he chunked another fruit cup in the trash. “Something must have happened here.”

They must have recently gone grocery shopping. A lot of snack boxes were untouched, the expiration date still a month or two away. “Can’t blame them.”

“No.” He threw a can of expired condensed milk at the trash can, shooting it like a basketball. Somehow, it made it. “You really can’t.”

That night, Jisung and I took every precaution to avoid a nightmare. The closest door was cracked open, yellow light filling the room. His old radio was tuned to some station that hasn’t been manned since the fall, playing the same jazz songs on repeat. The loop starts again every three hours, but even in the annoyance, it’s enough noise to help him sleep. 

I had barely fallen asleep when he had another nightmare. To the bottom bunk I went, holding my friend and rocking him until he woke up. We did it again the next night, and the next, and the next. Nightmare after nightmare, though the details were always the same. A group of Nots, the smaller one in the back of the group. Vicious and hungry. 

It was the room. It had to be, baby. I’ve been racking my brain for an explaination, because if it isn’t the fucking room, then I don’t know. And not knowing is the scariest part; all of this is so…predictable. 

But these nightmares. They were anything but. 

Jisung couldn’t sleep one night, the impending nightmare driving him mad. He sat by the gun, rereading his book with his feet propped up on the window sill. Or, it looked like he was reading. When I got closer, I saw him tracing the painted flowers with his finger. 

“I’m going to bed.” He snapped the book shut when he realized I was there. “You should, too.”

Jisung pushes his glasses up, nodding as he rubs his eyes. “I’ll try in a bit.” He gave me a weary smile. “Sleep well, okay?”

I didn’t. My eyes didn’t even shut, focused on counting the bumps on the ceiling. I couldn’t allow myself to, not until I knew Jisung was on the bed beneath me, trying to rest despite his fears. You made me promise I would take care of him, and it was an easy one to make. I’m trying my love, even if his stubborn ass makes it incredibly difficult. 

He was mostly quiet in his corner, humming a song or two before falling silent. Every time I glanced at him, his back was to me. Same position as before, thumbing through the book this time. Actually reading. 

My eyes had started to shut when I heard the walkie click. 

“Min.” Hyunjin’s voice cut through. “How’s the back?”

A beat. “Meh.” Seungmin responded. “Per us—ah, fuck.”

“Don’t say it like that.” A whine came from the older man. 

“You’ll see them soon. Mid sized pack, moving quickly.” The walkie cut off, familiar squawks of Nots heard even from my bed upstairs. “Must be hungry.”

The book snapped shut, chair squeaking as Jisung pushed it out. I watched him stand, lean over the scope as he focused outside. 

“Look at those ugly fuckers.” Hyunjin says with a sigh. “There are so—Jesus!”

Click. Hyunjin is gone, his exclamation is enough to make me sit up in bed. Jisung fumbled for the walkie, his hand shaking as he pressed the button. “Stop messing around, Jin.”

“Sung—“ He clicks back immediately, shock heavy in his tone. Is it from hearing Jisung’s voice, or what he saw? “Sorry, that pack just took out a stray.”

I listen to Jisung curse under his breath, annoyed at how the older man frightened him. Made him think we were under siege. He puts his eye back to the scope, and the walkie falls from his hand. 

Then screams. Earth shattering screams. 

Jisung is on the ground, sitting beneath the window with his hands over his ears. Back and forth he rocks, sobbing loudly with his eyes shut. “No, no.” He cries out. “No, no, no, no—“

I don’t have to ask. I don’t even have to look through the scope, but I do anyway. In the back of the pack is a smaller Not. Brown hair, waves breaking the straight pattern.

The worst thing about Nots is if you know who they were, they won’t be hard to spot after the transformation. There goes the little girl whose room we’ve slept in, tailing behind what looks like her parents. 

“Jisung?” Hyunjin cuts through the walkie again. “What’s going on? Answer me.” 

He responds with another scream, kicking the walkie as far from him as he can. The weight of it is weighing down on him, crushing his already fragile being into nothing but dust. His back is hitting the wall, nails in his throat. My friend, almost unrecognizable on the ground next to me. 

“I’m coming up.” Hyunjin says, and I snatch the walkie from the ground. 

“Keep your post.” I said. “I’m with him. If they get close, shoot.”

I don’t hear what Hyunjin said to me. Dropping to a squat in front of my friend, I gently remove his hands from his neck. “Jisung, talk to me.”

“I t-told you.” He says in a broken sob. “I told y-you, I told you—“

“Shh, I know.” I tried my best, really. I think you would be proud of me; everything you taught me about him, how to be the friend he needs in big moments. Though I’m convinced no one could ever be as good as you at this, I think I’m a pretty good third. Or like, fourth or fifth option. “I’m sorry I didn’t listen better.”

He shook his head, hiccuping through his tears. I kept a firm grasp on his wrists, letting him rock as much as he needed to. Tears stung my eyes; it’s kind of a given that watching your friend experience something like this is hard. But rarely do we talk about just how gut wrenching it is. My brave friend, nothing but a shell in my hands. 

“Jisung.” I said his name softly. “We have to do it.”

“No!” He shouted loud enough to make the earth vibrate. “H-hyung, can’t. I c-can’t—“

“Hey, hey.” I grab him, pulling him into a hug. He fought it for a second, pushing at my chest to try to escape, though he eventually caved. The tears were warm against my shoulder, violent sobs muffled. “You don’t have to. I will.”

That’s when his eyes shot open, the fight returning to him. “D-don’t do that to her.” He cried. “She’s just a k-kid—“

Baby. I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how I can pretend that this didn’t hurt me. Her pictures were everywhere; in the living room, across the hallways. The bulletin boards held strips of her and her friends. No more than nine or ten. A life barely lived, forced into an existence that she can never escape. 

I cried. Sniffling in Jisung’s ear and swallowing dryly. “It isn’t fair to leave her like this.” I told him, though it was more for myself. Trying to convince both of us it’s the humane thing to do in a society that’s anything but. 

Jisung was limp. Sobbing into my shoulder, mumbling weak pleas. Reconsider. Let her go—

“Seungmin.” Hyunjin’s voice cut through. “How’s the back?”

“Clear. You?”

“Not. They’re approaching.”

It had to be done. I had to let Jisung go, to let him curl into a ball as he covered his ears, awaiting the inevitable. Picking up the walkie, I clicked through. “Changbin, are you awake?”

He didn’t even wait a second. “Yeah.”

“Relieve Hyunjin. Take Minho with you.”

No questions were asked. There was no protest from the ball at my feet, shaking as he quietly sobbed. I waited, the sound of footsteps rushing past the door until the ones I needed found their way inside. 

Hyunjin’s hair was a mess. A headband kept the frizzy locks out of his face. But that isn’t what caught my eye. The tags resting in the center of his chest, the ones we know all too well. 

He moved to Jisung, the younger man letting him pull him close. Carefully, he sat him in his lap, rocking him. Back and forth, back and forth. Whispers of comfort heard even through the hands that clasped his ears. 

When it comes to Jisung’s comfort, you are first. But there’s no doubt that Hyunjin is second. 

Through watery eyes, I look through the scope. The gun is lightweight, easy to maneuver. Bodies of Nots litter the front yard, the ones who haven’t taken a bullet yet clawing at their own. I watched as another was it, terrible squeals released into the night as it twitched to its death. It took me a moment to find her. Behind the gate, lost in the body of an unrecognizable animal. 

After I aimed, I shut my eyes. I don’t know how she died, my love, but I know I’ll never forget how painfully human her cries were. Freshly turned, returning to her home. Nots don’t like to wander far. 

I boarded that room up today. Lock the door and hid the key somewhere no one will ever find it — within our group, or others who seek refuge here. She deserves to rest, and I’ll be damned if anyone disturbs her. 

Jisung requested the sniper be moved to the office. Minho and I worked on it for him. He refused to touch it. It’s been a few days, but I’m the only one who has used it. I don’t know how long it will take him to be comfortable with it again. 

At least he’s finally sleeping. The master bed was big enough for all three of us, though now Hyunjin seems to cling to Jisung. When he wakes, the younger man will shove him away. Though, I’ve caught him pretending to sleep. Enjoying the hold the artist has on him. 

It’s a good home. I think we’ll be here for a while. The guys seem to like it a lot, and the normalcy that’s felt here — well, you don’t need me to explain how valued that is. 

I’m glad to hear all has been going somewhat well for you guys. Felix has been asking nonstop about you. I think he’s a little obsessed with the idea of a ranch. You’ll have to teach him about the horses; he’s been reading up about them since his injury (which has gotten better, by the way. He’s off crutches as of yesterday according to Dr. Kim. Don’t tell him I called him that). The idea of getting to ride one has kept him going. 

We’ve been mapping a route out there, but still have some things to finalize. I don’t want to get your hopes up, so I’ll tell you more when I know more. 

I love you, you know? If it’s possible, this shit has made me love you even more. In the nightmare of this world, you’re like a guiding light. I hope I don’t have to wander much longer to find you.

Stay safe, my love. I’ll be upset if I have to cuddle Hyunjin forever. 

Forever yours,

Chan

[hypocriticaltypwriter]

Okay so the baby vamps is there anything that scared the boys at first while taking care of them?

I have baby vamps but right now I can’t remember their names. But I can remember the baby vamps I gave Star names

OK FIRST OFF... You gotta tell me/share more about your baby vamps to me some time!! I'd love to hear about them! And tell me those names too!🥺🥺

And to answer your question for yours truly, I'm gonna ramble a little if you don't mind~ 🤭

Now... Were the boys scared of anything in fatherhood?

𝔻𝕒𝕧𝕚𝕕

The thing that scared David when it came to taking care of both Anastasia and Chris was feeding... And not the feeding you think!

It was just eating in general- especially when they started to ween off of milk onto baby food and blood. Baby vampires tend to have quite an appetite when developing and he had such an anxiety of choking its not even funny. 😅

It was actually kind of hard to spot this little fear since David seemed the most collected and calm through the early months of parenthood... But Chrysta started to notice how he'd always stare very laser focused while she fed Annie or he'd lean or rock/shift uncomfortably a lot in his chair while never breaking eye contact when she would feed Chris.

And the second one of them would cough cause they got some milk or blood down the wrong pipe, or they gagged on the spoon- even if they made a face at a new texture or taste of baby food, all Chrysta had to do was blink and David was already up on his feet quickly pacing toward her and perching himself behind her to watch or aid.

"Is she choking?"

"No, David, she's just got a little food down the wrong tube."

"Her face looks red."

"It's her natural blush, baby."

"Make her eat slower. Kid's giving me a damn heart attack."

"I can't control that hun-"

𝙿𝚊𝚞𝚕

Literally anytime Tiffany cried Paul would start panicking. Was she hungry? Hurt? Fussy? Was it his fault?

As soon as he saw that bottom lip start quivering, and her eyes start to get glossy, he's already calling for Chrysta nervously.

He can't help but feel guilty afterward, sometimes he feels like he's leaving all the hard stuff for Chrysta to figure out cause he's too scared for the first time in his life of messing up. 🥺

But Chrysta was able to help him through it. Anytime he'd come to her for help, she'd simply walk him through what to do while letting him get experience till he felt a little more confident. He's much better now at it, even if he still goes into panic mode for a couple of minutes before the Daddy senses kick in.

"I don't think I'm cut out for this, Mamas..."

"You're doing just fine, Paul. See? She was just crying for her Dad."

"I guess..."

"Just wait, once those daddy senses kick in, you'll be able to handle it like a champ."

𝘿𝙬𝙖𝙮𝙣𝙚

Legit everything about being a girl-dad terrified this poor man. Sure, he's raised Laddie as one of his own, and even besides that he's pretty good with kids- but when Jennifer was born, boy was he a wreck- especially due to the fact Chrysta was gonna be recovering a lot for the first few months after some birth issues.

I mean, this little girl fit in both palms of his large hands, and she was so fragile and delicate he was afraid of even breathing on her in fear she'd just break like porcelain in his arms.

He was used to being more rough and playful with Laddie, and his other coven members too, but now that he had a "little lady" on his hands, he was so scared of even letting her getting a scratch on the knee.

He was so cautious and careful of his baby girl- even to this day! Just watch this tall, quiet, brooding, and intimidating vampire go into papa bear mode when his little girl comes running up to him with tears in her eyes saying he needs to kiss the ouchy on her finger better. 🥺😭

ꪑꪖꪹƙꪮ

I've mentioned or stated before that Kat is a climber- on other things other than using Marko as her personal jungle gym.

You should watch this weird-footed toddler climb the walls of the hotel, and crawl upside down from the rafters while running away from Marko, thinking it's the funnest game to play when daddy wakes up!

Marko has different thoughts on this 'game'... 😬 wanna see Marko freak out for the first time in his life? Watch him scramble around with his arms stretched out in fear of Katherine above slipping and falling all the way down. Thankfully, she never has.

If there's one thing he wishes she never got, it was his reckless nature and dumbass energy.😔