#pris like this is not normally the problem child

[fateprotected]

@fasciinating | plotted

It's a little strange, seeing Spock in medbay. It's not that he's infallible--far from it. If anything, it's that he manages to be more aware of that fact than most of her senior staff. Still, she has trouble staying away when they're injured, at least wanting to lay eyes on him long enough to tell for herself that he'll be alright.

"How are you healing? Doctor McCoy says you shouldn't have to deal with the osteostim too much longer."

He turns to her, and as their eyes meet for a moment Pris feels...tension, at the base of her neck. Stress and worry, now that the aftermath has settled in, have taken their toll on the whole crew. Maybe she should find a few hours to sleep tonight, once she's made her rounds.

[tomboy014]

Dun Dun Dunnn!!! Arkham Security Guard Danny's Epic Backstory! with Dick Grayson

I fell in love with the Arkham Guard AU by @xy-is-i and like most projects I work on, rather than starting where the story starts, I end up going backwards and delve into the backstory.  And I mean waaay into the backstory.

Because while the stories might start when the Bats run into Danny and Jazz working at Arkham Asylum isn’t where they first met.

Long, long ago, through shenanigans unknown, Robin and Phantom became friends, and honestly, they both really needed it. 

Dick Grayson, age 16, has been Robin for a while, but this is so early in the day that there just aren’t many teen heroes or sidekicks yet.  He’s basically pioneering the field of child heroes.

For Danny, 14, Sam and Tucker are great, but there are just some parts of superhero-ing that they just don’t get when you don’t have to hide a secret identity. 

Batman, for his part, does not approve of the friendship.  He’s already not a fan of metas in his city, but when the two of them get together, the chaos twin energy between Dick and Danny multiplies.  Worse, it brings about the pun-pocalypse, and there are only so many puns Bruce can take.  And then there’s the sibling discourse…

After all the stories Danny has told about his family, Dick is desperate to have a little sibling of his own, and the two repeatedly gang up on Batman to adopt another kid.  Their acting may be stilted, but the efforts are constant.

It never works.  Bruce doesn’t have empty nest syndrome yet, and tiny, homicidal Dick was already more than he could handle while he was trying to figure out how to adult, but he also can’t stand that he’s disappointing Dick.  Alfred isn’t helping either; he wants more grandkids.

And there’s no way in HELL that he’s adopting Phantom.

But for Robin and Phantom, they finally have someone they can talk to who gets it.  They can vent about their rogues, get help with homework, bitch about balancing their vigilantism with going to school, talk about whatever TV they’ve been watching, anything and everything.  It’s not uncommon to see them hanging off the Gotham gargoyles or grabbing a bite on top of the Nasty Burger.

There’s an unspoken rule between them that neither pries into the other’s personal life or secret identity, but as they get more comfortable with each other, little things slip out.  Then more.  Numbers are swapped, bits and pieces about their families come out. 

Later on, homes and secret hideouts are visited and they know each other’s first names.  It’s not a problem for Dick to go to the Fenton’s, but technically, Danny isn’t allowed in the Bat Cave or the Manor.  Those visits happen behind Batman’s back, and they were almost caught when they hid in the chandelier before Danny remembered he could turn them invisible. (Alfred encourages the friendship and bakes extra cookies once when he finds out Danny is over.) 

And eventually the relationship grows until they’re comfortable enough to swap full names.  No more secrets.

Dick likes going over to Danny’s place since it’s a chance to feel a lot more normal, even if they have to be very careful and either stay in civilian clothes in the shared areas or stay locked in Danny’s room if they’re in uniform.  Danny also goes out of his way to keep Dick from ever meeting his sister, Jazz (Danny knows he has a type).  It doesn’t stop them from swapping their numbers under the door.  (Jazz will unofficially be Dick’s therapist for years after this)

But being this close, Dick can also see just how stressed Danny is trying to maintain this lifestyle.  Doesn’t help either he has to listen to Danny’s parents go on and on about wanting to rip their own son apart, molecule by molecule.  Sure, Danny has a couple friends to help him, but he doesn’t have the same mentor or support system Dick has.  For a kid his age to be anything other than a sidekick is practically unheard of in this day and age.  Superheroes are still fairly few and far between, but Batman helped start a group called the Justice League a couple years ago with the idea that heroes could help each other.  Maybe there’s something there…

So, Dick starts the Teen Titan.  He had originally intended for Danny to join him as one of the founding members, but are you kidding?  Jump City is on the opposite side of the country!  He has school! and parents! (That’s the point, Danny. We’re trying to get you away from the parents that want to dissect you) He can’t just up and leave home and run halfway across the country!

So, Dick found the other iconic members and still joined the Titans, but Danny will always have an open invitation to join them and a room at the Tower, something Danny does occasionally take advantage of.  Jump City doesn’t spawn as many natural portals as Gotham, but he visits whenever he can and basically haunts the tower the entire month of December to get away from his family.

Still, the distance and growing up are hard on Dick and Danny, and they grow more distant over the years, but they’ll always have each other’s backs in an emergency.  Dick was there when Danny thought he was turning into a monster (it was just ghost puberty).  Danny stole the Spectre Speeder so they could scour the Ghost Zone after Jason died.  And Danny would eventually become godfather to Dick’s daughter, Mar’i. 

But things cooled down between them… at least until a panicked Danny called because his sister just took a job at Arkham…

Next>>

[thesparklingwriter]

don't waste your tears

featuring: zhongli, childe, kazuha, kaeya

tags: gn!reader, hurt comfort, fluff, established relationship (Zhongli | Childe), genshin dude has a crush on you (Kazuha | Kaeya), mentions of familial problems in Childe’s, injured animal in Kaeya’s

word count: 1.5k

an: i had way too much fun with this one--i pulled a prompt out of my own backside and then decided to interpret it four different ways lol :))) everyone say congrats to kazuha for his first appearance on this account, and as usual my ask box is always open, hit me up with headcanons, requests, declarations of love for a character or just drop in for a chat :)

part 2 is here!

taglist | masterlist

Zhongli

You tried to keep it to yourself—tried to keep your sheer disappointment hidden, for the sake of the vendor who broke the news to you. I mean, who would cry over a silly little vase? But it had meant something to Zhongli, and hence it meant something to you, and you had saved for weeks and weeks to get it for him as an anniversary gift.

The vendor who tells you it was sold seems suitably upset for you, explaining that he had been on a break, and the reserved sign had fallen off, but it wasn't good enough. What were you going to do?

Frustrated tears slip out of your eyes as you march to the quietest place you can find, just so you can calm yourself down before returning home. If you went back like this, Zhongli would know immediately that something was wrong. But of course, the quietest place you can find is a tea shop, and of course, Zhongli’s eyes latch onto you the second you get close.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” He smiles, rising from his seat. “I thought I might have some tea while I waited for you to run your errands. Have you finished already?”

You keep your face turned away from him, trying to find a suitable excuse for your tears. Allergies will do it.

“Are you alright, love?”

You turn to him finally, a false smile plastered on your face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just allergies,” You sniff. 

Zhongli looks you up and down. He’s tempted to go along with your lie, but he knows that if does that, you’ll repress all your feelings, only to have them blow up in a few weeks’ time.

“How strange, it’s not nearly allergy season yet,” he says innocently, gesturing towards his table. “Come, sit with me. I’ll get you something to drink. You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”

And, just as he expected, after a couple of cups of tea and a teary embrace, you begin to tell him about the ordeal you’ve been through trying to get your hands on that wretched vase.

“How funny,” he mutters to himself. “I noticed you were interested in it, so I purchased it earlier today.”

You look at him with a mixture of utter disbelief and relief. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Childe

You had genuinely thought that you were beyond the problems you had with your family in the past, but as you open yet another letter that’s filled with thinly veiled insults and threats, you can’t help it. You burst into tears.

Maybe it’s just sheer frustration, from trying so hard to do what would make them proud, only to have them throw it back in your face, or maybe it’s just the sheer sadness you feel from being so out of touch with those you grew up with. But no matter how hard you try, you just can’t stop the tears from falling. 

Then Childe bursts through the front door, excited as usual to see his partner after a long day. “I’m home! Where are you?” 

You know that if you open your mouth to reply, Childe will hear the tears in your voice and make a beeline for you, so you make a muffled sound of acknowledgement and try to regulate your breathing.

Maybe if you get enough time, you’ll manage to make yourself look normal before he sees you. But no, you’re not that lucky, and Childe finds you in the kitchen, clutching onto the letter as if letting go of it would hurt you.

“What’s going on? Another letter?” He pries it out of your hands, pulling you into a hug. It hurts him to know the way your family are treating you. He values his siblings and parents and you more than anything in the world, and he’d do anything to make them stop this torrent of attacks towards you. It’s not fair on you.

“I don’t know what I keep doing wrong.” you sob into his shoulder.

“Nothing,” He replies, stroking your hair gently. “Nothing at all. They don’t deserve you, you know that, right? Every single member of my family loves you, and they all have great taste.” You chuckle slightly at that, so Childe continues. “If your family won’t appreciate you, you can have mine. They’d be delighted to have you. I'm delighted to have you.” 

Kazuha

When you found yourself bursting into tears at Sanganomiya Shrine's beauty, you genuinely thought that you were alone—hence why you’d allowed yourself to cry. But you’d been entirely unaware of the other person following the same track as you.

He’d been exploring the island too, in an attempt to relax a little, and caught sight of you wandering through the trails. His initial fear was that you’d injure yourself trying to navigate the terrain, but his worries were quickly appeased, and he found himself in awe of how you seemed to breathe in the beauty of the world around you. He’d noticed you on a couple of occasions, but had never really felt like it was a good time to introduce himself--either you were enjoying the peace and quiet of the surroundings or quickly dispatching any monsters that tried to attack you.

He admired your duality.

But then he noticed you crying and thought it would be best to check that you weren’t injured. 

“Are you alright?” Kazuha asks you, and despite the fact that his voice comes out of nowhere, you aren’t startled. You quickly swipe a tear away, taking a deep breath.

“It’s just…really beautiful. We don’t have sights like this at home.” You say, and he nods, walking to your side.

“I agree. I tried writing a haiku about this place once, but I didn’t feel I could do it justice.” He chuckles lightly to himself as your eyes light up with excitement.

“Do you remember that haiku, by any chance?”

Kazuha nods and recites it for you, his soft voice blending with the sound of the shrine, rising and falling with a practised musicality. The delivery and the contents of the haiku are so beautifully matched that you find yourself crying again, causing Kazuha to panic slightly. Before he can voice his concerns, you chuckle, swiping your tears away again. “Apologies,” you sniff. “That was just really good. I’m not sad, I swear.”

Kazuha laughs too, glad that if anything, he’s contributed to your experience. 

“Say, do you write poems for every beautiful place you see?”

“I try to,” he smiles, his modesty taking over.

“Can I hear some more?” You ask. Since you’re so excited about this, how could he possibly say no?

Kaeya

Kaeya often takes breaks from work at times when he knows you’re going to be off too—and as his friend, you agree that the only reasonable thing to do is to grace him with your presence and brighten up his day a little. But today, when he leaves headquarters, you aren’t in any of your usual places, and Kaeya finds himself feeling worried. Not only does the gloom of loneliness begin to cast a shade over his mood, but he also begins to worry for your wellbeing. Where are you?

It’s not long before he hears you crying gently, and when he finds you, you’re kneeling on the floor, your shirt torn across the hem. You’re facing away from him, whispering to yourself, a rising panic in your voice. His mind begins to run through hundreds of scenarios that could lead to finding you this way, all of which are more worrying than the last.

“Are you okay?” He asks, and you turn to him with tears in your eyes. Kaeya spies the shivering body of a small dog in your arms.

He then realises that the panic he thought he heard in your voice was anger, and the torn parts of your shirt are wrapped around two of the dog's paws in a desperate attempt to curb any bleeding. You whisper to the dog again, something along the lines of ‘you’re going to be okay’ before turning your attention back to Kaeya.

“Someone did this to her.” You seethe, furious tears streaming down your face. He can barely stand to look at you, especially when you’re this distressed. It upsets him to see the anger in your face. “Someone did this to her and I swear I am going to kill them.” Your rage radiates off you and Kaeya worries that it’s stressing the dog, so he carefully pries her out of your arms.

Any other person in Mondstadt would have likely ignored this dog, let alone cry for it in the earnest way you do, and despite the situation, he finds his admiration for you growing.

“Let’s take her to headquarters, hm? I’m sure Klee would be more than happy to join you in entertaining her whilst I organise for a vet.”

His words have the intended effect on you, and you find yourself calming down slightly. “And once we know the dog is safe and well, we can set to finding out who did this to her.”

© 2023, thesparklingwriter. please do not copy, edit, repost, or translate.

taglist: @ainescribe

[kanene-yaaay]

Oh, To Die By Your Hands

Kanene's notes: IT SEEMS SO SERIOUS WITH THAT TITLE KJUHYTFRGHUJK Nah, just your normal tickle fic with not so much normal characters. Fit and Pac have been living rent free in my mind since before Purgatory and after their date??? I am dead on the floor. Get a man who will declare his feelings for you in your native language for real for real.

Warnings: Lots of nibbles, tickly kisses and raspberries in this one. Switch!Fit and Switch!Pac. Around 6.500 words. Also! I tried to add the way that Pac calls Fit because of his accent written on the fic because I think it's lovely and cute. Hope it isn't too much confunsing or strange :D

[~*~]

“Thank you for coming, Pac. Ramón really likes when you sing him that lullaby.” His voice was rough but soft, just like his entire form and self when it came to his son, his beautiful baby boy. 

Pac smiled, also following his example and lowering his voice, closing the secured door of the kid’s room carefully before they both headed to the other room where they held their first date, a prep on his step. “It’s no problem, Fitch! Actually, I don’t know why he likes that one so much, it literally talks about how a Cuca, which is like… a kind of monster? I don’t know how to explain. But how she will grab, or better, uh, snatch the kid away because the parents are out working.”

A loud peal of laughter was pried from the mercenary’s lips, staring at the other with unbelief in his eyes. “Wait, wait, that is the actual meaning of the song?”

“Yeah, yeah! I don’t know why they made it so scary. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if someone sang it to me before putting me to bed.”

“Damn, brazilian lullabies are just at a hardcore level.”

“Teaches you to sleep with one eye open, right?”

“That is right, that is right.”

They shared smiles. Arriving at the place, the air was still light, but it wasn’t difficult to see the question itching Pac’s throat, wanting to jump out of his body. It was in the way that he walked closely by Fit side and how he kept sneaking glances at him, quickly deviating them to look around the room before going back to stare, keeping the cycle for a while. Each time his steps got closer and closer until their hands intertwined in a hold.

It made sense he would be like that, of course. Fit would be just the same if his boyfriend woke him up in the middle of the night asking him to come to his place to help to calm down his kid after a nightmare because he wasn’t able to. 

Still, he was glad that no questions were asked, not when Pac arrived - barely half a minute later after he sent his message, sleep and anxiety clinging like a shadow to his form - and not now, as the storm seemed to have passed.

Shame, however, kept flowing hot in his veins. He and Ramón had been alone since… always, really. They both had dealt with each other’s nightmares and night terrors more times than they could count. This one wasn’t supposed to be different. Shouldn’t be different. He should be there the moment his boy opened the door of his room with tears streaming down his face, sobs stubbornly escaping from his firmly pressed lips and hands open for a comforting hug that Fit should be able to give, a rare show of a child that his baby boy was, but refused to demonstrate most of time.

And yet…

Fit himself hadn’t been much better. Hadn’t been better for a long time, now. Because everytime he closed his eyes the threat from Madagio filled his mind and nightmares kept permeating his every night for the past two weeks, crowding his mind with horrifying scenarios that shouldn’t, but shook his core. 

Usually, he would just wake up, push all of it - the feelings, the fears, the screams begging for their life - deep down his chest and hope that it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the ass.

Nevertheless to say, as all the things in life, it definitely did. 

Because that night, when Ramón looked at his face - and god knows what he saw there - he stopped right in his tracks and carefully signed his name. He had been crying, he had been crying and scared and tired and all Fit could think - because words simply didn’t come out, no matter how much he tried to spill, spit them to comfort his kid - is that he could kill him. So quickly. Easily, even, with a twist of his wrist, a swipe of his trident, a pull from his bomb stacks, he could kill him and suddenly he was frozen on the spot, unable to even get closer to his son. 

If Madagio had any power like the Federation, it could control him and destroy his most precious riches in a matter of seconds. It wouldn’t need to come to the island. It wouldn’t even need to pull Fit from it to make his life a living hell.

“There is something that we need to talk, Pac. Please take a seat.”

So, he called Pac. He deserved to know exactly what he was getting into (how many times would they have this kind of conversation?) and Ramón deserved a father who would actually get his shit together and get over it.

Pac gulped and looked at him slightly startled, knowing very well what the serious tune could mean, probably with a thousand of scenarios already running at light speed in his mind. “O-of course, Fitch.”

He then softly squeezed his hand - because there was no universe where Pac wouldn’t be perfect and strong and there but sometimes Fit seemed to forget that so he had to remind him - and let it go, sitting on the blue couch Fit recently added on the room and expectantly waiting for the other to do the same.

Which he promptly did - of course, because there wasn’t any universe where he would go and Fit wouldn’t immediately follow him. 

“Wine? What about wine? Do you want some wine?” The brazilian offered, pulling glasses from his well trusted backpack and a bottle from the refrigerator nearby. 

“Already wanting to take me to bed, Pac? Wow.” 

“No! Stop it.” Pac lightly shoved his arm, both chuckling for a bit before Fit sobered, taking a deep breath and a sip of the liquid. It was good stuff, probably from Aypierre’s vines. “Thought we were here to have a serious conversation, no?”

“We are.” 

Fit stopped, pondered how he would put it in words. It didn’t matter, there was no easy way to put it.

“Pac, would you kill me if it was necessary?”

The scientist sputtered, almost choking on the wine before turning in alarm to stare at the other, his gaze zig zagging across his body as if it would transform at any moment into an enemy, a monster in disguise pretending to be his boyfriend right in front of him. 

He didn’t doubt Pac’s abilities, even if Pac himself hardly believed in them. He was an extremely good fighter, going through monsters and battles with a calm demeanor and precise, strong attacks that ended the conflict as soon as possible. Fit was very skilled, himself. But he was sure that if Pac used one of his brilliant plans and his scythe, it would take a lot, but he would eventually come down.

But, for that, he needed to know if Pac would go through with the plan.

“Why, why that, Fitch? Did something happen? Are you feeling weird? Is it…” He got closer. Fit’s heart beated louder. If it was him… if it was him it wouldn’t be so bad. “Is it the Federation, again?”

“No. It’s… the other.”

Understanding downed in his expression. “Oh. Did he contact you again?”

Fit shook his head. “No. But it did say that it would hurt you if I tried to betray our contract and I am not planning to but, Pac, I need to know if you’ll do it. If I become a threat.”

Pac bit his lower lip, thoughtfully. Fit’s muscles relaxed, glad to know he was taking this as a serious worry, not just some unfounded fear.

“We will save you. Just like we did before, just like you did to me, Fitch. I, I will be there for you too, when you need and for as long as you need, if you’re gone we will bring you back.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I don’t, but, if I have to kill you, Fit… how will I tell this to Ramón? Or Sunny? WHo is going to be her bodyguard? And what about the morning crew? Are we supposed to just… stay?”

“You are all very strong and I am sure that-”

“No.” His voice was determined, sad. His hands gestured widely. “No, no, no. I am not leaving you behind, Fit. What about when I’m in danger, who will rescue me? Who will share the island’s fofoca with me? Or give me a refrigerator full of food on the first date? Or kill the eye workers when they attack or tease Tubbo when he goes on a date with Fred, or help us to take care of Sunny, or, or, or…” Fit held the other’s hands, squeezing it tight when he started to talk too fast, snapping Pac out of his thoughts, making him take a big breath. “No. You can’t go away, Fitche. Never. I won’t let them take you too.”

Oh.

Oh.

Yeah, that… that made sense. 

This was Pac, who the first thought when seeing his friend being drugged and controlled by the Federation was going under the same treatment so he could find a cure for it. The one who forgave Cellbit in a heartbeat when he told him he had changed. Who refused to kill him - even before the date, when Fit couldn’t even put in words his feelings for the other - during Purgatory. Who threw himself into mines and danger easily without thinking twice and would do all of it again an again if it meant keeping someone he cared about safe, even when the Federation kept taking his family one day after the other. He would do it in a heartbeat.

It made sense he didn’t want to lose another one. He was smart, strong, kind… Fit would trust him with his life into his hands in a blink of an eye.

But…

“If I hurt Ramón, Pac. If ever get close to hurt any of the eggs…”

“I will lock you, Fit. And I, we! We will find a cure again. None of them will die and you don’t need to die either.”

“Do you promise?”

Pac nodded, composure and eyes kept firm in their place, holding him down and reminding him he was no longer on this alone. “I promise, Fit. And if your boss cat comes here to hurt them… Then we will kick his butt, right?”

Fit snorted, if it was anyone else, he would doubt, throw their words away as a senseless attempt to comfort him, without true meaning. His boss was god, some kind of entity with power enough to pull him out of a world of literal destruction and throw him into a dimension where all of it never existed. However, this was Pac. Both he and Mike have proven over and over again that there was no place, no rule, no limit that they weren't able to overcome and laugh at their face when the managed to overcome it.

Maybe… If it was him.

He could believe it. Besides, Pac did promise that he wouldn’t let him hurt the children. They were always the priority, afterall

“Yes, we will. Thank you, Pac.” He took a deep breath. Since he already started, he could as well… 

Talk. About stuff.

“Sometimes I… worry about, uh, what I can do.”

(Kill. Maim. Destroy. Break it down piece by piece until there is nothing left. Watch in the shadows and continue his way quietly through all the screams.)

Pac understood what he meant. “Oh. It’s fair. I think, it must be hard, when you think about it…” He then squeezed his hand before letting them go, starting to count on his own fingers. “But, I don’t think you should worry about it, Fitch. You can do a lot of awesome things, too! You’re a really good cooker, you can make very cool bombs and explosions, you’re good at hide and seek, at saving me when I am down. You are also very good at hiking and training, which makes sense, right? With how muscular and great you are, also-”

“Pac,” Fit voice’s took a firm tune, pulling Pac from his rambling and immediately catching his attention, wide black eyes turning at him attentively. “Pac, I was made for killing. All of this is just…”

(It doesn’t matter.)

“Nah.”

Fit blinked once, twice, quite astonished at how nonchalant the scientist sounded. Stared at those beautiful, soft eyes that watched him with a playful light that somehow nothing on the Island had been able to destroy. Strong. “Sorry?”

“I don’t think you were made for killing, Fit. No one is only able to do one thing and everyone can change. Besides… it gave you a lot of skill, right? Surviving there. That is why you’re one of the best fighters on the island, Fit! The codes, the eye workers… even Cucorucho is no match for you. You’re so strong, fierce, cool, fit and,” Pac’s determined tune tripped a little bit as his words got faster and a tad more distracted, his eyes deviating from his stare, looking at his face, arms, torso… Fit would be lying if he said he didn’t like how it hovered for a little while on his chest and muscles, “and you’re good looking too! Awesome, ruthless, muscular, handsome...”

“Ahalright!” Fit cut him before his face melted from how hot it felt, the tip of his ears feeling like they were on fire. His voice seemingly broke Pac out of his mind and made him immediately attempt to hide his face on his hoodie, trying to jump away to hide and being stopped by the gentle hand still holding his, keeping him close. That didn’t prevent more embarrassed snickers from also filling the air. “Sorry, sorry, I got distracted.”

“Take it easy, big boy, take it easy.”

Fit only laughed harder when the teasy nickname made the other shout in protest, a light hit landing on his shoulder. It successfully distracted him enough so his head peaked again from the deepness of his blue hoodie, so Fit counted it as a win. Especially when a playful gleam took over Pac’s glare.

“Actually, Fitch, I think you were made for something.”

“Oh, you think so?”

Pac got closer, smiling, nodding in such an innocent way that could only mean trouble. 

“Yeah, for kisses.” He laid his head on his shoulder and Fit could feel goosebumps travel his entire body from the skin contact. His voice became lower, slower, certain. “Can I kiss you, Fit?”

Fit definitely didn’t bluescreen, half words and meaningless sounds leaving his mouth in a string of incoherency that lasted a couple of minutes before he finally managed to get himself together enough to shove an actual sentence, with a too high pitched tune, through his throat. “I-I mean, of course you can, Pac! If, ah, if you want to.”

Pac’s answer was a single kiss placed in his collarbone before the brazilian focused his administrations on his neck. Soft, warm lips leaving a trail of tingles and electricity whatever they touched. Fit could feel the care in each one and it felt… nice. 

Cozy. 

Warm. 

Tickly.

Ok, actually, it was very, very tickly.

Fit closed his eyes and turned his face around, trying to hide the beginning of a smile that grew bigger with every light - so, so, so light - peck grazing his skin. Not wanting to actually ruin the sweet moment between them, especially after Pac got the courage to ask for what the mercenary had been wanting to do for a while.

(Cuddle and kiss his boyfriend. Oh god, when did he become such a softie?)

The problem with his hiding tactic is that it only left more spots in the open for Pac to attack and bash in attention, not leaving a single patch of skin alone without a caring goodbye kiss, unknowingly breaking piece by piece Fit’s barriers.

He twitched when his boyfriend got too close to the line of his jaw, the warmth racing up to the tip of his ears in a way he hoped that Pac didn’t realized. The one with blue hoodie and attentive eyes stopped in a hitched breath. Waited.

Fit got his racing heart and tickly tingles under control. He was not going to lose to a few accidental tickles. He was not.

He squeezed Pac’s and drew circles on the back of his hands, turning at him with a teasy smirk and crooked eyebrows.

“Oh, is it my turn now?”

Pac giggled and shook his head. “Wait, wait, I still got…”

Without finishing his sentence he dived and placed a light kiss right under his chin, successfully catching the other out of guard and making one of various locked snickers wheezily flee from his lips, quickly being followed by others when Fit tried to cover his smile, turning around once again.

“Oh, god, I am doing this wrong, aren’t I?” Pac pushed himself away and grumbled, starting to search in his pockets for his warpstone, increasing the other’s snickery fit. “Ok, ok, that is it.Thank you so much for calling, I had an incredible time so now I am going to throw myself off the Cristo Redentor and then go to bed, good night, Fit. Tell Ramón I loved him and tell Richas to take a shower, bye.”

“No, no, Pac. Calma, calma.” Fit held one of his wrists, pulling Pac back to his place on the sofa, chasing his black eyes when they kept running away from his while the scientist kept shaking his head from side to other in a dramatic despair. Fit ended up resting his other hand on his cheek, guiding his look back. “I would never laugh at my brazilian boyfriend.” He tried to not grin smugly when that melted the other’s pout in a shy smile “The kisses just tickled me, that is all.”

That immediately brought Pac’s attention. “Wait, Fit… you’re ticklish?”

“It seems like I am, but I am not sure. Not a lot of chances for bonding and laughing when fighting for your life in 2b2t.”

“Oh, I see.” Silence, Pac’s wrist wiggled out of his hold and suddenly there were warm hands flying to his neck, fingertips dancing on it, blunt nails and wiggly fingers tickling the sensitive spot softly. “So, you’re ticklish.”

Fit huffed a laugh at the strange feeling, instinctively scrunching up his neck all while he tried to not pry Pac’s hands away. Same hands that now spidered their way up to his ears, tracing them and giving each one a few scratches, Pac watching in awe as their tips became more and more colored with each passing second.

“Oh my god, Fit, your ears are so red! Are you blushing? That is really, reeeally cute, you know?”

 Fit’s shoulders began to shake slightly with the effort to keep all the giggles and laughter trapped inside, the task growing more and more difficult as Pac kept his exploring. Fingers tapping their way down to the mercenary’s ribcage, making his torso twitch from one side to another as they started skittering up and down, tracing senseless drawings and forms on the spot. Another fleeing snigger escaped from his firmly pressed lips. There was no way such light, barely even touching touch could tickle that much.

“You can laugh it out, Fit. I bet it will feel much better! Besides,” the gleam in his eyes got sharper and Pac didn’t really lower his voice, but something in his tune changed, a turning point that made a shiver run down Fit’s spine. It didn’t feel like something truly dangerous but alerts began flashing in his mind when the touch became just a tad firmer. 

Fit had to push down the squirms that threatened to push the other away. “You can’t just keep all that laughter only for yourself, now, that wouldn’t be fair. No, no, not fair at all. Keeping all those giggles and snickers hidden from me. Trapped inside. They deserve to be free, you know? So everyone can see how cute they are.”

“Pac…”

But then Pac started digging and his barrier broke. Loud laughter immediately followed the hands vibrating in between his ribs, scribbling, looking for any special spot that would make Fit go insane. Not that he was very far from this, now, head being thrown backwards with how strong his crackles were, because nothing in the world could ever prepare him for the feeling that was being tickled, to have each nerve screaming but not in pain, to have each touch bring a new kind of electricity that traveled his torso and filled his heart with a warmth that made him want to jump out of the sofa and at the same time bring Pac closer.

A curious prodding in a spot in his highest ribs that was almost on his back and Fit slammed his body on the cushion, a snort being pried from his lips and quickly being followed by another and another when the fingers kept drilling and kneading on the spot non stop.

Then he heard it, low as a whisper. “Beautiful….” It came in an awed voice, and in between half lidded eyes Fit saw the one with black hair shake his head, as if getting himself together before slowing down the tickling, thumbs rubbing the remnant tickles as he stared at him. “Sorry, Fitch, I, caham, I got, uh, distracted. Are you okay?” He nodded, chuckles taking over his words and disappearing with any hope of saying something without descending in more of a waterfall of giggles. Still, he tried, the proud smile in Pac’s face erasing his embarrassment in how silly he sounded giddy like this. 

“I’m fine, just surprised that I am dating a tickle monster.”

The brazilian laughed, shaking his head and hiding his face on Fit’s shoulder. “Não, não, não (No, no, no). Mike is actually the tickle monster in our team. I just learned a lot from playing fights with him.” Pac trembled in an exaggerated shudder. “He is merciless.”

“Really?”

“Uh hum.” Pac hummed, thoughtful, before doing a little ‘pop’ sound, hands washing down to his sides, tapping senselessly there. “He had this kind of attack where he would be talking to you and suddenly he would start to tickle you and like, it would be really, really light so you didn’t actually, you know, like, died laughing? But at the same time it would be crazily ticklish! Following you around no matter how much you squirmed or snickered.”

“P-pac, come on…”

The other just hummed, still talking and hands still spidering in their resting position, taking turns in between drawing circles on his sides, feeling how his torso would shake with a new round of chuckles blossoming anew, and scratching the little dive of his hips to make them grow faster.

“Then he would try to keep a conversation going and complain like ‘are you even paying attention to what I’m saying, what’s going on?’ as if he didn’t know what was happening, can you believe?! And you couldn’t just… walk away or keep silly giggling non stop and not answer him, because you’re still in a conversation and that would be rude, right? So you’re just there, laughing and wiggling and it always drives me crazy!”

Fit nodded, knowing the feeling very well, in his opinion. His brain trying to pay attention to his words but getting totally distracted by his own attempts to not wiggle around so much because everytime his body trashed to one side, Pac would just dig his fingers on his sides and drum, which made him jump in the other direction only to receive the same treatment, creating a maddening cycle almost impossible to escape from. 

Once again, laughing began flooding the room, high pitches and wheezy giggles chasing around one or two squeals when a tentative squeeze grazed the spot before quickly jumping away, the unexpected playful attacks blending with the soft scribbles and somehow making him not being able to predict nor prepare for one or the other.

“And then, out of nowhere he would get bored and that is where it lies the danger, Fitch.” Pac’s voice took a turn to a lower tune, torn between a warning and a threat. His tickling came to a halt, fingertips just laying on his waist with occasional twitches. What was more strange, though, was how, even so, the janitor couldn’t stop the titters taking over his mind and body. He wondered if that was how he would finally die, undone and destroyed by his very lovely boyfriend. Pac snickered in mischief and amusement, breaking his mask for a couple of seconds before cleaning his throat and coming back to his persona, interlocutor voice back again.

“Because, when he stops it means that he is getting bored. You know that he is getting bored and he knows that you know that he is getting bored and that it is just a matter of time before he decided that is enough and something happens” he highlighted the word by spidering quickly across his ribs. His voice sounded like it was closer. “So you just stay there, quiet, waiting for the moment he will strike.”

Fit held his breath, eyes closed. His smile was so big that it traveled from one ear to the other. No more laughter was falling from his mouth, but his shoulders still bounced with the phantom tickles that freely pricked his skin and seemed to follow his every squirm. Pac’s hands felt warm - dangerous - where they touched and he was pretty sure that his entire face would melt at some point of this game.

He waited.

Waited. Nothing.

A kiss was pressed on his forehead.

He opened an eye, muscles immediately untensing and relaxing with the scene, even if adrenaline still ran without control in his veins, of Pac happily smiling, just a few centimeters from his face.

“Oi, Fitch.”

“Roi, Pa-ACK!”

Loud, uncontrollable and unstoppable laughter filled the room, Fit still tried to finish his sentence before giving up and succumbing to the snorts and wheezing that took over his laughter. Squeezes, drumming and prodding attacked his sides, kneading on the ticklish spot before scratching their way up to his ribs, burying themselves there and then keeping their way up to his armpits - poking and scribbling and making him lock his arms on his torso - until it got to his ears, changing the loud peals of booming laughter to a hysterical string of snickers only to make he go back to crackling when he attacked his sides again and again, alternating between each and every tickle spot so he couldn’t picture where he was going to tickle next. 

Fit could even swear that at some point he felt a squeeze in his knees that fished a chortle from his lips and an uncontrollable kick from his legs.

It lasted only a couple of minutes. All the electricity and tickly buzzing teased and made him laugh like nothing else mattered, loud and free even when, between his own amused giggling, Pac ceased his mean attack and watched with a giant grin as the other tried to regain his breath, a light blush dusting his face.

“You were saying, Fitch?”

Nonsense. That was exactly what Fit was about to say. Because his brain kind of became a mush after all that attack and the airy giggles that kept flowing from his throat didn’t exactly help him to gather his thoughts nor fade the hotness running still on his face.

“I, er, huh…” and there it was, the sentence got lost to jumpy snickers again. Fit brought a hand to hide them and try to gain at least save a bit of face, but a quick poke on his defenseless armpit made it go immediately down again. He glared without any real heat at his boyfriend, who lifted his arms in rendition.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m done for real, now.”

The silence was extended for a few pieces of time, stretching across them like a cat after a nap. 

Fit was the one who broke it.

“That is Mike’s…” He coughed, cleaning his throat “special tickle attack, then? I can see why you call him merciless.”

“Nah, actually that is my own technique. Mike prefers to catch a person out of guard and tickle while taunting them until they promise to make something for him.”

The surprised, amused huff of laughter that came out from the mercenary’s mouth didn’t have anything to do with wiggly fingers this time and Pac joined him. 

“You’re such a sneaky guy, Pac, you’re such a sneaky guy.”

“Thank you. Gotta learn from the best right? Maybe someday me and Ramón will team up and win the hide and seek against you.” 

“Hmm, you probably would. But maybe I can convince Richarlyson to help me?”

“It would be good. Richas is the best in hide and seek. He would really like to. Hey! We should set up a playdate with them in our Hide and Seek arena. We can even call Tubbo and Sunny, maybe even Philza with Chayanne and Tallulah, if they are awake. The more the merrier, right?”

Fit was sure that if he was shapeshifter like Tubbo, without even wanting to, his eyes would be heart shaped. It never ceases to amaze him how Pac could accept and love everyone - him - like they were and would always be a family to him. 

“But, so?” The brazilian wiggled his eyebrows, a smirk opening in his face. “How is it the experience of being tickled for the first time?”

Maddening. Tortuous. Able to make someone go crazy, he was sure. Surprisingly tiring and unexpectedly effective. Strange. Itchy. A lot. Hard to explain.

But also, it was extremely caring. Warm. Soft. Funny. Bonding. Weird. Extremely silly. He couldn’t stop his smile and thoughts about the gleam and shine in Pac’s eyes when he discovered a new spot or how - strangely enough - light and giddy he was feeling right now.

Besides, he never was self conscious about his laughter or anything but listening to Pac calling him… beautiful, in such an amazed voice… Well, his ego really couldn’t complain.

“It was fun.” He decided to go with that, a playful grin in his face, his hands holding Pac’s and intertwining their fingers. 

“Oh, I’m happy in hear that! Actually, I-”

“But…” Fit cut him, purposely deepening his voice in a tune that never failed to catch the other of guard, sending a cold shiver through his muscles. “I can think of something even more fun.”

“Y-yeah?” Pac’s blush deepened when he looked at the dangerous, sharp, determined shine in Fit’s eyes, his entire mind getting overcomed with a choir of excited screams, burning face at realizing how their intertwined hands was both a soft gesture and a restrain. 

Damn, he was really, really gay.

“Uh hm,” his tune now was almost like a purr of a predator watching his prey wobbly smile back and hold his hands tighter together, knowing very well his fate and still not even trying to escape from it. “It’s something that back on 2b2t we liked to call… revenge.”

With a swift move he pulled their hands and lead Pac to lose his equilibrium, falling backwards on his lap, one hand keeping his arms up and the other lifting his hoodie just the slightest bit, the actual perfect amount for him to immediately shove his face on his stomach and start blowing raspberry after raspberry, quick and ruthless.

“FITCHE!” The sound that came out of his mouth could barely be called a word, the high pitched shout being quickly taken over by a hysterical crackling that made his entire body shake with each laughter. 

His boyfriend just chuckled, lifting his head just enough that his next words would be audible to the other, each one buzzing on the ticklish skin and making tiny, tickly electric shocks dance freely across it. “Oh my, Pac, what a delicious belly you got right here. One of the richest, rarest delicacies I’ve ever seen.” 

“NONONO, FITCH!” He kicked and trashed, trying to roll away from his predicament but being firmly held in place by the other, which was kind of nice, since he wasn’t sure how to explain to Fit that he definitely wasn’t going to run away if he had the chance. 

Still, that didn’t stop the fast, airy and high giggles of painting every syllable of his pleas that began flowing like a stream from his lungs, becoming more and more intelligible with each protest. “Please, please, Fitch anything but that! I will do anything you want! Do you wanna know all Mike’s most ticklish spots? Eu posso te dizer! (I can tell you!) he has this place right under his knees that if you poke he starts making ‘wee’ sounds e é muito engraçado (it’s very funny) Fitche por favor, espera, espera, wait!”

“Sorry, Pac, nothing I can do. I just have to try a little. Raspberries are so delicious and I just… I just gotta, ya know? I just gotta try a little, the tiniest little bit.” He lowered his head once again, carefully and softly nibbling on the ticklish skin and doing a bunch of ‘oh nom nom nom’ sounds as he did so, smugly relishing in how louder Pac’s laughter sounded at this, random portuguese and english being mixed in a series of incoherent talking that he couldn't even hope to understand, even with the translator. 

The raspberries and nibbles began taking turns, dancing all across his stomach and sometimes even escaping to attack one lower rib or two in a way that usually drove Ramón crazy. It was kind of funny and endless endearing to realize that both of his boys were extremely weak for the same kind of tickle attack.

All the while Pac was simply dying. There was no other way to describe it. He was utterly and completely dying, losing every tread of.. everything that wasn’t thinking about how much it tickled and laughing both because Fit (Fit!!!!! His boyfriend Fit!!!!) was teasing and tickling him and also because as it seems he was the goofiest dork that ever existed in this world while doing that and somehow that made all the butterflies flying crazy on his belly and tickly electricity following his nerves one hundred times worse and ticklish and it was amazing.

Fit enjoyed a couple more minutes of the silly attack, fondly realizing how much more hysterical and loud the crackles got everytime he added more “hmmm” and “nom nom nom” sounds.

“There we go, big boy.” He lifted his head and got a glimpse of a gigantic, dazzling smile and a red face before Pac immediately hid it behind his hands, wheezes and snickers filling the room.

“Shuhuhut up!”

Fit grinned, but let go of the teasing and took pity on his brazilian boyfriend. He could quite understand why Pac seemed so happy in destroying him minutes ago. There was just a something that made his heart beat faster just in realizing that he was the reason why Pac was so happy and giggly.

Also, the way that the brazilian’s accent got stronger, especially while saying his name in between unstoppable, uncontrollable giggling… Fit thinks he could live with that, yeah.

“Oh my god, Fitche… and you call me merciless.”

The ex-mercenary chuckled. His eyes hovered over Pac’s face, making sure that he was still breathing and alive (he hadn’t taken too far, did he?) when suddenly his look got attracted to his neck, the memory of what started all of this popping like a flashing lamp in his mind.

“Pac…” It was the low voice again, lighter, but still there. Pac’s entire body froze still for a second and alarmed eyes turned to stare Fit, who seemed strangely fixated on his hoodie. “Is your neck ticklish?”

Oh.

Oh.

Pac 100% blamed the gay screaming in his head for his next words.

“YES!” The shout was as excited as it was loud, making both of them wince at it, Fit looking at the one with black hair with a faintly surprised, crooked eyebrows. “I mean, er, assim, uh, no!!! It’s actually not! NOt even a little bit! What even is ticklish, you know? I don’t even speak english, senhor Fitch eme ce, na verdade, essa é a minha primeira vez aqui na ilha, quem é você e… Não!” (sir Fit eme cee, actually, this is my first time here in the island, who are you and… No!)

The babbling was promptly cut when, once again, Fit chuckled in mischief and shoved his head on Pac’s neck. 

Butterfly kisses followed the line of his jaw, attacked that spot under his chin, tickled the place where the collarbone and the neck met, each patch of sensitive skin getting a kiss and a raspberry as a gift, making a series of snorts and high dazed giggles quickly follow the initial surprised shriek and jump around the entire room, Pac’s arms coming to rest on the other’s chest, partially pushing him away and partially holding him, legs kicking behind them with how much adrenaline and giddiness jumped across his muscles and filled his heart.

Pac hid his face on the crook of Fit’s neck, attempting to at least survive a few more seconds from dying of embarrassment, each snort and hysterical high pitched snicker sealing even more his fate and putting another nail in his coffin.

A few curious squeezes on his sides and a final, long raspberry and then Fit finally let him go, watching as the other got his breath again, forgetting for once to hide his blush and brilliant smile into his hoodie, looking completely lost in his own laughing fit. Adorable. 

Sometimes Fit wondered how could he be so lucky.

A loud click and a flashing light brought both of them out of their thoughts. Pac almost falling from the sofa when he turned around and saw Ramón quickly hid a camera behind his back while passing three copies of the pictures to Richas, who stopped making gagging noises to hide them on his protected backpack before the adults could take it.

“Richarlyson, Me dá essas fotos!” (Give me those pictures!) 

“Ramón, what are you doing awake? You should be sleeping. It’s late.”

Ramón had the sense to look at least a tad admonished, but the expression quickly disappeared when Richas began jumping on the same spot, wiggling from one side to another like he always did when he wanted to cause more mischief. The kids exchanged a look.

“Nenê (Baby), no. Don’t follow Richas’ example, he is a little demon.” 

The sandal that went flying across the room and hit the brazilian in the face - which actually led to him falling from the cushions - only further proved this fact. Still, Richas let out plenty of offended noises while getting his sandal back, showing off his tongue when Ramón shoved him and shook his head in disapproval. 

Fit tried his best to not laugh and sound serious. “Richas, do not hit your dad.”

“Don’t worry, Fitch.” Pac tapped his arm, getting up from the floor, tsking. “There is no other way, I guess. I’ll have to kill him. Yeah, it was fun to have a son for a while.”

The mercenary laughed, knowing very well how much of a weak heart Pac had for his little troublemaker. “Calma, calma, Pac. I think I have the solution. Since the kids are feeling so… energetic, we should probably tire them out before putting them back in bed, right?” 

He also got up and gave Pac a Look, pretending to not see Ramón pulling Richas’ sleeve and exchanging warning words to him, knowing very well what that playful, dangerous shine in his dad’s eyes meant.

Pac grinned, mirroring his own devilish expression. “I think you’re right, Fit.”

Richas once again wiggled around in energy, his dragon tail tapping on the floor while Ramón threw a flower at Pac (smart boy, Fit thought, winning the melting heart from the dad that would have more mercy, very smart) and jumped on the same place, smiling and nodding in excitement.

He then pulled Richas away, starting the chase. Pac immediately following behind with joyfuls “I’m gonna catch you!”.

Fit chuckled.

Maybe Pac was right. 

Maybe life - he - was more than just die and kill. 

Well… he rolled his shoulders and followed his family in their game, laughing excitedly. He would have to enjoy it while it lasted, then.

[clochanamarc]

does she have a favourite child? if not, then what are her most favorite things / traits about each of her children?

nonnie i send u many kisses and affections bc this question is just WONDERFUL!

so she doesn't have a favourite child. like, naturally there are some kids who might receive more words of affirmation or hugs one day, or maybe their love languages are a little different, so from the perspective of an on-looker it could seem like aisling might, for example, ignore eli or tim a lot while helping victor and advik more. but it's also important to know that eli just has a very limited social battery, and tim's happy place is the kitchen, while victor likes to talk about his problems out loud and advik is an eight year old, so he just fires rapid questions 24/7 and aisling has no problem answering them.

basically, she loves all her kids the same, but she also knows their boundaries and limits and trusts them to tell her when they need to be alone or when they need to be around people, and that's also why she's very insistent on at least one family meal in the day. it's also why she loves how involved the diner squad is in the kids' lives, bc tina mightn't be willing to tell aisling something, but richard normally manages to get through to her, yk? it's not that there's not enough love, it's more that sometimes you need specific people, and aisling knows that tina prefers quiet company, so she gravitates towards richard.

on to the next part of your question, which i'm gonna leave beneath a read more!

starting with victor, she definitely loves how he processes things. he finds a lot of peace and quiet in his garden, and he likes being able to work out his own thoughts through his plants, which is the kind of self-awareness that doesn't come very often to teenagers, i think? so the fact that victor found this so helpful, and even contributes his crops to the diner and aisling's dishes, is a hugely admirable thing for aisling, who had no idea how to process her own thoughts and feelings until she was 21 and living in new york. she also absolutely thinks the world of how he's able to figure out when other people need the same kind of ease and tranquility. he won't show his garden to just anyone, but he knows when advik is agitated, or tina is meditating on the roof, that they need to lie low in the greenhouse for a bit while listening to jazz music.

eli is very similar in how he uses music and technology as mediums to work out his own thoughts and feelings, but he also loves being able to use technology to help others. when aisling reveals that she can't read or write, he's the one who helps her to learn how to use the speech to text apps, and he also uses a scanner app on her phone to translate printed documents into an audio recording, so if she receives a letter from any of the schools, she can take a photo and the phone will read the words to her. and it's that kind of thoughtful consideration, plus how smart and kind he is, that aisling loves to pieces.

(it's also worth mentioning that eli and victor are in the unique position of being the only foster kids who are the biological children of a member of the order of V. idk why it's worth mentioning, i just like to mention it IWSFAWJDFASHIADFJ)

next we have tina! aisling is almost killed by tina the first time they meet, and instead of fighting her she's like "u seem pretty unhappy about this, why don't u put the knife down and we'll get some adoption papers sussed out?". tina goes on to attend therapy, but she goes through six therapists in the space of two weeks before finding the right one for her, and it's a constant quality she has that aisling admires so much. tina doesn't give up when she has a goal in mind. she decides to take on a family tree project and finds her maternal grandparents in iowa, learning that they're her only surviving biological family left. she repeatedly cancels dates and parties to go to therapy bc as far as she's concerned, therapy is the priority. about six months after moving into aisling's apartment, she decides that she wants to learn mandarin, and she sticks at it. her perseverance and dedication are things that aisling loves, but it's also her ability to take on feedback and decide whether she can adjust reasonably to it.

fatin is actually a day older than tina, but because of the whole "stranded on an island" situation, they're both happy to let tina be the big sister. however, fatin is instrumental in getting advik to feel more at home and emerge from his shell. her confidence and honesty are qualities that aisling does love, but her favorite quality is fatin's compassion. she stops playing the cello when she moves in with them, but she begins to take up other hobbies that help her bond with her siblings. facial masks, DJing and cake decorating are just a few, and while fatin loves them, she confides in aisling that the real reason for these choices is that she can share them with the others; tina, eli and tim in particular. fatin also doesn't mind going to the zoo for the fifth time in a week, and she works hard on finding fun animal-related activities to share with advik.

elliott is a new kid who stemmed from a single thread, he's super smart, very eager to share that intelligence, and doesn't worry nearly as much about his social status or image as most fifteen year olds would. it's his easy-going sureness of self that aisling loves, but also the way that he conveys information to people without making them feel stupid; elliott also insisted on helping aisling learn the states off by heart, and helped her to study for the citizenship exam. her lack of education posed no problems for him. instead, he exhibited levels of patience and knowledge that far exceed most adults put together, and his quiet confidence keeps him safe from a myriad of attacks from insecure bullies.

advik is the youngest, but his passion and enthusiasm are a few of aisling's favorite traits in him. that and his earnest efforts to soothe troubled souls, both of family and of strangers. one time she brought in a wounded avenger and he made sure to give them a tiger band-aid and some lion crackers, while patting the back of their hand and tell them all the coolest things about their favorite animals.

tim is the quietest of her kids, and yet when he communicates, it's with careful decisiveness and a certainty that aisling admires greatly. in his more social moments, he likes to invite others to bake with him, in particular stanley, henri and rani. his ability to read people is remarkable, and every word and move he makes is only made when he's sure of himself. what others perceive as a withdrawn, indecisive, anxious boy, aisling sees for tim's refusal to operate on any terms beyond his own, and his wariness of new people is often due to his anxiousness to protect his new family from any threats, perceived or otherwise.

honestly, aisling loves them all equally, and she has more foster kids or unofficially adopted kids written by many amazing friends of mine, but i think i better save those for various other posts! tumblr has limits! but yeah, their differences and similarities are some of my favorite things to analyze, and their connections to each other and to outside forces. tysm for asking this my love!!!

[sleeponthephone]

it’s connected to the minstrel in him somehow. they were born on the stroke of midnight, a miracle child. it’s how they’re able to find restaurants that don’t exist and bring back exactly the right kind of dryer sheets without instruction.

I used to look for him in the starlight and tarot, but I didn’t find them there. they are in the business of humans, in to-do lists written on whiteboards, in a text asking hey, will you help me learn this song. music! of course they were in the music. my fingers, uncertain on the strings, except they don’t have to be around him. zir voice echoing back from december, you’re fine, I started out not knowing too. constantly kind, consistently reassuring. every problem I had, he was able to solve, and it made me question why I ever do the things that I do.

I think a lot about the flavor of my love, how I can season it, soften it, stoke it up, simmer it down, throw it against the wall to see how long it actually sticks for. did you know, no interaction with him has ever been perfect. there is always something amiss that left my throat. but they come back anyway. they do not let the grievances pile high enough to build a place for him to shout down from.

(speaking of: I had a bad angle that night. I’ve looked at you so many times since then, and I think it’s perfect. it’s the most adorable nose, exquisite upturn and lovely in profile, meeting your brow like the sea spreading its hands over the beach. mostly you just look like love to me.)

I think they are incredibly smart. they lament that they were not a genius. later we are reaffirming how grateful we are that the other stayed alive long enough for us to meet. I say I am so happy that we are not in the genius lifetime he mourns, because my path would not have crossed his.

they’re an awful match for a writer, sitting there passing me chalice after chalice, words sloshing out over the sides and staining my carpet. I want to tell him something beautiful and true. reach out, reach out, reach back- I wasn’t always this way, but now it is pulling teeth from the wound itself. it snarls at zir, at both of us. I am not used to sitting on the floor with someone who is being authentic in their feelings and wants to hear me be the same. I’m giving you what I have to give you, I’m doing my best. you don’t ask for easy things. I try to explain my laughter, and it is partly true. I’m deflecting again. if I could seize my shoulders and shake the honesty from myself, I would.

when I love them, it looks like colored pen on the page. the wound cannot read.

I think back to the beginning, when I was careful in how I was learning them. I knew they were someone I wanted to keep. I didn’t know ze would be this, pink cheeks and grey eyes full of love repeating to me that I am enough, that they accept all of this. he has this remarkable ability to believe in people, and to forgive them. maybe forgive isn’t the right word- I will not always have the right word, language doesn’t cover zir.

string up the pictures later, bite into the dangerous hope that this is a beginning. I live in abundance. they assure me no shortage of love, negotiate around the ways I am able to receive it. no one could say you’re terrible quite as affectionately as they do. I cannot write it all but I can mark down the best parts, scribble over them with embellishment and silken language, flights of fancy tacked on to hanging edges.

(- it’s a secret I’ve told you before, that sometimes they touch my face or play with my hair or hold my hand, and it bypasses all of this. it pries the hinges from the doors no questions asked, no resistance met. I cannot do anything in the face of it. there is no hiding. god did not give me the ability to be normal about anything. but that is something else they said they loved about me, the way the tide sweeps me up and carries me out.)

now that we’ve had our requisite talks, each lover confirming yes I’ll stay. yes i love you. i just needed time:

It’s time to begin a new chapter of love letters, because there is something within my heart that softened. and so, even though the bird metaphor might be tired at times, i think it applies here.

my first lover, my original one, is my hummingbird. wings unclipped, free to fly as long as he remembers to also fly back to me. his appetite for nectar is unlike any I’ve known. his love is so big! so much room in his heart, that now i recognize his love as still something good, something delicious, but this time, to share. it doesn’t mean he loves me any less. the more often he practices his flights, the more flowers he flits to, the sweeter our love and other loves become, the better he is at love as a verb. at loving.

my second lover, second only in a chronological sense, is my turtle dove. he puts his head in my lap but it is not a dream. it is real, and unlike one of my favorite poets says—i can tell people about it. my turtle dove holds my face while the stars fall down over his and settle into the bridge of his nose. he really showed me the heart-fluttery type of love. he does not want any other. though the marriage talk is sort of just playing house, it reminds us of our continued mutual devotion.

i said that second love grew out of the neighboring root. those roots turned into branches. first love only a forearm’s breadth away. this bird will migrate some day, to a different nest in a different place, but we’re savoring the nesting while it’s still happening here. like any bird worth their beak would do, first love keeps little things to put in his nest. a piece of dark chocolate here, my ripped-apart pair of fishnets there, little love notes i wrote everywhere. there is so much i have yet to share with second love, and i can’t wait. i read his letter over and over again and smile to myself and press it close to my heart again. i carry him in my heart, as another favorite poet of mine said. my doctor man and his recipe for pizza dough, his homemade explosives, his dare to be outlaw.

my exquisitely lovely birds, two out of the entire aviary. if i connect with others, i’ll figure out what kind of bird they are. and don’t you know it, when these birds flew into my heart and kept hitting the window i opened it a little bit.

—to love a bird is to look beyond the feathers

[prrism]

–Hello my [platonic] beloved Pri! ❄ is about to give an alternate route of Wanderer! Special thanks to the almighty bathtime [Lmao]

Brothers!Disc Duo with Sister!Reader and Drista!

×Little Explanation×

Dream, Reader, Drista, and Tommy belong to a rare hybrid mutation species called "Celestials", which are similar to The Starborne Origins except for a few details that differentiate them from the rest and why they are called mutated. Celestials are also known as "Children of Chaos/Void" due to the mysterious and ethereal essence the Void offers, it's even said that Celestials came from the Primodial Mother Chaos [Yes Chaos is actually a Demigirl].

Dream is still an Owl Hybrid, however his Celestial mutation takes when it's night or in complete darkness. His wings turn black and is now littered with stars.

Reader is a Phantom Hybrid, but she don't take much damage from the sun like their Origins [Since the Sun is practically a star in science means]. She still retains her Hybrid Abilities albeit a bit more powerful at night.

Drista is a Void Shifter, basically a nocturnal version of a Shapeshifter. The power of her abilities depends on the moon cycle, she is at the strongest every New Moon and weakest at Full Moon, and how close the Void is, more closer determines the power she has.

Tommy is a Demon [I'm a big fan of Horned-Innit okay–] but his Horns are pitch black with small rings full of celestial debris and stuff surrounding it.

They can all appear and dissapear their hybrid features at will [Exception of Drista since she's she's a shapeshifter and it ain't entirely obvious] and stop aging at 25, living for centuries.

×Backstory and Plot×

Celestials are pretty rare and deal a lot of market value, so the four siblings travel a lot. However, a group of hunters found them and decided to capture/sell them to the Black Market.

Dream, being the eldest, decided to be a distraction, though that'll cost his wings getting ripped, while Reader, second eldest, hid Drista, third and was a child, and Tommy, youngest and was a baby at that time, in seperate locations to grow normally and out of danger.

Dream managed to escape with his wings still intact but now wears a mask to prevent recognition whilst Reader continues traveling and making sure she doesn't get in to trouble or contact [Obviously].

The four grow up away from each other due to the dangers of their mutations but Dream had enough and devised a plan to meet up with his siblings after for so long, aka the SMP. Tommy and Drista are well aware of their bloodline and know they have siblings, siblings who risked their lives to make sure theirs were stable. The lore goes on in canon, except Dream shows subtle favoritism on Tommy and Tommy seems alright with Dream's presence.

Until Jschlatt appeared. Dream knows him very well, as he was one of the hunters who tried to kill them.

Pogtopia time, Reader comes with Drista, both observing from the shadows. Reader approaches Dream with the information that almost everyone, save for Techno, Phil, Wilbur, Ranboo, Connor, and Niki, have direct connections from the hunters who tried to ruin them, that includes Tubbo. Reader and Dream make a plan to bring Tommy to their side and isolate themselves from to SMP to further avoid problems. Canon goes until Tommy Exile, then we go to divergence.

Dream still manipulates Tommy, albeit no abuse or torture, with the intention for Tommy to join him and their sisters to go wander together, away from the SMP's Problems. Then they have healthy Disc Duo bonding time until Reader and Drista comes along to join them, and to warn about the upcoming war. Since the past is revealed and Tommy no longer is associated with Tubbo, sadly, they are not joining Techno and set off to leave the SMP. The Celestials went off to live in peace for a while, they don't really bother themselves in war anymore since the family is now complete and that's all they can ask for.

×Facts if needed [You don't necessarily have to add them, I just thought it'll be nice]×

× In this AU, Dream, Reader, Drista, and Tommy are all Chaotic Neutral/Neutral Evil.

× Wilbur is still alive since they managed to kill Jschlatt and no TNT were set off.

× Jschlatt was tortured by Dream for revenge, before Dream finished him.

× Events after Tommy's exile were altered because Disc Duo weren't present, and Final Confrotation didn't exist.

× All of The SMP members are now Neutral to Tommy and Dream.

× Chaos Trio [Dream, Techno, Wilbur] are now Chaos Squad, since Reader joined.

Hoooooooo boi! ❄️ my dear, there is so much to unpack here (I mean this in the best of ways) and after many unsatisfying attempts I realized that because there’s so much I couldn’t fit it all into one story so I will be splitting this into another part. I defiantly strayed from what the ask originally was but the core idea is still there. Enjoy!

Celestial Convergence

Summary: After being separated at a young age, Dream decides now was the time to get his family back together again…

Characters: Disc Duo & Drista x Reader

Relationships: platonic/familial

Pronouns: she/her/they/them (you did say sister specifically sooo…)

“Are you insane!” You whisper-yell at your brother, the idea he proposed sounding outrageously risky.

“Maybe a little, but can you really blame me? This could be your only chance to escape.” He reasons.

“What about you though? I-I can’t just let you get yourself killed.”

“(Y/n), please. Don’t just throw away our only chance at freedom for me, we have to do this so they can grow up safely.” Dream urges, nodding towards a sleeping Tommy and half-asleep Drista. You stare at the two for a while before taking a shaky breath.

“Okay, let’s do this.” You give a look of determination. He beams at you and gives you a hug, you’re more then happy to return it. Dream steps away from you and stares down at the iron bars that kept you locked in this cage, he grips them tightly, his knuckles almost turning white at the force. It always amazes you whenever you get to watch his wings unfurl, the feathers shifting from their usual barred owl colours to a black canvas, mirroring the starry night sky itself. With a harsh tug he manages to bend the bars, now it was your turn to act quickly scooping Drista and Tommy up into your arms and cling to them while you focus on making not just yourself but the two of them disappear with you, another harsh tug and there’s just enough space to squeeze out of the cage.

“What was that?” “The celestials are escaping!” “Well don’t just stand there! Get them you idiots!” The voices of the hunters ring out around the area, you move as fast as your legs can carry you to the nearest grouping of trees for cover. “Oi! I found one!” You paused for a moment and dared yourself to look back, seeing the hunters give chase to Dream. You wanted to help him but the squirming toddler and stirring baby reminded you otherwise, you continue forward into the surrounding forest and keep running until the shouts and clashing of weapons fades from your ears…

How long have you been traveling? A while, that’s all you were able to decipher. After the first night of your escape you hadn’t really stopped moving, not like you were unused to that but the two little ones in your arms certainly needed somewhere much safer to stay, luckily you had finally made it to a town you were familiar with by night 3. You keep yourself invisible and have a look around, the night offered such calming ambiance but now was no time to rest. You walk up to one of the houses and have a peek inside, it was simple enough, but that wasn’t what you were looking for. Moving to the next house you have another peek, nothing there either. The third house was about the same as the previous two, it wasn’t until the eighth house that you found what you were looking for. It wasn’t a person in particular but a sigil, one that indicates protection and refuge, they’ve been used to help celestials like yourself many times in the past, a symbol of hope for you. Still though, with everything going on you couldn’t just let both your siblings stay here, it’d be too suspicious. You carefully place Drista down, she lets out a soft whine having gone from your comforting grip to the hard ground.

“Shhhh, I know it’s difficult but you’ll be much safer here on your own… just don’t try to shapeshift too much.” You say quietly. Making yourself visible for a moment you use your now free arm to give a few knocks to the door and take a step back, returning to the shadows. A sheep woman opens the door after a bit looking around until she sees Drista sitting there looking up at her innocently, the woman picks her up and carry’s her inside, taking one last look around before shutting the door.

“Looks like it’s just you and me until I find somewhere else for you to stay.” You sigh, looking down at Tommy who just yawns and cuddles into your grip…

Another few days had passed and the terrain was becoming much colder, you’d made the mistake of dropping your invisibility cover for a rest seeing as it drains your energy after a while. However the mistake was you did so in a semi-public area meaning people saw you, and while most went about doing nothing a few alerted some hunters in the area. You made a mad dash in the only direction they weren’t blocking, gripping tightly to the baby in your arms to not drop him.

You wrap your cloak around Tommy, doing what you could to keep him warm, you were part phantom so the cold didn’t bother you as much thankfully. You dash through a forest and the second you’re far enough away you focus and make the two of you invisible again, staying as still as possible while you hear the approach and retreat of the hunters footsteps. You let out a sigh once the coast is clear and continue trekking your way through the snowy tundra, it wasn’t until nightfall that you see a small light in the distance, a glimmer of hope sparking in you. Hurrying yourself forward you see a house take shape, then you pause… what if this was a trap, could you really trust this? Staring back down at the squirmy baby in your arms a soft smile dances across your lips and you knew you had to try, for him. Stealing yourself you continue forward, drawing closer to the building, once close enough you peek inside the window just catching two boys close to your age dash down a hallway. Your eyes scan the interior of the home, when they land on the sigil you prayed to see you physically in relief.

“Don’t you worry, you’re going to be taken real good care of here. You’ll even have older brothers to play with.” You reassure, though you’re not sure if it’s for Tommy or yourself. You go to place him down by the door when Tommy starts whining, managing to shuffle his arms free of the cloak around him and reach them towards you, he makes a grabbing motion with his hands as another whine leaves him. “Shhhh. Shhhh. It’s okay. I’ll be alright, but I can’t stay here, it’s too risky. I promise one day I’ll come back and we can be a family again. For now you be good to these people, okay?” Small sobs and more whines are your response, it broke your heart that you had to do this but there wasn’t any other option that would be safer. “I know what can help.” You mutter as you bundle him up again nice and cozy. You start singing a soft lullaby.

“It always seems more quiet, in the dark, it always feels so stark~ How silence grows under the moon, constellations gone so soon~ I used to think that I was bold, I used to think love would be fun~ Now all my stories have been told except for one…~” You pause a second to look down at the nodding off baby, a melancholic smile on your face as you continue. “As the stars start to align I hope you take it as a sign that you’ll be okay. Everything will be okay~ And if the seven rings collapse, although the day could be my last, you will be okay. When I’m gone you’ll be okay~ And when creation goes to die you can find me in the sky. Upon the last day, and you will be okay~” With that you gently set his sleeping figure down before making yourself visible enough to place three loud knocks on the door before disappearing from view once more.

“Hello?” A blonde haired man answers the door, this couldn’t be more perfect, he looked like he could genuinely be Tommy’s father, no one would know any better. When the man spots said sleeping child he carefully picks Tommy up and scans the area with a concerned look, completely unaware of your presents now a few feet away. With one more sweep across the area the man finally retreats into his home with a saddened sigh.

“Be good to him. Please.” You quietly plead, disappearing into the night…

It’s been… years since the last time you’d seen anyone from your family, you couldn’t say for how long. Time has always been something you didn’t bother yourself much with preferring to focus on the now, and right now you were following a lead you got from one of the villages you commonly did trades with. Someone had mentioned an SMP that had arose awhile ago and in the time it’s been around there’s already been a war and the potential for a second to arise, needless to say curiosity got the better of you. Still you didn’t wish to waltz right in, after all you were never safe from hunters and the odds of some residing in such a place was extremely likely, not to mention with the mild translucency to your skin it wasn’t hard to pick you out of a crowd. Having finally made it to the border of said SMP you take a second to evaluate your surroundings, readjusting the hood of your coat over your head you continue forward.

There wasn’t much going on, maybe a few common mobs, but to be fair you did wander into a more forested area. Soon enough faint voices can be heard in the distance, too far for you to make out what they were saying, but it was defiantly people. Invisibility has always been your best friend throughout the years, although it can be exhausting if used for too long on sunny days like today, still you needed to approach with caution and find out if whoever was talking would be friend or foe. You edge closer and closer until three people are visible, one wore an odd pair of glasses? Goggles? Hard to say for sure. Another wore a t-shirt with a flame logo on it, and a matching white bandana. The last of the three wore a smiling mask, making it impossible to see any facial features, and yet something felt oddly familiar about him. While examining the three you slip up and crack a branch under your feet, these three had fast reflexes, they all pull out bows and shoot in your general direction. One of the arrows manages to catch your arm making you lose focus and tumble into view, completely visible.

“And who are you supposed to be, a spy?” The bandana one questions, glaring daggers at you. You stare at the arrow in your arm, that sadly won’t be coming out anytime soon, then up at the three. “Well? You gonna say something?” More of a threat then a question seeing as he raises his weapon in your direction. Moving quickly you kick out the guys legs and make yourself invisible once more, fighting past the pain to push off the ground and make a dash back into the forest. Even with the arrow still visible you weren’t an easy target to see as you weave through the trees, listening for the trio chasing after you. Taking a moment to catch your breath you duck into some bushes, watching as two of the men run by while the one with the mask pauses and tilts his head in an odd way, as if listening for something. You take in a sharp, pained breath when you accidentally nudge the arrow against the foliage, immediately the masked man turns and stares in your direction, you cover your mouth to avoid making any more sudden breaths but as if still able to hear you he approaches your hiding spot. Hoping to make a quick getaway you use your more mobile hand to grab some loose dirt, throw it at the man to distract him and make a mad dash in the opposite direction.

“Wait, stop!” You hear him yell, as if you’d listen. You’ve come so far on your own and you were not about to give up and let yourself be captured now, although the blaring sunshine mixed with your exhaustion and injury certainly weren’t helping you any. As you push forward you can feel the pain in your arm getting worse, losing your focus and no longer able to keep yourself invisible any longer you stumble to the ground. You have to scream into your arm to muffle yourself as the impact with the ground causes the arrow to once again shift, you needed to remove this thing, now. However, as luck would like to have it the masked man appears again, you pull your crossbow out and take as best of aim as you can with one arm, if you were going down here you’d do so fighting.

“You’d best stay away if you know what’s good for you.” You threaten, trying desperately to hide the waver in your voice.

“Easy there (y/n), I’m going to hurt you, I promise.” You’re taken aback at this but don’t drop your guard.

“How-how do you know my name? Who even are you?” Honestly you felt more scared of what could happen if you were left alive, was he a hunter that you’ve encountered in the past? What did he want with you? Your thoughts felt so jumbled together but abruptly stop when you see two wings unfurl from his back as he takes off the mask. You’re speechless, tears welling in your eyes when you finally get to see who’s behind the mask.

“Hey sis.” You wanted to leap from the ground and hug him but the growing pain prevented you from doing so, noticing this Dream hurries to your side. “Here, let’s get you somewhere safer and take care of that wound.” He places your good arm over his shoulder and before you’re able to stand on your own feet he lifts you into his arms and takes flight.

“What are you doing!? You’re gonna get us noticed.” You say alarmed.

“Relax, I already sent the others away, and this is the fastest mode of travel I can give.” He says unbothered. You try to relax as much as possible, distracting your mind by watching the landscape pass by below…

You must’ve passed out, either from pain or blood loss because the next thing you know you’re waking up on a bed, your arm nicely patched up. You flex your arm around to make sure it still had mobility in it, it was a bit stiff but nowhere near as bad as earlier.

“Oh thank Prime you’re alright.” You look over and see Dream staring back relieved. “You passed out about halfway through our journey here, you looked pretty pale, I mean you always look pale, but you looked… paler then usual.”

“It’s good to see you too…” You huff out, more out of breath then you thought. You stabilize yourself to stand and walk over to him, seems the both of you had the same idea as once you’re close enough Dream pulls you into a very long awaited hug. The two of you take a minute to just relish in your reunion, once you feel satisfied you abruptly shove him.

“You shot at me!” You say, now realizing you were partially in this situation because of him.

“Okay, to be fair, in my defence I didn’t know it was you at first.” He quickly defends, holding his hands up in fake surrender.

“You don’t know who a person is so your first instinct is to shoot them? Real welcoming, truly.” You roll your eyes sarcastically.

“You’re the one who decided to make a break for it.”

“Well in my defence, I thought you were all hunters.” It’s silent between the two of you for a while.

“I sorry.” Dream breaks the silence again, taking in a long breath. “It’s been a lot over the years, I had to hide and change a lot of myself to keep people off my trail. I guess we both just acted out of instinct.”

“Hey, it’s alright. I’m still in one piece and we managed to find each other again after so long, so it’s not all bad.” You reassure, earning a soft chuckle from Dream.

“Yeah, suppose you’re right.”

“If only the others were here too, then everything would be perfect.” You hum, Dream brightens up at this.

“Well, actually…” He trails off. Dream then explains to you all that’s happened before your arrival, including how both Tommy and Drista had found their way to the SMP but since you had to part with them at such young ages they didn’t fully remember everything, just bits a pieces.

“Okay, and I guess with this new war on the horizon it hasn’t been easy for you.” You fill in the blanks, Dream nods. “Well then what are we waiting for?” You walk over and grab his mask, handing it to him with a determined look in your eyes. “Just tell me what I can do to help…”

I know, I’ve been gone for like a month, honestly thought I’d get this out sooner but life just has a way of not being in my favour as of recent. I’ll be fine, and thank you all for your patience ❤️❤️

[narutogwriting]

Ruin the Friendship

⋇✦ Pairing: Naruto Uzumaki x Reader

⋇✦ Genre: angst; fluff; oneshot

⋇✦ CW: none

⋇✦ Length: 2.5k+

⋇✦ @gaarasandpit just a angst/fluff naruto x reader request if you’re up for it 🥰 maybe where the reader and him are somewhat close friends and he notices she’s drifting from him because her feelings get in the way? he’s oblivious and hurt about it then confrontation happens ending up in a good old love confession

“Cmon! Open up!” Naruto called from outside your house, pounding on the door like he had been incessantly for the past five minutes. “I know you’re in there!”

He did not, in fact, know whether or not you were in there, but he couldn’t imagine where else you would be.

All week you’d been missing; Naruto couldn’t find you anywhere. Sometimes he would see the flick of your hair from the corner of his eye or his ears would pick up the sound of your laugh, but by the time he turned to find you, you’d be gone.

Your absence in Naruto’s life wasn’t something of a minor inconvenience; it was a constant pain, as if he was missing a part of his own body. Iruka had joked that Naruto missing you was akin to that of a phantom limb, like there was something of him that should be there and it wasn’t and he ached because of it.

“No, Naruto. We haven’t seen her,” Shikamaru shrugged. Ino nodded her agreement.

“Sorry. Maybe she’s on a mission or something.

Naruto frowned, sighing in frustration. “Alright, well, thanks.” He muttered before he sulked off. Shikamaru and Ino watched him go, waiting until he disappeared before Ino gave you a kick under the table.

“Ow!” you whined as you crawled out from underneath, rubbing your shoulder.

Ino rolled her eyes at you. “You’re lucky Naruto’s an idiot, or he definitely would have seen you.” She told you as you slid yourself down into the seat next to her. “Remind me: why are you avoiding him again?”

Propping your elbows on the table, you rested your head in your hands as you gave a forlorn sigh. That was a loaded question. You were avoiding Naruto because the absolute worse thing that could ever occur had happened.

You’d fallen in love with the idiot blond.

And how could you not? You’d been best friends with Naruto for the longest time. He was a constant in your life, always at your side. It was rare that one of you was seen without the other.

There was no one in the entire world that could make you smile or laugh the way that he could. Whenever you were sad or hurt, he always had the words to make it all better. Naruto had the type of smile that could save people, and you were no exception. There wasn’t a person in the world that could meet someone with a heart like Naruto’s and not walk away changed.

It had been a slow thing, a soft, unsure growing. It wasn’t a feeling you’d recognized at all once, because you always loved Naruto.

It wasn’t totally strange for you to get excited when you saw him or miss him when he was gone. It wasn’t unusual to think about him before you went to sleep.

But when you began to wake up and your first thought was, “my god he’s beautiful” when you looked at the picture of the two of you on your night stand, that was a little strange. You never used to spend extra time in the morning doing your makeup when you knew you were going to see him soon.

And you never used to blush when he smiled at you. Even you could tell you laughed a little too hard when he said something even remotely funny.

It was one day when the two of you were taking a walk that it happened. He was telling you a story, his motions large and exaggerated. Of course, he wasn’t paying attention to where he was going. As he turned to you, arms raised high over his head, his foot hit a rock. Naruto went sprawling to the floor, rolling across the ground and landing flat on his back.

You burst out laughing at the scene, hurrying to kneel at his side. “Are you okay!?” You asked him between giggles.

Naruto’s face was bright red with embarrassment as he laid on the floor. He looked up at you, smiling sheepishly. “Oops…”

It was such a simple thing, but you’d looked at Naruto and thought, “I love him so much.”

Nothing had ever startled you more.

Of course you loved Naruto; that was a given. It was never anything that needed to be thought or said. It was just a fact. But as soon as you had thought the words, you knew that it was different this time. You didn’t just love Naruto.

You were in love with him.

You’d hoped that the feelings would fade. Maybe it was just a fluke or a passing crush. Day in and day out, you waited for your feelings to go back to normal, but now that you’d acknowledged them, they only seemed to grow stronger. It got to the point where you couldn’t even look at naruto without turning into a blushing mess. It was pathetic.

So you’d decided there was only one reasonable solution: you would have to avoid him for as long as it took for the feelings to go away.

And of course you didn’t want to stay away from him. Being with him was as natural as breathing. But the way you saw it, if he found out about your feelings, your friendship could be ruined forever. This way, you could take some space, move on, and resume your friendship like nothing happened.

But Naruto wasn’t making that easy.

You hadn’t realized just how much time you and Naruto spent together until you were trying to distance yourself from him. He was everywhere. Every meal, every free moment, he was by your side or trying to be at least.

“Wanna go eat?” “Wanna go train with me?” “Let’s watch a movie!” “I heard there’s gonna be a festival in the next town over!”

You couldn’t get away from him. So this past week, you’d taken to hiding from him every time you saw him, deciding it was easiest to just avoid him completely. In all honesty, you couldn’t believe just how much time and effort Naruto was putting in to trying to find you.

But of course he was putting in effort. Because you were his best friend and he couldn’t understand it; where you’d gone or why you weren’t talking to him. Had he done something wrong? Were you mad at him or something? Your absence in Naruto’s life was drawing out every insecurity he hadn’t even realized he still had. He was worried, drowning in anxiety.

What if you’d decided you didn’t want to be his friend anymore? Maybe you were annoyed with him, found him to be too much. When you and Naruto had first become friends, he thought it was too good to be true. There was no way that someone as nice and pretty and cool as you would want to be friends with him. No one had ever wanted to be his friend before.

But there you were with your sweet smile and calming presence. You had accepted Naruto, every piece of him, without question or reservation. You meant everything to him, so the thought of losing you had sent Naruto into a panic.

You’d managed to avoid Naruto for a full week and a half. The past three days, as far as you knew, he hadn’t even made an effort to find you. It was a relief and heartbreaking all at once. You needed your space, but it hurt to think that maybe Naruto didn’t miss you at all anymore.

These were the thoughts racing through your head when you crawled into bed that night. You doubted you’d be getting much sleep; you’d barely gotten any since you had started avoiding Naruto.

Pulling the covers over yourself, you closed your eyes and tried to get comfortable. It seemed like hours you laid there awake before tiredness finally started to drift over you. You could feel yourself slowly dozing off to sleep when a sudden loud noise startled you awake. Sitting up quickly, your eyes darted to the window where the noise had come from.

Naruto had forcefully pried open the window, shoving himself not-so-gracefully through the opening and crashing onto the floor.

He quickly jumped to his feet, rubbing his head with a small wince before his eyes landed on you, widening slightly.

“Ah ha! I got you!” He shouted victoriously, pointing his finger in your direction. “You can’t hide from me anymore, believe it!”

God, he was too cute for words and that was exactly the problem. Your heart practically burst just looking at him as he appeared so accomplished and excited.

But the triumphant look on his face slowly vanished as he stared at you. When he spoke, his voice came out quietly, dripping with dejection. “Where have you been?”

Quietness settled over the room as the two of you stared at each other. Naruto made no move to get closer to you, and you likewise stayed strapped in your seat. “I’m sorry…” You offered weakly, unsure of what else to say.

“Don’t be sorry!” Naruto snapped, anger quickly replacing his despaired features. “Tell me why! What the hell? You think you can just avoid a guy? Cut me off like I’m nothing to you!?” He was trembling, his usual happy grin twisted into a broken grimace so despondent it took you off guard. You had caused that hurt that Naruto was feeling. The thought made you sick.

“If you don’t want to be my friend anymore, at least say something!” Naruto spat. “Don’t just run from me like a coward! If you have something to say, say it to my face!”

There was a harsh edge to Naruto’s voice that he never used with you before. Not in all of your years of friendship. You realized suddenly just how badly you’d hurt Naruto by avoiding him. It wasn’t something you’d considered; you’d only wanted some space so you could get back to normal with him.

But you saw it clearly now, the damage that you had done. Suddenly, in this moment, he was the lonely, isolated child that he had been before you met, feeling alone and abandoned in the world. And this time, it was because of you.

The regret was like bile on your tongue, and you wished fiercely that you could take back the past week and do it differently. You couldn’t stand the thought that it was you who had caused this damage to your best friend, the guy you loved so much.

You didn’t have any words to fix it. All you had was the truth.

“I love you.”

The words slipped from your mouth before you could pull them back in. And once they were out, they couldn’t be taken back.

Confusion quickly settled on Naruto’s face. It was as if you could see the anger dissipate from his body. He stared at you, mouth slightly agape, while he tried to process what you’d just said. “You… What?”

Turning bright red, you pulled the blanket back over your head in embarrassment. You couldn’t believe you’d just said that! Now there would never be any going back to the way that things were, but you had to tell him. You couldn’t just let him think that you were cutting him off without reason.

“I said I love you…” You muttered from under the blanket. “I’m in love with you, Naruto. I have been for a while now, and I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. So I thought if I just took some space and didn’t see you for a while, then maybe I would get over it, and then we could just keep things the way they were…”

It was much easier to get the words out when you were under the blanket and couldn’t see him, but you were still nauseous with anxiety as you told him how you felt. Your heart was steeling itself for rejection as you waited for his response.

The only noise was shuffling as Naruto came to your bed. You could feel the indent as he sat down next to you. He grabbed your blanket, slowly peeling it off of you and despite your reluctance, you let him.

You didn’t look at him as you pushed yourself back up into a sitting position. You’d never been so embarrassed before.

“Did it work?” He asked you quietly.

Fidgeting with the hem of your night shirt, you mumbled, “Did what work?”

“Are you over me?”

The question took you off guard, lingering between the two of you, and you couldn’t help but flicker your eyes to his. He was staring earnestly at you with those wide blue eyes you loved so much. You wanted to lie to him but you just couldn’t.

“No.”

Naruto’s focused expression stretched into a wide grin as he wrapped his arms around you, hugging you to him. You were too startled to respond, so you just stared at him, confused, instead.

“You scared me!” Naruto laughed happily as he rested his cheek against your head. “I thought you didn’t want to be my friend anymore! You didn’t have to completely avoid me, ya know.”

There was a mix of relief and disappointment at his reaction. So, he wasn’t weirded out about your confession? Things didn’t have to change. The two of you could stay ‘just friends.’

“So, we’re okay?” You asked him nervously. “We’re still friends?”

Naruto gave a puzzled hum as he pulled away from the hug to stare at you. He raised his eyebrow as he studied you for a moment. You could almost see the light bulb go off above his head as he realized.

“Oh!” He laughed, grinning sheepishly and rubbing his neck. “I guess I forgot to tell you it back, huh? I thought it was obvious! I love you too, believe it!”

You blinked as he giggled embarrassedly, that signature smile of his on his lips. “Naruto!” You snapped at him, lunging and knocking you both off the bed. He landed on his back with you on top of him as you rubbed your fist into his head. “You dummy!”

“Hey! Cut it out!” Naruto whined, squirming under your touch. “Is that any way to treat your boyfriend!?”

The question was enough to make you stop, your mouth frozen in a surprised “o” shape, just like he hoped. He laughed, sitting up and holding you to him before he placed a happy kiss to your cheek, making your face flush over red.

You placed your hands on his shoulders, looking at him as it finally sunk in what he said. He loved you too. He called himself your boyfriend. “Is that your way of asking me?” You questioned.

Naruto nodded earnestly. “And my way to get you to stop giving me a noogie! It’s a win win! Well, if you say yes, that is…”

Shaking your head, you laughed as your whole body softened in relief. Your arms slipped around his neck as you hugged him tightly. “Yes, obviously!” You told him. “Yes! I love you.” Naruto hugged you back just as fiercely. When he finally pulled away, he didn’t hesitate. His hand reached up to cup your cheek as he leaned forward, pressing a sweet, soft kiss to your lips.

Well, you guessed your friendship was officially ruined. But suddenly, you didn’t mind so much.

[yourdeepestfathoms]

self-help

y'all liked my first fic, so here is another!

TW: Blood and injury; wound descriptions

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

“Are you all alright?” Alcina asked, looking over each of the three creatures assembled in front of her. The blonde was slightly roughed up, but still stood up tall; the brunette bore a particularly nasty cut across her cheek, though it didn’t seem to bother her; and the redhead was slathered in man blood from getting to kill the intruder that had foolishly entered their castle and tried to murder them.

“Yes, Mother,” the blonde said, always quick to answer Alcina.

Alcina nodded. She looked at her other two daughters. “And you two?”

“I’m okay,” the redhead chirped. She seemed delighted to have killed something that day.

The brunette lightly touched the cut on her cheek, winced, then nodded, “I’m fine. It isn’t that bad.”

“We should still make sure any of that man-thing’s filth didn’t get into you,” Alcina said. She opened an arm and began guiding her middle child down one of the hallways. “Daniela, do what you will with the body. You’ve earned it.”

The redhead perked up, beaming, and bounded down a different hallway to where the corpse of the man had been left. Once she was gone, only the blonde was left behind in the foyer, and the girl instantly doubled over with a moan of pain, holding her stomach.

“Fuck,” Bela hissed. She was lucky for the dark material of her dress or else the blood seeping through the fabric would have easily been seen by her mother and sisters, and worrying them was the last thing she wanted. It was her own fault that she was shot. There were better things for them to focus on, anyway. Like Cassandra’s cut! Yes, that was definitely more important. She didn’t need any help.

Bela stepped forward and immediately crumpled to her knees when a spasm of pain rippled through her stomach. She bit down firmly to keep from crying out and tasted blood when her teeth pierced her tongue. Usually, the metallic tang would be rather appetizing, but something about it right now made her guts churn and twist up into knots, which definitely didn’t help her discomfort.

Kneeling, still holding her stomach, Bela rocked back and forth while taking several calming breaths. Breathing deeply furthered the strain in her stomach, while not breathing at all just made her chest hurt- she couldn’t win. All she could do was grit her teeth and bear with it like she did with everything. Don’t be a burden, don’t be a burden.

“Lady Bela?”

Bela looked up. A wiry, ash brown-haired maid was lingering at the opening of one of the cavernous hallways, shifting on her feet. Her dark amber eyes displayed nervousness, curiosity, and worry. The last emotion wasn’t an uncommon thing to see, at least towards Bela. Because of her general politeness to the castle workers, they tended to show more concern over her. The perks of not killing them for no reason, she supposed.

“Yes?” Bela said, forcing her voice to stay level and not quaver beneath the fiery edge of her own agony. She didn’t want to cause a scene, but she especially didn’t want to cause a scene in front of a maid. That was almost as bad as her sisters seeing her in such a state--though, for what it was worth, the maids wouldn’t tease her endlessly.

“Are you alright?” the maid asked, taking a small step forward. She was looking Bela up and down, most likely searching for any wounds, and Bela once again thanked Mother Miranda for black fabric.

“Yes, I’m fine,” Bela answered. At the same moment, however, a second wave of pain roared through her and her vision was suddenly spotted by black snow. Did someone open the window? And how long had snow been black? None of her books ever said anything about this…

“Lady Bela?”

Bela blinked harshly, and the storm disappeared. No windows were open. Snow was not black. The maid got closer.

“Ahh--” Bela swallowed hard. “Yes?”

“Are you sure you’re alright?” The maid seemed to be trying to hold herself together. She was probably fearing for her own life if something happened to one of Lady Dimitrescu’s daughters under her watch. Bela would prefer to not have this one die, as she was nice enough to actually check on her instead of ignoring the situation like other maids would, even if Bela denied her physical state when she asked how she was.

“Yes, yes,” Bela said, nodding. “I’m alright. Just…stomach cramps?”

The maid blinked. “Do you even go through a menstrual cycle?”

Bela splayed her fingers open with a shrug. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

The maid actually laughed, which was a rare thing to happen. But the laughter was quickly cut off when her eyes focused on something, clouding over with concern, and Bela realized she was staring at her hands.

There was blood on her hands.

Her blood.

Bela balled her fists and cleared her throat. She looked up at the maid. “Go.”

The maid opened her mouth, but thought against whatever she was planning on saying, not wanting to test Bela’s civility--not that Bela would have hurt her if she had stuck around to speak whatever was on her mind. She dipped her head and scurried off, glancing over her shoulder as she went.

Bela sighed. She wiped her hands on a part of her dress that wasn’t damp. She needed to do something about her problem before her mother or one of her sisters found out.

Standing up was difficult, and Bela was sure Cassandra or Daniela, most likely both, would have teased her if they saw her like this. When she began to walk, she felt blood slither in slow trails down her legs, itching her skin. She fought the urge to scratch until she made it to the privacy of her bedroom, then instantly began shredding her dress with her claws, throwing the tatters of wet fabric to the floor to be picked up later. Once the gown was off, she turned to her mirror to inspect the damage.

Red. The entire front of her body was smeared in red. And beneath the red, there were holes, some as small as her pinky, some as big as a coin, each even darker than the blood and packed full of shrapnel.

Bela had been a fool to go after the man-thing on her own. As reckless and wild as Cassandra and Daniela were with their fighting, they were strong, much stronger than she was. She had seen them withstand vicious stabs and strikes and shots that would have killed any normal person and keep slashing their claws as if nothing had happened, but it took a blast from a shotgun to put her down. She was so blinded by the idea of killing the intruder to impress her mother that she didn’t even think to create an actual plan until she became well-acquainted with leaden bullet chunks against her midsection.

The buckshot was evenly spread out along her abdomen, and maybe it could have passed as paint splattered all over her body if it wasn’t for the malevolent grey peeking out from liquid red. There was a particularly large cluster of holes on her left side, where an entire chunk of meat had been blown free from her waist, but they reached all the way over to her navel and up to the underside of her chest. The bullet pieces were the seeds of her agony, and she desperately needed to reap them from her flesh.

Bela began rummaging through one of her drawers, straining the lead lodged in her skin, and pulled out an old cotton gown she hadn’t worn in years. She walked over to the rocking chair in the corner near the window and sat down. She loved this chair, and it was a shame that it was going to be bled all over, but wood was easier to clean than cloth. She didn’t want to risk staining her bed right now.

Biting down on the gown, Bela began going over the buckshot. There were eighteen holes in total, all of them full of lead. She nearly miscounted a few times because she thought some of them were empty, but then realized the bullets were just buried in her tissue. There was one in particular that she didn’t even see, but could feel shifting around beneath her flesh like a hungry maggot. It made her stomach roil in disgust.

This was not going to be fun.

Bela’s hands were shaking as she brought them down to her stomach. Simply brushing the skin sent waves of torture shivering through her nerves, and she didn’t even want to think about what it was going to feel like to actually remove the slugs, but she didn’t have much of a choice. She couldn’t just leave them inside of her.

Taking a deep breath and biting down hard on the gown, Bela stuck her pointer finger and thumb into one of the holes. Instantly, her vision flashed black, then red, and then white, and she was sure she had passed out for a few eternal seconds. Even when she pried her eyes back open, all she saw was a messy mishmash of swirling colors, and she wondered if she had somehow gone blind. But then sight slowly oozed back to her, and she was able to see the grotesque image of her fingers stretching the edges of a bullet hole.

She swallowed down acidic bile and grasped the sides of the piece of lead.

For a moment, the stubborn little thing didn’t want to come out, and Bela began to fear that it was just a part of her now, forever fused with her flesh, burrowed within her like a leaden parasite, but then it popped out with a small spew of blood and she was able to catch her breath. She dropped the ball, which was no bigger than her pinky finger, and watched it bounce across the floor before rolling beneath her bed. She would get it later. Right now, she had its stupid siblings to deal with.

Breathing in deeply again, clamping down on the gown like before, Bela dug her fingers into a second hole that looked easy enough to scoop out. And it was, surprisingly. The blood proved to be a helpful lubricant and the bullet slid right out when she tugged, not bothering to put up a fight. She peered at it for a moment, squinting her watery eyes.

“You are an asshole,” she spat.

The bullet winked at her in response, the bright red blood coating its surface catching on the light inside the room and making it twinkle like a ruby. She flicked it away, and it left a line of crimson across her polished floors. She would clean that up later, too.

Third time’s a charm. Bela prepared herself again, breathing in and biting down, and dove into the next hole.

She didn’t know why she thought the process of pulling out bullets would suddenly be easier just because she succeeded with the first two. She was an idiot when she had gotten shot and she was an idiot now, trying to rid herself from the consequence of her actions.

Her claws slipped on the slickness of her blood and accidentally pushed the bullet in deeper.

Bela would have screamed if it weren’t for the blood that crawled up her throat, clogging her esophagus. She coughed, thinking that the bullet was going to come out of her mouth, and red splattered across her bare chest, staining her bra. Tears sprang to her eyes and poured down her cheeks. Her shaking hands hovered over the hole, but she couldn’t see the slug anywhere.

“Oh no, no, no, no,” Bela muttered. Did she push it so deep it breached one of her organs? What would happen if it did? How was she going to get it out?

She tried to stretch the edges of the wound, but stopped when she nearly threw up from the pain. She sobbed. What was she going to do? Bela leaned back against the chair, causing it to rock slowly. Maybe she could just leave the bullets inside of her. They probably wouldn’t kill her. She and her sisters were able to endure more than normal creatures could, so it would probably just be very uncomfortable. For the rest of her life.

She swallowed blood and bile. Having to spend the rest of eternity like this didn’t sound very appealing. In fact, it sounded like the complete opposite of appealing. Unappealing.

A sound snapped Bela out of her muddled thoughts; the doorknob was wiggling. Someone was coming into her room.

Lunging forward, nearly slipping on a tiny puddle of her blood, Bela slammed the door shut before it could be opened completely and pressed her weight against it. From the other side, she heard a noise of surprise.

“Bela? What is the meaning of this?”

Her heart sank into her bullet-infested insides. It was her mother. She just slammed the door in her mother’s face. Oh, she was in for it now.

Bela nearly opened up right then and there and got down on her knees to apologize, but one glance down at her horribly-scathed body made her think better of it. She had told Alcina that she was fine, and now she needed to live up to it, even if she felt like she was being swarmed and eaten by her own insects. She had to swallow down her hopeless devotion to her mother to keep her from worrying over her.

“Sorry,” Bela said, hoping her voice wasn’t wavering as much as she thought it was. “I, uhh-- I thought you were Cassandra or Daniela. They always barge into my room without knocking. I don’t appreciate it very much.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but she still didn’t feel good about making up an excuse.

From out in the hallway, Alcina was quiet for a moment, and Bela wondered if she was going to break down the door and let herself in. But then she chuckled and said, “I see. I remember the time you tried to set traps for them when they kept interrupting your reading time.”

Bela laughed, which morphed into a groan of pain when her stomach strained. SHe masked it with a cough, then replied, “They were good traps!”

“Darling, you set up a board full of nails for them to step on.”

“My point still stands.”

“And a tripwire that would trigger a pot to swing into their face and knock them out.”

“You got to admit that it was pretty impressive that I was able to make that.”

Alcina chuckled again. “Yes, you have always been my most resourceful little one.”

Bela’s chest warmed with pride. The praise momentarily made her forget about the pain she was in.

“Now, can you let me in? I need to talk to you.”

And like that, the pain was back, the soothing warmth chased off by icy cold dread. Did her mother know? Did that maid snitch on her? She swallowed thickly.

“Umm-- can’t we just talk like this? It’s just as effective.”

“I would prefer it if I was able to see you when I speak to you,” Alcina said. She paused for a moment. “Why can’t I come in?”

“I’m-- I’m naked.”

Also wasn’t a lie, technically.

Alcina was quiet for a moment.

“Bela, I watched you come out of a mass of insects as naked as a babe. I do not think there’s anything left to be seen that I don’t know about already.”

You’d be surprised, Bela thought, looking down at her marred form.

“It’s-- it’s just embarrassing for me!”

Alcina sighed. “Then why don’t you put some clothes on?”

Realizing she wasn’t going to get out of this conversation, Bela said, “Right! Okay!” And then began scrambling for something to wear. The exertion made the two empty bullet holes pucker like hungry mouths and drool out even more blood that drizzled down her legs like snakes. She didn’t have time to clean herself up, so she just threw on the first gown she could reach in one of her drawers--a dark blue one she had sewn herself--wiped her hands off, kicked the tattered black dress under the bed, and smeared the blood on the floor until it couldn’t be seen against the hardwood. Then, she put on the most believable, while also innocent expression of normalcy and opened her door.

“My lady,” she said with a wide sweeping motion of her arm, trying to be funny, trying to hide the fact that she was in immense pain and simply being on her feet made her lightheaded, trying not to worry her mother.

Alcina didn’t laugh at her joke. She seemed rather suspicious as she ducked into the room--not that Bela really blamed her. She was definitely being very suspicious.

“What did you want to talk about?” Bela asked, looking up at her mother.

Alcina looked around her room, but Bela had been smart enough to clean the floors. Not well, but they were clean. When she found nothing, she studied Bela, and Bela held herself as she usually did--maybe a bit too formally.

“I just wanted to check on you all after the attack,” Alcina finally answered, meeting her eyes. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, Mother,” Bela said, and she hated lying to Alcina, but she didn’t have a choice. She hated being a burden even more and that was all she was going to be if Alcina found out about her wounds.

“Are you sure?” Alcina narrowed her eyes at her.

“Yes, Mother,” Bela repeated. Then, trying to change the subject, she asked, “How is Cassandra?”

“She’s okay,” Alcina answered. “She will heal. The cut wasn’t very deep.”

“And Daniela?”

“Feasting. I wouldn’t go near her if I were you. She may just maim you and add you to her meal.” A smile came to Alcina’s lips, and Bela let herself laugh.

Unfortunately, that laughter quickly turned to coughing as her body seized with pain. She tasted blood as the bullets seemed to rattle within her, flesh clenching down around lead. She wiped her mouth before pulling her hand away.

“I wouldn’t put it past her.”

Alcina didn’t respond for a moment. Her entire face was knitted with great concern, and Bela already felt bad for worrying her.

“Bela, are you sure you are alright?”

For a fourth time that day: “Yes, Mother.”

Alcina wasn’t going to let it go that easily, it seemed, because she questioned further: “Have you caught a chill?” She walked over and pressed a hand to Bela’s forehead. Bela couldn’t help but lean into it, always eager to be touched by her mother. “You shouldn’t be coughing like that.”

“I just had a tickle in my throat.”

“I don’t like being lied to, Bela.”

Bela’s resolve nearly broke beneath her mother’s stern gaze, but she kept her facade from falling through sheer willpower alone. She said, “I’m not.”

Alcina’s eyes narrowed. She pulled her hand back and went to say something when she appeared to slip on something. Steadying herself, she looked down at the ground, and Bela’s breath caught in her throat when she realized what exactly her mother had staggered on.

Alcina bent over and picked up the buckshot.

Bela didn’t let her panic show on her face as Alcina examined the tiny lead ball. Its siblings, still lodged deep in her stomach, seemed to giggle at the predicament she was ensnared in when a fresh bout of pain quivered through her nerves. She stayed calm as flashing yellow eyes slid back over to her.

“Bela,” Alcina said slowly, and Bela already didn’t like the tone she was using. “What is this?”

Bela considered playing dumb, but then she remembered that she was the smart, bookish one. She could use her multitude of knowledge as an excuse.

“That’s buckshot, Mother. It comes from a shotgun. Did you know that they have enough firepower to blow a head off? It’s because it has several bullets in one shot instead of a singular one, which means more power behind each blast.”

Alcina held a hand up and Bela instantly shut her mouth.

“Why do you have it?” Alcina asked.

“I was studying it,” Bela answered. It was believable enough. It did sound like something she would do, but Alcina didn’t seem very convinced.

“Your blood is on this, Bela,” Alcina said. “Why is your blood on this bullet?”

“I-- I--” Bela’s act was beginning to crumble.

Alcina turned to her completely, clenching the buckshot in her fist. “Were you shot?”

“Mother, I--”

“Were you shot?”

“Yes,” Bela blurted, unable to hide it anymore. “But-- but it isn’t that--”

“Show me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Bela Dimitrescu, show me where you are hurt. Now.”

Flinching at her mother’s severe tone, Bela removed her dress and revealed the mess on her stomach and chest. When she heard Alcina gasp, she quickly said, “It isn’t that bad. You don’t have to worry about me, Mother. I can take care of it.”

“You fool!” Alcina exploded, and Bela flinched away. “What were you thinking?! Why would you hide this from me?!”

“I-- I thought I could--” Bela was having a hard time collecting her words. If there was one thing she really hated, it was when people raised their voices, even if it wasn’t directed towards her. When Cassandra and Daniela would get into fights, she always left the room and got as far away as possible so she wouldn’t have to hear them yelling. But, as bad as their shouting was, it was nothing compared to their mother when she was worked up.

“I--”

“I asked you if you were alright!” Alcina roared on. “If you were okay! You said you were! And then I come in here and find you with bullets in your flesh?!” She shook her head, nearly dislodging her hat from her head. “What do you have to say for yourself, Bela?”

Personally? Bela really wished they weren’t having this conversation when she didn’t have a shirt on.

Dipping her head shamefully, the only thing that Bela could manage was a pathetic, “I’m sorry, Mother.”

“Why can’t you just let me help you for once?”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” Bela confessed. “Or worry you.”

Alcina sighed and rubbed her face slowly. “Bela, I am more worried and disappointed because you hid this from me.”

Bela could only squeak out a feeble, “Oh.”

Alcina knelt down in front of her and lifted her chin. “Honey, why would I be disappointed in you for coming to me for help?”

Bela couldn’t meet her mother’s eyes. “Because-- because I got hurt. And I shouldn’t have. I’m a shitty fighter and got shot and I should have been stronger.”

“Your strength has nothing to do with this,” Alcina said. “Cassandra got hurt too, you know.”

“Cassandra probably didn’t care.”

“I beg to differ. You should have seen her while I was rubbing honey into her wound. She was wiggling around like a little worm!”

Bela laughed slightly, then whimpered immediately after. Alcina glanced at her bullet-filled body, then cupped her cheeks.

“Do you know what I would have done if you had died from these wounds?”

Bela tried not to look at her.

“I would have done everything in my power to get you back to me. I would tear down the sun and moon for you, my darling.” There was so much love in Alcina’s words, so much tenderness and care. Bela was drawn to it. “Please tell me you will come to me next time something happens. I cannot fathom the thought of you being in any more pain.”

Whether or not she actually would when the time came, Bela nodded. Alcina smiled at her warmly and placed a kiss against her forehead.

“That’s my good girl,” she said. “Now…” Her eyes slid down to the bullet wounds. “To handle this.”

“I tried to get them out myself,” Bela said. “I promise I tried. I got two out, but then-- but I couldn’t--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her hair. “You tried. That’s all that matters. But I am so proud of you, darling. It must not have been easy.”

Bela shook her head with a whimper.

“Alright,” Alcina stood up straight. “Come on. Lay on your bed. We need to get those little devils out of you.”

Bela didn’t disobey. She had already disobeyed enough for one day. She crawled onto her bed, whimpering each time her body bent in a way the bullets disagreed with. They felt like festering parasites inside her stomach. She was lightheaded.

“Mama,” she moaned. She was the last to stop calling Alcina such a thing. Cassandra was first, then Daniela, and when they both heard her still referring to their mother in that way, they teased her. While it had been done playfully, it was still enough to embarrass Bela and get her to stop to avoid risking further humiliation. But now she didn’t even care. She was far too uncomfortable to care about anything her sisters had to say.

“Mama…”

Alcina caressed the side of her face. “I’m right here, baby. Lay back for me.

Bela, as loyal as a hound, did as she was told. Her head rested against one of her fluffy pillows, but it did little to stop the room from spinning like a top. She looked over at Alcina anxiously, but her mother had an expression of focus and calm.

“Alright, my dove,” Alcina said, cupping one of her clammy, pallid cheeks. “I need you to lay as still as possible for me. Do you think you can do that?”

Bela nodded feebly.

“Very good. I’m going to start now, alright? Just stay still and breathe. I’ll work as quickly as I can.”

Another nod.

“Here I go.”

Even with the warning, Bela’s body still jolted when she felt the sharp stab of her mother’s claws against one of the bullet holes. Her eyes snapped open, but she was blind for several seconds before details bled back into awareness. To her own credit, she managed to keep from crying out, but only because she clenched her jaw so hard she chipped one of her fangs. Cassandra and Danieal were definitely going to tease her over that later, but it was the least of her problems at the moment.

The third bullet slid out with relative ease, lubricated by her blood, and, Mother Miranda, she was only just realizing she had fifteen more to go.

“One down,” Alcina said, flicking the buckshot to the floor. She lifted Bela’s chin to examine her broken tooth. “Hmm. It’ll grow back, don’t worry. It didn’t chip that much.”

“I was using a gown,” Bela said, her words coming out wheezy and weak. “To bite down on.” She pointed to the dress left on the rocking chair. “Can I use it again?”

Alcina followed her hand, spotting the bundle of fabric. “Oh, clever girl!” she praised, rubbing Bela’s head. She picked up the gown and gave it to Bela. “As I said before: you are my bright little daughter.”

Bela smiled shyly before biting down on the gown. She gave her mother an affirmative look to begin again.

The next three bullets went out smoothly--or as smoothly as little masses of lead wedged in sensitive tissue and muscle could be. But then Alcina got to one of the deeper slugs and it didn’t come out when tugged on, causing Bela to cry out and jerk away.

“Breathe, darling,” Alcina said, settling her back on her back when she tried to roll over. “Breathe. It’s alright. This one is a little deeper. A lot of them are going to be, but I need you to stay still and stay calm for me. Can you do that?”

“I-- I don’t know,” Bela said honestly.

Alcina frowned. She stroked her face, wiping away tears. “I know you can. You’re strong, Bela, regardless of what you think. And just know that I am so proud of you.”

Bela reached up to grab her mother’s hand. She pressed into the warm palm like a kitten seeking heat in the middle of a winter storm. Finally, she relented, “Okay.”

“Thank you, darling,” Alcina crooned. She went to return to her work, but Bela didn’t release her hand. “I need you to let me go, Bela.”

Bela was unwilling to part with the warmth, so Alcina did it herself, easily peeling her fingers away. She touched her cheek tenderly for a moment before saying, “Bite down and breathe, baby. I’m starting again.”

Bela did as she was told, grinding her teeth into the gown as claws returned to her sore stomach. She flinched, but didn’t try to squirm away again, grounding herself by grasping handfuls of the sheets beneath her.

Seven, eight, nine, ten… Alcina worked diligently, expertly removing the buckshot from Bela’s body. When she got to the eleventh one and it proved to be rather reluctant to leave its host, she stopped for a moment to give Bela time to breathe and prepare herself.

“You’re doing so good,” Alcina cooed, stroking Bela’s hair, which was wet with cold sweat. Bela had started to tremble at some point, though she didn’t exactly know when, but she hoped it wasn’t making the bullet removal harder than it already was.

“Mama,” Bela mewled. “It hurts…”

“I know,” Alcina hushed her. “I know. I’m almost done. Just eight more to go.”

“Hurry-- hurry--” Bela panted.

“Are you sure? You can wait a moment longer to catch your breath.”

Bela shook her head. “Please.”

Alcina pursed her lips, then nodded. “Alright. Here I go.”

Bela braced herself.

“Eleven…”

Bela breathed.

“Twelve…”

Bela bit down.

“Thirteen…”

Bela--

Bela screamed.

Bela screamed because the fourteenth bullet was buried deep within her flesh, burrowed in her warmth like a maggot in a corpse. She kicked out her legs and tried to yell for Alcina to stop, but blood mixed with bile lurched up the back of her throat and her mouth was clogged with fluids. Alcina ripped out the pellet with enough force to slit the edges of the hole with her claws, threw it to the floor, and then lifted Bela’s head so she wouldn’t inhale her own blood and choke. Bela coughed, staining her chest in a fresh layer of red.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry--”

“Shh,” Alcina stroked her thumb with her cheek. “Nothing to apologize for, darling. You’re doing very well. We’re so close to finishing.”

Bela looked at her, breathing heavily, her throat thick with blood. She didn’t know what to say, so she just nodded weakly. Alcina set her head back down on the pillow.

“Here we go, my sweet. Just a little longer.”

But Bela wasn’t able to handle it when the fifteenth was removed. She grabbed her mother by the wrist when she reached for the sixteenth one, clinging tightly.

“No more, no more--” Bela begged.

Alcina frowned. “I have to get them out, baby. You’re so close.”

Bela shook her head. “No, no-- can’t we-- can’t we just leave them in?”

“Bela. You’re smarter than that. You know we can’t.”

“But-- but it hurts,” Bela wept. “I can’t-- I can’t take it anymore. Please, Mama. Please just stop .”

Above her, Alcina looked incredibly worried. She ran her bloody claws through Bela’s hair, soothing her.

“I have to,” Alcina said. “I’ll be quick, I promise.”

Bela sobbed, but didn’t stop her.

With a cruel yank, the sixteenth bullet dislodged with a spit of blood. Bela shredded the sheets beneath her.

The seventeenth took some digging, with her mother stretching the tender edges of the hole with one hand, picking out flesh with the other. She nearly threw up at the disgusting squelching sounds that filled the air, but managed to save herself from the humiliation by swallowing hard.

The eighteenth, the one she had accidentally pushed in deeper, was the worst. It was like having a hot knife thrust into her soft stomach over and over again. She shivered with pain and blood loss as she felt the bullet being tugged on in her ragged flesh. It was a sickening friction of skin sucking against the force of her mother’s claws. She didn’t even know if it came out fully because her eyes rolled to the back of her head and everything went black.

——— ——— ———

Wiping her claws of blood, Alcina frowned down at her eldest daughter. Bela was unconscious. It seemed the pain was finally too much for her little body. Though, she made it all the way to the end. Alcina was expecting her to pass out a lot sooner.

And she said she wasn’t strong.

Scooping her up into her arms, Alcina carried Bela to her bedroom, telling a maid to clean up the bloody mess left behind. Once inside her chambers, she ran Bela a hot bath, washing her of all the blood that stained her body. The warm water seemed to rouse her daughter because shiny amber eyes peeked out from under heavy eyelids as she was cleaning out her hair.

“Mama,” Bela breathed out.

Alcina smiled at her lovingly. “Hello, my sweet.”

Bela looked around sluggishly. She seemed dazed. “I’m… huh?”

“You passed out,” Alcina informed her.

“The buckshot…?”

“All out,” Alcina reached out to caress her cheek. “It’s over. You did it. I’m so proud of you, baby girl.”

Bela, always wanting affection, pressed into her hand. “Finally…”

Alcina chuckled. “I’m just going to finish washing all this blood off and then you can lay back down. You need lots of rest to heal.”

“Can you…?”

Alcina smiled again. Her heart swelled with adoration and love towards her daughter.

“Yes, I will lay with you.”

Bela had definitely earned it.

[lonely-writer]

From the right in the gut list: “I just don’t feel anything anymore.” 🥺😘

Thank you so much for the ask!

TW: Mentions of death, alcohol mention, unwanted flirting/harassment, swearing, alcohol as a coping mechanism

Pairing: Eddie Diaz x Female!Reader

Tags: Swearing, drinking, angst, lots of angst, harassment, caring!eddie, mentions of death, nurse!reader, guilt, depression, alcohol as a coping mechanism, talk about therapy

You had a hard day. You had a very hard day and you couldn't handle it anymore. You had lost a patient- no not a patient, you had lost a child and you had to comfort their parents while they sobbed over their child's lifeless body that you had failed to save. So you were drinking away the pain and suffering you had put a family through, the pain and suffering that that poor child had gone through, the pain and suffering that you were currently going through.

You were drinking alone at a bar at a place you didn't know, with a stranger you didn't like very obviously trying to flirt with you. Slamming back another shot of vodka...or was it tequila? Who knew at that point. You turned your attention to the man that was flirting with you and you gave him a disgusted look- or whatever you could muster up at this point without becoming a sobbing mess, "I'm nah interested." You slur drunkenly towards the man, though he doesn't seem deterred by your rejection.

"Aw c'mon princess, you're lookin a little down. I could make you feel a whole lot better." The man offers with a suggestive wink as he nudges your arm, had you been the least bit sober you might've slapped his hand away or called him a bastard to his face but at this point you've had at least two bottles full of shots and maybe your judgement isn't what it usually is but you honestly don't want to argue with him.

"Nah thanks...got a boyfriend." You answer flagging down the bartender for another shot, you should've been cut off a long time ago but tonight the bar is filled and the bartender isn't paying nearly enough attention to you and other patrons of the bar that have been drinking way past their limit. The stranger beside you doesn't seem to care that you have a boyfriend- which you don't, it's just the lie that you automatically go with to shake off anyone who tries to flirt with you. You're about to yell at the other patron but rescue arrives in the form of a very handsome looking, very buff looking man. You're not sure who he is but you're not opposed to the way he wraps an arm around your waist,

"Hey babe, is this guy bothering you?" The newcomer asks with a pointed look at the other man that has been grossly flirting with you, the man in question puts his hands up at the sudden appearance of your "boyfriend", once he's certain that the offending stranger has left he removes his arm from your waist and gives you a quick look over before taking the shot glass full of...whatever you were drinking...away from you.

"Hey! Meanie." You pout and the handsome stranger chuckles,

"Not mean, you are incredibly wasted and need to be cut off. Since the bartender's busy I'll be doing that." He informs with a sweet smile, you try to match his smile but end up bursting into a fit of laughter. He joins in your laughter shaking his head with a smile, "You're very, very drunk whoever you are. Mind telling me your name?" The man asks as he orders a water to sober you up,

"'M Y/N." You answer and arch an eyebrow up at the stranger who has decided to take care of you waiting for him to introduce himself, he finally figures out what you're waiting for and he holds his hand out to you,

"Eddie. Eddie Diaz." You shake his hand and squint at him slightly because you're almost certain that you've met him before though you're not certain where from. He watches as you stare at him and can't help but grin slightly in amusement as you struggle to figure out where you know him from,

"I know you, jus don't know where from." You state after a few more moments of squinting at him. He laughs slightly and you find it infectious in your drunken state,

"You might have seen me around town, I work as a firefighter for the 118." He explains- that's when it hits you, he's one of the medics that dropped off the kid. The kid who died today. The kid that you had been drinking to forget about. Just like that you're upset all over again and want nothing more than to go back to drinking away your sorrows. Eddie the handsome firefighter seems to immediately notice the sudden dip in your mood and a concerned look crosses his face, "Hey, what's wrong?" He asks frowning slightly, internally you curse the fact that even when he's frowning he's obnoxiously attractive. You sigh and shrug hoping to brush off the melancholy subject, you don't want to relieve the day and you definitely don't want to explain to Eddie that one of the patients they brought in today had died, he doesn't accept that answer and pries again. "Come on Y/N, I can tell that you're upset. You're drunk, you're frowning, and that tells me you're upset." He explains when you open your mouth to argue with him- how the hell did he know all these things?

"You're good. Too good. Ya sure you're not some psychic?" You ask tilting your head to the side as if silently sizing him up. The firefighter, medic, psychic, whatever he is laughs in response and shakes his head.

"No, no. I'm not a psychic. Just really good at reading people, so tell me, what's wrong? Bad day?" He coaxes you to answer. Normally you would burst out into hysteric sobbing as you recalled the tale of today's past events but...you just feel numb inside now and want nothing more than to get this over with. With a heavy sigh you begin to tell Eddie everything, from the moment that the 118 had dropped the kid and his parents off to each time he coded on your table to the moment that his parents had to say goodbye to their only child. He's silent as he sits next to you and listens to this, taking in the information, processing it, and getting used to the fact that you have just dumped a massive mound of trauma on to him. Immediately you feel guilty and begin to apologize- you shouldn't have bothered him with all this. It wasn't his fault that the boy had died- it was yours, you didn't do enough, you could have done more, you should have done...something...anything to keep him alive so that he could still be with his parents and the image of them crying and mourning over their sons body wouldn't be embedded into your mind.

What he asks you next genuinely surprises you, "How are you holding up?" Gently he squeezes your shoulder, it's such a small yet genuine gesture that it causes your hardened resolve to finally break. Tears start to spring to your vision as you finally break,

"I just don't feel anything anymore." You admit which is hard, usually you're strong for yourself and your patients but there's just something about Eddie that makes you feel vulnerable. It's almost comforting. Lightly he wraps an arm around you and lets you cry into his shoulder. You and Eddie talk for what seems like an eternity, he helps you sober up and talks with you about getting a therapist. By the time the bar closes you're feeling just a tad bit better about yourself, you hadn't realized how late- or well how early?- it had become so you apologize to him for taking up so much of his time but he silences you with a small smile and wave of his hand.

"It's no problem, but maybe you could thank me over a cup of coffee later?" He suggests, you might just take him up on that offer.

[kenganparadise]

hi hi♡ i was woundering what would think or how Raian, Alan, Ohma and Wakatsuki would react if someone would bully and/or insult their child but s/o who is mostly calm and caring would beat the shit out of the person to protect their kid

Hi there!! This was so much fun to write! I hope you enjoy! Thank you for sending in a request!☺️😄

Raian-

• Once Raian catches wind that someone is bullying his kid then he’s enraged. Yes, Raian might be a shitty father, but he’s still very protective over his offspring.

• If it’s an adult bullying his kid then he just straight up kills them. No mercy, no holding back. He sends a message to everyone else threatening his child.

• If it’s another child bullying his kid, then he’d beat the shit out of that child’s parents.

• Raian has to pick his jaw up off the floor seeing his normally calm S/O fist fighting the bully. Though his shock turns to excitement. He’s got a huge grin shit eating on his face.

• together he and his child cheer on his S/O from the sidelines, watching his mate dominate their opponent.

• He prefers to take on the problem himself, but seeing his S/O snap. He loves it. He falls in love all over again.

• He will defend his child. He may be a deadbeat dad, but he still genuinely cares about his kid. He doesn’t want to see them hurt or in pain.

Alan-

• Alan is very protective over his offspring. They have his blood running through their veins, he aided in creating them. He may also be an emotionally distant father however he still cares for them deeply.

• Finding out someone is bullying his kid, or hearing someone insult his kid, Alan is enraged and ready to fight. How dare they insult his offspring.

• He’d be raising his fists when his S/O steps up. His eyes are wide and he gasps under his breath seeing his S/O throw the first punch. Like Raian, he falls in love all over again.

• He stands back and watch’s with a huge smile. His chest swells with pride. He realizes that he wants more children with his mate.

• Once his Mate is finished beating the bully up he kisses them and takes his family home.

• If his mate didn’t kill the bully then he’d go back later and finish the job.

Ohma-

•He’s pretty pissed when he hears that his child is being bullied. He gets very pissed when someone dares to insult his kid to their face.

• he’s ready to fight, he’s got his fists clenched and he’s about to step up when his S/O passes him. He’s super shocked when his S/O starts throwing punches.

• Normally they’re so calm and collected, but now they’re beating the shit out of a bully in front of his very eyes.

• He kind of thinks he’s dreaming at first. Once he realizes he’s not he’s got a huge prideful grin. His arm is around his kid’s shoulders as they watch their partner/parent fight.

• once he believes the bully has had enough he pries his S/O off of them. He hugs and kisses his partner. Then Ohma, his kid, and his partner go out for ice cream.

• He’s so proud.

Wakatsuki-

• hearing his Child is being bullied he is obviously incredibly pissed. He loves his child with all his heart. He’s probably one of the best dads in the kenganverse.

• He is heartbroken that his child is going through such pain. He approaches the bully calmly with his spouse. The bully does not relent. He is angered but keeps his cool.

• He watches as his clam spouse approaches the bully. To his absolute shock he watches as his spouse begins beating the shit out of them.

• At first he pauses and watches. But then he is peeling his S/O off of them. Their Kid is cheering their parent on and Wakatsuki is breaking up the fight. The bully is crawling away all bloody and beaten.

• Wakatsuki pulls his S/O and kid away. He starts scolding his partner, he can’t believe they did that. but stops when he sees how happy his child is that their parent defended and protected them.

• Wakatsuki secretly wanted to be the one to fight the bully. But he won’t lie- watching his partner do that is such a turn on.

[lantsovsupremacist]

tiberias (cal) calore vii: illicit affairs

i’m only on the 3rd book so a) pls don’t spoil you’ll break my heart and b) my perception of the characters has only been developed to this point so if you come for me do it with the correct context lmao!!!

you knew what it was.

leaning your forehead against the cool metal post of your bed frame, a shaky exhale escaped from your lips. you wished just like that lost breath, you too could leave behind your body and with it, mind. a few minutes was all you needed, really; some semblance of relief.

even with your door shut tight with a deadbolt, the danger contaminating the palace lingered outside of it. you were not foolish enough to deny the cracks it could slip through. you would give any adversary a worthy fight, though. you could not afford not to, especially now.

for the first time in your life, you had truly encountered a problem that you could not use your abilities to maneuver out of. as much as your lungs screamed and your legs ached to run, you could not. being a swift, your first instinct was always to run. your speed always gave you the advantage in pursuit.

a familiar knock at the door broke you from your trance of pity. you stood up, sniffling as you ran the back of your hand across your nose and mouth. the action of clearing your throat sounded more like a whimper, but you managed as you gathered your skirts and headed for the door. you pushed down the nausea and wrung your hands to settle yourself.

your fingers shook on the deadlock before you pried the door open. the amount of weight on the wood, the length of the echo, and the momentary pause before the second, lighter knock gave away the identity of the person on the other side. you were in his arms before you could take another breath.

despite offering you the comfort you had craved all morning, his touch triggered the sobs caged in your chest. perhaps, it was because your heart was only safe in his hands. but, without the key to let them out, they messily tore through and paved their own path.

a year ago, your greatest worry would be the shame brought to your family on account of conceiving a child out of wedlock, let alone to the crowned prince. now, it seemed the impending war took precedence. you could have laughed; a red threatened your livelihood. a girl, really.

you were always careful, and it did not even happen very often. both you and the prince were very busy people, after all. send offs and reunions.

“we can fix this,” cal murmured into your hair.

“no, you don’t get it,” you broke out with a defiant shake of your head, “there’s nothing to fix.”

he pulled back, stroking your hair and pushing it behind your ears. your golden strategist was at a loss. your heart fell further into the pit of your stomach. you chewed on the inside of your lip, desperate to look anywhere but his eyes. yet, in the space of the same moment, you never wanted your gaze to leave his.

“i won’t leave you,” his warm hands ran up your arms, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, “and i won’t let my father have a say in any of it.”

“it’s not the king i am frightened of,” you admitted with a sour taste in your mouth.

cal nodded with a grimace, “then i’ll be sure she is controlled until the end of the month.”

but who could control the queen who could twist minds? you chewed on the thought to avoid choking on it, forcing it down in distaste. both cal and yourself needed time neither of you had the privilege to claim.

cal communicated the importance of waiting until the traditional queenstrial to propose publicly. while the larger part of you agreed with this position, a small piece of your heart reserved for crippling doubt and senseless paranoia wondered if he was stalling for a different reason. if you could at any time expect desertion, it would be now but true to his word, cal had done no such thing—a loyal soldier until the end.

“and if they don’t chose me?” the secret fear you had harbored far before you had even become aware of your current condition felt a traitor to expose to the boy who had given you everything, kept every promise he could.

he studied your face carefully to ensure he held your full attention (though he was foolish to ever think otherwise), “make them, my dear.”

despite the event’s purpose of selecting a bride for the princes themselves, all of the noble houses knew the eldest had little choice in the matter. while your relationship with cal was not overt due to the inherently illicit nature of the affair, servants were known to talk. even in your deepest frustrations, you could not necessarily blame them.

his confidence in you was endearing but what other choice did you truly have?

you pulled away from his arms and lingering stare, wrapping your arms around your middle. pacing the length of the room, you suppressed a bitter laugh, “and then what? when a baby is born after less than eight months? and that’s to say we can persuade your father to rush a royal marriage.”

“let them talk,” his fingers twitched at his sides and you caught the scent of smoke, “nobody will be able to do anything.”

he thought he could protect from anything. sure, there would be little opportunity for any political action after a marriage was solidified but rumors would swirl. born into the pressures of eyes always watching you, they did not cut deep, but a queen needed a reputation demanding of respect. you did not want to be cruel but you decided that if need be, you could.

you wanted so terribly not to cry but willing it away only drew your focus to it more. you did not think the act made you weak but you would rather avoid the complete exhaustion it often caused. you were already so tired. but, some things were inevitable.

cal caught on before you did, “baby,” his voice was croaky, maybe laced his emotion of his own, “please don’t cry.”

you giggled at the irony. it was watery and your voice was nearly gone but it was there. confusion spread across cal’s features. you studied his face as he began to understand. a slow, crooked smile spread across his freckles and indicated the transition.

“suppose i could have chosen better words.”

“mhm.”

you had not noticed he was slowly rocking you in his arms. calm rushed into your senses. cal radiated your favorite kind of warmth. he monitored his body temperature around you, never too hot but always comfortable. it reminded you of home. he was your home. he smelled of pine and dying embers.

now nearing nineteen, you met the prince at fourteen. your elder sister married sooner than your parents expected, hastening your introduction into political meetings as a representative of the swift house of nornus.

who could blame a young and inexperienced teenage girl for falling in with a powerful, older boy who dared throw her an extra glance. what began as a benefit to palace life at fifteen soon turned into a vice. it was easy to tell yourself that you could stop any time you desired but you were addicted to the way he touched you, the way he tasted, the way he spoke your name.

for a while, you were foolish enough to believe he maybe even loved you. when you turned sixteen, you understood you were a pastime for the prince. so when at seventeen he told you he loved you, you did not believe him. he was gone for service quite a bit and your training schedule stole away any time for secret meetings when he was home. you began to purposefully avoid him but the withdrawal from the high that was cal left you dizzy.

when he did not make a move to find you, you tried even harder to move on. you had both made a mess of your hearts, left bleeding and shattered on the floors of the palace. you watched him escape the palace more often, always finding another place to be. one night, however, you followed him. you told yourself it was curiosity that caused you to slip out of your covers and into a warm coat, a coat you would not have needed if you left with him.

you caught up easily with your inhuman perception and speed and yet, he still saw you coming. he always did. that night, you wandered through a village and blended in. that night, you could be normal. he helped you clean up the mess between the two of you and things were different but the same again. they were better. you still took the long way to his room and pulled him into hidden corridors but the longing stares across meetings reignited.

you cleared your throat, “when you returned from delphie.” you tone held the pace of a simple comment, not the answer to the unspoken question pressing down on both of your minds.

cal turned his lips into his mouth and nodded, taking a deep breath, “i remember.”

it was a good memory, a good time. slow and gentle and loving. rane had worn you ragged sparring evangeline from sun up to sun down. you enjoyed the younger classes attending for the exposition but your muscles felt like weights lodged into your body and your breath had not yet fully returned after running circles around evangeline.

usually when one of you returned from an excursion outside of the palace, you wasted little time in attaching to every piece of each other. but, you were both exhausted—exhausted but greedy for the attention of the other. it had been a month ago, nearly to the day.

you and cal never discussed the prospect of children. even if one of you did not favor the idea, there was no choice in the matter. cal, as a future king, needed heirs, and if you wanted to be queen, you would have to bear them. but, you did want them and secretly, you knew cal did, too. it was more than a superficial requirement.

cal always looked at you, found you in a crowd, so it was hard to study him in secret. when he was with children, however, all attention transferred to those at his feet. it was then you saw him fully relax, the weight of his crown falling off his back. he loved them. you loved him more for it.

“and i don’t regret it,” he continued, dipping his head to place it gently on your shoulder. he kissed you neck once, twice, and then dropped his head back down.

[that-blue-vault-dweller]

Can I have a reaction from the companions when they've had a little too much to drink? What would they be like drunk and how does sole get them to sleep it off? Who's the flirty, giggly, sad or so drunk you can't understand them.

This was an absolutely awesome suggestion 😂 Thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy 🥰💙💛

Cait - Is either ready to fight or moping. When F!Sole firsts finds her, she has to keep the woman from punching her in the process of dragging her away from the fight that Cait's already working on starting. When Cait realizes it's F!Sole pulling her away, she chills out considerably and just sort of leans on her before sadly starting to express every single woe she has. F!Sole just strokes her head and gets her to the nearest bed in an attempt to convince her to sleep it off. It is not too hard to get her into bed, but she is adamantly against lying down and falling asleep. She slurs on and on in great detail about what horrid things were done to her during her time in slavery. F!Sole feels terribly sorry for the poor girl and comforts her until she finally quietly cries herself to sleep with F!Sole gently stroking her hair.

Piper - Although it is an extremely rare day when Piper gets drunk, when she does, she is somewhere between giggling her head off, starting a fight she definitely can't finish, and being sad. When F!Sole finds her, Piper is telling a story. When someone tells her she's embellishing for a good story, she looks like she might cry for a total of two seconds and then she hops out of her seat, yelling that she's right and challenging anyone who thinks otherwise to come and settle this like big boys and girls should. F!Sole quickly interferes and apologizes to the people before taking Piper by the hand, and Piper pulls her hand away to instead throw an arm around her happily, declaring very loudly that this is her Blue and her best friend in the whole world. F!Sole just chuckles nervously and guides her away to any bed or bed-like structure that's away from prying eyes. When she gets her to a bed, Piper won't let go of her, so she has to lay down next to the goofy reporter and let her giggle and play with F!Sole's fingers and prattle on about whatever topic until she finally goes to sleep.

Curie - If somehow someone slips something less than pure into her drink, then one can expect her to giggle and giggle and giggle some more. When F!Sole finds her, she is somewhere between killing the moron that inebriated poor Curie and laughing at the poor girl. However, when she realizes several men are making passes at her, F!Sole charges in like an attack dog, all teeth bared and no niceties within her as she defends the girl. While F!Sole has her back turned to her and her eyes centered on the men, Curie jumps onto F!Sole's back, wrapping her arms around her neck and laughing while demanding that F!Sole carry her along. F!Sole just sighs before hoisting the girl more securely onto her and transporting her to a bed. She drops Curie down on the bed and the poor drunk thing giggles her head off as she lies there on the bed. F!Sole reaches around and tucks her in, telling her that she needs to go to sleep as she tries to appeal to Curie's medical sense. Fortunately, she is not so far gone that she cannot see reason, so she closes her eyes, giggles a little more, and finally goes to sleep. F!Sole doesn't leave until she's sure that Curie is asleep.

MacCready - A miserable drunk but also very belligerent and childish if he does not want to do something. Which makes it very difficult to work with him when F!Sole finds him. She tells him that he needs to come with her and go to sleep. He immediately protests with a loud whine and he clings onto his glass. Therefore, she treats him like a child who's throwing a fit-- he pretty much is acting like one-- and she pries the glass out of his hand before dragging him to a bed, him loudly protesting the entire time and making the biggest scene ever. When she finally gets him to a room, she tells him to stay in bed and go to sleep. He crosses his arms and just looks terribly grumpy for a while, incoherently telling her everything he thinks about her in some cross between his usual filtered speech and an unleashed vocabulary of colorful expletives. He finally goes to sleep after a long time of grumbling.

Deacon - Is the life of the party. He's dancing, taking shots, and trying to out-drink anyone around him. F!Sole has to literally sneak up on him when she finds him, and when she does, she grabs him around the middle, refuses to let go, and starts dragging him away. He fights her like a nutcase, but when he figures out she is not an enemy, he calms down just a little. Or he stops trying to kick her in the shins and jab her eyeballs with his fingers. When she gets him to go in the room, she locks the door quickly and stuffs the key away in her pocket. She has to keep a close eye on him, though, to make sure that he doesn't sneak out. She finally shoves him and tells him that he has to go to bed. Somehow or another, he manages to stay up until the morning. F!Sole has no idea how he does it.

Codsworth - Cannot get drunk. But he will gladly help his mistress wrestle any runaway alcoholics and keep watch over them throughout the night.

Hancock - Is happy, very loud, and extremely flirtatious. He is offering everyone unsolicited advice and cheerily buying drinks. When F!Sole is in the nearby area, he spots her and hurries over to her, offering her a drink and flirting her with a little. F!Sole knows that when he's like this, she has to trick him. He will never willingly go to bed. Therefore, she takes advantage of his flirting and persuades him to follow her to a bedroom. He easily follows along. She asks him to go in first and he complies perfectly. As soon as he's inside, she locks him in. He quickly starts to protest and she just tells him to go to bed. When she lets him out in the morning, he is grumpily fussing about her tricking him.

Danse - Is a very depressed and sad drunk. But he is slightly less stiff and just the slightest bit more flirty if he is not in one of those sad moods. When F!Sole first finds him, he looks like he has lost his best friend as he just looks at his glass. F!Sole wastes no time in placing a hand on his shoulder and telling him that he needs to come with her and go to bed. When he sees her, his demeanor changes a little and he brightens. She tries to guide him away and help him up and away to a bed. When she gets him in there, she has to push him and somewhat forcibly make him lie on the bed. He sort of just stares at her and makes some really strange, almost incomprehensible joke about this scenario not being appropriate, but she just rolls her eyes at him and tells him to go to sleep. Fortunately, he easily obeys, and she just stays in the room, sitting next to him on the bed and running her hands through his hair until he goes to sleep.

Preston - Somewhere between being a goofy drunk and a sad one. When F!Sole finds him, he is near tears over who knows what. She goes over to him and asks if he is okay. When he explains the problem, she tries to make him feel better about whatever it is before softly encouraging him to come with her so she can get him to bed. He gets up and comes with her. But if there is a radio nearby, he stops her and asks her to dance with him. He continues to fight her about going to bed until she finally agrees to just one dance. They dance for a little while, and when he is almost incoherent, she decides that it is best to get him to bed at that point. She has to almost carry him to bed as he leans all over her and barely holds himself up. She gently eases him down onto the bed and he is asleep immediately.

Valentine - Can't drink alcohol and would not even if he could. He usually helps F!Sole if she needs it with some of the more difficult drunks, offering another contributing voice of reason.

X6-88 - Is a lot like his usual self on the outside but he is much clumsier. However, when someone actually speaks to him, he is considerably goofier and less coordinated. When F!Sole finds him, she is somewhat afraid. She has never seen him act like a normal person, and she honestly is not sure if she thinks his usual self is better or not. But out of kindness and respect for him, she tells him that he needs to go to bed and sleep the drink off. He stands up quickly and insists that he is fine. She starts to pull him away anyway, and he pulls away from her, heading back toward the bar. F!Sole has to practically drag him toward a bed and she has to lock the door and keep the key in a pocket in order to make sure that he does not escape. She then proceeds to insist that he goes to sleep. Finally, after much argument and stumbling around, he dramatically falls on the bed and goes to sleep.

Dogmeat - No one gives Dogmeat alcohol. F!Sole catches it before some moron gives him any. Plus, he does not drink it anyway. It smells bad and he avoids it.

Strong - If someone possesses or can afford the amount of alcohol that it would take to intoxicate him, they would end up with a very, very angry super mutant. If they succeed in getting him drunk, F!Sole usually gets his attention and convinces him to chase her. She then runs inside one of her deathclaw traps, somehow managing to slip around him as he's grabbing for her and slamming the door closed. She keeps him inside until the next morning and then she apologizes for locking him up by cooking his favorite meal and offering it to him.

[moiraineswife]

Do No Harm - A Witsnah Fic

Guess who’s back...Back again. IT’S ME. Y’all didn’t think you had escaped my Witsnah content forever did you? Because you DIDN’T. I’m back with some Highly Indulgent Content. Pls enjoy. 

Title: Do No Harm 

Rating: M (for violence and cursing) Content warnings: blood and stabbing

Summary: Jasnah is dying and Wit goes a little bit feral as a treat. AKA: Wit realises he's in love with Jasnah via the power of terror. AKA: Wit discovers he can pine while in a relationship because he’s just That Dramatic.

Someone makes another attempt on Jasnah's life within her chamber of Urithiru. Wit realises he's willing to do whatever it takes to save her. Even if that means risking his own life.

Teaser: 

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

Jasnah Kholin stumbling from their shared chambers at sixteen minutes past three in the morning wearing nothing but her nightgown and a considerable amount of blood, gasping his name and seeming near unconsciousness? That did it.

Link: AO3

On a list of things Jasnah hated, assassins were definitely in the top five.

She felt that was reasonable. They had killed her father. They had killed her brother. They had attempted to kill her multiple times. They had threatened everyone she loved, at one time or another. 

And they were also responsible for the large bolt currently protruding from her chest.

Jasnah had been asleep in her bed within Urithiru when the fabrial device cleverly hidden in the canopy had fired the projectile directly down into her body.

Ivory's split second warning had woken her and allowed her to shift aside. Not avoiding it, but it had meant that it hadn't plunged directly into her heart. He'd likely saved her life.

"Something is not, Jasnah." Ivory said, his voice more curt and clipped than usual. His way of expressing concern.

Dimly, using one of the corner posts of her bed to haul her to her feet, Jasnah recognised the same thing.

She had experience with having things stabbed into her. Which had only increased during recent years. Though the bolt embedded in her chest would prevent the Stormlight healing the direct wound, it should still have sealed the skin and muscle around it by this point.  She shouldn't be losing this much blood.

The silk nightgown she wore was soaked in scarlet. Blood was still gushing from the wound in rather alarming torrents. The wheeze to her increasingly laboured breathing told her blood was slowly filling her lungs as well, so there was no internal healing either. Wonderful.

She had to get it out to give her body a chance to fix this.

Forming that rational thought was more difficult than it should have been.

 Panic was starting to gather in the blackening edges of her vision, like a Highstorm threatened in the sudden gathering of clouds, and it was becoming harder and harder to push it back.

Trembling, legs bowing with fatigue, she grasped the bolt in her left hand and willed it to change, to become air, free, and fluid, and no longer fatal.

Nothing.

It didn't refuse her, as objects first had during the initial fumbling attempts to Soulcast them. No. It simply didn't exist to those senses that had become so attuned to the world around her.

That confirmed the fear that had been building within her, and did nothing to still her rising panic.

Stormlight thundered in her veins, a fill, raging Highstorm's worth. She was a Fourth Ideal Radiant, with more experience and knowledge of her powers than almost any other. She had survived shipwrecks, and battles. She was faster, and stronger than any human had a right to be, and had the power to warp the world to suit her whims.

Yet Jasnah felt utterly, gut-wrenchingly helpless in this moment.

She couldn't Soulcast. She couldn't heal. Her strength was fading with every pounding beat of her heart, trying to help, but only forcing more blood from her body.

Escaping to her safe point in Shadesmar was out of the question. She had lost the ability to so much as peer into that realm, she- 

She was dying.

"Jasnah," Ivory barked, both out loud, and in her mind through their bond.

No. No. She was not going to go like this. Taken out by a single aluminium arrow. Alone in a blood drenched nightgown, cowering on the floor of her bedchamber. Helpless and terrified like that child locked in darkness.

She was not that child any more. 

She was a Storming Knight Radiant. She would die defiant and fighting to her last breath. Or not at all. She would accept no other outcome

Parting, she wrapped a blood slick hand around the bolt and tried to wrench it free. Her body screamed in protest, but she ignored it. Pain and she were old allies in this fight called life.

"Jasnah you have not." Ivory said, standing beside her at his full height, something like anguish chiseled into his sharp features.

The fear in his voice nearly reduced her to That frightened animal of panic and raw, foolish instinct. She'd never heard such a tone from him before in all their time together. Where she was logical, Ivory was logic. Any emotion that slipped into his voice told of an extreme reaction.

What was worse was that he was right. 

Her trembling muscles couldn't have pried a splinter from her finger, much less a thick bolt that had pierced her chest, the sharp point of which erupting between her shoulder blades.

She needed help. She needed- Wit. Wit was in the sitting area of their chambers, deep in his books when she'd left him to rest.

The cry of pain that would have issued from her bloodied lips was strangled by her flooding lungs as she lurched towards the door, pausing only to grab at a bundle of cloth on the floor and press it to her chest, in a futile attempt to stem the flow of blood.

It took several attempts to force the handle to turn. She would have cursed, if she'd had the breath for it. Black spots were starting to dance across her vision, though, so she had far bigger problems than an inability to unleash profanities at a door.

Agonisingly, inch- by- inch, spattering blood in a grisly breadcrumb trail behind her, Jasnah clawed her way down the passage that would take her to Wit. Her last hope.

The logical thing to do would have been to send Ivory to bring him to her. But she couldn't stand the thought of ordering him away and leaving her utterly alone. Not now. Not with the darkness crooning to her on all sides.

It was irrational, she knew. But was also deeply human. And she hadn't felt so terrifyingly, nakedly, human in a long time.

Wheezing, she dragged herself to the break in the wall that opened out into the study. 

Her heart lurched painfully as her eyes fastened on the desk she'd left Wit at and found it empty.

If the storming man had gone wandering now and wasn't here when she needed him, and so she died, she'd spit into the Beyond until she could personally kill him and drag him there with her.

With the last bit of breath and strength she could summon she rasped his name into that awful, waiting silence.

Her body was failing her. She could feel it. Every muscle shaking as though she'd been exposed to a Winter Highstorm. Her legs were buckling. Her vision was fading.

Then movement. 

A rippling shadow in the corner of her vision. 

Wit, or an assassin, or the personification of death fabricated by her fragmented, dying mind, she didn't know.

Then she did.

Warm , strong arms wrapped around her and gently lowered her to the ground.

Wit. Without doubt. He was saying... Something? His voice seemed horribly distant, but she thought that he was seeking permission. She nodded to him, tried to tell him to do it, whoever it was, but ended up only tasting blood. Still, for the first time since the bolt had pierced her chest, she felt her heart calm, and steady.

Maybe that meant that she was dying. But if she did, she would die feeling strangely safe. And she would not die alone. That was strangely comforting. Wit was speaking to her again, but she was slipping away from him, like smoke drifting free of a Soulcast object.

The last thing she was aware of was Ivory's terrified scream shattering through her mind.

Then she was darkness once again.

***

Wit liked to think himself largely shock proof.

Not electrical shocks, of course, he was still working on that. But startling shocks, the jump scares of life, unexpected occurrences around every corner. Those he felt he was damn near immune to.

After all, he'd been alive for a very long time. In the same way fans of horror plays began to sense the tell-tale warning signs that something strange and frightening was looming.

The smart playwrites began avoiding the tried and tested tropes and clues in a bid to shock the frequent theatre-goer.

Unfortunately, the truly savvy horror aficionados were able to still identify the deliberate absence of tells as tells themselves. And so, the drama reward was, one way or the other, ruined before it was ever reached.

Wit had been attending the theatre of life for a very, very long time. The writers were trying their best to catch him out, but with so much experience under his belt, it was just really very difficult to do. 

Jasnah Kholin stumbling from their shared chambers at sixteen minutes past three in the morning wearing nothing but her nightgown and a considerable amount of blood, gasping his name and seeming near unconsciousness? That did it.

In the flicker between heartbeats he had to assess the situation, his assessment wasn't good.

Jasnah's normally deep tan skin had turned a worrying gray. Her eyes, usually so sharp and focussed, were glassy and glazed with pain and fear.

Most of the blood that should have been in her body seemed to be staining her nightgown instead.

And there was a thick, wicked bolt protruding from her chest. A quick pulse of burned Steel told him it was aluminium based, which was less than ideal.

He met Jasnah's gaze and recognised her legs were about to give way under her. Flaring his pewter, he launched himself towards her and pulled her to him. 

Then he eased them both to the ground, giving her fascinating new things to bleed all over, such as his shirt, and the fluffy rug Navani had decorated the sitting area with.

She was growing cold already. 

It took everything in him to ease her away from his warmth and lower her to the ground so he could take a look at the damage. 

Flipping a simple hunting knife from his boot he split her dress down the front to expose the wound. She'd forgive him if she lived. And if she didn't, he'd see to it that he was appropriately punished on her behalf.

"That is not a good pattern." Design observed, pulsing with concern over his shoulder.

 "No," Wit agreed tightly, feeling his hand tremble even as he streaked forward to probe the bolt.

The pain he knew doing so would cause burned warningly in his chest. The Dawnshard’s lingering influence had forged a connection between himself and all living things. 

If he physically harmed them, the same damage would be reflected back to him on a far grander scale, naturally. It had become so ingrained within him now it was physically impossible for him to do it in most cases. Instincts reinforced over millennia took care of even the strongest pulses of anger and desires to inflict pain personally.

“Design, can you please find Lift, bring her here? Now." he said, with such grim finality in his tone that she didn't pause for one of her usual facetious comments before she left.

If he could get the bolt out himself the Stormlight he could sense pounding futile within her, like a trapped whitespine, should take care of the wound. If he couldn't... That was why Lift was coming. 

"Jasnah, love," he whispered softly, hoping her permission, such as she was capable of giving in this state, might make this easier for him. "I need to remove this thing that's made its unfortunate home in your chest. I'm afraid that it's going to hurt."

She nodded, and he was sure her lips formed the words 'do it' before she choked on her own blood. 

Fuck. He didn't have time to waste wondering whether he could do this. Or worrying about what would happen to him if he did. She was dying, and he couldn't let that happen.

Her body shuddered, and Ivory let at out an anguished cry as she lost consciousness in his arms.

Time stopped. 

Reality blurred. 

Something deep inside him became suddenly very dark and impossibly cold. It took him a moment to realise it was his heart. 

That fickle, feeble thing, more scar than soul at this point. It had withered, like a once beautiful blossom that since lived devoid of light and warmth and air. Both lost to dust and decay.

 Yet he felt it, now. 

He felt it on this quiet, unremarkable day, as he held Jasnah Kholin in his arms and contemplated the weight of her death. 

And he knew.

Whatever the cost to fix this, he would pay it. If he had to endure untold agonies, or shred another piece of his shattered soul, or rewrite the ending of worlds, or break an unbreakable contract, or pray to gods he'd renounced millennia ago...

He would do it. He would do it all.

Because, ah, sweet fool, he loved her. He loved this woman. He loved the breath and bones of her. The blood and soul. The logic and dreams. The wit and wonder. And the spit and bile of her, he loved that, too.

Without conscious thought, he wrapped a hand around the bolt in her chest, and pulled.

Once before he'd come close to death. True death. Not of the sort he'd described to Jannah as 'inconveniences’. That had been a permanent threat, a permanent end.

A Shard had managed to capture his essence, in his earlier years, when he’d been less careful, and more easily fooled. Then they had begun to methodically shred it, with no small amount of gloating glee.

Emotion by emotion, bit by bit, bloody chunk by bloody chunk, he'd been ruined.

In those horrifying moments, he'd felt sure he'd finally reached the last of his luck. He'd thought he was facing his end. And an end it would have been. One that would have been more final than even the Beyond. For if it had been completed, there would barely have been a memory left of him to echo through the Cosmere.

This was worse.

This was so much worse.

He had not known agony such as this in a long time. 

None of the Investiture he held helped in the slightest. It was but a flickering candle flame before the hurricane of consequence that currently ravaged him.

Some time ago, he’d learned that the line between help and harm could be incredibly thin. And that blurring it would not always work in his favour.

A part of him was sure that he was dying. And a larger part was begging for that to simply make all of this stop. But another, sharper, harsher part was convinced that if this had been going to end him, it would already have done so.

The first time he had nearly been rent into oblivion, all that had saved him had been the Shard's determination to not only end him, but to do it with as much unnecessary pain and drama as possible.

Wit enjoyed overzealous theatrics, especially when they gave him an opportunity to escape with the final shred of himself intact. Barely.

From there, over long centuries, he had painfully rebuilt what had nearly been taken from him.

He'd been careful never to go near the flame that had nearly consumed him again. Until now. Until he'd throw himself into it for her.

She returned that favor beautifully. 

For this time, all that saved him was her.

Her permission, in her final moments of lucidity, the trust she had given to him, in a way she had perhaps never given to anyone since she'd been a child. The faith she yielded to no God, she'd granted him in her deepest moment of vulnerability.

It had saved him. 

It had given him an anchor of certainty to cling to in his agony. Her conviction that, no matter the pain, he meant her no harm. And never would.

That act of love from a woman who saw harm and assassination in every flickering shadow, but had managed to find safety and salvation in him. It had been enough to save him, and now he only had to hope, in the slightest, most distant corners of his soul that were still capable of doing that, that it had been enough to save her, too.

On his knees, muscles violently shaking in spite of his Stormlight and his Pewter, Wit forced his eyes open to find Jasnah on the floor in front of him, still as a corpse.

Blood still seeped from the wound, which was smaller than before, but still deadly. Her Stormlight had run out keeping her alive as long as it had and now...Now she was not breathing.

"No," he breathed, dragging his pain ravaged body closer to her. "No. We're not yet done here, Jasnah Kholin. Not by any stretch of even my imagination." 

He breathed out, expelling all of his own remaining Stormlight in a shimmering cloud above her. Doubling over as the wave of nausea rolled over him, he clenched his fist and forced himself to lift his head so he could see her.

Breathe he willed her. I know you're too stubborn to die like this. Breathe damn you.

She did. 

First a 'breath' to draw in his Stormlight, then a wheezing rasp as she forced air into her rapidly healing lungs.

Wit slumped down onto the furry carpet, dizzy with relief and with the consequences of his foolish decisions.

He listened to the rhythmic sounds of Jasnah's chest rising and falling. And strained his Tin until he could hear the pleasing accompaniment of her heart beating, strong and defiant, like her. 

She really did make such sweet music. 

He closed his eyes, and listened to the ragged sounds of her breathing. The life he had bought with his gamble, and his pain. Worth it. So absolutely, completely, undoubtedly worth it. 

Her logic would have condemned that thinking. He’d bought her a few more decades of life with the potential sacrifice of millennia on his end? He could almost hear her voice telling him he was a Storms damned fool. 

It just made him smile. Because she was breathing beside him. And her heart was still beating. And she was still here, and still his, and that was all that mattered to him in the whole fucking Cosmere at the moment.

This symphonious serenade was interrupted by a chaotic donor at the door. Hauling himself to his feet he answered it and found Lift.

"I have obtained the strange Edgedancer!" Design informed him helpfully, sounding very pleased with herself.

"I ain't strange," Lift insisted, barging into the room and heading for Jasnah, gliding across the floor, bagel in her left hand.

"It was a compliment," Wit told her tiredly, closing the door and turning to face the chaos of the room with a wince.

"It was a factual observation," Design corrected, sliding across the wall alongside him, “I took a survey to back it up."

"Design, please," Wit groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He was neither drunk nor Invested enough to deal with that conversation right now. 

Lift was crouched over Jasnah, examining the still healing wound. Aluminium injuries sometimes took longer to fully heal, even after the offending object had been removed. Lingering traces of the metal still caused problems with the Investiture healing. It was horrible stuff, truly.

"Damnation jester man," Lift said, whistling between her teeth, "What kind of freaky starvin' stuff have you two been doing in the bedroom? "she demanded, incredulous. "Pretty sure you're meant to stick it in her downstairs bits, not her chest. Figured you'd know that."

Regret. Yes, that was that feeling knocking against the inside of his skull like an insect trapped in a glass.

"I didn't stick it anywhere" he replied, with far less levity than he would ordinarily have mustered. It had not been a very levitous night. 

"Yeah, I've heard that can happen." she said, tone half- knowledgeable, half -sympathetic. 

In hindsight, he should have just let Jasnah bleed. The rug wasn't getting any less ruined. Unlike his sanity.

"If, could you please-"he began wearily, gesturing impatiently to Jasnah.

"Alright, alright," she said, sounding exasperated, as though he were being unreasonable in redirecting her attention to the woman slowly bleeding all over the floor. 

Her power flared, and a moment later she said, proudly, "There, see, she's waking up already." 

Wit stopped his pacing and knelt down by his queen once more, placing her head gently into his lap and stroking her hair back away from her face. Lift, for once wise, made no comment.

Jarrah stirred and groaned as he trailed his fingers gently through her hair and Ivory stood on her chest and minutely examined Lift's progress.

As her eyes opened and her vision clarified on him, those words were on his tongue. 

Those foolish, damning words that had nearly gotten him killed tonight.

The sudden powerful rush of emotion that hit him as she looked at him nearly knocked them from his lips, like a High storm wall dislodging a boulder.

But he smothered them with a smile, and held them inside. He wasn’t totally sure why. It just didn’t feel quite right. Not now. Not like this.

She stiffly raised herself enough to survey the damage.

Then she pursed her lips and said, "Rather unnecessary treatment of my best nightgown, wouldn't you say?" 

Wit choked on a laugh and pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, keeping himself from covering her mouth with has only through millennia of cultivated restraint.

"Hello! You're welcome!" Lift’s loud, irritable voice burst in on the intimate moment, like a chull lumbering into a banquet and demanding to know where the sweets were.

Her arms spread indignantly wide to remind them she was still there and was responsible for Jasnah's current consciousness, she glared pointedly at both of them.

"Thank you, Lift." Jasnah said graciously, even as she gripped Wit's arm painfully to pull herself upright. “You may go to the kitchens if you wish. Tell them I approve the making of any dish you request." 

A gleam of near feral glee flickered into her eyes at this and she squinted at Jasnah before clarifying, “The royal kitchens, right?” 

Jasnah nodded, and Lift’s grin became absolutely and undoubtedly feral a moment before she saluted Jasnah, then shot off as fast as she could go.

"You may regret that," Wit said lightly, knowing only too well what kind of dish Lift was likely to order.

Jasnah, who probably had a shrewd idea too, allowed, “Perhaps. But it's a regret I'll deal with tomorrow. For now-" she began to rise with difficulty," My chambers must be investigated. The fabrial trap must be sent to my mother for examination. Then we must have the guards on duty interviewed, as well as any servants or maids who have had access to my quarters, and-"

" Jasnah," Wit interrupted quietly, one hand resting gently on her arm, drawing her back to him for a moment before she rose and drew away.

Some deep, instinctual part of him that he usually kept such an excellent hold on after all these centuries of civilised existence, it needed her. It needed her here with him for just a moment longer. He was not yet ready to let her go. Not when he’d come so close to never being able to hold her again so recently.

She obliged and turned back to face him, seeming to understand, though she too leashed those parts of herself as well.

Ever grateful, he dipped forwards and pressed a gentle kiss to her lips, tender and intimate, then rested his forehead against hers.

Again, his traitorous tongue almost told her, but instead he murmured sleepily,  “I'm very glad you're not dead." 

Her lips quirked into a faint smile at that, “You say the sweetest things," she deadpanned in that way of hers that he loved so well.

"I know," he sighed, with an appropriate and expected level of drama, "I spoil you so much." 

She pulled back a little and studied him with a keen eye, “I feel I should be expressing to you, too, that I'm pleased you aren't dead,” she said with a slight frown.

"Only if you really mean it," he said, with mock seriousness.

She ignored that, except for a slight frown. Then she asked, blunt and direct as ever, "What happened?"

"You ate all of my Stormlight." he returned smoothly. Technically it was true. But it was so far from the full truth of what had passed between them that it felt more like a lie, somehow.

"How rude of me," Jasnah said quietly, pressing another soft kiss to his lips.

 He could tell that she was not fully satisfied with that, however, and would likely return to it before long to tease further information from him. Damnable woman knew him too well.

"We have work to do," Jasnah said, getting to her feet with a poorly canceled wince and a wobble.

"Yes, we do," Wit agreed grimly, also rising and readying himself for a fight as he added, “We need to rest and recuperate and follow the advice of a healer on how best to recover."

Janak, as anticipated, didn't much like this suggestion.

She frowned slightly and said, “There will be time for rest and recovery later, Wit. There was an assassin in my personal chambers who made a very good attempt at killing me. I-"

"They did." Wit said very softly. 

"What?"

"They did kill you," he murmured, meeting and holding her intense violet eyes as he spoke, seeing something shift within them a moment before she blinked and turned away, unable to hold his gaze and whatever she saw within it.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and took her hand, gently twining his fingers with hers, as the Cosmere had tangled their fates. 

"You died, Jasnah." he told her softly. " I watched you die." 

They both let that statement echo, done and unchallenged in the silence that followed. 

Then he squeezed her hand and said, "Please." 

She studied him hard, considering his words, hisintent, then she sighed faintly and nodded, yielding to his good sense. 

“Vey well." she agreed, “But I am not comfortable remaining here," She looked around at their quarters with a slight shiver. 

Once her sanctuary, now it would forever be the place where she had died. She did not get overly attached to places, or things, in general. She was the least materialistic aristocrat he’d ever met. Yet this had been a place of safety, and refuge, and the violation of that would probably haunt her more than the injuries themselves, already swiftly on the road to being fully healed. Smooth skin spread over another scar that she would never forget, regardless of the lack of physical reminder.

As if to illustrate this point, she said, with a grim expression, "But  in the morning, we find the bastards that did this."

"I've no objection to that whatsoever," he said smoothly, even though that was a lie.

Right now he never wanted her to go to work again. He wanted her to remain in his arms, safe, and whole, and unharmed. 

He couldn't have that. He knew he couldn't have that. He shouldn’t want that. That was the point of this relationship. That they each had goals larger than one another, that they had always known and accepted that from the very beginning. It was what they had both wanted. A relationship beyond simple wants. A relationship of deep, nuanced understanding of two of the Cosmere’s most complex creatures. 

And now...Well now he’d gone and fucked that right up, hadn’t he? He’d gone and fallen in love with her. Because of course he had. How could he not? 

It had been centuries since someone had challenged him as surely as she challenged him. On every fundamental level of his existence, she met, and even exceeded him. 

It was thrilling, and intoxicating. 

And more than that. More than the challenge. More than her ability to go toe-to-toe with him and even come out on top. It was her understanding of him, her acceptance of who and what he was. Even as he understood and accepted her, and- 

What an idiot. What an absolute, Adonalsium damned idiot he was. 

He could not contain this woman. He could barely even keep up with her most days. He would never be allowed to hold her gently in his arms and keep her safe from the world. No. She would not permit that. 

So he settled in the short term for pulling her into his arms now, one hand held about her waist while his other tangled in her long, black hair.

I love you. His heartbeat said, where it pounded against his ribs, pressed so close to her an irrational part of him thought she must feel it. I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.

It was not some impulse foolishness from a boy panicked with his first crush. No. He was old. Old and stupid. So much so that he'd walked this path before.

The woman in his arms was not a fleeting fantasy conjured up by a frantic, terrified mind. She was solid, and real, and warm. And every inch of him was in love with her.

Truly in love with her.

Not in love with that desperate moment. Not in love with the unattainable idea of her that she could never be. No. His idiotic, foolish, witless little heart loved her in all the way it was possible for one person to love another.

Fucked. That's what he was. Well and truly fucking fucked.

But he didn't tell her. Because he was not yet that stupid.

He just held her.

Held her and kissed her and cared for her, for the few hours in which she would allow him to do so.

He helped her out of her ruined gown. Wiped the blood and gore from her skin as she bathed. Braided her still damp hair. Helped her into a clean nightgown and a different bed.

Then he held her again as she finally managed to drift off in his arms. And as he did, he thanked whichever Shard, or God, or raw force in this world had let him save the woman he loved. 

The woman he loved. 

Oh fuck him, this was unlikely to end well at all.

He did it anyway.

[jaskierswolf]

The Grass is Greener Pt.3/3

CW: More shitty parents...

Previous

Dinner was an absolute nightmare. The food itself was delicious. They ordered from the lovely little Italian place in town that was one of Jaskier’s favourites for board game night with his housemates. Geralt and Jaskier both ordered pizza, which was the totally normal thing to do when ordering takeaway. His mother ordered sea bass with new potatoes, spinach and mediterranean vegetables.

Ciri was snoring quietly in her pram. Geralt had popped home to get it whilst they were waiting for the food as Ciri threw a bit of a tantrum when they’d tried to get her back into her carry cot.

They were eating on the patio table. Jaskier had insisted. They had spent over two hours trying to clear up the garden and his mother was going to fucking appreciate it, seeing as she’d found every reason to pull apart his house.

The carpet was the wrong colour, the oven was shit, his bedroom was a mess (it wasn’t), the bathroom stank even through the jammy door (it kind of did, thanks Regis), the windows were filthy, there were too many beds…

It went on and on and on.

Geralt, who was supposed to be helping to charm his darling mother, was just glaring at her across the table. Jaskier was trying to joke and make awkward conversation but the tension was just too much. He couldn’t do this. Everything he said was met was snide comments from his mother, who’s current favourite topic was Geralt being a single father, because how could Jaskier ever be good enough to help raise a child. Geralt didn’t once defend himself against his mother’s remarks which Jaskier found infuriating but he was immensely glad that Geralt was there to serve as a buffer. He was struggling to remember how he coped in past years without Geralt’s assistance. How on earth had he managed this battle on his own every year?

Geralt had held his hand throughout the entire dinner, which was both amazing and really awkward when it came to eating. Luckily pizza didn’t require a knife and fork. Occasionally, Geralt would lean in to kiss his cheek or brush Jaskier’s fringe from his eyes. Jaskier hadn’t known what to expect from fake dating Geralt. He’d assumed that he would be the better actor out of the two of them, but his mother was throwing him off and Geralt seemed to have slipped into the role as if he were born to love Jaskier, and didn’t that just make him feel all giddy?

Still he could do without the death glares being shot towards his mother whenever she said… well, anything really.

“Geralt. A word, please.” He said firmly, squeezing Geralt’s hand and standing up.

Geralt grunted and turned to flee into the house. Jaskier sighed. “Mother, can you watch Ciri?”

His mother nodded and stabbed at the poor dead fish on her plate. He nodded back and ran into the house.

“Geralt!” He called after his neighbour.

Geralt was now the one pacing in the living room. “What the fuck is her problem?”

Jaskier frowned. Why was he so angry? It wasn’t as if they were actually dating…

Jaskier shrugged and tapped out a rhythm on his leg with his fingers as he tried to recap an entire lifetime of terrible parenting as quickly as possible. “I’ve always been the problem child, according to my parents. I came out when I was sixteen after years of running around in my sister’s high heels and dresses. Mother and Father didn’t exactly welcome the news and proceeded to ignore it until I left for uni. When I said I was going to study music they all but kicked me out the house. Apparently being bi was tolerable but not having a ‘proper’ career was a step too far. After uni, I sofa-surfed for a few years until Pris suggested we all get a house together, that’s when Regis practically adopted us and… well… here we are. Present day.”

Geralt put a hand on his shoulder and then pulled him into a hug.

Jaskier yelped, surprised by the sudden show of affection. “Geralt?” He mumbled against Geralt’s chest, trying to ignoring the blooming love in his heart.

“You don’t deserve that.” He grumbled. “Any of that.”

Jaskier pulled back and furrowed his brow. “Yeah, and how would you know?”

Geralt… blushed?

“Geralt?” Jaskier asked, cupping Geralt’s cheek.

“When you moved in you made me cupcakes.” Geralt mumbled.

Jaskier stared in shock at the man in front of him. He’d forgotten about that. They’d been a complete mess and the icing had leaked all over the bottom of the box, but they’d still been edible and Geralt had insisted that Jaskier stay for a cup of tea to try them.

It had just been Geralt in the house at the time. He’d still been waiting for the paperwork to be finalised to be approved as a potential adoptive parent and the house had seemed so empty. It was the same size as Jaskier’s and Jaskier shared with four other people, well, three others and Valdo Marx. Apparently, Geralt had come into some money following a death of a family friend and he’d been able to afford a family sized home. Jaskier had just seen the hot guy next door and decided to spontaneously make cupcakes in a half-baked attempt, pun intended, to get laid. It hadn’t worked and Jaskier had settled for pining for his hot neighbour instead.

How had he forgotten about that?

“Geralt.” He breathed.

“And when I got the flu you came round with groceries and made soup.” Geralt added.

Jaskier swallowed nervously. “I was worried about you. You hadn’t left the house for days and I don’t think I’d even seen you miss a day of work before. You leave every morning like clockwork.”

“You’re a great person, Jaskier.” Geralt chuckled almost nervously, in a way that was making Jaskier’s heart run far too fast in his chest. “And seeing you with Ciri, Jask, you’re incredible.”

Jaskier scoffed trying to calm the torrent of feelings in his poor bisexual heart. “This fake dating is getting to your head, Geralt.”

Geralt hummed and pulled away from him. “Right.”

“Can you please just try and get along with my mother until I can send her off to the hotel room she inevitably booked so she doesn’t have to stay with us, me, with me.” Jaskier stumbled over his words. “Please?”

“Then we can get the pictures for Yen and I’ll be out of your hair.” Geralt grumbled.

Jaskier laughed nervously. Why did that suddenly sound like a death sentence?

God, he was already addicted to Geralt being in his life.

“Right.” He mumbled.

They both sulked back outside to the patio where his mother was cooing at baby Ciri in her pram.

Jaskier turned to face Geralt who had a matching confused expression on his face.

“Geralt, she is just the cutest.” His mother cooed.

“What the…” Jaskier muttered.

“Thank you, Mrs Pankratz.” Geralt said slowly, as if he didn’t trust his words.

His mother bopped the young girl on the nose then turned up to look between Geralt and Jaskier.  “Now then, what’s up with you two? Julian, don’t tell me you’ve managed to ruin your relationship with this young man already!” She snapped.

Jaskier gaped. What the fuck?

This wasn’t his life.

Dear god this wasn’t his life.

Geralt wrapped his arm around Jaskier’s waist pulling Jaskier towards him and placing a kiss on Jaskier’s temple. Jaskier’s heart fluttered in his chest he couldn’t help but lean into Geralt’s embrace.

“Not at all.” Geralt said in his lovely deep voice that made Jaskier’s insides turn to goo.

“Geralt was just worried about me.” Jaskier chimed, the fake smile back on his face. “All sorted now.”

“Worried?” His mother scoffed and then turned to give Ciri a smile that, if Jaskier didn’t know better, would have been described as motherly. “Whatever for?”

Geralt smiled too sweetly. It looked wrong on his face. Jaskier gulped and looked between them. “He’s tried so hard to make you proud, Mrs Pankratz and you have not been kind. As his guest you should be grateful that he’s invited you into his home. Yet everything he does is flawed in your eyes. Makes me wonder, is there something wrong with your eyes? Because your son is… he’s one of the best people that I’ve had the pleasure to meet.”

“Excuse me?!” Jaskier’s mother shrieked and Jaskier decided it would be rather lovely if a big hole would just open up under his feet right.

“And yet, you look at my daughter as if she is an angel.” Geralt growled.

“Oh well. She is rather amazing.” Jaskier mumbled.

“If only you had treated your son with the same respect, maybe we could have gotten along better.” Geralt carried on as if Jaskier hadn’t said a word.

“You have no right!” His mother pointed at Geralt. “No right!”

Geralt shrugged. “Perhaps, but Jaskier was too good to say what needed to be said.”

“Geralt, love.” Jaskier squeezed Geralt’s hand, probably too hard. “You promised.”

Geralt closed his eyes and growled. “Jaskier, I can’t just sit here and listen to her bullshit.”

“Why not?” Jaskier pouted. “I’ve done it for years. One day, Geralt, you had to do it for one fucking day. Why couldn’t you?”

“Because I love you!” Geralt snapped.

Jaskier froze and stared at Geralt.

It was an act.

It was all an act.

Except…. what if it wasn’t?

Jaskier lunged forwards and pulled Geralt into a bruising kiss. He needed to, he needed Geralt like he needed the oxygen in the air. He’d been pining after this man for a year and hearing those words, fake or otherwise, it was too much. He felt a prick of tears in his eyes and he sniffed.

“Oh bollocks.” He mumbled against Geralt’s lips. “Fuck, Geralt, you made me cry. You bastard.”

Geralt pulled back to stare intently into Jaskier’s eyes, searching for the answer to some unasked question. “Jask?”

He sniffed and wiped the tears from his eyes. “I love you too, Geralt.”

Geralt brushed his thumb across Jaskier’s cheek and laughed. “You promised you wouldn’t.”

Jaskier snorted. “You promised to be nice to my mother.” He countered.

They both ignored the squeak of protest from the woman in question.

Geralt scoffed. “Some promises are worth breaking.”

“Can someone please explain, what is going on here?” His mother snapped, causing the girl in her arms to start screaming again.

Jaskier gave Geralt another chaste kiss and winked before turning to face his mother with his hands on his hips.

“Mother, dearest. Please return Ciri to her father and kindly fuck off.” He sneered.

“You can’t talk to me that way!” She protested as Ciri was pulled from her arms.

Jaskier tilted his head. “Oh ho ho! I think I can. You!” He pointed at her. “Kicked me out, or do you not remember that lovely little detail?”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m really not. Now as wonderful as all this has been. You should know that this house is not just mine, I live here with my friends.” He snorted. “As if I could afford the rent on a house like this on my own, Geralt here, is not my boyfriend—”

“Yet.” Geralt added with a smirk.

“—Yet.” Jaskier agreed and winked at Geralt. “He agreed to help after spending over two hours mowing the lawn because it was so overgrown it resembled a small forest. The only reason he helped was because I have no idea how to actually do basic gardening tasks because I am terrible at anything that isn’t music and writing.”

“Jaskier.” Geralt growled.

“Oh and falling in love with my incredible gorgeous neighbour before he even asked me out on a date. It’s an oddly specific talent but has served me remarkably well, I think.”

“Julian!” His mother gasped.

“Oh and I did babysit Ciri a few times, but get this… I didn’t even ask for money!” He laughed at the shock on her face. “I did it because Geralt asked me to and she’s actually rather cute.”

“I can’t listen to this.” His mother started to head back to the front door.

Jaskier was absolutely fucking delighted! Oh he should have done this years ago! He should never have let the woman back into his life. It had only hurt him, but then again would he have tried to fix the garden without her? Would he have ever worked up the courage to ask Geralt out?

Probably not…

He scoffed.

She would hate that he had only gotten a boyfriend because of her meddling.

“I’m leaving!” She called over her shoulder as she stormed out the front door.

“Thank fuck for that!” Jaskier waved after her and then turned to go back in the house.

He almost ran straight into Geralt who was stood right behind him with Ciri in one arm.

Thirteen years he’d put up with his mother’s torture. More than that if you counted the years before he’d come out. All that time trying to be someone he wasn’t just to please her when he could have just left her and his shitty family behind.

Why had he’d been so scared?

Geralt pulled him into a hug and kissed his hair with a hum.

Jaskier scowled as the thought hit him. “Geralt?”

“Hmm.”

“Did you really mean it?” He asked as he rested his head on Geralt’s chest, listening to his  heartbeat.

“Yeah. Did you?” Geralt pulled back so they could see each other’s faces.

Jaskier laughed and cupped Geralt’s face in his hands. “Oh, dear heart, I’ve never been more serious in my life.”

Geralt tilted his head and glanced down at Ciri. “And you don’t mind, about Ciri?”

Jaskier giggled.

“Geralt, darling.” He kissed his new boyfriend chastely and then crossed his arms, putting on his best scary Geralt face. “The child must not be an obstacle.”

Geralt shoved him and he fell over laughing, as Geralt stalked back into the living room.

“I regret nothing!” He called after Geralt before scrambling to his feet and chasing after his grumpy, and still insanely hot neighbour/boyfriend. 

________

More witcher fun!

[the-awkward-outlaw]

Arthur as a protective Dad

Alrighty friends, I know I haven’t really touched my writing requests in sometime. I have been having to deal with some pretty complicated family issues and other things in my life, and I just haven’t had much time or energy to write. But it really is all your support that keeps me going! 

This request is from a user on AO3:  arthur dealing with micah after he sees him being a creep and harassing his teenage daughter. I know that sounds dumb but i just love protective and angry arthur (that kind of angry from him feeds my soul)

Masterlist

Read on AO3

Everyone knows that Arthur is the ultimate definition of protective. He’ll put himself between a bullet and any of the girls in camp. With you, he’d do even more. However, none of that comes close to what he’ll do for his daughter. Whatever she asks of him, he’ll do his best to find a way to make it happen. 

When it comes to keeping her safe, no one dares to mess with Arthur’s daughter. Not in camp, not in the town camp is closest to. A man had once tried just flirting with her in town once. She’d politely asked him to stop but he hadn’t taken the hint. Arthur had walked in and seen not long after. The man ended up with a broken nose and shattered cheekbone. No one harrasses Arthur’s daughter. 

Which is potentially what drove Micah to try. 

Micah is well known for ruffling everyone’s feathers. Even Dutch’s on occasion, but only when Micah is feeling rather confident. But Arthur is his favorite person to upset. Micah has tried to get to him by antagonizing him, but Arthur usually would just tell him to stuff it and move on. 

Micah has tried bothering you to irritate Arthur, but you were too good at handling yourself. Arthur would usually watch just in case he needed to step in, but he personally found it incredibly sexy how you’d whip around to Micah and verbally attack him. It didn’t take long for Micah to realize that to make you mad would end up in getting his ass whipped. The honest truth is that Micah is scared of what you’re capable of if he really pissed you off. 

So that left one last resource to bother Arthur. His teenage daughter. You and Arthur have been together for longer than she’s been alive. If it had been modern day, you’d be described as high school sweethearts. You’d gotten pregnant when you were 19. While it was difficult for both you and Arthur to be parents at such a young age, you couldn’t ask for a better father. 

Arthur says that your daughter is a miniature version of you, except she has his eyes, but you see so much of him in her to believe that. She’s strong, she’s had to be with this life. You and Arthur had debated at first of breaking out of the gang when she was little as the life really wasn’t good for a child, but the problem was that both you and Arthur were too loyal to leave. However she toughed it out and turned out to be a relatively average girl. You couldn’t be more proud. 

It’s been especially tough for her these past few months, but it has been for everyone. Blackwater changed everything. You have to give Abigail credit, if your daughter was as young as Jack is, you would’ve tried convincing Arthur to leave. Then again maybe not. After all, you have just as big of a bounty on your head as he does. But it doesn’t change the fact that right now, things are tougher than ever. Especially now that Sean’s dead. 

You’ve lived in a lot of unlikable places, mostly out west. Shady Belle is probably one of the worst you’ve been in. It’s hot and muggy all the time. You prefer the dry heat of the desert. At least your clothes dry out there. Not only that, but out in the west, you don’t have to be afraid of the water for the most part. Here, monsters dwell beneath the surface. 

Micah has been getting more and more cocky these last few weeks. You haven’t liked it as it seems like he’s getting more under Dutch’s skin, but you’re sure Dutch will wise up. After all, he has Hosea to help him and Hosea surely doesn’t like Micah. 

Arthur has been getting slightly suspicious of Micah lately too, but he’s been so busy running around to really do much. Your poor husband. You’ve done everything you can to help him, but there’s no denying that most of the camp rests on his shoulders. 

It’s a few days after Jack has been returned. You’ve insisted to Arthur that he stay in camp for a while as he’s been running around like crazy since Jack went missing. It’s clear he’s exhausted. It’s a good thing too because Micah has been keeping his eye on your daughter, and not in a good way. 

Micah really is growing too confident out here. He’s never dared bothering your daughter before because you and Arthur are the people he’s frightened of getting truly angry. However, it’s almost like he’s trying to absolve that. 

The first few days, Micah has tried to tease her but subtly so that you wouldn’t stab him. He knows that unlike Arthur, you won’t care about keeping the peace within the gang if someone really makes you mad. You’re easier to control when Arthur is around as he seems to be the only person who can calm you down. 

Now that Arthur is here and taking a break, Micah has been much more confident. There was one day when your daughter had been reading in the gazebo. Micah had gone over to her and tried to flirt with her. It was clear she was creeped out, but being a teenager she didn’t really know how to push him away. Arthur had seen her face though and he’d marched over. 

“You leave my daughter alone, you creepy bastard,” he’d growled inches from Micah’s face.

“Relax, big man, I’m just having a friendly word with her.” 

“I catch you near her again, I’ll put a bullet in your head.” 

Micah wasn’t foolish enough to stick around then, though it did make him chuckle (mostly he did it to try and continue bothering Arthur). However, he’s been continuing to do things like this. You certainly haven’t liked the way he looks at your daughter. Of course he tries to do it when he thinks you can’t see, but certainly when Arthur can. 

You’re standing next to Pearson, listening to Hosea talk about the potentials of Saint Dennis. Arthur’s over next to the fire, talking with John. Just as you’re about to go over to him and talk about things, you see your daughter running into camp, tears streaking down her cheeks. She’s sobbing. Arthur stands up and walks briskly over to her. 

“Sweetheart, what-” he starts.

“Micah, papa! He… he tried to touch me!” she sobs into his shirt. 

His face immediately goes red, so does your vision. “That son of a bitch!” you holler. You’re about to stomp over to the edge of camp where that bastard is. Arthur holds out a hand and stops you, his other arm wrapped tightly around his daughter. 

“Let me handle this, darlin’. I ain’t given’ that bastard any more reason to hurt my family.” Normally you’d ignore him and go marching off, but something in his eyes tells you to listen. It’s that look you’ve seen only once or twice, but it’s the look that even made you nervous in the past. It’s the look he reserves for only those who he truly plans to kill. 

He holds onto his daughter for a few more seconds, trying to calm her down. Then he gently pries her off of him and guides him over to you. “Stay with your mama, okay? I’m going to take care of things, sweetheart.” He kisses the top of her head and then pats your shoulder. You nod and fold your arms around your girl. That look comes back to Arthur and then he turns away, marching over to where Micah is.

“Come on, honey,” you say to your daughter. You guide her over to the barrel of water near Pearson’s wagon to get her a drink to calm her down. If you weren’t so confident in Arthur’s ability to protect his family, you’d be pulling out your revolver and shooting that asshole right now, but you know you don’t need to. 

Arthur’s marching over to where Micah was last seen. As he passes his horse, he spots his repeater. It won’t be needed, not for this. He’d prefer to do it with his bare hands. Micah has been a growing problem that he’s tolerated, but he will not accept that man putting his hands on his little girl. 

He reaches the spot his daughter was, but of course no one is there. After looking around, he spots Micah standing near the river on the outskirts of camp. Good, it will make cleaning up his corpse easier. 

As Arthur stomps over to him, Micah turns around and gives him a cocky grin. “Morgan, what are y-” He’s interrupted by Arthur’s fist slamming into his face, breaking his nose. As Micah buckles down, clutching his bleeding nose, Arthur grabs his shoulders and thrusts his knee into his gut. 

“You put your filthy hands on my daughter!” Arthur roars as he continues to beat Micah to a pulp. Micah tries to fight him off, but he’d been caught off guard by Arthur’s ferocity. 

“I didn’t do nothing to your daughter!” he howls as Arthur kicks him. “She’s lying!” 

“Bullshit! You been harassing her for days!” 

Arthur kicks and punches him a few more times before he straightens up and pulls out his revolver, standing over Micah. The man below him puts up his hands, trying to make Arthur see reason. 

“You ain’t gonna kill me, Morgan. You can’t. Dutch would… would never allow it.” He spits blood from his mouth. 

“Oh Dutch ain’t got nothin’ to do with this, you creepy bastard. No one touches my daughter and gets away with it.” 

Micah tries to chuckle. “Dutch ain’t gonna like you shooting someone in camp.”

Arthur smirks at him and puts his revolver back. “Oh I wasn’t plannin’ on shootin’ ya, Micah. Just wanted to see you squirm. Nah, you ain’t worth wastin’ a bullet on. But don’t mean I ain’t gonna kill ya.” 

Arthur kicks Micah again to keep him on the ground, then he kneels onto his chest and wraps his hands around Micah’s throat. Arthur rarely likes watching people die, he hates seeing their blood on his hands. But Micah is different. Micah personally wronged him and his family. He will not tolerate anyone touching the most precious thing in his life. 

After a few moments, Micah finally lies still and Arthur releases his grip on him. Arthur stares into his glassy eyes. “That’s for my daughter, you son of a bitch.” He then drags the body into the river, not wanting it to be seen anymore. 

As he walks back into camp, massaging his tired fingers, your daughter breaks out of your grasp and runs over to him, burying herself into his chest as his arms wrap around her. 

“Papa,” she sniffles into his shirt. 

“You’re okay, pumpkin. That bastard ain’t gonna bother you anymore.” He knows, as he holds onto his daughter, that he will have to go and explain things to Dutch. He’ll do that later though. All he wants to do is take care of his child. You can’t help but smile. Arthur doesn’t usually cuddle with you in camp, mostly in thanks to the teasing from other people saying he’s a big softy, but he’s never pulled back from cuddling with his girl. He’s proud to show people how much he loves her. You walk over and wrap your arms around her as well, pinning her between you and Arthur. One of his hands slides over your side, showing you how much he cares about his family.