#pretty much sure they will suffer but still

[writerdownbookworder]

Katie flung the door open and ushered the young king inside quickly, apologizing profusely.

King Dominick rolled his eyes. “Whatever. I’m inside now. Thank you.”

Katie stared for a moment as he took off his coat and hat and hung them by the door. 

“Uh, what can I do for you, Your Highness?” she asked awkwardly, gesturing for him to sit down.

The king sighed. “Truthfully, I just need a place to wait out the storm until some of my men can find me. Stupid storm came out of nowhere and my horse…couldn’t make it through. Stepped in a hole.”

Katie winced. “Is he…still out there?” 

King Dominick shrugged. “Couldn’t let him suffer out there for who knows how long.”

The wind howled outside, startling them both. Katie walked over the window and looked out. 

She turned back to the king slowly. “I hate to have to tell you this, Your Highness, but you might be stuck here longer than you thought. Snow storms especially are pretty bad here in the valley. Could last for a few days. And if no one knows where you are…” Her voice trailed off uncertainly.

He sighed, his head dropping into his hands. “Call me Dominick. If I’m going to be here for a while, we might as well dispense with the formalities. And your name is?”

“Katie,” she mumbled, slightly shocked. She shook herself out of her stupor and rushed into the kitchen, bringing back a bowl of soup for each of them. 

“Glad I made extra,” she joked with a half-smile.

They didn’t speak as they picked at their food. Neither of them said much as Katie showed Dominick to her guest room for the night.

They weren’t sure how it happened. One day, they were barely speaking, their relationship strained from proximity and difference in social class. Then the next day, they were laughing together like old friends.

It took two days for the snow to stop. Another two days for it to melt enough to travel. By then, Dominick was all too happy to wait for someone to find him, praying they would take their time.

Almost a week after the snow melted, the dreaded moment finally came with a pound on the front door of Katie’s cottage.

The two looked at each other, their eyes wide with a mixture of relief, fear, and sadness. 

Katie slowly rose and trudged over to open the door without a word, reverting back to the beginning when they barely spoke.

Dominick lunged and grabbed Katie’s wrist. “Wait,” he said desperately.

She looked at him, taking a deep breath and redrawing the lines they had slowly torn down. “Yes, Your Highness?”

Dominick winced. “Wait,” he said again.

The pounding on the door resumed, startling them.

Katie moved toward the door again. “We’re out of time. You need to go back to your life and I need to go back to mine.” She gently pulled her hand away, turning so he couldn’t see the tears welling up in her eyes.

Dominick reached for her again, but Katie pulled the door open, and the guards on the other side erupted in cheers.

They were all so busy thanking Katie and bundling Dominick onto a horse, that every guard missed the look Dominick was giving her.

Katie ignored the burning in her eyes as she watched them ride away.

A week later, a letter arrived for Katie. She burned it. For the next several months, letters kept arriving, sometimes, days apart, sometimes a week, but all from Dominick.

Katie burned every single one.

"who's this?" "it's the fucking king of England, that's who it is. Now open up, I'm drenched and I'm cold" answered a voice from the outside. "really funny sir. And original, I haven't heard this one since… Oh I'm sorry your highness"

[pedge-page]

aww imagine when ellie is a little older and she has one of those doctor kit toys, and joel gets a cut (or maybe a bruise or something like that) and ellies like "it's okay daddy i'll help you 🥺" and she runs with her little kit and puts on the stethoscope and does a little "check up" and takes his blood pressure and checks his temperature, and then she asks where his boo boo is 😭 and then she gives it a little kiss (bc thats what joel and reader do) and she's like "all better daddy :)" 😭😭😭 please that would send me into a coma that is too cute

notes: oh my god this was so adorable to think about, thank you so much for the baby fever.... I ran a little further with this one based off this ask!

Joel Dealing with Wife: Doctor Ellie

- - - -

Joel’s caught on to something pretty big here. His ever growing littler girl Ellie is quite the caretaker….of him especially. All he tolerated under you and Sarah finally met its match when Ellie quietly entered the world.

He started to realize it after she would burst into tears each time he’d trip on Sarah’s toys, or grunted at your shoulder slaps. But she only ever showed worry when it was him getting hurt.

And he couldn’t get enough of it. Okay sure, its wrong to make your kid worry about things they don’t understand isn’t quite worth stressing over, but he can’t help but fall into a giddy awe spell of greed seeing just how bent out she gets when she thinks he’s hurt. It started with big hugs for long minutes. Then she decided she needed to practice real medicine. The amount of bandaids this family has gone through despite no real injury is astounding to his wallet. 

But it’s commendable. She so carefully puts her warm hands over his forehead whenever he stubs his toe, or checks his pulse when he’s eaten something too hot. Doctor Ellie is always in the house, and ready to assist.

And maybe Daddy… goes a little too out of his way to bring her out.

Joel had just rammed a large plank of wood into his abdomen, not carefully checking its length before swinging it around as if he were still in his twenties. “Ugh--damnit!” He groans, clutching his side. The throb lasted for just a moment before dulling, and he was about to carry on his business when—

“DADDY!!!!” Ellie wails, followed by the patterpatterpatter of her little feet running as fast as they can take him towards his aid.

She’s etched with concern over her chunky face, grasping on her tip toes for his hands. “Daddy okay?” She asks with her high pitched, sweetie voice that gets his soft spot racing.

“Yea—No. No baby…I think—“ he clutches his side, as if remembering the near fatal accident he just suffered. “Uuughh---oh Ellie…I’m hurt. I’m hurt real bad.” He bends forward, one hand over his abdomen while the other covers his face. (He peeks through one squinted eye to see her reaction).

She gasps. “It’s okay daddy! I help make it better!”

She grasps his finger with her entire hand and leads him towards the living room. “Moo!” She commands to Spoon. “Amboolance! WEE WOO WEE!!” She waves her hands around to clear the way of the invisible traffic as Joel followed, half squatted and stiffly wobbling to match her short stature.

She quickly tosses a blanket on the carpet, pointing for Joel to lie down. He obliges, groaning more so from the cracks in his back and knee instead of the fake pain he’s been dishing out.

He watches as she digs frantically through the bin of various toys before retrieving her mobile hospital toy kit. With the stethoscope thrown on her waist (it’s for kids 8 and up and she isn’t quite the size yet), she puts the rounded part over Joel’s stomach. Then she presses her head on his injury as well, causing him to let out an oof and chuckle as she listens futally for his heartbeat. 

“I nee take look.”

She rolls up his shirt a few inches to uncover the invisible wound. 

“How bad is it, doc?” Joel pleas in dramatic desperation.

She tilts her head to the side, closing one eye with her palm before shaking her head.

“Nee sur—Sur gee.”

Joel puts together that’s surgery, and he’s starting to wonder where she’s learning all this hospital stuff….

She begins rummaging around for her other toys before announcing “Knife!”

Joel’s head sits right up, eyes wide in Father-panic mode that she may have gotten her hands on an actual—

She instead pulls her yellow and green kids-cooking toy plastic knife that is meant to part velcroed plastic vegetables, and realistically couldn’t even slice through two strands of hair. He lets out a sigh, leaning back and letting her continue with her critical patient.

“Snack time!”

Of course you just had to interrupt their special Daddy-daughter only playtime with fucking snack ti—oh is that apple slices and peanut butter?

Ellie drops everything, sits on her butt almost like a dog and awaits patiently for her snack. Conveniently Spoon has also come to sit automatically next to her, if the dog-analogy wasn’t evident enough.

“Interrupting surgery, babe,” Joel hums. 

“Surgery can wait after snack.”

Ellie wiggles her feet as you hold out a slice towards her mouth for her to bite and keep her hands clean. The room is silent minus the content, unhurried crunching of apple sizes.

“Okay baby, continue your surgery. What part are we at?” You ask, sucking a slice into your mouth as you also dip one into Joel’s open trap, giggling as he swallows it like an arcade ticket machine crunching away at his spoils. 

“Make cut,” she says plainly, searching around for that knife again.

You raise your brow suspiciously  but let any irrational thought go as she holds up her very non lethal kiddie knife.

Doctor Ellie starts serrating his belly fat back and forth with the dull piece of thick plastic.

It probably looks like real pain to her, were it not for him holding his breath as his chest and stomach puffing up and down, trying to hold his giggles and squirms together.

You watch Joel with raised brow, knowing he’s got tears in his eyes trying to play poker face so hard, knowing you’re there watching him get tickled by this thing and knowing he’s gonna deny it profusely. 

“Shouldn’t you put me under anesthesia—“

She slaps a piece of paper — the phony ticket from her train conductor set (Jesus, how many different toy sets did you guys get her?) — a little too carelessly, but enough to get the idea across that daddy needs to stop talking as she does careful work.

“Sew!” She announces, as if she has a nurse assistant handing her each tool. Although, technically, she does, but you seem more interested in wiping the plate of peanut butter and sucking it off your digits.

Joel’s eyes are closed, enjoying the serenity of lying on the floor. You don’t realize how good it is to be on the ground until you have kids, and now you’re constantly on the floor doing everything with them.

“Mommy…where sew?”

You shrug. They’ve got so many toys, you’re honestly not sure what creative thing she’s gonna come up with the “sew” Joel’s tummy. Given her use of the kids knife, you’re curious what kind of toy—

She pulls out a real sewing needle, point and sharp and definitely not kid approved along with fabric thread. It glints in her little hand for a brief moment as she dips to make contact on Joel’s skin—

“OOKAY Let’s not use that,” you yelp, grasping her arm carefully from going any further. Joel’s still got that stupid paper over his eyes, absolutely oblivious and too trusting of Ellie. 

Something else about kids: you can baby proof the fuck out of everything you didn’t even think needed baby proofing, and yet they will still —what does Jeff Goldblum say in the dinosaur movie?…—f’ind a way’. 

You remove the needle and thread from her grasp, position it inside a cotton swab and high out of her reach. You fashion a string of yarn wrapped around a q-tip instead, and hand it to her like it’s nothing. She takes it and goes back to “sewing” Joel’s tummy up, dragging the cottony tip over his naval.

His belly dips as he lets out a pained breath, trying so hard to act like he’s not tickled. 

“Am I gonna make it doc?” Joel asks curiously.

“Bluey!”

He doesn’t quite understand that answer, until she’s pulling out the packs of varied assortment of bandaids. It takes a few minutes to help her pull each sticky back off, but soon Joel’s got 4 bandaids of Paw Patrol on his stomach, one Bingo on top of his jeans, some chainsaw massacre’s on his arm, and a pretty hello kitty across his forehead. 

“All done!” She boasts happily.

“Nah uh! You need to make sure it stays better!”

“Oh—“ she bends down and kisses his belly, just like you and Joel always do whenever she gets a minor booboo. Kisses make everything better.

Minus the bacteria in your saliva but ya know it’s the placebo in the thought that really counts for the healing factor. 

“Give daddy one on the cheek for good measure,” he commands, pointing sternly into his face. She happily obliges with a fat “mmmmmwah!”

“Yay. Looks like he’ll live,” you muse a little too unhappily. Joel snickers, sitting upright. God, he somehow looks ridiculous and hot with hellow kitty plastered across his forehead. 

“Doc, do you think I need to come back in for a check up, ya know, just to see—“

But Ellie has already concluded her medical services, now hustling away to go find something else to do. 

-

Joel steps out to the backyard, where Sarah is cruising in her remote toy jeep with the 6 ducks packed in the passenger seat and trunk. 

She rolls to a stop, her brightly colored sunglasses peering up at her Dad. She sucks her ring pop silently, knowing the desperation he’s come to seek her out.

Sarah fully well knows Ellie has Joel in her back pocket, and she likes to let that play out. because ultimately… Sarah can also benefit from their needy relationship off one another.

Joel clears his throat, looking around as if he’s making an illegal trade. “I’ll give ya two ring pops if ya pretend to run me over. And not the face this time,” he warms, knowing she’’ll plea innocence to his own askings. “Just for Ellie to see.”

She sucks on her candy before pulling it out of her mouth with a loud pop. “I’d do it for free.”

----

taglist: @harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop @himboelover @callsignwidow @wintersquirrel @fluffygoffpanda @picketniffler @bbyanarchist @jeewrites

[asraindarkness]

If it’s okay, not necessarily BuckTommy but -

This season feels SO weird. It’s even weirder because for the first time they had a long time to plan it - they knew they were renewed for a Season 8 early into Season 7. So much so that, for the first time, they let the season end with a cliffhanger. Multiple, even.

And they they dropped all of them in a rushed and unsatisfactory way. If they didn’t want S7’s plots to continue on to 8, they could’ve ended them in S7. Never bring Ortiz or Gerard back. But instead, they went with the oddest choice and created a nice cliffhanger, only to disappoint pretty much everyone.

But for me it’s more than that. It’s also the way the characters don’t always feel like them. You’re telling me Buck never went into a deep dive about queer history or rights when he discovered he’s bi?? that Maddie would make the making men gay comment?? that Chimney wouldn’t talk to Hen about the possible second pregnancy?? I could go on and on.

And the dynamics also feel… broken. We barely have friendship moments, at all. Buddie this season feels weird, like Eddie doesn’t really want to be bothered by Buck. Hen and Chim are barely communicating. The firefam doesn’t have moments outside of emergencies (save that montage of them asking Bobby for help).

It feels like the writers have stopped knowing how to write these characters and their dynamics. And for me the found family that I fell in love with at first watch feels gone, you know?

i’ve been saying this since s6!

like aren’t they tried of keep writing buck the same all the time??? he doesn’t get promoted on his job that he’s fucking good at it, they had a kind of story about it when buck wanted to be captain in s6 and then bridge fall happened and buck was a fucking powerhouse in it and i thought they finally gonna show buck more that just a young goofy firefighter that thinks on his feet, show them he’s a leader but then they dropped it.

he doesn’t get into lasting relationship and is always chasing one and apparently now he’s gonna forget his character’s growth and gonna be right back in s1. it’s like buck’s always gonna be the boyish bratt they made in s1 when he was 25/6 not a 33yo man!

eddie can’t fucking move on for 6/7 years and tries constantly to make a mom out of everything woman he dates but now a confession and a random priest apparently healed him like he was possessed not fucking mentally traumatized!

madney are most of the times are dealing with doug that comes out like random jump scares. maddie had 2 stories last season both was about her trauma with him. yes you can’t heal from something like that for a long time or possibly never but for god’s sake that woman raised his brother as his own child when she was still a child herself and what did 911 do with this part of her? NOTHING

and you don’t need me talk about hemren’s endless suffering

and where is athena’s children???

it’s been a mess since s6 but now it’s wors cuz tim starts writing 5 minutes before they start shooting. i said it 100 times the only thing good about s7 was buck’s bi arc. they make a big deal out of problems and solve them in most childish ways in the same episode!

i know it’s basically a soap opera but ffs it’s not a fantasy. they pulled dead wife no.2 cuz it’s a soap but in what word a child can land a plane?

honestly after i reed that tim rewatched the whole thing before writing for bi buck i was sure the show gonna back to its root where chim and hen are besties and hen and athena spend time together etc etc, but apparently all he got from that is abby had a boyfriend named tommy

[twilightkitkat]

Oh my god, that's such a good cosplay, especially with the face paint detailing. It looks just like him if he came to life.

As for my idea I think it'd actually work better with Stryker than Francis now that I think about it.

I think it'd be more of a crack AU where Deadpool has to try not to die to shitty animatronic caricatures of the X-men. Because they're so famous that of course someone would capitalize on it. Except Stryker uses it as a cover to lure kids into the back and promises to make them heroes like the X-men in exchange for letting him "experiment"... but we all know how that goes.

Wade would be one of those former experiments who managed to escape and is returning to finish it once and for all. He initially scoped out the pizza place during the day, and saw nothing too suspicious. He actually seemed to get along fine with the Colossus rendition. But he felt oddly on edge, especially the oddly familiar glare of a yellow and blue animatronic... it reminded him of someone he thought was long gone by now.

But that's even more motivation to try to destroy this scheme once and for all, right? So he decides to take up the night shift. And holy shit it was not at ALL like it was during the day...

He'd have to suffer through the nights barely managing to hang on. But here's the thing: Wade was annoyed, but never outright terrified like the previous workers. Why? Stryker's false promises might not have made him a hero, but they sure as hell made him a monster.

So when Colossus, his friend during the day, breaks in and kills him... well, it takes Wade about ten minutes to get back in working order. Fuck, that's gonna hurt in the morning...

And so begins the process of him guarding the place at night while trying to investigate when he can sneak out of the room, then coming during the day to analyze what the fuck Stryker did to these animatronics' programming.

But despite the fact that pretty much all the animatronics seemed to be ready to kill him, there was one that hadn't moved from his station at all. One who was a bit more unnerving than the others, gaze punctuated with something akin to awareness. Something... oddly human.

(Wade's memories of being under Stryker's thumb were blurry at best and repressed at worst, but he could swear it was familiar. But he must be crazy, right? Stryker may have figured out how to fuck with human DNA but he couldn't put human consciousness into machines...)

Wolverine hadn't moved from the stage at all. He just stood there, eyes fixed straight ahead, although Wade could swear that sometimes his eyes flicked straight toward the camera. He was still and silent, the only one Wade didn't have to defend himself against. He didn't move. That was, until the fifth night.

i can't believe i havent posted this absolute ICON in my tumblr yet

[heres Michael Afton fanart!!!]

[mythalism]

Wait.. so when anon said we traded a few thousand deaths for millions in southern Thedas, are they suggesting that lifting the veil would only cause a few thousand deaths ?

IIRC from what Solas says In trespasser and later shown in the DAV artbook (showing what would happen if rook fails to stop Solas and Solas successfully removes the veil), then taking down the veil was supposed to lead to widespread death across all thedas at minimum OR just straight up kill everyone except the ancient elves.

If it comes down to numbers then losing southern Thedas is still less than what they would've lost if Solas lifted the veil.

However, I still think we should've seen the veil getting removed. If not as the true ending then at least as a game over / fail state in the game. It's been years building up to this moment so at least show us what would happen!

the games have been dodgy and inconsistent about exactly the level of casualty the falling of the veil would cause. based on what solas says in trespasser, i always interpreted "the death of your world" or whatever to be more metaphorical as in the death of the world as we know it, a complete change in reality, a permanent change in peoples way of life, a dissolution of current beliefs and systems, etc. maybe that was me giving both solas and bioware too much credit LMAO. i never really thought of it as "literally everyone is going to die because demons".

but veilguard really did lean into this interpretation (snore.... boring!) with what we see in the prologue. rook also does confront solas in one conversation and estimates the deaths at "hundreds? thousands?" and im pretty sure solas affirms that it would be in the thousands, but that the deaths would be on his conscience. i think they went this route to justify why it was going to stay up in the end, but imo its bad, lazy, and completely contradicts everything we learn in trespasser. literally the point of trespasser is to show us the horrible catastrophe that the veils existence caused in the first place.

solas's decision to bring down the veil and kill "thousands" as collateral damage from demons is not just being weighed against the collateral damage cause by the blight in the south and the evanuris's interference across thedas, he is weighing it against the mortality of every single elf that has ever lived and ever will live, the life of every spirit corrupted into a demon both in the past and forever (something we know he considers to be a fate worse than death, according to his memory of his battle where he sacrificed spirits) and the life of every single mage lost to demonic position, both now and forever. he is also not weighing it in terms of literal deaths, but general suffering. the veil is also responsible for the enslavement and poverty of all elves, on top of their mortality. its responsible for the existence of the mage circles, every single abuse that occurs within them, and every single mage tranquilized. its actually ridiculously unequal. solas literally invented death. of course a few thousand more lives are meaningless to him? what is a few thousand against the literal millions already on his head? trespasser makes this clear as we walk through the vir'dirthara and witness the final memories of the elves that were crushed under falling buildings throughout the empire. veilguard..... hopes we forget that part.

its truly the most cranked to the max, fantasy version of the trolley problem. i think the question pre-veilguard was intended to be analogous to anders decision to blow up the chantry to incite the mage rebellion. its not necessarily should you pull the lever and direct the trolley, or even if the ends justify the means. i think it was intended to be about whether or not he himself had the right to make that decision for the rest of the world, especially considering he is Pride manifested. its less about the cost-benefit analysis of mass casualties to create major societal change and more about an exploration of the things that drive people to the point of such radical action. why did anders feel he had no choice but to blow up the chantry? why did solas feel he had no choice but put up the veil? why does he feel he has no choice to tear it back down? what has driven him to be able to make such impossibly awful moral decisions with such callous ease? and the answer to both is that they were pushed to the limit by the evils their societies were committing. were they right to respond with further, indiscriminate violence? no, of course not. but its a story. we can sympathize with the way they were pushed to the edge and lost themselves in the process.

it comes back to the dehumanization of leadership theme that is all over inquisition and has foundations in veilguard that are never actually realized. solas literally tells rook they never had what it takes to make the sacrifices that leadership requires. and its kind of presented as a villain monologue but HES RIGHT? rook barely makes any difficult decisions in comparison to the inquisitor or solas, even the sacrifice of a single city is a drop in the bucket compared to what solas has done, and rook does it without question and with little remorse. a decision had to be made, and they made it. just like he did.

inquisition was all about how leadership or participation within a corrupt institution makes monsters of us all. leliana struggles with the callous killer she's become at divine justinia's behest (actually a wonderful parallel for solas x mythal now that i think about it), bull has to struggle to unlearn the teachings of the qun by choosing his friends over his duty to his people, cassandra grapples with the horrible truth of the seekers and vows to reform them, thom rainier confronts his literal war crime and accepts responsibility for not just killing a family, but for ordering others to carry it out and bloodying their hands in the process. the INQUISITOR is forced to SIT IN JUDGEMENT and possibly SENTENCE PEOPLE TO DEATH OR TORTURE FOR THEIR CRIMES. what gives them the right?????? divine approval from andraste???? what about when you find out thats all a lie and continue to proliferate the rumor anyway because its politically helpful???? what about in hushed whispers? when the inquisitor destroys an entire world to return to their own without a second thought? its wrong, bad, it should never have existed. you erase it from existence without a single thought towards all the lives that will cease to exist and not one of your companions bats an eyelash. what gave you the right to erase that world? what if the people living in it really liked it? you wouldn't know, you didnt ask anyone other than leliana. i truly am starting to believe that veilguard was designed to deliver on this and then had to pivot for whatever reason (EA perhaps, according to those tweets). the natural conclusion to this story would have been the veil coming down, but not by solas's decision alone, or by him at all. even if you are right, you cannot change the world alone, or the process will break you. you cannot make decisions that weigh the lives of millions without losing your humanity in the process. we saw it happen to anders. ghost-varric even has a line about this in veilguard where he says something about solas seeing his attachments as a weakness, when really they are a strength. the lesson solas needed to learn was not that the veil should actually stay up and he should move on, but that only gods made decisions like the fate of the world, and as he always says, he is not a god. there could have been a better way, if he trusted those around him. the regret demon in the callback actually says this nearly verbatim, which is part of the reason i think this was the original intention. i genuinely think the plan was that the veil would come down but by rook's hand and that the good endings would have involved using your faction connections to figure out how to take the veil down safely and build a new thedas, without the veil but also without the elvhen empire of old bc that shit sucked. it would have taken the entire world coming together to figure out the best way forward, and would have freed solas from the burden of leadership that was actively polluting his spirit into pride, while teaching him the value of teamwork, as cheesy as that sounds. this also is the fufillment of his role as a trickster god - he needs to catalyze ragnarok. i genuinely think this was the original intention because it is so obvious in his writing its insane LMFAO. but him not being the one to usher in that change would be another way to release him from the mantle of trickster god that he didnt want in the first place. the bad ending could have been that without faction and community support, you aren't able to find a peaceful way to bring it down and rook, in a moment of desperation, ends up sowing the same violence and destruction that solas did, the perfect mirror. the lesson should have been that such foundational change and dissolving our current structures is terrifying, but we can build a better world - together, not alone.

its crazy to me to think that legend of korra book 4 pulled this off with opening the spirit portals and dragon age failed to LMFAOOOO.

[kimbapchan]

Dropping by to fangirl I love your comics both the svsss one and reverse!TGCF. And wanted to ask how do you go about making the backstories while similar theyre pretty different from the original and how do you find the balance of staying mostly faithful to source material while still making it super unique?

I’m a huge fan and I love your work and look forward to seeing your next chapters always(not rushing never just expressing excitement for your art).♥️

Aww thankyou so much! I am so happy you like my comics! I just really try to carefully plan everything. I try to make simple goals for each au like:

With TGCF reversed au, I make sure everyone stays at least 90% in character despite their new switched roles

In SVSSS au, I dont want to spoil, everything will be different and not everyone seems OOC but some events will be familiar and faithful to SVSSS (not PIDW) and Bingge will suffer. 😈

[mae-gi-writes]

let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (2)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part two | next part >>>

"He can't be serious."

You sigh and watch the wine in your glass slosh around, creating beautiful patterns along the rim of your glass, "unfortunately, I think he is."

Your cousin has on an expression you can't quite place, in-between disgust and pure confusion. He's at the microwave, busy heating up some popcorn. Having adamantly asked you to sit on his couch while taking care of the snacks, you thus decided to watch Sakura play with her legos along the carpet, keeping a watchful eye in case one might end up in her mouth.

"He's only marrying her for the money," is what he concludes after a small pause.

You snort into your glass, take a sip of it and allow the bitterness to coat your tongue, "I wish that were true."

"How would you know that?"

" 'Tsumu, is it written stupid on my forehead?" your own wrinkles in distaste, "I see the way he looks at her. He's--" you choke on your words then, the knot in your throat growing tenfold, "--he's in love with her."

"Who is in love, mum?"

"No one at all," you're quick to answer upon noticing Sakura has been listening in. She normally doesn't, a kid that enjoys staring off into space and conjuring make-believe stories, where there's magic and only happy endings. You try and force a smile onto your face, "how's the house construction for Princess Peach going?"

Your daughter lets out a laugh as she presents to you a square that looks nothing like a house. Still, you coo at it, "so pretty! I bet princess peach would love it."

Your conversation with Atsumu has to wait until Sakura is tucked away in her uncle's bedroom and has listened to three stories about princesses, before you manage to join him back onto the couch where he's busy watching a rerun of volleyball matches.

You don't get to see him much now, courtesy of the fact that he's a national athlete and has been booked at the big games representing Japan. You couldn't be prouder, and yet his permanent absence does still leave a big hole in your heart whenever he flies over a thousand miles. Atsumu had been your rock since you guys were kids, defending you on the school playground and dragging you around to parties and birthdays without your consent. He'd taken care of you as a big brother would and he still is. You don't know how to repay this kind of kindness.

You're just thankful that he has one week off so that you can rant and ramble about the unfairness of the world. At least with Atsumu here, it appeases the pain, if just a little.

"Have you signed the papers yet?" he asks, handing you the bowl of popcorn.

You grab a handful, popping onto of them into your mouth as you answer, "not yet."

"You should ask him for alimony, at least."

"I'm not sure I'd win that, 'Tsumu."

"Still," his nose wrinkles in distaste, "this feels unfair. And why are you the one taking care of Sakura on your own? And I don't mean the parenting part. What about the finances? Why can't he contribute?"

"Because he's a dick and he thinks he can get away with it," you're glad that the tv is providing a welcome distraction, for you can't bear to look into Atsumu's eyes, "I'm just going to sign it and be done with it. I don't want Sakura to suffer any longer. It's not fair on her, she barely sees him."

"Well maybe it's time you find someone else too, y/n."

Your thoughts suddenly flash to Kuroo's beautiful smile and you have to physically force yourself to keep from grinning. You can feel the heat from the back of your neck and come up with the excuse that it's still too early and that Sakura wouldn't like her world shattering just for your happiness.

But it seems that Atsumu knows you better than that, for he asks, "are you blushing?"

"Wha--" Panic skitters through you, "no. No, why would I blush?"

His eyebrows raise, "you’ve met someone then?"

"N--No. Not at all. It's--" you realize you're blundering when his smile widens slightly, "it's not like that."

"So who's the lucky guy?"

"Atsumu."

"Y/N," his eyes glisten with playfulness and he nudges your shoulder, "c'mon. Tell me!"

You let out another breath and mumble, "He’'s not someone I met. He's...Just someone I know."

"And how do you know him?"

"He's Sakura's PE coach."

Atsumu lets out a whistle, "well that--" he shakes his head, "--that's not what I imagined at all."

"Shut up."

"So you like him?"

"It's not--It's really not like that. I--" you try and rack your brain for anything to say because this is really embarrassing. Who has a crush at the age of twenty-nine? Practically all of your friends are already married and have kids, talk about husband problems and how they wish for their youth back. And you? Here you are, thinking you might have a crush. You're no better than a middle school girl.

Which is why you say, "I don't even know him."

"You just think he's cute?"

"Precisely. But there are a lot of cute guys. It doesn't mean anything."

“Right,” Atsumu lets out a breath before he leans back into the couch, “but you know what I think?”

You hum in response.

“I think you should get laid—“

You almost spit out your wine in shock, gape at him in horror, “Atsumu!”

Again, your brain goes into overdrive at the thought of Kuroo and his sweaty chest, the breadth of his shoulders, the way he just towers over your small frame…

NO! You slam onto your mental brakes and shake your head, “you’re disgusting.” You spit out.

“I’m telling the truth princess. I really believe in the power of s—“

“Don’t—“ you cut him off with a raised palm, “don’t even say it.”

“So tell me,” Atsumu proceeds to wriggle his brows suggestively which makes it even harder to stop the blush igniting along your face, “this guy, how handsome is he? Must be pretty good-looking for you to be blushing like that.”

“Shut up ‘Tsumu, it’s not like that at all. Just stop. He's like--half of my age."

“Alright alright,” he laughs his deep-bellied laughter and wraps an arm around you in a gentle, comforting hug, “but if ever you do get lais with him, you gotta tell me.”

“Mum, what does ‘getting laid’ mean?”

“Oh!” Your head snaps to the doorway only to see your daughter all sleepy-eyed and clutching a spare pillow.

“Sakura!” You scramble to over, casting your cousin a scowl as you do, “c’mon, sweetie. Let’s get you back to bed.”

You hear Atsumu’s laughter follow you all the way to the bedroom.

————

It’s weird when Sakura isn’t around.

It’s almost like you’ve lost your purpose. But then again, you should be taking advantage of this right? That’s what everyone keeps telling you.

But alas, something in you cannot just let yourself rest for fear that your thoughts may go into a black hole of what ifs and images of Sakura with your ex-husband’s wife —well, almost ex-husband— and thus decide to take on a last-minute order.

It’s a simple enough request— a birthday cake. While you usually plan events from A to Z, this order merely requested a cake of any kind. So that’s how you spend your Saturday morning — creating a dough and sugar decorations that would fit into the theme of “Halloween”, as per what your client has asked.

You drive up to the pin location around four in the afternoon, strolling through the streets until the google maps signals you that you’ve arrived to your destination. Turning off the ignition at the said house — a beautiful Victorian home adorned with columns twice your height and size — you open your door only to come face to face with a familiar pair of golden eyes.

“Coach?”

“Kosuke-san?”

You both stare. And stare.

It’s shock that comes first. Before realization slaps you in the face, “oh!” You quickly bow in hopes that you haven’t been staring too long, “good afternoon, Coach. What—What brings you here?”

"Kosuke-san," he bows and looks just as surprised as you are, before he notices the way you're struggling to juggle to cake in your arms, "here, let me help you."

Without hesitation, he opens the door a bit wider and closes the gap between you, lifting the box from your arms, "jeez how heavy is this thing?"

You let out a small laugh, "it's all the icing sugar."

"Come in," he gestures with his chin for you to follow and as you step into the threshold he continues, "so when you said you were an event planner--I didn't expect you to be a cake designer too."

"It's an extra service I provide," you shrug, "I'm a patissier by career. Event planning is just something that keeps the cash flowing."

Kuroo pauses in mid-step then, "you're a patissier?"

"Yeah. Well, I was," you chuckle, "but anyway, it's been a while since I've baked now. So I hope it's just as good as you expect it to be."

Kuroo opens his mouth only to be cut off by a horde of boys stumbling into what appears to be the kitchen area. Now that you have a better look, it's all white marble and golden taps and golden handles on every piece of furniture to match. In any case, this house screams of money and for a minute, you feel a bit small and insignificant in your stained-flour blouse, the splotches of paint across your faded out jeans, courtesy of Sakura's art skills.

"You must be y/n!" one of the boys detaches himself. His orange hair glistens in the sun streaming through the window and he's a bit shorter than Kuroo. He beams at you and you can't help but be reminded of a puppy, "thanks for taking my order on such a short notice!"

"No worries at all. You must be...Hinata?"

"Yes!" he shakes your hand, "so I see you've met Kuroo! He's one of my best mates! We used to play against each other back in high school."

"Really now?" you quirk a brow in Kuroo's direction, watching the muscles of his arms ripple as he places the cake in an orderly manner inside the fridge. His voice is muffled when he replies, "yeah, he's the midget that made us jump for our lives. I hated him."

"You're just sour because you lost that one time," Hinata pouts, "but anyway, this is the rest of the ex-team!"

And so that's how you get a round of names that you will probably forget in five minutes and Kuroo, having seen the confusion in your eyes, can't help but laugh to himself because the sight is somewhat adorable. And he knows he shouldn't find it, he knows you're off limits because first, you're a mom from the school and two, you're married and have a kid. It's definitely not at all appropriate for his eyes to be roaming over your curves or to linger over the light glittering in your eyes.

Get a hold of yourself, he mentally whacks the back of his head.

“Where’s the little munchkin?” Kuroo asks you once you’re all settled after having been wheedled by Hinata to stay (“please please please you did such a great job on the cake” is what he’d begged). You’re now perched onto a plush lounge chair, a mixture of juice and vodka in your hand and watching the nth match of pingpong between someone whose name you forget and the other whose name sounds like Daichi. Though yoj might be wrong.

You’re glad for Kuroo’s presence, for even if he is a stranger, he still feels familiar to you right now in this setting.

“Sakura’s with her father today,” you explain with a slight smile in hopes it doesn’t give any of that bitterness away.

Kuroo opens his mouth like he wants so say something — anything— but you beat him to it, “we’re not together. Not anymore.”

His eyes widen with realization and you see it, the way he’s putting all the puzzle pieces together, “I’m sorry to hear,” is what he finally musters.

“Nothing be to be sorry about.”

“So… the name Kosuke…”

“Is my maiden name,” you reply, “I’ve never changed names. Looking back, I think I’ve done the right thing.”

Kuroo isn’t sure whether he should be mad for you or hurt in your place. After all, who in their right mind would leave their wife and their toddler daughter?

He deals with little kids every day, so he knows exactly what they’re like on a daily basis, and it’s not easy.

“I’m sorry,” it seems that’s the only thing he knows how to say.

“Really,” you laugh at him, “how can you be sorry when it’s not even your fault?”

Kuroo shrugs and grins bashfully because yes, it’s true and he still doesn’t know what to say. So he decides to ask, “And Sakura… how is she?”

“She doesn’t realize it. She’s too young,” your smile fades slightly, “in a way, I hope that’s a good sign.”

His heart clenches at the thought of you raising this kid alone. He can’t even imagine it. It makes sympathy swim inside his chest like an ache he can’t quite ignore. The look on your face suggests that you’ve been let down and he has the sudden impulse to tell you that everything will be alright, will be okay.

But he can’t do that. You’ll think of him as a creep. So he bites his tongue and look away instead, at the war of pingpong ongoing between his two friends. In a way, he’s glad for the distraction as he sips on his beer.

“And you?” Your voice piping up surprises him. His eyes flit back to your face. You continue, “married? Engaged?”

Kuroo’s throat bobs as he chuckles, “no. None of that.”

“How come?” You take a sip of your cocktail, “you don’t seem like the type to wound up alone with a hundred cats.”

“No no,” he can’t help but laugh because one, you’re hella attractive to him; tiny and frail and looking like he can fit you in a box no problem and two; you’re actually entertaining to be around. Something that he’s found lacking in his previous dates, “I just didn’t find anyone special yet.”

“Well there's no rush,” you lift your cocktail as you speak, “and anyway, you’re still young. You should enjoy it while you can.”

“Young?” Kuroo’s face breaks into a grin as his golden orbs glimmer down at you, amused, “how old do you think I am?”

"Uhm--I don't know. Early twenties?"

"I'm twenty-five," he gives you a look, "how old are you?"

"Twenty-eight. Going on twenty-nine."

"You look like you've just gotten out of college though," Kuroo's smirk is visible even behind his beer as he chugs down most of his drink, "if I didn't know better, I'd say you and Sakura were sisters."

"Not even," you retort, "And excuse me, but you look younger than twenty-five."

"I make up for it in height," he peers down at you, "but I suppose you wouldn't understand that considering--"

Your arm whacks at his shoulder before you know it. A playful gesture surely, but one that you don't really use on your daughter's teachers. Let alone ones that have bulging muscles and a figure to die for. You stare at your hand for a long minute, your brain going blank, before your eyes whip up to his and horror seeps into your gaze.

"Oh my god!" you screech and recoil like he's the one that had slapped you, "I'm so sorry, I--It's just--automatic you know, my cousin--he's got the same humor and--well I--I'm really sorry--"

The guffaw that leaves Kuroo's mouth is so loud that it causes heads to turn, even the ones invested in the ping pong game. He bends over while holding his stomach and the initial panic that you have wears off upon seeing him look so joyously happy. You can't help but chuckle along.

"What?" you say when he's regained most of his breath, "what's so funny?"

"You are," he grins, before it turns mischievous, "senpai."

"Hey--now that's going a bit too far!"

You're not quite sure what time you get home that night. But you do know that you've gone to sleep with a smile on your face.

————

"Kuroo sensei! He stole my ball!"

A typical Monday morning where Kuroo is busy surveilling the fifth graders as they decided to play basketball during their free time. He's not one to deny such requests, actually enjoys watching them play and seeing them grow day by day, developing their techniques. But to say that he's a bit in the clouds would be an understatement.

"Kuroo sensei!"

He finally snaps back to reality. Blinks down at the tiny boy with the biggest scowl he's ever seen yet, "yes I'm sorry. What's wrong?"

"He stole my ball!" the young boy points at one of the chubby classmates who seems quite content in playing by himself, "and now he's saying that it was his!"

Kuroo can't help but raise a brow. He's taught that class before, knows exactly that the chubby little kid doesn't have that many friends, including the boy standing before him.

"I don't think he stole your ball."

It's a bold statement, but from the way the tiny student squirms and averts his gaze, Kuroo believes he is right, "but--but he did! He really did steal my ball!"

"I have an idea," Kuroo bends down to his height, not able to restrain the grin along his face at the pout forming on the student's lips, "why don't you go and play with him? He seems a bit lonely."

"Yeah that's because he never talks to anyone in class."

"Then why don't you be the first? hm?" he nudges the boy's shoulder, "show your class a good example. Come on."

With a bit more reassurance, the said student goes over and Kuroo watches fondly as the two exchange awkward greetings before the chubby student nods his head, glancing at his PE coach like he'd just dropped a bomb.

Five minutes later, they're playing together like best friends.

And Kuroo goes back to daydreaming.

He's not usually like this. So out of it, so inside his own head that he can't see the outside world. But ever since that party he's been wondering when's the next time he'd get to see you, to talk to you. Not just as Sakura's mum but as someone, maybe a friend. He's addicted to the way your eyes curve up before your lips are even drawn into a smile, like you're sharing a special secret with him before the world gets a flash of blinding white teeth. He enjoys watching you move about because you're just so tiny, holding cups with two hands and always having to tiptoe about to find stuff. But most of all, that conversation with you had him dreaming of more. He wants to know you, that initial curiosity turning to what he'd define as stupid infatuation.

Yes, Kuroo Tetsurou has a crush, and he's not quite sure how to feel about it.

"--Earth to Kuroo?"

He blinks. In front of him stands his colleague and friend Bokuto. Having faced each other off countlessly during their high school days, it was a miracle and lovely surprise to see him at the new year induction. Since then, they’d been a constant pair inside the school walls and creating assignments, organizing and coordinating events had never been so fun.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and rubs a hand over his face.

“You look like death, mate,” Bokuto leans on the fencing that separates the courts from the building, “why the long face?”

“Haven’t slept well,” Kuroo says, but he knows he’s not convincing when Bokuto’s eyebrows raise in question.

“You? Firm believer of 10hrs of sleep every day?” His friend shakes his head, “no way. Tell me what happened. What’s got you looking so dazed?”

“It’s noth—“ he halts. Maybe he can find some advice? Bokuto’s known for being a badass romantic after all. Maybe he can have something wise to say.

Like tell Kuroo you’re way out of his league and— what the hell is he even thinking, dating someone’s mom? Someone older than him, at that?

The words burst out of his mouth without warning:

“I think I like someone.”

Bokuto merely blinks. His face lights up, “well that explains it. Who?”

Kuroo’s arm swings to the back to scratch his neck, “it’s… one of the student’s mom’s.”

The last few words are said in a mumble, causing Bokuto to lean into his friend with a wide-eyed gaze, surprise flitting across his face when he realizes what Kuroo has just said.

“No,” the grey-haired man’s mouth turns into an “o” as he stares his friend down, “no way. Who?”

“I don’t think you know her. Sakura Kosuke?” Kuroo prompts.

“Sakura Kosuke…” Bokuto shakes his head in thought, “haven’t heard of that one. But—-Kuroo! I thought older women weren’t your style!”

“She’s not that old,” Kuroo’s face flames, “only by three years.”

"Who would've thought," Bokuto breathes out with a chuckle when a thought suddenly occurs to him, "wait-- it's not the chick who came by with the cake last weekend?"

Kuroo nods and awkwardly clears his throat, "yeah, the very same."

"Ha! If only I knew! I would've done my best to set you up!"

"It's not funny!"

But now that Bokuto has some leverage of information, he's definitely not going to let it go and Kuroo kind of regrets spilling the beans to him, of all people. That, and the probably fact that he’ll be spreading this news like wildfire across their friend group.

Thankfully, Kuroo’s schedule makes it that it’s hard to think about anything but work since midterm season is approaching for his other primary school colleagues. There’s after-school shows and events for every single activity and since he’s being asked to help for every single thing (because he’s the preschool teacher and, yeah! How come you don’t have any events planned for your preschoolers?!). Which means that he doesn’t have actual time to think about you, not even when he’s finally home and mustering up enough strength to brush his teeth, take a shower and dump himself in bed.

He does, however, collide head-first into you one week day as you’re hurrying out of the principal’s office, looking flustered and red-faced.

“Kosuke-san,” he takes a longing glance your rosy cheeks and felt his hand tingle with want. Just to see if it’s as soft as he imagines it to be? “You okay?”

“Kuroo sensei,” you run a hand through your locks and causing your hair to get even more disheveled, “hi, sorry— how are you? It’s been a while.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?” You’re looking a bit more greenish now that he sees you in the light.

“Yes I—“ your hands flutter up before you in an attempt to find an explanation, “—just came back from a meeting with Sakura’s teacher.”

“Oh?” Kuroo frowns, “what—nothing bad, I hope?”

“It’s just—well,” you try to chuckle but it comes out like a whimper, “apparently she got into a fight with one of the other girls in her class. Got a few injuries herself so…”

Your eyes are wet and it seems you’re half a second away from a breakdown. So it’s only natural for Kuroo to take a few steps closer to you before he whispers a soft, “hey hey, you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m sorry,” you take a shaky breath, “it’s just been a long, hard morning.”

“Yeah,” Kuroo bites onto his lower lip, not sure what to do to make things better as he watches your chest move up and down in staggered breaths.

That’s when an idea hits him. He makes a grab for the back of your elbow and the smallness, the thinness of your limb takes him be surprise as he steers you out of the corridor.

And when your wide eyes flutter up to his, he quickly says something along the lines of, “I know a place. It’ll make you feel better.”

That’s how he finds himself dragging you to the nearby coffee place he always frequents— called Espresso Block— a small vintage bakery run by none other than his good friend Osamu Miya, as part of his expansion branch from his onigiri restaurants.

"Y/N!" Osamu greets as soon as he spots your face trailing behind Kuroo's tall figure. He pushes the raven-haired man aside with impatience before sauntering over and wrapping you up in a bear hug.

"Osamu," you breathe in the scent of baked croissants lingering on his uniform, "you're choking me."

"Oh--sorry," he drops you and grins sheepishly, that is before he registers that you're together with one of his friends, causing his eyes to narrow, "how do you two know each other?"

"Kosuke-san is Sakura's mother and she was having a bad day," Kuroo explains before he turns to you, "how do you know him?"

Did you imagine the five-second frostiness that came from his tone? Maybe not, as you reply, "he's my cousin. We grew up together. I taught him how to play volleyball back in primary school."

Kuroo's relief is instant. Thank god, it's not a close friend, nor is it a romantic partner candidate. His mood brightens instantly and without further ado he proceeds to lead you towards a table in the back.

He doesn’t fail to ignore the way Osamu’s eyes are following him all the way back to his table as he carries the two drinks — strawberry latte for him and a black coffee for you — and Kuroo can just hope that his dear friend can keep his distance until you've gone.

Becayse he's quite certain he will be subject to interrogation. Especially if you're that close to Osamu.

Placing the tray on the table, he takes out the mug and pushes it into your hands before finding his seat opposite you. You grab the cup between your two palms and take a deep breath as Kuroo sips on his latte.

The sweetness of the strawberry never disappoints. It’s refreshing and brings a smile to his lips. Osamu sure knows his desserts.

“I'm really sorry about what happened earlier," you seem to have composed yourself from earlier. You take a small sip of your coffee and Kuroo watches in amusement as you shudder.

"Do you want some milk with that?" he can't help but ask.

You nod and look shameful, and Kuroo's heart squeezes with sympathy. Your eyes are tinged with aprons of blue and there are tired lines lining your eyes and the corners of your mouth. It's only when he comes back -- from having gotten some steamed milk from Osamu and a suggestive wink to match -- you dip your head into a nod and mumble out a soft 'thanks', eyes glued to the way the dark brown turned into a creamy latte.

"You could've asked me for a latte," Kuroo smiled to show that he didn't mind at all. But you winced.

"I'm sorry--"

"Don't say sorry," he softened, "just--next time, you can tell me what you want, Kosuke-san. I'm not here to bite you...unless you want me to."

Your eyes flit up to his in surprise and Kuroo pinks at his words. They'd just slipped out on their own. It's not like he'd wanted to sound flirty when you're looking all shaky and worse for wear. He quickly clear his throat and tries to change the subject, "how are Sakura's injuries?"

"She's fine, got herself a bruised lip."

His eyebrows raise in surprise, "woah, that's still something."

"Yeah," you mutter and take another sip. And then another, "I hope this doesn't become a habit."

"I've taught Sakura since the start of this semester," Kuroo leans forward, elbows propped onto the table, "and I can tell you--she's anything but violent."

"I really hope you're right about this. I can't have her running around beating up everyone."

Kuroo stifled a small laugh, "to be honest, I think it's good she knows how to defend herself."

You shoot him a look and he can't help but laugh. And it's so contagious, the way it booms out of him like a melody, that you cannot restrain yourself from joining in.

"You're right," you say in-between chuckles.

"Maybe she got her mom's feisty spirit," Kuroo adds.

"No way. I was as silent as a mouse," you retort, "if she got anything like that, it's probably from her father's--"

You halt in mid-conversation, wanting to bite down your tongue for even mentioning him and quickly flash Kuroo a bashful smile in hopes he'll just brush it off, "sorry, let's not talk about him--"

"Kosuke-san, you really have to stop saying sorry all the time," Kuroo says with a grin, "it's not healthy."

"I know, I'm--" you catch yourself and he bursts out laughing once more at your face, "don't say it! No matter what!" he chides.

"Stop--" but you're grinning from ear to ear, cheeks flushed and eyes sparkling, "--Kuroo sensei, I hope you're not as playful with your students or they'd never learn anything from you."

"Course not," he winks, "I keep that solely for the pretty ladies."

His suggestive tone makes you blush despite it all and you look down at your coffee with the blush blazing so hard across your cheeks you swear everyone can see its colour from afar.

"I don't know how it is at home though," Kuroo's voice brings you out of your small bubble of warmth, "it must be tough handling Sakura all alone. Do you ever take a break?"

"Well, she goes to see her dad ever two weeks. But other than that, she's always with me unless my parents decide to come over. Which isn't as often as I would like."

"Why's that?"

"They live in the countryside and have a farm. It's hard for them to take days off, and I don't blame them not wanting to be around," your voice lowers to a mutter at the last few words, "especially after what happened with the marriage and all..."

"Marriages fail every time," Kuroo says gently then, "that too, isn't your fault."

"I wish my parents believed that," you let out a small laugh, "but they're right. We were too young to get married."

"But you have Sakura right? Isn't she worth it?"

His eyes, golden flecked and filled with so much hope and softness, meet yours from across the table. You suddenly feel a bit hot in your seat, wanting to squirm as you quickly look away from Kuroo's gaze because dear god, it's almost like he's ripping away, ripping apart every single layer of self-protection and preservation and reading you out like an open book.

"You're right," you clear your throat upon realizing he'd still been waiting for your response, "she is worth every single second. I wouldn't change anything about what happened. I just--I wish my parents could see it that way too."

"I think you spend a little too much time stressing about things you can't control," Kuroo takes another sip of his latte, "how about you learn to let go a bit? Maybe take the day off? Go hiking?"

"With Sakura?" you shake your head, "impossible, I--"

"Surely you have someone that can take care of her while you're gone," he tilts his head, jaw resting into one of his hands and making him appear all the more handsome.

Your thoughts flash to Atsumu. He's right, you could technically take a day off by dropping Sakura with the blonde. But she's not his responsibility and Atsumu has other priorities in his life rather than hang out with his niece. But Kuroo's persistence is strong and he makes you -- practically orders you -- to text him when he connects the dots that you two are also family.

"That guy can learn a thing or two about being responsible anyway," grins Kuroo, "so I'm sure he won't mind."

————

How did you end up here?

That's the question you keep asking yourself -- even when you're busy picking out your clothes only to realize that you barely have anything that's worth 'party material', even when you're attempting to do your makeup even though it's been almost three (or four?) years since you've tried to look your best because Sakura's wellbeing always came first.

Even when you're strapping up your black ankle boots, the question is getting drilled into your brain like a broken mixtape as you wonder whether this is a good idea after all.

"Go," Atsumu is firm when you call him for the nth time. It's five minutes until Kuroo's supposed to pick you up and feeling the pressure on your shoulders, you quickly decide to call your cousin in an emergency, "you have to do it, y/n. Stop making this all about Sakura. You need to be happy too."

"I am happy," was what you'd mumbled out in the phone receiver. You don't realize how tightly you're gripping the phone, so tight that your knuckles have turned white.

"I know you are, but you'll be happier if you live for yourself. At least for one night," Atsumu responds, "and Sakura's safe with me. And if ever there's an issue I'll call Osamu first to--"

"What?! No! No you call me first, okay?"

"Y/n please just relax. It's supposed to be a fun night."

You slump against the wall in defeat, "I don't even know why I'm doing this," you mumble mostly to yourself, though you're certain he can hear it too, "there's no point trying to prove that I'm content with my life. There are things that are going to leave me unsatisfied. I'm--I was fine with that, really."

"Are you though?" your cousin's voice is accusatory this time, "you're ready to live just for Sakura? Making her happy will make you happy too? Is this how it's supposed to work?"

"Technically yes, I'm her mother--"

"--And you've been left behind!"

The words are like a slap. You bite down onto your lower lip.

It draws blood.

You hiss, sucking on the skin as the metallic taste hits your tongue.

In truth, Atsumu has a point. You can't just live to make Sakura happy because that will ultimately destroy you. Not because she's not the only thing you need in your life. But because despite having your little girl being the center of your world, despite being able to sustain her with your career, you still feel like it's just yesterday when Aoi had upped and left you. His excuses, as pathetic as they had been, were arrows shooting straight into your heart. He left you crying into your pillow that night, hovering over your figure until you'd told him to 'get lost or I'll call the cops on you' before curling up on the small couch that you'd gotten rid of once he'd moved out for good.

So much pain. So much pain and haunted nights and obstacles that had come your way. That, along with caring for Sakura, had been a big hurdle. You remembered the long mornings, how hard it had been to drag yourself out of bed for the first few days. Atsumu had volunteered to stay with you then, giving you all the support you needed until you'd had enough strength to get back on your feet.

So he knew exactly what you'd gone through. Had seen it all first-hand. He wasn't kidding when he said you really needed to get laid. Somehow, he seems to have a valid point.

But it's been so long since you've left the dating scene that the thought of it makes you want to vomit.

"I'm sorry y/n, that wasn't cool." Atsumu's voice flows through the receiver like a lullaby and you take a deep, staggering breath, "I just--I know how hard it's been pulling your weight and caring for Sakura. It practically consumed your entire life. It's about time you get that motherfucker back for screwing things up--"

"Language," you tsk at him.

"You know what I mean," he replies impatiently, "So go out there, have fun. Get smashed. And at least do something to make you happy for a change. Alright?"

"Yeah okay," you mumble.

"And plus, you're with a bunch of guys that I know. They're cool. They'll keep an eye on you."

"Thanks mom."

"Anytime hun."

You can't help but giggle before you hear a car pulling up outside, "alright. I think my ride's here."

"Yeah, try to get laid okay--"

"Atsumu!" your cheeks flame, "I hope you're not saying all this in front of Sakura!"

A burst of laughter echoes from the receiver, "don't worry, miss Sakura is asleep. Have fun y/n! Take pictures!"

The drive there is less awkward than you'd imagined it to be, despite the fact that Kuroo's get-up does make your mouth salivate. And not just you. You realize a bunch of girls have him on their radar, from the stolen glances driven his way as you follow his broad back out of the parking and into the small terrace-looking entrance flanked by colored glowing palm trees.

"I haven't been in a club for like four years," you confess to him as you trudge into the queue. The air smells like cigarette and smoke. And something else. Something dangerous. It makes you giddy, you realize.

"Four years?" his eyes grow round as he looks down at you, "you have drunk before right? To the brink of passing out?"

"Like...maybe four years ago?"

His mouth opens, then closes. He shakes his head, a smile curving at the edges of his lips, "remind me not to drown you with tequila."

"I'll try my best."

You meet the rest of the gang upon stumbling into the club. It's dark and pulsating with music, with two dance floors separated by the DJ stationed on a platform right in the middle. Lights are bouncing off the space like crazy and all around you are moving bodies that writh and mold together until you're not sure where one ends and the other begins.

“Y/N! You’re here!” A drunk Hinata hooks an arm around your shoulder before steering you towards the bar, “you’re just in time! We were going for a round of lambos.”

“Lambos?” You balk and meet Kuroo’s eye, “you mean— Lamborgini’s?”

“Hell yeah!” Another one of the guys chimes in. It’s almost comical, the way they’re all stumbling against each other as you move like a congregation until you’re straight up in front of the barman.

“Ten Lambo’s please!” Hinata slams his card ontot he counter.

It brings back a wave of nostalgia, seeing the line of glasses and the way the bartender drops the alcohol in like he can do it with his eyes closed. You’re jostled and pressed against warm chests and shoulders, surrounded from all sides and yet, you feel safe with them all. That is, until you feel a soft brush against your elbow.

You turn to see Kuroo’s warm golden orbs.

“All okay?” He mouths to you.

You nod and give him a smile in return, and the grin that he cracks makes a troop of butterflies swoop into your stomach.

You look away just as Hinata thrusts a glass into your hands, “come y/n! This one’s on me!”

One shot becomes two. And two become three. Soon enough you find yourself on the dance floor and moving to the beat with one of the girls from the group— Yachi?— while the guys are trying to pay each other back their shots. The music vibrates through the floor up your body and flood your veins so that you get lost in it, ecstasy and the thrill of just being alive finally gushing through your brain, fogged up and amplified by the alcohol in your bloodstream.

It’s amazing. You feel free. Like nothing can stop you.

It’s honestly the best you’ve felt in a while.

After a while, you and Yachi decide to take a well-deserved break, stumbling over to the clustered seating space filled with red cushions as the boys scatter to find more alcohol. At this point you’re surprised that they’re still moving around and conscious, considering the amount they’ve drunk.

One of the boys— the one with the kind smile called Daichi— offers to get you guys some water as you take a seat, allowing your tired legs to take a break.

“I’m going to fine Hinata!” Yachi says into your ear and you nod before ushering her out of your way. There’s something between those two, a kind of tension that will develop into something more if they just allow it.

But you’re not one to meddle, not when your own love life’s a mess.

That’s when you notice.

It’s the lingering stare out of the corner of your peripheral that makes you turn your head.

Then you see him.

A tall, lanky man. He’s seated right opposite you, a drink in his hand and taking a swig. But there’s no mistake, for when his eyes meet yours across the room you can only jolt in shock.

You look away with embarrassment and disgust. Heat spreads to the back of your neck and goosebumps run up your arms. Suddenly, it’s a little too cold in this hot, sweaty club.

Why is he looking at you like that?

There’s no mistaking the intention. You risk one more glance and confirm that indeed, there’s a darkness in his eyes; the kind of a predator.

The kind that wants to strip you bare.

It’s unsetttling, unnerving.

Disgusting.

You don’t even hesitate. It’s like instinct for you jump off your seat with the only purpose to find Kuroo. But to your terror, the man starts to follow you. And soon enough it becomes a game of catch: of cat and mouse. You almost trip over your high heels as you push through the moving bodies as quickly as you can.

But the figure is there, hovering over you like a dark shadow that causes your heart to clench.

You bite back a whimper, pushing through a throng of girls as you frantically search for a sign of Kuroo’s familiar mop of hair. Or Hinata’s. Or just about anyone for that matter—

Bumping into a chest, you’re more than surprised as you let out a small yelp only to hear a familiar alto.

“Kosuke-san, everything alright?”

“K—Kuroo sensei,” your mumble is drowned in the beats of the music, eyes darting between his face and the dodgy man.

He’s now standing by the bar a few feet away from you. The same kind of withering stare that makes you wince.

Hurriedly, you turn to Kuroo and grip his shirt, wanting nothing more than to hide behind him, “I—uhm— there’s someone—“ the words jumble up as they pour out of your mouth and you find you can do nothing but grip his shirt for dear life, like Kuroo’s the only thing that can help you out of here.

Thankfully, he seems to understand your dilemma, for he puts a hand on your shoulder before steering you a little closer to him and away from the main path, a frown evident on his face, “what’s wrong Kosuke-san?”

But it’s only when he follows your fear-stricken eyes that Kuroo realizes there’s something — someone tormenting you. He recognizes the dark hunger, the prowling intent.

Instantly, his hand grips your waist. Tugs you closer.

You stumble into him, “Kuroo sensei—“

But Kuroo’s not having it. He stares the man down with a glower, longer body practically wrapped around yours in a protective embrace as he dares the man to do something, anything.

Try me, his eyes are saying, you’re not going to lay a single hand on her.

The stranger finally breaks eye contact after a few beats of silence and Kuroo keeps watch, golden eyes blazing until the man is nothing more but a memory of smoke as he disappears into the crowd.

Only then does he allow his hold to relax. Tilting down towards you. He murmurs out softly:

“He’s gone, Kosuke-san.”

You’re practically glued to him at this point, face buried in his chest and hands gripping so tightly onto his shirt that you might’ve grown claws. Kuroo nudges you gently once more, and that’s when you look up from the depths of his shirt.

The sight makes him almost coo because goddamnit even in the dim disco lights you look adorable. He has the sudden urge to pinch your cheeks and he’s glad his hands are somewhat occupied along your waist.

“You okay?” Is what he whispers.

You nod, looking a bit shaky and green int the face, “yeah—I’m—I’m fine. Thank you. He was—it scared me.”

“I know,” Kuroo draws away ever so slightly so he can have a better look at your face, “I’ll bring you home, alright?”

“No no it’s okay,” you shake your head and attempt a smile, but even Kuroo can see past those shaky lips, “you stay and have fun. I’ll call an Uber and—“

“Nonsense,” he grabs your elbow once more, “I’ll accompany you. C’mon.”

———

It’s definitely unnerving. It leaves you shaking with fear and you’re thankful for Kuroo’s strong grip on your arm as he maneuvers you out of the club.

The rush of cold wind hits your cheeks, leaving the soft beats of the club behind. Slowly, the world comes back into focus as the air rushes through your lungs and the sound bustling traffic in the distance is brought back into focus.

Only then do you realize how close you’re standing to the coach.

With a start, you stumble away with a muttered “sorry”, not daring to meet his eyes while quickly brushing off your clothes because dear god you weren’t sure what to do with your hands.

The uber arrives without much delay — thankfully — and the ride home is silent, almost as if there’s an awkward tension that has settled between the two of you. Away from the alcohol and now sobering up, it’s impossible to ignore the fact that you’d practically glued yourself to this man earlier. The act is so embarrassing you decidedly keep your gaze on the flurry of bustling streets and dim lamps flying by.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until a warm hand is shaking your shoulder, followed by a soft; “we’re here.”

You gasp, noticing that you’ve been pressed against Kuroo’s shoulder all this time.

“Oh,” you scramble away as quick as lightning, “I’m so sorry—“

His lips quirk upwards, “no harm done, senpai.”

You hate it when he calls you that. It makes you sound… old.

Nevertheless, you decide to be quiet as he accompanies you up to your flat, hands in his pockets while following you up the rusty stairs. You hope he’s not judging; it’s not like you have unlimited amounts of funding, what with Sakura’s education and activities.

“Well,” you finally reach the door to your flat and turn on your heel so that you face him, “thanks… for everything.”

"No problem," he's smiling down at you. Still so patient, still so happy to help. Your heart swells in your chest and you ask, "how are you getting back?"

"Oh, probably Uber..." he trails off, already turning away to fish his phone out of his pocket, "it's not far."

"Where do you live?"

You almost bawk when he tells you his address, because it's practically at the other end of town. He'll be there in forty-five minutes, at least.

The words are automatic, shooting out of you, "I'm so--"

But Kuroo's hand whips out, clamping over your lips. Your eyes widen as you look up at him, only to see the young man grinning like there's no tomorrow.

"You really need to stop doing that," he finally says before drawing back. Already, you're hit with the cold air following Kuroo's touch upon your skin, "I wanted to accompany you. There's nothing to apologize for."

"I know, but--"

He throws you another pointed look that has you clamping down on your mouth. You're about to say sorry once more because you're being a pathetic blubbery mess, but the look in his eyes makes you say a soft, "thank you" instead.

"You're welcome," and with one final grin and a wave to match, the school Coach disappears down the corridor, leaving you gazing at his broad back until his silhouette turns the corner and away from your sight.

[wisteria-lodge]

do you think lucius only realize he don't want to be a death eater after voldemort was defeated in the 1st war or even during it?

speaking of what are your thoughts/hc on why narcissa didn't take the dark mark despite her sister and her husband doing it? tbh i always wondered how she could've avoided it? i mean she was part of it right, she was in the meetings too

I always thought it made sense that Draco was a difficult pregnancy.

I say that because Lucius and Narcissa seem like the sort of couple who would have loved more children. Narcissa was close with her sisters before things fell apart, and Lucius was an only child... but he's so social I think that must have been lonely for him. I think he would have loved it if Draco had a younger brother or sister. And the only barrier they'd be dealing with there would be a medical one, so.

(also, I love whenever the the Malfoys and the Weasleys are foils, and the idea of Draco and Ron being born at pretty much the same time - but Ron is one of many, a little neglected, mom is a little disappointed he's not a girl etc. while DRACO is so wanted and so special. That's good stuff.)

I also think that if the Malfoys were dealing with fertility issues, Narcissa suffering, maybe even having a miscarriage - that would have made early-twenties Lucius grow up REAL fast. Because yeah, I do think that when Draco was born - about a year before Voldemort's downfall - Lucius' priorities shifted completely, and he started looking for a way out.

And I say that because Lucius rode the wave of the first war really well, coming out with his money and prestige so intact, which would have taken some planning. Lucius is also one of very few Death Eaters who actually got off using the 'imperius curse' defense. (I think the only other one is Avery.) I like the idea that he did actually plan that. Like - okay. You could have someone you trust (Narcissa, maybe Severus) put the imperius curse on you for a couple months, and that way when you're asked "Were you directed to follow Voldemort's orders under the imperius curse," you can say yes, even if you're under Veritaserum.

(Nott senior also seems to have also come out of the first war basically unscathed, but he also seems much more cautious than Lucius. I'll bet he was very good at making sure that there was never much actual evidence against him. Crabbe and Goyle senior also seem to be doing fine, and I tend to think it's because Lucius got them out (possibly because their wives were close with Narcissa? All three women would have been pregnant at the same time.) Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle are *quite* committed to keeping Draco Malfoy in one piece. I love Draco, but he does spend several books being a little shit with no ability to defend himself, so they do have their work cut out for them.

I also think a Narcissa who spent the first Voldemort war dealing with pregnancy-related health issues could explain why she doesn't have a Dark Mark, when honestly she really should. Her husband, sister, brother-in-law, underage cousin... they're all getting them. So why was Narcissa skipped (but still allowed to remain in good standing?) I think she she stayed out of the spotlight, using her delicate health as an excuse. And then the second war comes around and she... fades to the background again, makes herself useful, and hopes that the issue never comes up. I don't think she'd say no to a confundus, or even a memory charm if she were really put on the spot.

(but the real, Doylist reason Narcissa doesn't have a Dark Mark is because JKR has a very strong aversion to writing villainous mothers. See: the very odd framing of Merope Gaunt.)

[pizzabox-box]

Ah this is cringe as heck for me, but screw it, the last ask you got about a person not feeling much sympathy all for Peppi-No really was great, kudos to the OP of that comment since it really got me thinking, why even if I agree what the dude is doing is awful... I actually feel pretty fucking bad for him XD.

Like, I think we can all agree we've done shit in our lives that wasn't great, and that doesn't diminish the harm done or the fact other people have gotten hurt from our own stupid decisions. I also just think sympathetic villains are so interesting. (when done right, and hell you could argue even if he is the protagonist of the DMW AU, Peppi-No is a bit of an anti-villian) it really makes you think about the fact its so normal for people do try to avoid the consequences of their actions. I'm sure everyone has done something bad and instead of admitting fault have doubled down and tried to save face because they were SURE they could "fix" it without getting hurt from it.

Sure most of the time, (...I hope) its not as bad as murdering a person and taking on their identity... I think there is something really human about wanting to not get hurt, and feeling like shit about regrets we've had.

I think that Peppi-No even if what he doing is wrong, still... I dunno I can empathize. I mean.. he's sooo sowwy 🥺, its kinda pathetic, like a more extreme version of a puppy that just destroyed something important to you. Like "awww... you asshole, you're so cute though but goddamn it..."

I both am loving the angst of this AU and know its going to be so cathartic to see Peppi-no finally deal with his lie blowing up in his face and suffering MORE >:). I feel sympathy yes but I also love angst hehe.

(sorry if that wasn't super well worded? I don't normally send things like these >//>)

I assure you, it’s not cringe! It’s nice to see both sides voice their opinions!

Personally, I’m pretty divided on how I feel about Peppi-no. Part of me wants to strangle him for what he did (and what he might still do*cough* ), but at the same time, he’s,like you said, a sad, pathetic "sowwy" puppy, and I can’t help but feel bad for him.

When he took a piece of Peppino, he may have gained a conscience but not emotional maturity. He’s like a kid who just realized he fucked up in the worst way possible and is terrified of the consequenses. And fear can drive people to do terrible things, after all. Before that, his entire existence was just scrambling around, making pizzas out of whatever he could find: pigs, other clones, pizza monsters. He ended many lives, that but never faced any sort of repercussions. Never got a chance to learn "murder bad" ,

Then he takes a bite out of one of the kind Peppino—bam! Conscience, coherent thoughts, and memories of the guy he killed flood into his head. Can you imagine the whiplash, the shock, the stress? I certainly can’t.

Obviously, I’m not some dough doppelgänger pretending to be someone I killed. That would just be silly… no, really, I’m not.. But I can relate a little to what Peppi-no’s going through.

And let’s be honest, how many of us would have the absolute balls of steel to admit we killed someone’s friend in cold blood? Sure, it’s the morally right thing to do, but… you know. I’m not sure I could. (Once again purely hypothetical scenario)

Peppi-no's actions are unexcusable, he should know better than this by now, but at the same time you can kinda understand why he acts the way he does.

[osovereign]

out. hello this is kind of embarrassing to say, but this past week has been the worst of my fucking life. i've gotten robbed fired and in a car accident all within less than two weeks and i'm literally suffering so bad. i was already running on thin ice at my current place of employment, but everything kind of took a turn when i pulled a no call, no-show on friday because i was in a car accident and my phone had died and i was at the hospital and i had head pain, and they wanted to make sure that i did not have a concussion. i gave my job the documentation of these events, and then today i had a lady come to my job first and get me because she thought i was somebody else. mind you, i was in the hospital and i did not come to work on this past friday, but she was adamant that i was her server and that i charged her card $200 when, again, i was in the hospital. i was not at work. my manager on duty wasn't trying to fucking help me, so i yelled at her in front of everybody to get the fuck out and learn who the fuck she was talking to amongst other things because that was unacceptable my boss told me he would be doing an investigation, which i didn't understand because i physically was not at work. there's nothing to investigate. there is no way i could've charged this lady's card if i'm not at work. so we got into it about multiple things while i was still at work, and after i left, a couple hours later over the phone so she pretty much terminated me, which it's fine, but that was my primary source of income so i'm kind of screwed.

then i got robbed at gunpoint last week, and while i am physically OK, i had like all of my cash tips from the past week in my wallet, so i lost almost $400 of bill money that i can't get back because even though i filed a police report, like, the cops told me there's no way to get my money back as there's no way to track cash. my only priority at this point is just keeping my phone on because my phone is how i connect to a wifi hotspot to do stuff for university / tumblr. i know i haven't been the most active because i have a very demanding work and school schedule, but one less job means i'll have more time to write hopefully with you all. literally anything helps, even just reblogging this. i feel very bad putting all of this out there, but i'm literally at my wits end of bad event after bad event after bad event. i also apologize to the grammar for this. i'm doing voice-to-text because it's just easier for me right now. i'm thankful that i live at home and my landlord is my mother so i don't have rent to worry about, but pretty much all my other expenses and my day-to-day life do follow me besides rent. i know for that, i am a lot more privileged than other people and while i do have some savings, it's going to pretty much be used to getting me from the doctor and physical therapy appointments because i've already started legal action against the person that hit me and a hit and run, mind you.

edit: blurring license plate

[mad-hunts]

in response to the other's answer in regards to what jervis would prefer on his toast, jack simply nodded. he'd found himself at a loss for what else to say even though that was actually quite rare for him. maybe it was the idea that barton could be outside at that very moment, listening in, that made jack suddenly feel like a fog had rolled into his mind; making it so that he could protect himself without even knowing for sure that there was a threat in the first place.

barton didn't like talking about julien - he'd pretty much stowed away every single picture but one the family had with him in it, in fact. for it still hurt him too much to look at them. therefore, especially considering his father's history of not being able to regulate his moods well, jack might have to perform 'damage control' if that were the case. but crossing the bridge if he were to get there seemed to apply quite well here. so, the farceur chose to move on and it turned out to be wisely, too.

jervis did look very tense lying there with jack visibly appearing to want to curl up into himself and never come out. after going to the nearby trunk in the room, he opened it. this was done as a means to distract the both of them from succumbing to the weight of their own differing circumstances. though there was certainly a good cover reason for jack to, ❝ oh, wow. ahh... i almost forgot that its supposed to get down into the forties tonight so you might need this. its going to be cold, after all, ❞ it was also hitting sundown at that moment as well.

jack could tell by just looking through the crack in the curtains of the one window in the room. while gnawing on his bottom lip, he pulled out the plush blanket inside of the chest only to shake it out a bit. now, as jack tossed the blanket up just enough to cover jervis's body without touching him? something matilda told him a few years ago echoed in his mind during a conversation they had late at night: 'you know, i know you'd like nothing more than to get rid of all your feelings sometimes - but i hope you never change.'

jack just remembered looking up at the tent he was in that day of camping afterward, as he decided he should probably get to sleep. but it felt validating in a way he couldn't explain as well even now. because jack's first instinct upon seeing jervis was that he was struggling, so he should help him; though one could definitely say that sense of responsibility had made him suffer in the past. thank goodness sucking in a deep breath through his nostrils and exhaling could allow jack to quiet his mind then.

he tilted his head at the other's words and squinting his eyes, deep in thought. of course if jervis didn't believe in one, that was fine, but it appeared like he might. these sorts of concepts could trigger whole debates for a reason, however, as spirituality was something that jack affiliated himself with. but religion? he wasn't so sure, so he more than understood when jervis settled for saying his loved ones being at peace was simply something he wanted to believe in. with jack's sudden exit came the arrival of a much less benevolent figure, to say the least, and barton couldn't say he blamed jervis for seemingly somewhat disappointed that his son left.

jack was easy to get along with, and with just a little bit of time spent with him, he might just win someone over with his compassionate nature. barton knew this well along with the reality he had to learn other people's behaviors throughout the years to appear at least 'semi-normal.' how that was going for the doctor would often depend on who you asked, though. barton could only snort derisively at that, ❝ funny. just remember, you'd be in arkham right now if it weren't for me and my daughter. ❞ he pointed a sharpened nail in the direction of jervis as he proceeded into the room.

the same crack in the curtains jack had once looked through was soon closed with a quick 'swishing' motion. barton was personally raised with a very limited exposure to faith, as neither wesley nor winslow were particularly religious father figures. but barton could admire those who participate in it regardless of their level of involvement in it. though it could be used as a force of evil as much as it could be used for good, a lot of humanity existed in shades of gray.

so even if they were under the threat of suffering through something like eternal damnation after death... in barton's mind, it was only a matter of time before someone used a widespread thing like faith to their own advantage. and maybe this was bad of him but thinking about wesley being in such a place somewhat brought him a sense of twisted satisfaction; because at least barton would be getting a form of justice for every fearful moment wesley put him through that way. barton only blinked as his eyes trailed from jervis's face to the teacup that jack had presumably brought him.

shockingly enough, all he felt when he discovered that marty's father was a powerful figure was an incredible amount of disbelief for a moment before it fizzled away. barton was used to things getting worse even if he couldn't have seen this coming. plus, he'd gotten frighteningly good at treating human lives like this police captain's more as obstacles than actual beings. it remained to be seen which one jervis was to barton. he squinted his eyes before standing up and ultimately finding out that, yeah, he had done that too quickly.

barton felt like he was green around the gills all over again, ❝ that is one way to put it, jervis. but don't worry. you just reminded me that, although we're going to have to get creative, there are ways of getting away with it. i'd say pinning his murder on someone else might be the best. ❞ he uttered after swallowing thickly, making a 'turn around' gesture with his finger towards the other. barton talking about murder as if it was light dinner conversation said everything that needed to be said about how he felt about their current predicament.

maybe it was because he was still feeling a lot of malaise, but no part of it bothered him in particular. the doctor was more worried about jervis becoming queasy because he accidentally saw the scars where he'd stitched on yves's arm to his own body, ❝ uhh, just in case you didn't get that, turn around. i'm going to change my shirt. ❞ once that was done, barton slipped his current bloodied one over his head only to replace it with the other. he slumped down in the chair to the table opposite of jervis and looked over the tarot cards laid out before him.

barton, too, knew how to interpret them. ❝ what were you two planning on doing with these? a 'past, present, and future' reading? because i can do it while my son's gone for you. ❞

Jervis gave the barest of shrugs as he glanced at Jack through his bangs, the quiet rhythm of their breathing, the slow drip of the IV, and the faint shifting of the cards against the tabletop the only sounds piercing the air. "Either one sounds perfectly agreeable. I defer to your good judgment." A ghost of a smile, pale and wan, tugged at his mouth for an infinitesimal moment.

Call it the lingering pangs of paternal instinct or projection, whatever you felt was most appropriate, but some flicker of warmth—worry mingling with concern—stirred within Jervis' breast; softening the veneer of exhaustion and discomfort that clothed him like a second skin. Like an invisible cancer that had latched onto him, draining his vitality—a slow-acting poison decades in the making; only this time, the source was external, a reflection of Jack's own unease radiating across the space between them.

Jervis drew in a shallow breath, feeling the tightness in his chest not as his own, but as if their nerves had blurred and grown entangled. He tried to focus, willing his own breath to steady, his hands to unclench. A low chuckle escaped Jervis' chapped lips at Jack's query. The medications in his IV coursed through him, cold and prickling, sending a frisson over his skin as goosebumps rose in response. And yet, somehow, it eased the deep ache within him, dulling the edges of both pain and nausea. He could feel the weight of his discomfort receding, just slightly, as though the medicine were smoothing his raw nerves; coaxing him toward a delicate, unfamiliar calm.

Not quite like ketamine.... not like the cozy, blithesome feeling that coursed through his veins with each dose. Even when most of his prior consumption of the drug hadn't been consensual—thick enough to cut his teeth on, it ensured small pockets of blissful ignorance hardening into a dissociative shell, like callus. (God bless those poor, ministering angels at Arkham... only a trace of spite and animosity there, rage bleeding with sorrow at how his autonomy and consent was completely ignored, snatched... one wrong move, and he was left cowering in a crumpled heap, or otherwise dead to the world... but now? Would the scales be tipped, if they managed to drag him back there? He wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.) If Odysseus and his crew had been desperate to escape the Lotus Eaters only to stumble unwittingly into the clutches of Polyphemus, Jervis felt quite the opposite.

For better or worse, the ketamine had left him numb to everything.

The pain, the grief, the anguish that tore gouges in his heart and mind; lacerated his psyche to shreds, in conjunction with the ECT. Somehow, he compartmentalized it... gravitated to the cannabis as an alternative upon his discharge, once he'd regained his center of gravity and emerged from his self-immurement; the fractures left by his losses and lessons grinding him to the bone. Everything it cost him and what he'd earned in exchange. Simon. Arabella. His time in Ireland. Sylvie. The flood. Alice.

The lengths he had gone...

And so Jervis chuckled; the sound dry and hollow, barely touching his eyes. He met Jack’s gaze, his expression tightening as he mulled over the question, tasting the irony in it.

“An afterlife…” he murmured, his eyes drifting. Thoughts and memories broke the surface like apples bobbing in a bucket: Simon and Stephen putting aside their differences over the blessing at Passover; his and Arabella's quiet, but spirited discussions of Heaven and the saints and catechism, the differences between the Old and New Testaments as they strolled along the shoreline. Stories of the witch trials in Ireland, of John Calvin and his legacy in Scotland.

All the old beliefs he’d grown up with circled back and hit like a tidal wave, tied as much to memories of family as to the concept of religious faith itself, all its beauty and diverse forms, yet it left him feeling frigid now. For a little over three decades, he'd told himself that he could appreciate the mythology of it all, even found it strangely comforting at times, but belief? That had always been a different thing entirely.

Jervis' mind tugged him back to reality. He could sense Jack’s curiosity pressing at the edge of his own awareness, a secondary presence so strong it was almost rendered a physical form. "That's.... a complicated notion, from where I'm standing.” He let out a slow, careful breath; curled his fingers back around his necklace as he dissected the question. “But... yes. I'd like to think our loved ones are at peace."

He could map it all in a dozen lines, right down to his own lived experiences, the rules he tried so hard to follow, the ideals that always seemed to warp and fray. There was karma, consequence, perhaps even the lingering shadows of what people might call a curse. But the idea of any higher being calling the shots? It gnawed at him like an old wound. And so Jervis looked back at Jack, almost apologetic, the faint sting of an old ache flickering beneath his words.

He was spared from elaborating with Barton's sudden appearance; lurking on the threshold like a wraith. Poor Jack's confidence and ease withered like a hapless petunia caught in the dead of winter. A few quiet words of dismissal and a pat to the shoulder were all that heralded the reluctant, leery departure of his one potential ally in the wolf's den.

'As phantoms frighten beasts when shadows fall.' Jervis sighed, slowly pulled himself into a sitting position, looked Barton in the eye; as well as he could, anyway, with the lingering gray spots and his missing glasses still impeding his line of sight. “Maybe we each make our own heaven—or our own hell.”

Perhaps that was petty or harsh of him to say out loud... though that was the truth of the matter. Jervis didn’t need religious belief to drive him, after all; he needed only his own peculiar code, that precarious balance between curiosity and cynicism, and the sense of duty he still felt for a daughter who had deserved something far more stable, more secure; safer than the patchwork life he had known. Whatever his flaws, his faults, some small part of him still respected the right to believe—what faith meant to others; its power to inspire, to build, to destroy. The cause and effect of human history, the double-edged promises of faith. And maybe that was the root of it: faith could be a tool, a guide, a balm.

But then the stark, often bitter truths he’d learned through survival would come rushing back. Besides, he reckoned, Barton likely wouldn't give a damn about any of his prior train of thought. In any case, on the topic of hell, Jervis never pictured the vast, cavernous expanse of fire and brimstone that Jonathan Edwards had once preached about in the summer of 1741. No. Hell always conjured up fevered images of a frozen lake in the deepest, darkest part of the center of the earth, untouched by light and warmth and life—the last of Dante Alighieri's nine circles.

'I sometimes think we must be all mad and that we shall wake to sanity in strait-waistcoats.'

He was torn from the thick mire of his thoughts, yanked back outside his mind as if caught in a sudden hurricane at Barton’s next revelation. Jervis shut his eyes, pinched the bridge of his nose, then reached for the cup of tea Jack had brought him. The liquid within was a warm, golden amber—like sea glass he’d once collected as a child in Bermuda, or the bits Alice would gather along Gotham’s coastline on their rare visits when she was little.

How simple those days were...

"Well." Jervis' voice was completely flat, his brow creasing with incredulity and disgust. Barton’s outline weaved and blurred before his eyes like a will-o’-the-wisp. No more, no more… no room, no room. He felt completely hollow. "Trading one problem for another, are we?" His scarred knuckles bulged as his fingers curled around the delicate porcelain; his grip hard enough to produce a faint, foreboding crack.

He would weep, if he had anymore tears left to shed over their predicament. For Marty and his partner, for the trouble Jack and Matilda had been brought into by association… but none for himself or Barton. He wasn’t certain he was worthy of it; and Barton had no qualms over their actions, he’d freely admitted it at that bistro earlier. Jervis’ hands tingled, as if they were still covered by the bloodied gloves he wore when he dispatched the driver in order to retrieve Alice’s rabbit, wielding his hatpins on pure impulse; there was no premeditation involved, but there was no discounting how surgical his actions had been in their efficacy with each targeted nerve cluster and artery. He wasn’t indulging in self-pity, oh no… nothing so shallow or solipsistic. Not like that at all. Just a pure ant mill of growing dread and horror and regret, one that couldn’t be encompassed by words alone.

His teeth sought the gouges in the corner of his mouth from where he’d previously bit himself in the throes of his nightmares, worrying at the cuts till they began to sting anew.

‘Despair has its own calms.’

[0multifandomweirdo0]

There's a better chance I'll get married before season six comes out. And I'm single and I don't even want to get married

[maelancoli]

i'm kind of late to this but i just finished reading the scholomance trilogy by naomi novik and i feel like it is such an underrated urban fantasy?? taking the chosen one trope and turning it on its head with a fmc who has been prophesied to bring death and destruction, who is imbued with terrible power, but cannot even properly use said power to solve any of her obstacles because it would obliterate them and her soul. it takes a tired trope and the idea of an 'overpowered mary sue' and throws it back in your face by showing how all the power and destiny in the world is useless against a system filled with corruption that has burdened you with an easy way out (evil/destructive magic) that you can't take so now you have to work twice as hard as everyone else just to do simple, constructive spells instead of flicking your wrist and being done with it.

[cryptid-killjoy]

Only Figaro could pull off a quip like that. Hook's hair indeed. But they weren't wrong. Willem thought to himself he did have good hair, didn't he? He ran his hands through it as he thought about it. Maybe he'd thank the ol' man for this hair someday.

"I do have pretty good hair, don't I?"

But the world got away from him too fast before he could think on it long. The ice and snow were melting from everywhere. Before they knew it, they were sloshing down a pixie white water river. This was so not the plan, not the plan at all.

If this adventure had been fun at all this part wasn't. Drudging through the blizzard was one thing, but getting submerged in ice water was not it. So not it. Maybe he managed to get to shore after all that, but now they were chattering and as they looked at poor Figaro Willem felt guilty for the first time for bringing them along. The suffer together motto was really pushing them to the test now.

"I'm sorry Smalls. But don't worry. You may be Leo, but I'm not Rose. I'm your DaFriend." He growled. "I'll never let go." He pulled as hard as he could flittering his slopped over wings that were drenched.

Luckily, Nelly could fly in the wet cold like a boss bitch. Her wings weren't real being a doll. She flew on happy thoughts and pixie dust alone. Nelly grabbed the back of Willem and they both pulled. Three big heave hoes later and Figaro was pulled to land.

Willem quickly helped them take more steps back from the water line before it gave way again. He wanted to make sure they were all on stable land.

He didn't know what to do or how to even dry off. Everything was wet from his whole body, his clothes, his pack, to all of the surrounding forest as snow kept melting around them.

He hugged onto Smalls just thankful to be alive at first. Then it dawned on him he didn't know where Periwinkle was. He started to look around and call out.

"Peri! Aunt Peri!"

His teeth and lips were chattering as he called out with a frantic look on his face afraid, she'd gone under.

Nelly would point way down the now raging river. Willem was holding Figaro and himself as he squinted as hard as he could.

"It's her. Way down there. She made it. She's climbing out of the river."

Relief washed over him, but they were still stuck with the pressing problem of hypothermia like this.

"Come on Smalls. We gotta, I don't know. Get out where the sun is blazing down on us."

That was all he could manage to think of at first.

"Build a fire if we can find anything dry. Nelly, go look. And-and... and check on Peri."

Nelly buzzed off like a little bee on a mission for something dry to help while Willem looked up tried to help figure out the best place for them to dry out themselves in the sun.

"It is pretty bright. It's weird how I can feel the heat of it and still feel this cold at the same time."

The ground where there was snow would look like puddles of muck like swamp the ground was so wet. It would look like a flood was draining. He pulled his cold soppy shirt off in some attempt to warm up not having it against his skin as they waited for Nelly when things started to keep changing rapidly.

"Uh... Sm-m-malls?"

The snow wasn't just melting. The flowers were growing. It was like spring was springing. It was more than just the sun was shining.

The Nevers were coming back to life.

He started to smile despite everything. "Maybe we should do jumping jacks? Keep moving?" No matter how much it hurt. No matter how fast the sun or Pan's wake up was making things happen.

"Or maybe a polar bear plunge never hurt anybody?" He was trying to look at it from a different angle. "What would Iorek say?" His shoulders were still shivering though.

Back in Pixie Hollow all the pixies were getting excited. They hadn't been informed yet of Willem's plan. All they knew was Wild Will and those traitors stole Pan right from the Hollow, their blue dust, and even heard Hook was back which made Will seem all the guiltier. They were all in a terrible depression over it deciding how to proceed when out of nowhere here they were all out dancing in the middle celebrating the weather. Could it be? Oh! Could it be?

Rumors were flying that Pan somehow escaped and was coming to save them all. There never seemed to be a proper rumor for how he awoke when after all this time no one could figure out how to wake him from his endless sleep. Like the dwarves with the Snow White the pixies dwelled on the site of the missing glass coffin like a memorial to the worst tragedy ever to befall Pixie Hollow. Wild Will's face, the son of Captain Hook and even Figaro's was in the mind everyone as enemy number one.

What was happening with Pan and Hook? Battling their way out of the labyrinth. The moment he awoke he was up to his old tricks and calling Hook a codfish. Hook was no lost boy. He'd have made his way out and the pair were swashbuckling sword fighting... er hook and wooden knife fighting their way through the Nevers. Pan was trying to get back to his boys and Hook was trying to kill Pan while signaling to the crew back on the Jolly Roger.

While the pixies were celebrating the weather and Willem was just thankful, he and Smalls were alive and that his plan was working, he'd saved the Hollow, Hook was getting word to Pirate Cove that Wild Will was a traitor. Everything he'd worked for in the magic door at Funky Town was being torn apart for the Nevers, the pixie's safety, his mother's home that Tink abandoned herself, and for Delta's alliance with the pixies in Feral. As Willem watched the flowers grow and even though he was smiling that this phase of the plan had really worked, the chill that was down to his bones felt more real than ever as the reality of what this was going to damage crept up in his heart.

Where were his happy thoughts going to be now?

It was the first time in all this that pirate admitted to Smalls, "I'm a little scar- worried." He'd been terrified of his father all his life all while he was his right hand, but he knew he might have just crossed a line that couldn't be uncrossed again.

"We can fix this. There's always a next plan." He nodded as if to reassure himself of being able to handle whatever came after this. "We did the right thing. You okay?" He asked as he kept watching for Nelly to come back.

Figaro was always in awe of the wings. Like who didn’t ever dream about having wings when they were a kid? They were fucking cool. And Willem’s were particularly good with that hypnotizing gold color. Adding in Periwinkle’s to the mix and Figaro was feeling that envy hardcore. Wing-envy. That was a thing now. When Willem looked to them, they nodded despite that feeling. “You’re looking extra fly, dude,” Figaro said, making a clicking noise with their tongue and then some finger guns.

They’d definitely have to find a bird or a butterfly or - oh shit a dragonfly would be really cool - to fly on before they got big again. They’d even settle for a mosquito.

“Hey, you got the hair, that’s all you really need from him,” Figaro shrugged. Say what you want about Hook - he wasn’t modern, he wasn’t respectful, he wasn’t very charming - but he did have a great head of hair.

Figaro looked up as well at the water, ready to go all old man shaking fist at the sky. But then they realized there was no fairy above spilling over pails like a good joke. And there was no rubber on the ground that was indicative of a water balloon so -

“This totally means that we’re hot enough to bring on the heatwave, baby!” They said, throwing their arms up into the air. “Or totally the Pan thing but I’m taking credit anyway!”

That jumping reallllllyyyy didn’t help the slush that was quickly turning to water beneath their boots. It was worse than the snow by far, soaking down to the core, making their sock wet, making their toes feel cold. They swallowed roughly and looked from up to down to Willem again, realization really forming.

“Oh botheration,” They said, watching Willem take a spill. They waded through, already not able to feel their feet to try to help him, but Figaro wasn’t the most steady either. Nonetheless, she managed to kick their damn feet well enough to stay above the water, even when it felt like they couldn’t find the ground beneath them.

They did get washed away a couple of feet but was fighting back, shedding the Halloween mask, which drifted away like some sort of weird duck down the water. Cold hand reached cold hand and they managed to get a hold of their slippery footing for just a second.

“Damn, I can’t believe I’m Leonardo DiCaprio right now,” They gasped, the cold water shooting pain throughout their body. The freezing water was numbing but it wasn’t a comfortable type of numb. It was growing more painful by the second. It felt like they weren’t in control of their face anymore.

[tastycitrus]

looking for cass fics via cass’s tag on ao3 be like

here's a story about tim where cass is a minor character

here's a story about jason where cass is a minor character

here's a story about dick where cass is a minor character

here's a story about damian where cass is a minor character

here's a story about literally anyone but cass, who is still just a minor character

rinse and repeat ad nauseam in whatever order, that's it that's like 90% of cass's character tag. also she's either barely present in her minor role, written out of character, or both at once

[msfcatlover]

*slams hands on the table in sudden realization*

STAR SAPPHIRE DAMIAN WAYNE