#refusing to admit anything is wrong until it's severe enough to put the exact right name on the issue

[unsat-and-strange]

anyone else ever get that feeling where you're listening to a song you like and maybe you've liked for years and then you realize the meaning like the actual meaning or it has a new meaning for you personally and it just clicks and you feel a wee bit silly for not getting it sooner but that's kinda not the point because holy shit the meaning behind that song

[kyuuppi]

vegetable stew

Pairing: Kenma x Reader (f)

Contents: hurt/comfort; angst and fluff; body dysmorphia; eating disorder (negative thoughts, fat shaming, insecurity, mentions of starvation)

Word Count: 2.1k

Kenma has always been observant.

It was a large part of his success as a setter and even now his keen observational skills contribute to his career as a professional gamer. He tends to notice things others don’t and lately that means noticing how you’ve changed.

The more he thinks about it the more difficult it is to pinpoint the exact starting point of your behavior. Haven’t you always preferred baggy clothing?

He remembers the pretty blue sweater you used to treasure back in high school, wearing it every chance you got as soon as the weather report hinted at anything lower than 10°C. He loved that sweater too—not just because of the cute sweater paws it gave you or how it almost completely covered the shorts you wore beneath, offering an unobstructed view of your shapely thighs—but instead he relished in the way it seemed to make you feel. The confidence and joy in your expression was clear as day when you wore your favorite outfits and early on in your relationship he had quickly learned that somehow your happiness was synonymous to his own.

Hence Kenma’s current frustrations in seeing that spark of joy and self-confidence gradually diminishing in the past several weeks.

Although that particular sweater had long since left your wardrobe within the first few years of university, as well-loved and worn out as it was, the more recent favorites of yours have also seemed to have gone lately. It had been a while since you had worn the short yellow polka dot dress you had been so eager to show Kenma the first day you got back from the mall with your roommates. Every pair of shorts and colorful tennis skirts had also left your weekly rotation, leaving behind only dull sweatshirts with childhood cartoon characters and baggy joggers.

Objectively, Kenma hardly cared about what you wore. If fastening a potato sack around your form made you happy, Kenma wouldn’t bat an eye—the problem stemmed from the fact these clothes didn’t make you happy. Moreover, the bland clothing brought with them their own slew of behavioral changes.

You no longer wished to go out and you avoided taking pictures of yourself, your social media suffering from an obvious lack of cheeky selfies or “outfit of the day” posts as of late. However, the most concerning change of all was your refusal to eat.

Kenma had a habit of forgetting to eat himself. He rarely felt the mild twinges of hunger, his attention generally hyper-focused on something else whether it was a game, a video needing editing, or a class project he had pushed off for far too long. It was only when his own stomach growling would startle him or the hunger pains got unbearable that he would acknowledge the human requirement of sustenance (not that the instant ramen in his cabinets provided much nutrients anyhow).

You were much more in tune with your body and, unlike him, you looked forward to eating; scheduled your days around it, even.

Your mornings began with a balanced breakfast—a meal Kenma was rarely even awake in time for—followed by a generous lunch break in which you would intentionally put everything on pause. Regardless of how much work you had to do you always made time to put everything down and have a decent lunch. It was good for your soul, you would say. A time to live in the moment and relieve yourself of stress.

For dinner you often made it a point to eat with others, whether it was going to a rowdy Korean BBQ with some friends or a dinner date at home with just him, you enjoyed sharing a meal surrounded by the people you love. On top of it all, you frequently had snacks: small bags of crackers, slices of fruit, or a few cookies you made yourself.

You loved cooking almost as much as you loved eating; most of the times he invited you over you brought a large bag with you filled to the brim with ingredients he wouldn’t have a clue what to do with. You would chastise him about his awful eating habits, grimacing at the ramen and chip wrappers overflowing in the kitchen trash can before you diligently prepare a meal for you both, healthy and flavorful, full of the vegetables he hadn���t had since the last time he went home to visit his mom.

You made him look forward to meal times too, if only to see the way you light up when he compliments your cooking or the pure bliss when you take the first bite of your favorite side dish. Eating with you became one of his favorite parts of the day.

And so that last time you made him dinner—a steaming plate of curry with shrimp tempura—the normally delicious food suddenly turned sour on his tongue when he realized you had only made him dinner.

“I’m just not very hungry today,” you had assured him with a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes.

Foolishly, he hadn’t said anything at the time.

Maybe you had a large lunch, maybe you had a stomach ache, maybe you just didn’t want curry today—at that point in time he had no reason to think there was something seriously wrong. He had no reason to think you were starving yourself.

It wasn’t until weeks later when all the evidence stacked up, the many different signs piecing themselves together like a puzzle until it was impossible not to see the picture, even if a few were still missing.

Your baggy clothing, your refusal to eat anything, your off-handed comments about how the female characters in whatever fighting game he was playing had such nice figures—it became crystal clear what you were doing and it made him feel sick.

Kenma doesn’t generally care about others’ looks; he tends to worry more on how he is perceived than how he perceives others but he is confident that he rather likes your body as it is. He would rather die than admit how often he finds his gaze wandering when your legs are bare or how his eyes naturally trace the curve of your waist down to the width of your hips his fingers twitch to touch—he has had many thoughts about your body, none of which have ever been negative.

Even so, he doesn’t mind if you want to change yourself. He isn’t foolish enough to think he has the right to dictate how you decide to present yourself to this world, but he refuses to allow the reason for your change to be one that stems from low self-esteem or insecurity.

When you step into Kenma’s apartment, weary from a long day of classes and the extra hours spent at the gym, the last thing you expect is to be greeted by the scent of some type of stew, warm and hearty. Your stomach clenches longingly but you quickly reprimand yourself—you already reached your tiny caloric limit for the day.

You have hardly made it into the living room when Kenma comes out from the kitchen, dyed hair tied in a low bun but messy, several strands poking out and sticking across his sweaty forehead. A dark blue apron is tied around his waist and his right hand holds a ladle, the perfect image of a frazzled housewife. If you weren’t so shocked by the scene you would have laughed.

“Welcome back,” he greets softly.

“Are you...cooking something?”

Kenma looks slightly embarrassed by your incredulous tone but not offended. In all the years you have known Kenma you have never seen him in the kitchen for longer than the three minutes required to heat up a bowl of noodles. Him slaving away in front of the stove for a bowl of homemade soup is nearly unfathomable to you.

“Vegetable stew...it’s my mom’s recipe,” your boyfriend explains sheepishly.

The mental image of Kenma shyly FaceTiming his mother as she patiently walks him through chopping up carrots and mixing spices makes your lips twitch upwards and you make your way past him to curiously survey his work.

“You didn’t have to go through the effort, I could have cooked you something, y’know,” you comment as you lean over the large pot on the stove.

The contents are a rich brown color with hints of potatoes, carrots, and onions peaking out. You’re gifted another pang of hunger and you quickly step back as if it would prevent you from falling into temptation.

Kenma quietly slips into the kitchen directly behind you, his chest nearly brushing your arm as he speaks.

“It's okay, I wanted to cook for us this time.”

You freeze.

Immediately, you break into a cold sweat, the prospect of eating sending you into a state of anxiety. You can’t eat—you don’t deserve to eat. Not when your arms are so flabby, your waist so undefined, your inner thighs so close to each other—

“I appreciate it,” you start.

Your voice sounds unnaturally high even to your own ears.

“But I’m not hungry—I had a really big lunch.”

Turning, you try to offer him an apologetic smile but his face looks off. His lips are pulled into a slight frown and his eyes seem to be looking through you, as if he knows you’re lying.

“Y/n...I don’t like what you’re doing.”

You attempt to laugh but it comes out hollow.

“I’m not doing anything bad, just dieting a bit.”

“I think you’re being a little extreme.”

You huff, starting to feel defensive. You don’t want to have this conversation, not now, not ever.

“Kenma, I’m totally fine, I promise.”

“I’m worried about you,” he insists.

“I’m telling you there’s nothing to worry about, I’m being safe.”

“Skipping meals isn’t healthy.”

“Kenma, being this fat isn’t healthy!”

The words escape before you can think to stop them and you can already feel the shame pricking at your eyes as you turn away. You don’t want to see your boyfriend’s look of disgust once he realizes you’re right, once he realizes how fat and unattractive his girlfriend is. Kenma is skinny, he deserves a petite girlfriend who is just as tiny, a girl with slender legs that look cute in shorts and a stomach that lays flat regardless of the time of day. He deserves the sexy girls in his video games, in shape from years of training and perfected suited for tight leather bikini tops.

You don’t realize you’re shaking until Kenma wraps his arms around your shoulders, burying his face into the side of your neck. He lets out a shuttered sigh and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he’s crying as well.

“I love you,” he murmurs against your skin, “and I don’t like seeing you hurting yourself. If you want to lose weight, I’ll help you. We can make healthy foods together and eat them together and exercise together—just please stop skipping meals.”

Your throat feels like it's stuffed with cotton so you can only nod in agreement, raising one hand to weakly wipe at the hot tears staining your cheeks.

The two of you stand like that, huddled in the middle of the kitchen, for several long minutes until the last of your tears have gone before Kenma gently pushes you to sit down at the coffee table. He prepares two steaming bowls full of vegetable stew for you both and you silently eat as Kenma tells you how low calorie the broth is and how many nutrients his mom said were in the vegetables he used. He tells you about a new fitness game on the Nintendo Switch that you two can play together. By the time you finish your meals, Kenma has already promised to wake up early to go jogging around the neighborhood together even though you know he absolutely hates waking up early and exercising when he doesn’t have to.

Your chest aches with how much he loves you, how far he’s willing to go just if he thinks it will help you and make you happy.

A small part of your mind begs you not to listen. It insists you’ll be fat forever if you don’t starve yourself; no pain, no gain. But the more rational part of you gazes into those soft golden eyes, filled with concern and love as he rambles on about the best sources of protein—all stuff he had learned from his professional volleyball player friend Hinata—and you know your answer.

Kenma loves you, he would do anything to see you happy and healthy and you would do anything to please him.

You love him more than you hate yourself.

[sortasirius]

“Despair” and Cas’ Fall

*record scratch* *freeze frame* I bet you’re wondering how I got here.  Oh that’s right, it’s because Destiel is canon now and I can talk about it forever and will continue to do so.

Let’s talk about Cas’ fall.

So now we know, Cas was falling from the second he met Dean, but let’s talk about that journey.

I think Cas tried, for a while, to refuse to admit that he felt *something* in regards to Dean.  I don’t think it was love, not yet, but for him to feel anything at all for him is what kickstarts the beginning of his fall.

He’s a solider, supposed to follow orders and not think for himself, and he tries to do that, tries not to care about Dean, about humanity, about the loss of human life, but he does.

The idea of “caring” comes up early between Dean and Cas, and I think Cas spends a lot of time, before the other angels realize that he’s straying down a path that they deem “undesirable,” trying to understand why Dean is as selfless as he is, why does he care so much?

I don’t think Cas ever really figures it out, but he begins admiring it, emulating it in a way.  This is the conscious start of his fall (internally anyway), he tries to understand humanity by understanding Dean.

Already he’s comfortable confiding in Dean, telling him things he likely wouldn’t tell another angel, let alone a human.

And then, in 4x10, the first admittance of what will come to be the ultimate truth:

Even then, Cas is forced to take a step back, already Heaven is questioning him, why he’s so concerned with this human.

Dean saves Cas for the first time, and again the question: why?  Why would Dean save him when he’s already angry at them for taking Anna?  Why would he risk his life to save Cas?  Why does Dean care?

Already Uriel has had to take the lead from Cas, because Cas can’t be trusted, he has to be watched, make sure that he doesn’t put Dean’s needs in front of the mission.  Because Cas is beginning to care which he, as a soldier, shouldn’t do.

Falling for a human.  Disgusting.  Beneath the level of an angel.  Why pay attention to them, they are God’s creation, but not worth an angel’s time.  Why care about them?

And doubt leads to disobedience, because what if they’re asked to kill Dean?  Could Cas follow through?

Cas doesn’t care about Alastair, he doesn’t care if Alastair gets tortured, but he does care about Dean, he cares that this will hurt him.  The doubts have been planted: is this right, is is right not only to torture to get the information they need, but is it right to put Dean through this for their purposes?

And when Dean is beaten within an inch of his life by Alastair, that’s when Cas goes to Anna, begins openly questioning his doubts, the idea of disobedience.

It all comes down to Dean.

I have a theory...

That Cas didn’t consciously disobey, didn’t actively make the decision to go against his orders until Dean prayed to him.

He can’t say anything exact, can’t step in directly, but he can give Dean information he shouldn’t know, information that he can use to his advantage.

This is Cas’ choice, consequences of the disobedience be damned.

When he steps in directly, he is punished, and severely, enough to make him take a step back, at least convince himself for a time that he can still follow orders, that he doesn’t care about humanity, that he doesn’t care about Dean.

But it’s not enough, the torture he experienced in Heaven, it’s not enough.  Though it scared him back in line, the second Dean asks, he considers telling him everything again.

Dean’s love for humanity, for his family, for those around him is what is driving him here, he doesn’t want the world to suffer the Apocalypse, because he knows what Hell is like.

When it comes down to it, the question for Cas remains: why?  Why should he care?  And this is the first time he hears why, and it’s also the first time Dean Winchester really changes him.

So Cas brings up his own fears, the feat he thinks all humans must suffer from: the fear of dying, of death.  Surely, even Dean is afraid of that.

But Dean is always surprising him.

This is the end of the arc of Cas’ initial fall: this final choice, the choice to blatantly disobey, to choose humanity over the angels, the choice to sacrifice himself for humanity.  Make no mistake, I’m not saying that Cas did all this to make Dean happy, he didn’t, this was his own choice, a series of choices, an understanding of right and wrong, a feeling that humanity is worth saving, but the catalyst of this is Dean.  And we see that over and over and over again, for the next decade.

I think so much of Cas’ feelings are repressed, twisted and tangled around his confusion around his falling: why did he choose humanity?   Likely, deep down, he knows, just as those around him know. 

And over and over, when it came down to it: angels or Dean, victory or Dean, Cas will always choose Dean.

This season, we’ve seen Cas grow, learn to accept the way that he feels, and finally, in “Despair” he says the thing he’s likely known for over a decade out loud.  That he loves Dean, that he has always loved Dean, and that his lvoe for the world, his love for humanity, is because he knew Dean.

[clean-bands-dirty-stories]

In Your Arms ~J.M.

A/n: This wasn’t a request that inspired me to write a lot, so I didn’t, but I hope y’all enjoy this sweet little short! It’s been in my drafts way too long and I want to get more of these done so I can get to recent requests :)

Request: “...jack Morton x male reader where the reader is human of the pack and he always sleeps on the couch until the pack comes home. Jack thinks it’s adorable and carries him to his room and maybe they have a sleep talking conversation like reader:“no I have to wait for jack.” Jack:”why” reader:”because I like him”...”

Word Count: 1800+

MASTERLIST

Listen, being a werewolf in a human world is hard enough especially when it comes with a whole new world of secret societies and magic and literal demons and magic and endless rules that you have to learn and oh did I mention ACTUAL MAGIC?

It is exponentially harder when you make things worse by shoving a human into that world.

Y/n didn't have a werewolf ability to defend himself, or heal him when he got hurt. He didn't have magic... which you know thinking about it now, might be a good thing. He'd rather be useless than be part of the Order.

That was the problem though, wasn't it? He had chosen to be useless. That's what he was now.

I mean sure,  he'd read the books Jack had given him enough times to memorize them, and he was getting used to playing doctor. He was also getting really good at helping in small ways. Helping Hamish grade papers, or doing one night of homework for Lilith, or passing some messages around when Randall forgot because he was busy with supernatural stuff. He was great to talk or rant to, and all of the Knights had been utilizing the very nice ability to go off to someone who actually listens. Sure, he had fallen into a habit of taking notes for the Knights in the classes he had with each of them, if they missed. But... that was just school stuff. Sure it took off a lot of the pressure in the long run (a lot more than he probably even realized), but if they died what the fuck did school mater?

When Jack almost died after the whole meltdown with Silverback a while ago, it had really pushed Y/n into gear. He was a lot faster at responding to things; a lot more eager to help; and above all, the single most annoying person ever when it came to asking about going along to showdowns to play backup.

The others simply refused again and again, and, again and again, he would end up sitting in an empty room as he pretended to focus on whatever task he had given himself to kill time before the worry got to him and he just curled up on the couch ad stared at the ceiling. Worry ate him alive for several hours, and then he'd fall asleep. Most of the time because things always went far later than intended, but also sometimes because between being a student, having a job, scrambling to cover for your friends too, and spending several hours emotionally exhausting yourself with unimaginably high stress levels, one simply passes out.

As Y/n's falling asleep became more and more of a habit, things started to get complicated. Because the thing was, he always fell asleep waiting, so he would be in the Den's living room, uncomfortably scrunched on the couch. They'd left him there a few times and he always woke up sore and aching. They'd tried to wake him up a few times and, half delirious, he had overly emotional reactions. After he had broken down into tears at how happy he was to see all of them alive and then been so embarrassed he hadn't talked for three hours the next day in pure shame, they had decided against the waking him up method. Which only left one option: one of them carried him to bed.

Lilith had tried, but the size difference between her and Y/n was big enough that it was jst awkward for her. She was small (even though she'd never admit it). She's end up waking him up, or dropping him, and that was the last thing they wanted.

Hamish had also tried, but he was really awkward and didn't know how to let Y/n get comfortable in his arms while walking around so that he wouldn't wake up, so Y/n often would. Then it would be super awkward as they just stared at each other. Their relationship was too brotherly and rigid to make room for touching it seemed.

Of course Randall had given it a try, and he was actually fairly good at it, but as much as he was big enough to actually carry Y/n, and at ease enough to let Y/n stay asleep, he wasn't good at maneuvering, which often left him pinned under Y/n when he actually put the sleeping boy to bed. Which lead to a lot of them cuddling. Which, while that was chill and platonic and fun and stuff, made Jack super jealous.

Oh yeah, Jack had a HUGE crush on Y/n, so it only felt right that eventually everyone left it up to Jack to take Y/n to bed. He could pick Y/n up, carry him to bed, and put him in an actual bed without any problem.  Y/n didn't know this was happening. He had gotten used to everyone taking turns carrying him to bed, and they hadn't said anything so he assumed they'd just gotten better at it.

That's probably why on one particular night, he didn't simply assume that he was talking to Jack when he was picked up and began to be carried to bed.

That night was different, because Jack and Y/n had plans to study. Jack had an important test the next day and he and Y/n had the class in common, so Y/n had volunteered to stay up a little later to go through what Jack had missed. It had gotten derailed when Jack had been called away for Knight business, but Y/n had only written it off and told Jack that he'd still be there when it was over and they could continue if Jack was up for it. Unfortunately, it was one of the really time consuming ones, and Jack didn't get back until well into the night.

Dutifully, Y/n was asleep on the couch. His face was contorted oddly. Even asleep, the couch was uncomfortable enough to leave him with a permanent frown, even if it was soft since he was asleep. Jack wasn't surprised though - the couch was so small it barely fit two people on a good day, so sleeping on it was not a fun time.

Considering all of that, Jack thought it incredibly adorable that Y/n found a way to fall asleep on it anyway. They had told him a hundred times to just go to sleep in his bed, but he had refused time and time again. He had insisted that he needed to be as accessible as possible if nything went wrong. If they needed him, he had to be close. He insisted that it was best to be on the couch, and had sworn that he was trying to get into the habit of not falling asleep. But he always did, and he always ended up in the exact same situation. Not that Jack minded. It gave him a prime moment to hold his crush.

He scooped Y/n up now, smiling as the sleepy boy's head fell on Jack's chest. He sucked in a small breath but then settled. Jack chuckled to himself as Y/n pressed his nose into Jack's shirt, burying his face to get closer to the closest source of warmth since he didn't have a blanket. Jack began to carrying him to the stairs to head upstairs, but was stopped when Y/n's foot caught just a second on the doorframe. See, earlier Jack had hurt his arm. Due to werewolf healing it was almost fine, but it was still quite sore, and the tug on his shoulder when Y/n's ankle caught on the wall, forcing his leg into Jack's shoulder... Well it wasn't a big enough pain to make him drop Y/n or shout or anything, but it was enough to startle Y/n just a little bit awake.

"Wh- what?" Y/n mumbled, blinking heavy eyelids as he tried to look around. Jack winced, feeling guilt rise. "What happened? What did I miss?" His words were slurred, and it was obvious that he was barely conscious.

"Nothing," Jack reassured, hoping Y/n would just go back to sleep. If he knew Jack was there he would insist on staying up and helping. It would be nice and much appreciated - since Jack really did need help - but more than Jack needed help, Y/n needed sleep. He had been crashing on the couch for a reason; he was exhausted.

So Jack immediately rushed to soothe, "Nothing happened, just hit your foot on the wall by accident. Go back to sleep."

Y/n huffed, a whine in his voice when he argued, "No put me back." Jack tried to swallow a smile. It was adorable seeing a sleepy, whiny Y/n and that on top of his sleepy voice that was low and grumbly and kept cracking and having the boy in his arms, Jack was having a hard time not feeling a bit giddy.

He tried to keep his head on a little longer though. He needed to get Y/n to bed. "And why do you NEED to go to bed?" He teased lightly.

"I have to wait for Jack," Y/n mumbled, trying to blink the sleep out of his eyes. "We have plans."

Jack's smile turned warm. He thought about telling he who he was, but if he did then he'd NEVER get Y/n to sleep, so he decided to lean into the misconception that he was no in fact himself. "Jack will understand. It's late, you need to sleep."

"No," Y/n insisted with a firmer voice. He tried to struggle, but it was genuinely so pathetic that only a few seconds later he was still.

It made Jack wonder what Y/n was so desperate for though. "Why not?"

"He has a test tomorrow," Y/n explained with a soft irritation. "He needs help."

"You don't have to help him," Jack reminded softly, feeling suddenly guilty for some reason. Had he made Y/n feel obligated to help him?

"No I don't," Y/m agreed. "But I want to."

"Want to what?" Jack joked. "Stay away with a loser like him and lose sleep you need?" He had reached the top of the stairs now, and was headed to Y/n's door.

Y/n just rolled his eyes. "He's not a loser, but he does need help, and I can sacrifice a little sleep to help him with something he really needs. Making small sacrifices liek that is just what you do when you love someone."

Jack froze. WHAT?

When it was quiet for a long stretch of time, Y/n finally succumbed to the tiredness and his soft snores vibrated against Jack's chest. He cleared his throat and shook his head, opening the door and putting Y/n to bed. When he left the room, closing the door behind him, he came out with the biggest fucking grin he had ever worn.

Y/n like him back.

They had a lot to talk about tomorrow, and none of it had anything to do with a stupid test Jack no longer remembered. Because he loved Y/n too, and that's all he could think about right now.

Sorry Miss Styne.

[clandonnachaidh]

Light Across The Seas That Sever (Ch4)

AO3

When he woke the next morning in Amsterdam, his feeling of utter contentment quickly gave way to dread as his hand eagerly searched the space in the bed beside him only to find it empty. Immediately, his eyes snapped opened and he looked around the room for her, for his Claire.

His heart sank at the sight.

The twin bed that she had slept in for the night prior to the one they shared was made, her suitcase gone from its spot by the door. He stumbled as he got out of bed, his limbs not quite awake yet as he burst through the bathroom door and he noticed that her things were gone. It was as if she’d never been there.

If not for the taste of her still on his lips, he’d have wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing.

He spun around the room in a flurry, unsure of what he was looking for or what he planned on doing once he found it.

Then his eyes fell on the slip of paper that sat on the windowsill, the sun casting its rays down on her pen strokes.

I can’t bring myself to wake you. I have to catch my flight. I’ll let you know when I land in Boston.

Jamie’s heart clenched in his chest and he used the palm of his hand to rub at his sternum without thought. He knew that she was gone. He cursed himself for being such a deep sleeper, wished that he’d had the awareness to know that she had been moving around the room silently, packing her things to leave. But in the afterglow of their love making, having released tension and anticipation that had been building inside of him for years, sleep had taken him down and down until he was oblivious to the world. The last thing he remembered was the ghost of her fingertips on his cheekbone and his jaw as he whispered to her once in his mother tongue, the language of his heart that he knew she didn’t understand but hoped that she could feel the meaning of, before falling into a deep sleep.

“Mo ghaol ort, mo Sorcha.”

He had to find her, had to make her understand that he loved her and had loved her since the moment he saw her. Scrambling into the same clothes from the day before, he tore out of the hotel, not caring that they’d charge him for another night when he would inevitably miss check-out. He rushed to the train station and bought a direct ticket to Schiphol, his shaking fingers calling her repeatedly and his heart falling every time it went to her voicemail.

He left his third message, laying his heart out for her to hear, “Claire, please just answer the phone. Talk to me. I winna ask ye to do anything ye dinna want to do but I have to say it, Claire. And I refuse to say it on your bloody voicemail so answer yer phone, tell me where ye are. I’m on my way to the airport. I’m coming to find you.”

Once he arrived, he pushed his way past the crowds of holiday goers, businessmen in their suits and parents trying to corral their children into order. Suddenly thankful for the view that his height gifted him, he searched frantically for any sign of her. He’d found her flight on the departures board and raced to the terminal, praying to God that something had delayed her and she hadn’t had time to make it through security yet. The panic bubbled in his chest as he began to breathe heavily, black dots appearing in his vision. It took everything in him not to simply start shouting her name in the hope that it would bring her to him.

A furious hysteria was beginning to claw its way into his nervous system, controlling the frantic jerks of his long limbs that felt too heavy for him to carry. He dialled her number again and was astonished when she answered.

“Jamie,” she whispered and he felt his heart shatter at the pain in her voice. “Oh, my Jamie.”

“Claire, where are ye? What were ye thinking running off without saying goodbye?” His voice sounded desperate and angry as he spun on the spot, knowing that the compass in his heart that always navigated him to her side would point him in the right direction. Still, his eyes weren’t able to land on her. “Damn it, Claire, tell me where ye are!”

He heard her let out a sob.

“I’m at my gate. You won’t be able to get through.”

Unable to remain upright at her confession, he slumped against the wall beside him and let his head hang, releasing tears that he had been keeping at bay from the moment he had realised that she had left. He cried with her, not caring if people saw.

“Why did ye do this?”

“I couldn’t stand to say goodbye.”

“Claire, I lo-“

“Don’t,” she cried softly, only speaking when he went to say it again. “I’m begging you, don’t say it. If you care for me at all, don’t make this harder.”

He restrained himself from driving his fist into the cement and pushed his forehead against it as his fingers gripped his phone tighter in his hand.

“I canna believe ye weren’t going to say goodbye,” he whispered with a voice full of hurt and not devoid of anger. “Do ye regret it? Last night?”

Her answer came out in a burst, “No. No, I don’t regret it. But you’re my friend. My best friend and with everything changing… I’m going to need my best friend.”

“Yer being selfish, Claire. To give me hope last night and then to pull it out from underneath me, to leave me wi’out breath,” the words were spilling out of him, not caring if he hurt her. She had hurt him well enough.

“Jamie, I thought-“

“No, ye didna think at all. Only of yerself getting to have a wee bit of fun before running off and settling down a whole fuckin’ ocean away.”

With a man who’s not me, he thought.

The line went quiet apart from the gentle sound of her crying and the odd ragged breath that he drew into his lungs to try and settle his racing mind. He screwed his eyes shut and banged his head lightly against the wall.

“Claire, forgive me, I- fuck, I just dinna ken what tae do.”

“They’re calling my gate, I have to go,” she whispered.

“Please, I didna mean it, I was sore and said more than I meant,” he desperately tried to explain himself.

“I’ll let you know when I land. Goodbye Jamie.”

“Claire—”

When she hung up the phone, he sat on the floor and went to pieces. An hour passed before he was able to bring himself together enough to make his way back to the hotel, gather his things and get his own flight back home. With one look at him, standing on the steps of Lallybroch with the spirit of a broken man, Jenny set her mouth in a straight line. In a feat that would’ve astounded Jamie had he the energy to care, she kept her words to herself and brought him a bottle of whisky as he sat in front of the fireplace, somehow managing to keep her children from pestering their uncle. He spent days moping around the estate, barely speaking a word but she made sure that he knew that when he did want to talk, Jenny Murray would be there to listen.

It was two weeks after Claire had left that Jamie heard from her. It was early evening and he had just punished himself with a 10km run around Lallybroch’s grounds, thinking that if his muscles were screaming in pain then he might get some distraction from the dull ache that had set up shop in his chest. The minute he stepped into the hot stream of the shower, his phone pinged with a message. How he would kick himself afterwards that he hadn’t given it a cursory glance because when he exited the bathroom ten minutes later, he thought his eyes were playing tricks on him when he saw it.

Sassenach: Message

He opened it greedily, desperate to receive any sort of contact since the painful last phone call that would play on a loop in his mind every night as he lay in bed, sleep evading him.

It was a picture of a bouquet of flowers, a huge arrangement made of foliage and sea holly, thistles and white calla lilies that he knew were her favourite. He’d spent more time than he’d like to admit picking out the perfect flowers for her and knew exactly which bottle of whisky to put in with it (the one that they’d drank together the night that he’d teased her that she had no friends before she replied with a blinding smile and said the words ‘I have you’). She had photographed them prettily displayed on a windowsill that was drenched in sunlight. Underneath she had simply written the words ’Thank you!’ and he realised that he had forgotten that he’d even arranged for the gift to be sent. It was meant be a moving in present, a little reminder of home and the people that she’d left. Now it seemed sad and it made Jamie and his bruised ego feel a bit pathetic.

But it was a start, a small plaster on the gaping hole that was their friendship but one that he was determined to improve on. Anything to keep her in his life, in whatever capacity. He replied to her message with hopes of her having had an easy move, asking whether she was settled in yet. Claire replied almost instantly and so begun the back and forth, both of them trying to be painfully normal as Jamie paced in his bedroom, naked as the day he was born and dripping water all over the floorboards.

When he slipped on a puddle of his own making, he chucked his phone back onto the bed and set to rummaging amongst the old clothing in his drawers in an attempt to find something clean. He really needed to help out around the house more, he thought. Jenny had been rushing around after a husband, two children and now her brother and she deserved better. He had started to deal with the pile of unwashed material that had accumulated on the floor by his bed when he heard his phone ring.

Without even looking, he accepted the call.

“Aye?”

“Hi! It’s Claire!”

As if she needed to tell him that. The minute that he heard her voice he felt like he could breathe that little bit easier for the first time since being in that fucking airport, the gentle lilt of her English accent making him picture the shapes that her lips made. The memory of it stabbed him in the gut and he took a calming breath, turning from his discomfort into the humour that they both teased each other with.

“Sorry whoever ye are, I dinna ken anyone with a Boston accent, ye must hae the wrong number.”

“Asshole,” she snorted. “I sound exactly the same as I always have. It’s… it’s good to hear your voice.”

He smiled into the phone, letting his voice soften and convey the sincerity of his words, “Aye, Sassenach, it’s good to hear yours too.”

An hour or so later, when Jenny Murray went up to her brother’s room to let him know that dinner was on the table, the sound of her brother laughing halted her hand just before she knocked. For the past fortnight, Jamie had been dour, sullen and more prone to tantrums than Wee Jamie and Maggie put together. Getting the two of them fed tonight had been a battle, Ian trying his best to wrangle a teething Maggie as Jenny had an entire bowl of mince and tatties spilled down her front by her son. It had been a tiring night but now, the two wee ones were in bed and her brother was laughing again. Her heart lifted at the thought and she sent a prayer of thanks up to her parents for giving him a bit of a reprieve from his heartbreak.

“Sassenach, ye ken fine well…”

As soon as she heard him say it, she spun herself from Jamie’s door, cursing under her breath about her eejit brother who didn’t know what was good for him and definitely not what was bad for him. It wasn’t that she didn’t like Claire, in fact she had been glad knowing that there was someone to look out for Jamie when he’s was away at university. Jenny always knew that her younger brother was more green behind the ears than he was willing to admit. When he had nonchalantly mentioned that he’d be bringing home a friend for the summer of his first year at university, Jenny had pulled Claire into a hug on the steps of Lallybroch, welcoming her with literal open arms and finding Claire to be a quick witted, intelligent woman but with a softness behind her eyes that Jenny hoped would lend her to being a good friend to her brother. The problem, Jenny quickly realised the first night they’d all sat down to dinner together, was that Jamie had fallen head over heels in love with her.

She tried her hardest to lighten her step as she made her way back into the kitchen, knowing that she would not react kindly to any teasing about her ‘stomping�� around the house. Instead Jenny took out her frustration on the chicken curry that was bubbling on the stove, whirling the wooden spoon around with a little more force than was needed.

“Did I miss saying goodnight tae the bairns?” Jamie’s voice rumbled against the stone walls of the kitchen, pulling her attention away from the storm cloud that was brewing in her stomach as she plated up for herself, his large frame appearing over her shoulder. “Smells fine.”

As the full plate slammed down on the countertop, Jamie frowned in confusion as Jenny turned, her hands set at her hips in a way that still put the fear of God in him.

He took a step backwards (out of her reach if she decided to brandish the spoon at him), his eyebrows raised along with a single hand. Jamie knew from experience that it was better to pip her to the post before she got into the swing of an argument, “Before ye say anything, I want tae apologise first.”

“And just what will ye be apologisin’ for this time, mo bhràthair?”

“For treatin’ this place as a hotel, havin’ ye run after me like I’m one of yer bairns,” he had the foresight to look genuinely penitent and it softened her a bit. “I promise ye I’ll start pullin’ my weight.”

“Well, I canna say that I disagree wi’ ye. And I’ll be thankful of the help, Ian was just sayin’ the west gate needs mending. About time ye bucked up and started helpin’ wi’ the jobs around here,” she said firmly. Jamie’s eyes narrowed in at her face, confused. He’d apologised before she even asked but there was clearly something still there that he hadn’t addressed, that she was expecting him to bring up.

“Is there somethin’ else?” He asked carefully, fighting the urge to pull up the door to the priest hole that he was standing on in an attempt to hide from her wrath.

Instead, she sighed and handed a second plate to him. Her hands went from her hips to the table in front of her as she manoeuvred herself to sit. He followed her lead and sat down across from her, watching closely as she began to eat after expelling another pregnant sigh.

“Will ye give me a hint as to what I’ve done tae piss ye off?” He grumbled as he began to eat himself, trying his hardest not to cower as she sent him a death glare from across the table. Suddenly, the space between her brows furrowed and she let the weight of her head slump into an upturned palm.

“I’m worried about ye, Jamie. I’m always worried about ye but still,” she said in a quiet voice.

“I ken I’ve no’ been out of my room much and I’ve been a right miserable sod. But I’m starting to feel better… I think.”

Jenny narrowed her eyes at him, trying hard not to let the judgement seep in as she quickly placed her hand over the top of his, rolling her eyes when he jumped at the sudden contact.

“I think ye should stay away for a while. She’s in Boston wi’ Frank and havin’ tae adjust to her new life, ye should give her the space to do it.”

Realising that she’d overheard their phone call, Jamie shifted uncomfortably in his seat, fighting the urge to pull his hand from underneath hers as she tightened her grip.

“She was just phonin’ to say thanks for the flowers,” he mumbled, spooning a large helping of his dinner with his free hand into his mouth to try and shut down any need for a further explanation. Sadly, his big sister wasn’t buying it.

“I ken that yer finding it difficult, mo bhràthair, but maybe this is the opportunity tae find someone. Someone who’ll have ye. Ye’ve pined for Claire for so long but she’s never—“

“We slept together. In Amsterdam.”

The words hung in the space between the two siblings, heavy as lead. Jamie had felt the twist of his stomach at saying the words out loud and shot a glance to his sister’s dumbfounded face as the information permeated her thoughts.

“Ye glaikit bastard,” she finally exhaled softly, earning herself a sad smirk from her brother. “Why would ye dae that tae yerself?”

Jamie shrugged his shoulders, “It seemed… it felt like the right thing to do in the moment. And then I woke up the next morning and she was already gone. Chased her to the airport an’ aw but I was too late.”

Jenny huffed again, leaning back in her chair.

“I just thought if I could tell her that I loved her, that I’m in love wi’ her, maybe she’d have stayed. But she didn’t let me say it.”

“Aye, sounds like Claire,” Jenny scoffed, quickly composing herself at the glare she received. “Suppose it makes mare sense for all the mopin’ ye’ve been doing.”

Jamie humphed and rubbed a hand roughly over his face, sinking his fingers through his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s done and I canna change it, wouldn’t change it anyway. It was a very special night for me.”

“I ken but, Jamie, she is gone. She has made her choice. And it’s coorse of her to dangle herself in front of ye when she’s away living her life and yer here, where she left ye.”

His bright blue eyes bore into her, a warning, “Careful, Janet. Claire is my friend and I wilna let her navigate this on her own—“

“She’s nae on her own, she’s wi’ Frank!”

“Aye, she is. And there’s fuck all I can dae about it so this is where I find myself. I wilna let my feelings get the better of me. I will be her friend, as I have been these past years.”

Jenny knew that there was no point in pushing. It was a Fraser family trait, digging your heels in, more often than not to your own detriment. And if there was one topic that Jamie wouldn’t budge on, it was Claire. She got to her feet and grabbed her plate, moving around the table to press a single kiss into the mop of his red hair before leaving the room.

“Ca canny, mo bhràthair.”

[ambrosiaaddiction]

Not Meant To Be

Word Count: 3,750

Summary: Anthony became the center of your attention, and it seemed as though his feelings were mutual for you. But in light of recent events, he’d only be able to comfort you in more ways than one. With the help of a loyal friend, you have no doubts that Simon will regret leaving you.

Pairing(s): Anthony Bridgerton x reader, Simon Basset x reader

Part 3/6

a/n: Sorry for the incredibly long wait! I knew that editing takes time, but I didn’t think that I would have writer’s block for, well, however long I’ve had it. So much has happened, and I lost motivation after motivation. Although, it’s not entirely fair for those of you who want to read Bridgerton fanfic. Without further delays, here’s part 3!!

                   ⋘ ──── ∗ ⋅◈⋅ ∗ ──── ⋙

One might think that when he stood outside my home with roses, Viscount Bridgerton had finally set himself on the route to having a family of his own. The Viscount was welcomed by Charles and invited inside, which caused Mama to almost fall over her feet. “Lord Bridgerton! Heavens! What a pleasant surprise this beautiful afternoon to see you!”

It took a lot of willpower not to roll my eyes at mama's change of mood from just minutes earlier. Lady Bridgerton wrote to me her apologies, that were not even pertinent at all, and mama blamed me of humiliating the Bridgertons yesterday. Papa didn't make his typical remarks, but I knew what he had been pondering regarding my misdeeds.

Other than that, Lord Bridgerton told them his hellos, and when he saw me in the family room, his smiling face grew greater. “Miss Denbow, good afternoon. As it always is, you never cease to look so exquisite.” If I wasn't mistaken, I assumed he was intending to flirt with me, and undoubtedly fooled mama with whatever act he was putting on.

“Lord Bridgerton, how kind of you to give my daughter compliments after seeing what she did yesterday at the picnic. In this town, you and your family are truly the most genuine.” Mama was eager to speak in my place, and when she tried to bring up the incident for the second or third time, I swallowed thickly.

Anthony’s mouth twitched at the corners, and he stepped over to me in order to gift his bouquet of roses. “Lady Denbow, I do not blame Miss Denbow for anything. She was suffering and knew no other way to communicate.” Before he slipped back, his fingers lightly stroked both of my hands, then he sat in an empty chair.

Cheeky bastard. He was making light of my missteps, which Mama considered especially inexcusable. And for his compassion, I could not have been more forever thankful. “Oh, Lord Bridgerton, thank you. To hear you say that alleviates my anxiety. And thank you for these roses.” I ran over the smooth petals with my thumb, then bent closer to take in the fragrance of them.

But once again, with more berating remarks on my ‘unladylike’ and ‘outrageous’ nature, Mama ruined the temporary pleasant environment. “I can't understand why, my lord, you want to court her. She may be my only child, but I'm sure she would be a far better choice for another lord of her equals.” My own mother had a toxic tongue which might ostracize her if she didn't take caution of others.

In order to defend against the offensive expressions she was thinking about me, as if I weren't really there, I opened my mouth, but Anthony decided to stand up from his seat and settled next to me. “I'm going to say this as politely as I can, Lady Denbow. What Miss Denbow did at the picnic was not wrong, and she's a wonderfully capable young lady. You are her mother, and I must admit that what you have said makes me very mortified.”

With discomposure, Mama's face grew red and, at last, she remained at a loss for words. “Lord Bridgerton, my apologies. Forgive your mama, y/n. My intention was not to negatively impact you such a way. I'm worried you can't even defend yourself.” Excuse after excuse were all I heard coming from her, but I needed to leave this conversation in the past.

“Mama, I'm forgiving you. But please don't think of me like that. When you do not see that I am well aware of what I'm doing and what I believe is important, I am in despair. I'm no longer a little girl.” Mama nodded, but in sensitivity, she refused to speak as she left Anthony and I in the room alone. "Well, either that may well have gotten out of hand, or the way I hoped it would.”

A chuckle escapes from the Viscount, and I recline against the back of the sofa with a tired sigh. I loved my mama and papa, but sometimes they treated me like I would never age from my childhood years. Despite having no brothers or sisters, I had friends who supported me and shared the same interests as I grew older.

Having Lord Bridgerton here was an enigma that I couldn’t fathom, but I appreciated how he stood up for me when mama complained without cease. Now that she was gone, I took the opportunity to ask him as to why he came to my home. “Anthony, can you tell me the reason for your visit? We both know that you don’t have intentions to court me contrary to what outsiders might believe.” I crossed my arms and waited for a reply, which was his hand resting on the top of my thigh. Perplexed, I looked over at him to see his eyes full of sympathy.

“Y/n, what Hastings said could have been less severe than they actually were, and Daphne chastised him for doing so.” Anthony began, his grip squeezing in reassurance, and he gently pulled it away once I’ve had enough time to comprehend what he told me. It warmed my heart to hear that Daphne was upset in my stead, although I’m sure anyone in their right mind would have done the same for me.

My thoughts wandered to how both the eldest child and the Duke of Hastings were famous rakes with great influence. One had brothers who would take his title and estate if he were to pass, whereas the other had no known relatives and only Lady Danbury to defend his name after his death. I found it funny that I’ve fallen in love with the latter, and he was treating me like I didn’t have a place in his place.

I must’ve been worrying Anthony with my lack of response because he waved a hand in front of my face to bring me back into reality. I shook my head of the unrelated topic and smiled sheepishly at him. “I’m sorry. I became lost before I realized that I’d drifted off.” “Oh, it’s quite alright. Trust me, I do the exact same thing when I’m alone.”

“I’ll be impartial with you, Anthony. I hadn’t given it consideration that your sister would do such a thing, and for me, no less. Perhaps I’ve had the wrong impression of her from the beginning. Everything is going terribly, and I haven’t been able to think properly.” I wore my heart on my sleeve for him to see, and I didn’t care about exposing my weaknesses to him. But Anthony seemed be torn between hugging me and giving a simple pat on my shoulder lest an unwanted third party were to walk in.

If anyone noticed the unusual display of affection, then news would spread that rather than waiting to fulfill the courtship rituals, I was advancing on a lord. He wouldn't be much of a gentleman, in Anthony's opinion, if he were to neglect a woman in distress. “When you weep, I don't like it. It so pains me when I'm labelled useless, but when you're laughing, you look the most spectacular, y/n. Simon's blind and ludicrous, but I know you really love him, don't you?”

“You're right, my lord. Again. I need to let go of my struggles and to live my life to its fullest. The Duke encouraged what I would like to go do, become, and pursue, but under false premises, he is intimately involved to your younger sister.” I forced my body to stand, and in confusion, but without doubt, Anthony quickly followed. In my own house, it felt too stifling, so I concluded that a stroll outside would hopefully help take my mind off what occupied it at the moment.

“Is there anything other than whining and moaning that I could do instead? Wait, Queen Charlotte is holding a ball for her nephew, is she not? I do believe his name is Prince Friedrich.” Anthony gave a short nod, and I could tell that he was already dreading a night of being surrounded by desperate mamas along with their unabashed daughters. Who would blame the Viscount for trying to discourage total strangers from making unwelcome advantages?

I was unexpectedly given the best idea by his affirmation, and I couldn't wait to put it into motion. I wanted to prove my worth to Simon, which would make Anthony and the Prince the ideal partners to irk him. “What say you to opening Simon's eyes in the notion that I attract His Highness tonight? I will have to be in the most magnificent ballgown, and I know that you can help me with this.”

“In the heat of the moment, it won't take a lot of effort to raise feelings of inadequacy in Hastings. He will be fixated on Daphne and attempting to keep conversations with literally everyone who comes across him, but I don't find it unlikely that he will be observing you with the Prince. I know I wouldn't have the means to take my eyes off you, my dear.” That was just what I expected to hear from him, and furthermore. I felt that I had done well enough to seek a Viscount who had awareness of everyone else around him.

Then that settled it. I was going to win the Prince's favor, and Simon would spectate from the sidelines with no likelihood of attempting to snatch me away. It felt invigorating even to think about how it would play out tonight, but it would be seamless with Anthony's help. “For your time and soothing words, I am beyond delighted, Anthony. Until the ball, there is more than enough time, so I want to use it to aim for perfection. Tonight, I hope to see you, my lord.”

“Miss Denbow, I am forever happy to console a lady when she is enduring pain. And indeed, tonight, to my great reluctance, you will see me. For now, I will leave you and I look forward to enjoying your progress.” Anthony bowed as he started to walk out of the family room, and with a curtsey and a goodbye, I accompanied him to our front door.

Since then, hours have passed, and I finally found a dress from Lady Delacroix that was incredible. She wasn't even from France, and her accent didn't fool me.  Not important.  My makeup was done by Marianne, my hair was styled by Lucinda, and mama lent me her diamond necklace to wear. It matched the diamond earrings I got from papa on my eighteenth birthday, and tonight, nothing could go wrong. I was positive of that.

The time had come, and I was one of the few to arrive at the castle fashionably late. The eyes of all were on me, making my chest swell with pride. I got a glimpse of Simon and Daphne who were standing by the refreshments, and they couldn't stop watching as I elegantly walked down the stairwell.

To my amusement, Prince Friedrich was the first one to approach me, and he held my hand and placed a feather-light kiss on the back of it. “Good evening, my lady. You are by far the most beautiful and hypnotizing center of attraction in this ballroom. May I inquire for your name?”

I concealed the lower half of my face with a fan and smiled with my eyes, captivated by his mannerisms. “I have the luxury of being graced by your presence, your highness. My name is y/n Denbow.” After I've presented myself, Prince Friedrich's face lit up, and he guided me off the the last two steps. “To my ears, your name is like music, and it's perfect for a maiden like you, Miss Denbow.”

His flattery would make any young lady practically beg the Prince for a dance at the ball. Well, if he could ever tear himself away from me, that was. “Thank you, Your Majesty. You make me feel like I've got my head in the clouds. If you keep complimenting her, you will certainly find yourself a maiden to court this evening.” From my comment, I swore he blushed a bright red.

“Ah, hello, Prince Friedrich! Miss Denbow! I see that you have made friends with each other. Y/n, I'm so happy you've arrived safe and sound back in London.” Lady Danbury tapped her cane on the ground twice to emphasize her excitement, and I couldn't have been more relieved to see a familiar face among those whose names I couldn't match.

“I have so much to tell you, Lady Danbury. But not here, especially when I came so late.” I apologized to the Prince and wrapped my arm around Lady Danbury as we walked into a more private area. She furrowed her eyebrows together, but she didn't inquire until we got to the place where we could be alone. “Well, speak to me, y/n. What are you so worried about? And why did you come by yourself?”

I bit my lower lip and exhaled deeply, which all the more displeased Lady Danbury. If I tried to explain my desperate condition to her, she was going to have countless questions, and I knew she would never let Simon live in the humiliation he brought upon himself. “I'm sure you've recently read Lady Whistledown's column, and my relationship with Simon, Lady Danbury, is complicated.”

“Unbeknownst to me, when I was in France, he and Miss Bridgerton declared their engagement. He did not give me a letter or even a note when I returned to London that he had gone ahead with a marriage proposal to a young woman he had never met before. I invited him and the Bridgertons to have a picnic just yesterday. I have never been able to remain quiet forever; you know this, Lady Danbury. He lashed out at me, claiming that if he had known that I would be so self-centered and petty, he would never have gotten to know me.”

She went on a tangent as I predicted about how she raised and trained "the shameless rake" to do better than what he did. During the length of her grievances, I remained silent, then patted her arm softly when she started to run out of words to illustrate the Duke. “Compared to his late father, he's not terrible, but he might just be so after he treated you, y/n, and I apologize on his behalf.”

In disagreement, I shook my head, not acknowledging her apologies because she had nothing to do with that. In the sense of flirting with Prince Friedrich, all I wanted from her was to be an addition to humiliate Simon. “If we succeed, then he'll see the good thing that he lost because he agreed to marry another needy girl.”

This caused Lady Danbury to chuckle at my remark, and I had an inkling that her mood improved just a little bit. “I’ll take part in your schemes, girl. Now, let us return to the ball before we’re asked of our whereabouts.” She winked playfully, then gently pushed me back the way we came from.

Men and women danced to their heart’s content, their veins pumping with champagne and even the possibility that they will be courting after tonight. I see Anthony and Simon quietly bickering where no one could eavesdrop on the conversation, but their secrets weren’t going to be hidden from me. “Lord Bridgerton, I thought you promised me a dance?”

I chimed into the midst of their argument, and Simon’s mouth hung open in shock. He quickly closed it, though, and I bowed to him as acknowledgment for his presence. Anthony gathered the remnants of his dignity before offering a hand for me to take. “My apologies, Miss Denbow. I promise you that never slipped my mind from the moment that I asked.”

After the brief yet nerve wracking encounter with the Duke of Hastings, I’m led to have a dance with the Viscount and my new partner of schemes. I felt everyone’s eyes glued to us, which makes me uncomfortable because of the unwanted attention, but it dissolves when Anthony nudges me to look up at him. That’s when I knew how much I admired the man, and perhaps, there wasn’t any obstacle that we wouldn’t be able to overcome.

I may have lost my first love to Daphne, but I also had the power to pull the necessary strings to get what I wanted. Anthony tightened his grip on my waist then closed the gap between us, and out of the corner of my eye, I watched as Simon glare at our swaying figures amongst the others. The spectacle made me laugh softly against the Viscount’s shoulder, and his chest rumbled with a quiet laugh of his own.

“I believe that taught him a harsh lesson, don’t you think, Miss Denbow?” Anthony whispered into my ear, and an involuntary shiver ran down my spine. After clearing my throat, I nodded in agreement. The man wasn’t exactly reputable in every way, but he damn well had my respect. “Yes, it most certainly did, Lord Bridgerton.” I replied, head tilted downwards to avoid eye contact with him.

Once our dance came to an end, I was approached by Prince Friedrich a second time this evening. Young and older women alike flocked around his highness, and I took a small step closer to Anthony in fear that I would be ridiculed by them. Wait, what am I thinking? I shouldn’t be afraid of the people that make their bosoms unnaturally larger than they actually are nor should I be backing away!

“Miss Denbow, may I have this next dance? It’d make me extremely delighted.” Prince Friedrich asked, unknowingly breaking the tension growing between myself and the disappointed women behind him. All I gave him was a smile along with an enthusiastic nod, and Anthony released his arms from around my waist. “I’d love to, your highness. And I could say the same about myself.”

The prince took my hand just when the next song began to play, and we danced as if we were one. If I were being completely honest, he needed a little more practice with his feet, but I was enjoying myself nonetheless. We shared a few words and I kept glancing over our shoulders to see if Simon was keeping an eye on us. In fact, he had been watching the entire time, and Anthony gave me a signal that our plan had succeeded.

I bowed deeply to the prince when our dance came to its regrettable end, and bid him farewell for the rest of the night. Simon appeared out of nowhere then pulled me to an empty area despite my cries of protest. “What do you think you’re doing?! Just because you’re jealous does not give you the right to drag me as you so please, Hastings!”

“Will you keep it down, Y/N?! We both know that I’m not the only jealous one here.” He huffs angrily, and for the first time in a long time, he’s rendered me utterly speechless. No, I won’t play by his rules. Not when there was so much more for me to accomplish. “I don’t know what you mean. I’m simply fulfilling my role as a maiden who hopes to have a courtship.”

Simon rolled his eyes in disbelief, turning away from me so that I’m only staring at his broad shoulders. I’m beginning to lose my calm composure, and the more I stay alone with him, the less I’ll want to leave. He can’t learn of the nights when I suffered alone in France, and he certainly couldn’t force me to risk my reputation for his sake.

“You’ve changed, Simon.” My voice broke at the end of my sentence, but I continued to speak. “I’m not doing anything for you, so don’t get your hopes up.” He scoffed, not convinced by my words, and turned back to face me. His arms find their way around my body like they used to in the past. The next thing I knew, we’re kissing passionately against the cold marble walls.

He had me mewling his name over and over again, begging for a release that was on his fingertips. Simon muffled my sighs of pleasure with his mouth, and we fixed the bridge that was crumbling between the two of us. When we were satisfied, he muttered apology after apology as he kissed my skin. But we both knew that we run away with the position that he was in.

“I’ll figure it out, so wait for me. Please, Y/N.” “Don’t make me promise you, Simon. I want you to prove to me that I’m the only woman you love.” I kissed his neck and cheek, my heartbeat slowing to its normal pace before I fixed my dress. We’ve both been gone for too long, and I didn’t doubt that I would be questioned of my whereabouts.

Simon understood the weight of my words as well as what we would both face when we left separately. He kissed me one last time, and made his return to the ballroom until I did the same. Thankfully, neither Anthony or Mama asked where I had been, and I could breathe easy again. But now I was even more conflicted than before. I made Simon jealous, which ignited sex and doubt that we would be together after all this time.

Although... if I were to adjust my original plans in order for us to have a wedding and deal with the consequences afterwards, then it shouldn’t be very difficult, would it? Well, we would just need to face the challenges when the time comes, and I was determined to have Simon all to myself again.

[mings]

Some context...

...in relation to that last post. This is a lo-o-o-o-ong read, so feel free to skip right by if catharsis bores you.

This starts way before I joined tumblr; in fact, long before tumblr was even a thing.

Twenty years ago, we lived in a huge house backing onto the English Channel. We moved there from Scotland, which turned out to be (probably) the biggest mistake of my life. 

Within nine months of buying the place, the company I’d moved to work for nearly folded. I and most of the workforce were made redundant. That set in motion an existential battle with our mortgage insurer, which refused to pay out because I “must have known” when taking out the insurance. (I didn’t, and they eventually caved in after destroying my credit record, but that’s another story.)

Work wasn’t immediately available; none that would at least cover the bills. We got inventive, wrote a business plan, obtained finance & bought a franchise. It went pretty well for the first three years, but we had to bust a gut to make the required income. It wasn’t easy. Eventually, the franchise operator messed up relations with several key players in our insurance market. Within three months, we lost 75% of our revenue. I had to close the workshop & find part time work to make ends meet. Ultimately, we decided to close the business, sell the house and downsize to something more manageable.

What’s the relevance of this? We tried hard to keep our precarious financial state form the kids. Maybe we didn’t do as well as we thought. Our son had already become withdrawn. He’d fallen in with a group of local lads about whom we had grave misgivings. Of course, there was no discussing it. We were “over-reacting” and unreasonable. It was around that time that he decided to jack in his education. I couldn’t criticise; I’d done the same. I pulled some strings and got him a job at our local Royal Mail delivery office.

We moved to our new place. It was a stressful move. Trying to fit into a house that was literally half the size was never going to be an easy task. One afternoon, our son came home from work and soon after announced he was going out. “See you later.” Only we didn’t. He didn’t come home that night. Nor did he turn up for work the next day. Nor the day after. And nor the day after that. Within a week he was written up for unauthorised absence. We had no way of contacting him. His case was heard in the following weeks. I could offer no mitigation. He was sacked for abandonment of duty. That tag that means he’ll never work for them again. 

We still had no idea where he was. We only knew he was alive because we met a couple of his friends who couldn’t believe he’d not been in touch. Still no word. My wife was in shreds; I suspect any of you who are parents can identify with that. I was alternating between trying to prop her up and stay on top of my job, all the while under a constant barrage of barracking (Oh, we don’t mean anything by it, it’s just banter....)

About three months in I’d had enough. Sleep was a scarce resource so I rose at the crack of dawn and started on a trip, rousting one after another of the friends and acquaintances that I knew, following leads until finally I tracked him down to a sordid bedsit several towns and 40 miles away. At least he answered the door and looked sheepish. He offered no explanation or apology, and has never done so to date. He refused to come back home, but promised to keep in touch. 

We know he bounced from one sofa to another in the next few months. He spent time in some of the worst areas in the county for drug abuse. He fell into a relationship with a girl that looked promising initially and subsequently fell apart. Later, he surfaced in another town with another girl whom he subsequently married. She often spoke of his irascible temperament and moods. Ultimately the marriage was doomed; she was younger than him, found a new interest and moved out. One wonders now how much of that was her and how much she’d put up with before voting with her feet.

He’s stumbled from one financial crisis to another. Money just evaporates. It’s as though adulting is a mystery beyond his reach. I’ve lost count of the times that we’ve thrown money at him and I don’t want to even think about how much. It’s literally thousands, always a loan, yet he never, ever pays back.

He left his job. That was inevitable too; he worked for his ex-father-in-law’s company. Heaven only knows how long the writing was on the wall; it was pretty swift once she left. He drifted again. He chose to live in a squalid flat with no heating rather than move back with us. Absolutely his choice, not ours. 

We moved to Scotland. That meant all his stuff had to go into storage. Quick rewind - he moved all his stuff to ours when he gave up the house he & his ex lived in, but refused to move back home. I had to rent a storage unit to make space for all his gear & when we moved I shifted all his gear into the store, gave him the key & told him I’d paid three months up front; after that it was his to deal with. Apparently, he surrendered the store and moved all his gear into the flat...

Fast forward to a couple of months back. He’d run out of options at the flat. His flatmate was “really difficult” to live with. His ex had moved away, taking their son with her. He had nothing left to stay for and, surprise, he’d lost his job again so he couldn’t afford the rent. 

My wife convinced me we should give him one last shot, citing his fragile mental health. I agreed on the strict understanding that we are simply no longer in a position to support him. He assured us he’d be applying for work as soon as he got here. We rarely see him before midday...

We agreed the end of the first week in March. We knew he’d arrive with a ton of stuff so we had (again) to create space. That’s infinitely more difficult now we’re running a B&B, but we set to the task. Suddenly, two weeks sooner than we’d agreed, he rented a van and was on his way. No discussion, no warning. We only found out because he put something on FB. 

Finally, after trying to reach him most of the day, he phoned. Whilst we should have been relieved, instead we were treated to a barrage of abuse because all the petrol stations were shut. Of course they were. It was in a national lockdown and why would they stay open when there was no one on the roads? JFC, who embarks on a journey in sub-zero temperatures across some of the most inhospitable country in the UK without enough fuel? With a six year old child. Yes, not only did he forget to tell us about his change of plans, he forgot to tell us he was bringing his son too.

We drove south through the night for two hours to find him somewhere in the Cairngorms where he’d run out of fuel. No fuel meant no heaters at 1500 feet in deep snow. The ambient temperature was -5ºC/23ºF & with wind chill that was probably around -10ºC/14ºF. We found him & refuelled his van. No thanks, just another barrage of abuse, because he was tired. We took his son into our car & drove the two hours back in near silence. I think we knew then that it was an awful predictor of what was to come.

We’ve had row after row. He accused me of being passive-aggressive in the last. He actually ticks all the boxes for passive-aggressive behaviour. I’ve never been tagged with that before; if anything I’m too forthright, blunt even. That’s a failing to which I will admit. If by that he meant that I don’t talk about the elephant in the room, it’s only because we fear it’ll lead to another explosion.

He never saw the damage that we sustained during our fostering years. He was never there. Yet here we are, experiencing flashbacks to those traumatic incidents; the parallels are exact. We have the benefit of years of training. We recognise manipulative behaviour when we see it - we were trained by some of the nations best exponents - and we know divisive tactics implicitly.  What he doesn’t know is that he will succeed only in pushing us closer together and alienating himself even further.

There are clear and well-documented links between cannabis and mental health issues. He is allowing the drug to determine his life choices. Although I may be wrong, I think he’s cultivating skunk, which is nothing like the weed that circulated in my youth. The smell that pervades our hallway is instantly evocative of high strength Afghan resin. It’s also going to be acutely difficult to eradicate before we’re due to open.

We’ve endured 20 years of this treatment. I know that even if we have a ritual burning, it will only be a matter of time before we’re back here again. We’re old. We’re tired. And we’ve worked our socks off (and still do) to achieve what we have. Maybe somewhere along the way we missed something. But I’m at a stage where I’m so far beyond this I just want it to stop.

[mrslilyrogers]

Betrayal Part 6

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: (AU) Set in New York. You and Bucky have been married for 5 years. He’s the love of your life and you are his. At least, you thought you were until he started slipping away from you, coming home late and smelling of another woman’s perfume? You are in denial. Are you just losing your mind or are you really losing him?

Author’s notes: Sorry this took so long. I’ve just been going through something at home. I posted about it, I think a week or two ago. Anyway, thank you for those who reached out to me and thank you for all your feedback with this. Really warms my heart and has been such a great help. This chapter is a bit longer than usual, I hope that makes up for it. Let me know what you think! :) Oh, and if you want to be tagged, please message on my ask. Thanks!

Warnings: Cheating, Angst

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  Part 5 

Bucky let out a yawn as he opened the door to their apartment. He couldn’t help the smile forming on his lips as he took the stairs two steps at a time. Excitement building up in his chest to see his girls despite being so sleep deprived the past few weeks. 

“Trust me, my friend, enjoy your time now. You’d be lucky enough to get three hours of sleep before you hear that wail of death again,” Thor had warned, all serious and brooding, as they lifted heavy weights at his gym the week prior to Y/N’s due date. To Bucky’s horror, he was proven right. They barely had time for themselves anymore, let alone sleep. Today, was his first day back at work since Y/N had given birth and he was so tired, he almost dozed off at their meeting. It was a good thing Sam had backed him up but of course, only for the price of constant teasing after.  “Hell, it’s only been a few weeks and you already look like the walking dead, Barnes! Even Thor looked better than you, and that’s saying a lot,” he motioned around his stomach, referring to the time their usually fit trainer and gym buddy gained weight after welcoming his first child. So naturally, when Bucky refused to go with them for their usual after-work training, Sam couldn’t help but quip, 

“You’re losing touch, Barnes! Next thing we know you’d lose all that hair and have a beer belly, god, I’m never having a baby!”

Bucky just rolled his eyes and dismissed him with a casual “Later, Wilson,” not bothering to have a witty retort as he always did. Sam tsked him and shook his head, giving him a genuine smile despite his teasing manner. Bucky really couldn’t care less about putting on a few pounds. He just wanted sleep and his wife. And of course, to see his daughter, because no matter what he just couldn’t blame his little miss smarty pants, always knowing when her parents had closed their eyes to rest so she could wake them up again.

He thought his first day back at work would’ve given him the respite he needed from taking care of a newborn baby for weeks but all day, he had just missed his little Lizzie. It was as if holding her in his arms after a long day at work was his prize. It didn’t help that as much as Sam had teased him, Steve wouldn’t stop remarking on his change in attitude,  “This is great. I’m so proud of you, Buck.” while patting his back like the big brother he was. Bucky had just scoffed at him, not at all knowing how to respond. Steve was the only one who had been there for him all those times he and his sister had been under Rumlow’s care. He knew the things they went through and how having a family terrified him. His reassurances meant more to him than he could admit. He vowed he’d never make his daughter feel unwanted and unloved like how he was throughout his childhood when both his parents died abruptly leaving him and his sister abandoned to the foster care system. A chill went up his spine at the remembrance of all the “conditioning” he went through, all the pain he had to endure to achieve the “order” Rumlow so devoutly believed in. The slight tremor in his hands warned him he was getting in too deep. He took several deep breaths as he tried to shake off the memory. It was all in the past now. Even Becca had moved on, married right out of college and started her own little family. Y/N and Lizzie were his future now, this family they were building was more important to him than anything else. A dream he never thought he’d have.

He slowly opened the door to their bedroom quietly, not wanting to wake Lizzie up if Y/N had finally gotten her to sleep. She must’ve been bored out of her mind with her taking the time off her newly-built bakery to take care of Lizzie while they haven’t sorted their schedules out yet. All week, she had been worried about how they were all coping without her. He brought the tulips up with a big grin on his face, ready to gift it to her as a peace offering from her time off work and hoped it could cheer her up even for just a little bit. His eyes landed on her curled up on the bed, a bit of her hair falling on the side of her face, her even breaths putting him at home as she peacefully dozed off. He looked to the bassinet beside the bed, a soft smile playing on his lips. His little girl slept like an angel with her pink cheeks and her tiny mouth puckering as she dreamed. He placed the flowers on the bedside table, giving Y/N a kiss to her forehead before heading to the bathroom to change, all the while wondering how he got so lucky after everything he’s been through. He met the love of his life in college, married her after eight years of being together then had a baby girl in their first year of marriage. Maybe the universe wasn’t out to get him after all. 

He snuggled next to Y/N, draping his arm across her waist. She moved back into him, her back to his chest as he pulled her close, drinking in the scent of her hair, sleep already seeping into his tired mind until the “wail of death” broke free. A lazy smile formed on his lips. He knew it, his little girl was smart.

“Ugh,” Y/N grumbled, already making her way to stand up.

“No, no. Go back to sleep, I’ll get her,” Bucky said as he kissed her on the cheek and stood up before she could protest.

“But you just got home, Buck,” she complained but didn’t make a move to leave the bed.

“Shh,” he smiled back at her, picking his little Lizzie up.

“How are you sweetie? Are you hungry? You just miss Daddy, don’t you?” He cooed, rocking her in his arms while Y/N watched, her heart in her eyes. He continued to coo and rock her and soon the baby went back to sleep. He looked up to Y/N with a cocky grin on his face only to find her with her phone out, taking a video of the moment. He rolled his eyes, “If you continue to take videos of me and Lizzie, you’ll run out of space on your phone.  But see, I told you, she just missed her dad!” He then proceeded to make a show of a sleeping Lizzie to Y/N’s phone while she giggled in the background.

“Yeah right. You just got lucky, Buck,”

“Oh come on, you must admit she’s always calmer when I’m around,”

Y/N laughed again, ending the video and putting her phone back on the bedside table, finally noticing the flowers.

“Aww, babe you didn’t have to,” she said, bringing it up to her nose. Her heart skipping a beat as she watched him smile at her. She’d never get tired of his smiles, she thought, not knowing he was thinking the exact same thing about her. Her smile faltered for a split second as she brought the flowers back down to the table. It wouldn’t have been noticeable to anyone else, but Bucky knew when something was bothering her. He noticed it ever since they got back from the hospital four weeks ago.

“What’s wrong?” He asked, concern in his eyes as he held on to Lizzie.

“It’s nothing, really,” She waved him off again, shaking her head.

“Y/N…” He warned.  

“I just… I’m just thinking maybe I should sell Winter Bakery—”

“No,” He cut her off before she could even finish her sentence, his voice stern.

“Hear me out, Bucky. This makes sense. You’re about to get promoted and I’ve only been open for a year. I know, for sure, we’ll get losses from this but if we plan it right, It shouldn’t be so hard.  We have Lizzie now. I don’t think I can do both—,”

“Yes, you can.” Bucky cut her off again, determinedly reassuring her. She wished she had that same faith in herself but she just shook her head. How could she be a mother and manage her own business at the same time? Winter Bakery had just been opened for a few months before she realized she was pregnant. She remembered all those days she sluggishly went to work with her belly swollen, trying her best to show her employees that she knew what she was doing but deep down inside, she had no clue. All the anxiety she was facing with opening her own bakery cafe and being a new mother were all too overwhelming for her. She was in uncharted territories. It was pathetic. She was pathetic. This was not how she imagined their first year of marriage would be like at all. They hadn’t planned to get pregnant. They were going to wait it out, prioritize their careers first before they even discussed having a baby. Now, their plans were all screwed. And she hated herself for thinking that way, she loved Lizzie with her whole heart, seeing her for the first time she knew she’d never love anyone the way she loved her child and yet… the guilt was eating her alive and she hated herself for it. Winter Bakery could wait, she just has to—

“Y/N come on, this is your dream.” Bucky’s convincing voice cut her out of her reverie.

“Yes, but it’s different now. It’s not just the two of us anymore, Bucky. We have Lizzie, and you’re about to get promoted. You can’t just slow down in your job but I still can. I’ve only been open for a year—”

“Yes and you’d stay open for a lot more. Come on, we can do this, Y/N. Tomorrow, I’d get off work so you can visit your shop,”

“Bucky, you just got back to work. You can’t miss it tomorrow.” She replied exasperatedly. The reason he went back earlier despite Shield having a longer paternity leave was for his promotion. He needed to clock in more hours, show that he was up for it.

“Watch me,”

“Bucky, come on. You’re getting promoted remember? Steve said so himself, it’s almost already a done deal. I’m being serious,”

“And I’m not?”

She gave him a face that said he was pushing his luck and he tried his best not to laugh at her. She looked adorable whenever she gave him that face. He flashed her her favorite smirk as he put Lizzie down. Lying back down beside her, he let out a huge exhale.

“Come here,” he said, beckoning his arm out for her. She laid her head on his chest, right under his calm heartbeat, feeling herself relax in sync with him. He softly played with her hair, brushing his lips on her forehead gently.

“I’m being serious too, Doll. Stop doubting yourself. You’re more than capable enough to handle this. I know you,” Bucky reassured her, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

“But how can you be so sure, Buck? I have no idea what the hell I’m doing half the time,” she replied, hating the whine that seeped into her voice.

Bucky chuckled from underneath her, the rumbles from his chest somehow easing her worries.  “Baby, you married me. What more proof do you need?”

“Come on, you’re not that bad,” she said, feeling a smile tugging at her lips despite herself as she propped her head up to look at him.  

“Babe, seriously. Go to your shop tomorrow. I can get Steve to cover for me. With this promotion, I’ll be earning a lot more. We can get the best day care for Lizzie when you start going back to work. Hell, even hire a nanny if we really need to. We’ll be fine, Y/N. I promise, trust me.” He said, tucking her stray hair back behind her ears. He looked at her with all the trust and encouragement in his eyes.

“We’ll make it work?” She asked, doubt still in her voice but feeling a weight being lifted off her chest.

“We’ll make it work.” He reassured her, nodding his head before craning his neck forward to give her a gentle kiss, calming all the worries and tension she’d been feeling all day. That night, as sleep claimed her, she had a gnawing feeling deep in her gut that no matter what happens with Winter Bakery, everything was still going to be okay. Because she’d always have Bucky.

______________________________________________________________________

Y/N waited in bed as Bucky tucked Lizzie in after getting home from the hospital. Soon after Steve had left, the test results came back and it turned out she had a UTI. They were immediately discharged when her fever had lowered with a prescription of a round of antibiotics. Y/N let out a sigh, it had been such a long night and she was relieved and thankful Lizzie didn’t have anything more serious. As to Bucky, she felt… oddly calm and relieved too. Finally, it felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. Her marriage, although broken and beaten, was at least honest now. Only question was, where do they go from here?

Bucky cleared his throat when he entered their room, Y/N looked up at him from her perch on her side of the bed with an empty look on her face. For the first time in his life, he didn’t know what she was thinking, he didn’t know what to say to make her feel better. And it was his damned fault that he couldn’t. He only wished he could turn back time and undo all the mistakes he made because it wasn’t worth it. None of it was worth it to lose his family.

“How long has it been going on, Bucky?” She asked him, her voice numb. He closed his eyes, shaking his head. Why did she want to hurt herself like this? Did she know it would hurt him just as much too?

“Y/N, please don’t ask me that,”

“You wanted to explain, didn’t you? So do it now, answer my question, explain. How long has it been going on?” She asked again patiently. She didn’t know where the hell she got her patience from but it was better than breaking down and throwing things at him which was what she always thought she might do. Silly of her to think she’d even have the energy for that.

“Two months.” He answered truthfully, letting out a puff of air as his jaw twitched, his hands forming fists at his sides, trying his damned best to keep his distance and not to wrap his arms around her, to prove his love for her. He knew it wouldn’t work anyway and she deserved better than that. She nodded her head as if considering but in all honesty, she didn’t even know where she was going with this, she didn’t know why she was asking things that would break her. All she knew was that it was better to know than be kept in the dark, better than being lied to.

“How did it start?”

“Y/N…”

“How did it start, Bucky?”

”I, I met her at a bar,” Bucky uncomfortably answered, swallowing a lump in his throat. No more lying. But a voice in the back of his head told him this wasn’t going to end well. She was going to make him leave. He was going to lose her.

“You say you don’t love her. You love me?” She asked, her voice finally breaking, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She fought so hard not to cry, her throat worked as she swallowed down her tears, her body stiffened at trying to control herself, to keep herself together. Bucky was in front of her in a stride. Kneeling down, he put his hands on her arms and stared deep into her eyes willing her to understand and to listen to him. 

“Yes, god, yes! Y/N, I love you. You’re the one I love. I swear, it’s always been you,” He said frantically, slightly shaking her, his eyes convincing her to take him back but she just stared back at him doubtfully, her brows furrowed. She shook her head as she backed away from him and stood up.

“No, Bucky. If you loved me, you wouldn’t have cheated on me.”

“Two months!” She screamed exasperatedly as if finally understanding everything he’s told her. How could he have slept beside her and pretended everything was alright for two whole months while meeting up with another woman? How could he tell her he loved her when he had been lying to her face? It was as if a dam had broken loose inside her, all of her emotions spilling over.

“I can’t even look at you right now, Bucky. How can you do this to me? To us? To Lizzie? We’re your family.” She paced the room, her hand on her forehead as she tried to think back on all those times she tried to make it work. “You know, I don’t even know if I believe you! You’ve been way distant for longer, I doubt it’s only been for two months!”

“No, Y/N! I’m not lying about that, I swear! No more lies anymore. Y/N please... I’m sorry,” He pleaded, his voice becoming desperate. Did it even matter anymore that he wasn’t lying now? The point was that he still fucked up. And there was nothing he could do to make it right. He had no excuse, he was a selfish bastard.

She scoffed at that, her voice incredulous as she whirled back at him, “A little too late for that, don’t you think? What did you think, Bucky? That you’re the only one who makes sacrifices? I know starting a family was the least of priorities when we got married but we said we’d make it work. You promised, we’d make it work! I’ve stayed loyal to you throughout everything and this is how you treat me when you say you love me?”

“I’m sorry,” He hung his head knowing his words weren’t enough. He wished she would punch him, hurt him, do her worst to make herself feel better because she deserved that. God, she deserved better than that.

“Get out, Bucky. I don’t care where you stay, just please leave.” Her voice quivered, tears welling in her eyes. She tried to regain her composure but her traitorous tears spilled down her cheeks.

“Y/N, I… please just tell me what to do to fix this and I’ll do it. This is completely my fault. There’s no excuse, but please, just please give me another chance,” Bucky desperately tried to get near her again, to hold her close but she stepped back as if his touch would burn her.  

“For months, you’ve made me feel like I wasn’t enough and still I ran after you. What? You think I didn’t know? You come home late at night drunk and smelling like her perfume and you think I wouldn’t notice? All those times I waited up for you, cooked your favorite dinner, come by your office only to find you not there but still, stupid me, hoped you’d come to your senses and get back to me.” She laughed dryly at that, shaking her head at her foolishness but continued on, he needed to know how he made her feel. She wanted him to hurt as much as she was hurting.

“It’s too late, Bucky.  I… god! Can you believe that, Buck? I knew all along but I ignored it ‘cause I knew I’d let it all go if you just stopped. You had me wrapped around your fingers, doing anything for your whim, following whatever you wanted and I lost myself in it! You’ve made me into such a fool and I can’t even blame you for it! I was so stupid for you. And that’s my fault. I deserve better, no more of this. You need to leave, I don’t care where you go. Stay in your office or go to her house. I don’t care, just leave!”

Bucky stared at her, a lump painfully lodged in his throat as what she said dawned on him. Shame, guilt and regret punched him in the gut. He hated himself more than anything. He’d been such an asshole, the worst husband he could imagine. How could he have treated the only woman he’s ever loved like this? What kind of a sick monster was he?

“I’m sorry,” he says again, pathetic words he knew wouldn’t change a thing. He turned to leave, feeling her eyes boring into his back, hoping against all odds that she’d call him back. Once he reached the door, his hand lingered on the knob, there was one more thing he needed to ask, and he was afraid to even think about what she would say.

“Y/N...” he turned back to look at her, his eyes searching and pleading.

“What are we going to tell Lizzie?”

Y/N sighed, burying her face in her hands. She looked so small and defeated and all Bucky wanted to do was to run to her and envelope her in his arms, hug all her problems away. But he was the one who caused all of this and there was nothing he could do but to accept whatever she wanted to throw his way.

“I don’t know, Bucky. I don’t know,” her gaze drifted skyward, as if she could get her answers from there. She was confused, her bravado slipping. It was a different thing when she thought he hadn’t cared at all, that he was going to give them up for his mistress but he wanted to stay, he wanted to fight. And who was she to take her daughter’s father away from her? It wouldn’t be fair to Lizzie.

“I’m going to tell her you’re called for work and need to be away for awhile. At least, while she’s sick. I don’t want to stress her out more and then, we’ll give her the talk,” her eyes didn’t betray the warring emotions in her heart. She wanted him to see that she was determined. She wasn’t backing out, he was still leaving. Period.

Bucky nodded, giving her a grateful, forlorn smile. She was the best mother he could’ve asked for his child. 

“Thank you, Y/N. I’ll grab my stuff tomorrow. I promise you won’t have to see me then. But baby, please, think about this. Don’t give up on us, give me another chance to prove myself, please,” he pleaded with her again, hoping if he gave her enough space she’d want to talk soon. She just stared at him, her eyebrows knitting. She didn’t know what to say, she didn’t even really know how these things went. 

“I’ll give you all the time you need, Y/N. But please just, please don’t give up on us,” he begged again, softly this time. His eyes conveying all the guilt and fear he felt and all Y/N could do was nod. What was she supposed to say anyway? Say “thank you” to the only decent thing he could do? She wanted to laugh at the irony of that. The best thing the man she loved could do for her was to leave her alone. What has her world come to?

“Bucky, wait,” she called out as he opened the door. Bucky looked back at her, his hopeful eyes scanning her face. Y/N felt shame and anger boiling in her veins, making her resolve stronger.

“Could you leave your keys once you get your stuff?” She asked coldly, keeping her voice strong. If he thought she was going to be easy, he was wrong.

“Of course,” Bucky assured her, willing to give her the world if she just asked him to.

“Take all the time you need. I… just know, I’ll always be here, waiting,” he said sincerely, humbly, laying his soul at her feet. He didn’t care if it took forever, whatever it takes.

Part 7

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[yuzukult]

effortlessly pt. 3 || jungkook & reader

title: effortlessly pairing: jungkook x reader genre: fluff, romance, school!au, smut (not in this chapter, will occur in future chapters) words: ~3.3k notes: i wrote this in between writing my reports and preparing for my presentation... yes, inspiration always sparks when you have other things to prioritize ** tried my best to proofread this one lol

i do not have an update schedule therefore i know that i definitely did just post part two like 2-3 days ago so...

series: part one || part two || part three || part four || part five || part six || part seven || part eight || part nine || part ten || epilogue 

This was utterly uncomfortable for the three of you... well the two of you because Jungkook is standing there with a smile still stretched across his face. It’s difficult to judge what thoughts are running through his head because he’s pointing to the bag in Dahyun’s hand as she lifts her arm up to give it to him.

“Well, I’m glad you like me. I’m your tutor after all. It would have been really weird if you hated me—”

“Jeon, she has feelings for you.” You break in, scantily agitated with his absentmindedness. Jungkook wasn’t stupid when it came to the books, blessed with athletic ability, and had great social skills but he was awful in the love department.

“Feelings?” He turns to look at you surprisingly before switching his stare back to Dahyun. “When you say ‘go out’ you mean... date. As in more than a friend?”

You’re doubtful if Dahyun is thankful for your presence or not, however she’s sighing with relief that he finally reads her perspective successfully. Jungkook had misinterpreted almost every confession is what Dahyun learns, fearing that he would do the same with her. “Yes, oppa. I want to be more than friends, have more than just a student and tutor relationship with you.”

You want to run and hide. Why the hell did Jungkook tell her to say it with you standing here? You’ve encountered plenty of occasions where the atmosphere was awkward but this takes the cake. Jungkook never failed to surprise you. 

Clearing your throat, you sheepishly rub the back of your neck. “Uh, I’m just gonna wait outside. I’ll be by your car when you’re done.”

Jungkook’s piercing gaze meets yours and if you didn’t turn away, you’re definitely sure that you’d feel the daggers. 

“I’m sorry, Dahyun-ah.” His face is washed with guilt and sympathy but the look on Dahyun’s face doesn’t show an ounce of bitterness or sadness. “Don’t worry about it, Oppa. I know you mean well.”

Jungkook’s rummaging through his duffle bag that sits on one of the benches by the pool, searching for a shirt before throwing it over his body. He recognizes how embarrassing it is standing in front of a girl who just confessed to him and he doesn’t even have a shirt on. 

“I’m sorry. I... want to prioritize swimming right now. I haven’t even really thought about dating anyone else right now. Recruiters are coming by the finals and I want to be ready for it.”

“Anyone else?” She pushes a strand of hair behind her ear, deep in thought. “Was it the girl that was standing here just now? Is she that ‘anyone else’?”

Startled, his eyes widened. “Excuse me?”

“Jungkook Oppa, please don’t make excuses and lie to me. If you don’t like me back, just come out and say it. I can take rejection.”

He frowns. He isn’t familiar with the emotion resulting in being turned down by someone you like but he can comprehend the feeling of longing for someone you can’t have. “Dahyun, it’s not the right time. There’s nothing wrong with you, I’m just very dedicated to my career.” Jungkook hesitates for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip before gathering enough courage to continue his response authentically. “And I’ll be honest, I’ve had my eye on someone for a long time. I’m waiting for her to notice her own feelings without pressuring her. I hope you understand.”

But she clearly doesn’t. Her heart feels like it’s being torn into shreds carelessly and she wants to burst into tears but she holds a facade in front of Jungkook to validate her own ‘mature and adult demeanor,’ and that she wasn’t just any younger girl he tutors.

“I don’t,” She admits, clenching her teeth. “But I won’t pursue you anymore. I’ll see you after I get the results of my math exam back.” Dahyun says firmly before making her way out of the swimming arena.

Heaving a sigh of alleviation, Jungkook slugs the duffle bag over his shoulder as he watches her silhouette disappear. 

Despite all the lovely things about him, Jungkook’s biggest flaw was his guilty conscience. He always found himself in situations where he’d do things for people out of feeling guilty, even if it meant he had to go out of his way to do it. He had been trying to practice the words “no” or “I can’t” but the terms would eat him up inside, causing his stomach to churn in anxiety. He would have inner arguments with himself until he goes back and tells the person that he can do it, even if he didn’t want to.

In a different scenario, he could see himself telling Dahyun that he would consider her confession and take her out on a date. Even though she was a bit younger than him, she was pretty and nice but saying yes to her meant that his chances with you were slim. 

Yet again, your existence in his life only improved him for the better. For the first time, he said no to someone, for the benefit of himself, even if the situation wasn’t good for someone else. 

You’re leaning on Jungkook’s old beat up Lexus in the parking lot of the school, playing Animal Crossing on your phone before the shadow of a figure approaches you slowly, altering your attention toward the person. Dahyun.

“Dahyun,” You call out, standing up straight and off the car. “Uh, sorry about Jungkook. How are you?”

Dahyun stands there, a blank look slapped on her face as if she’s seen a ghost. “He said swimming comes first. Then he said something about having feelings for someone else. Is he just finding excuses to reject me at this point?”

“Huh?” Slips from your lips, a dumbfounded expression on your face. “He has feelings for someone? I didn’t know that specifically, but uh, I do know that swimming is Jungkook’s dream. Don’t take it personally, it’s just something he has always wanted to do.”

She shakes her head, regaining consciousness again before locking eyes with yours. “He definitely said he had feelings for someone. How don’t you know? Aren’t you supposed to be his friend?”

“Yes but—“ You’re hesitating, uncertain on how to comfort her. This hasn’t necessarily been your strongest suit and it was starting to bite you in the ass for never strengthening that weakness. “—I’m sure that even with whomever he said he has feelings for, he’s still prioritizing his dreams.”

“I guess I was stupid enough to think someone like him could ever fall for someone like me.” 

Watching as Dahyun slouches in her school uniform while exhaling a deep breath, you couldn’t help but feel yourself in her position. Her shoulders drop along with her expression before she attempts to shake off the melancholic emotions, waving a goodbye to you. “I’m going to head home. Thanks anyway.”

In a sense, you were Dahyun. Maybe not someone who Jungkook tutors but the words that Dahyun said rang in your ears like a thought you had previously. I guess I was stupid enough to think someone like him could ever fall for someone like me. What made you special enough in Jungkook’s eyes to be more than just a friend? What about this girl that Dahyun was talking about? Who was she and would you even be able to convince Jungkook of your feelings enough for him to consider you?

Jungkook’s nearing appearance manages to snap you out of your thoughts before it got any more negative than it already had. He unlocks the car doors, slamming it after he settles into the seat. You follow in unison with his actions.

“Ugh,” He groans, dropping his forehead onto the steering wheel of his car. “That was my first rejection. I feel so bad for her.”

“Everyone gets rejected at least once, I’m sure she’ll be okay eventually.”

Jungkook throws his head back against the leather seats that are worn to the point it’s peeling and tearing off. He refused to get himself seat covers because he liked the authentic look of the car being in its original shape. 

“She looked like she was going to burst into tears.”

“What are you going to do then? Date her out of pity?” You raise a brow questioningly. He looks in your direction with a pout and you shake your head in response. “That’s what I thought. Speaking of, how are you going to interrogate me about having a crush when Dahyun here just told me you have feelings for someone? Contradicting, much?”

He freezes. The keys are in the ignition but he hasn’t started the vehicle yet, jaw clenched restlessly. Jungkook is trying to observe your expression through his peripheral vision but fails miserably. “... Did she say anything else?”

“Nothing other than you saying that swimming is number one. Why, did you tell her anything else?”

“Uh, no.” He says abruptly, finally turning the key as the car stutters until letting out a heavy rumble. Tilting your head, it’s your turn to lean in closer to Jungkook to examine his face. “You told her about the girl, didn’t you?”

“Uh, no.” He repeats, gulping anxiously. 

“Who is she?”

“I never said there was a girl.” 

“You’re lying. You said earlier that you could tell when I lie. Do you think I don’t have that same exact ability? Come on, Jeon. Talk to me.”

“Nah,” Clicking the seatbelt on over his body, he puts the car in drive before hitting the gas. “Maybe I’ll tell you more during dessert. After you tell me what’s on your mind lately.”

“Has Jungkook ever had a girlfriend?”

“What?” You retort, completely off-guard. You’re sitting squished at a table in a KBBQ restaurant with the rest of Jungkook’s swim team including several of their girlfriends and other friends. Hoseok is sitting across from you, munching on another piece of grilled pork before reiterating his question. 

“You’ve known him like forever. Has he ever had a girlfriend?”

“... Not that I know of—“

“No.” Jungkook chimes in, squinting his eyes at the older male. “Why are you asking this?”

“You wouldn’t tell me,” Hoseok says casually, eyeing the younger with the same expression. “Plus, I wanna hook you up with someone. Are you just going to be a prude up until college?”

“No.” Jungkook says again, picking up his chopsticks to grab a couple pieces of cooked meat and placing it onto your plate. Hoseok is watching closely at the actions between the two of you and you can feel his intense stare penetrating through you. 

Hoseok snaps, his face brightening. “Exactly! That’s why I want you to meet with this girl I know, maybe she can—”

Jungkook waves his hand in dismissal, leaning his other arm on the table. “I meant no, as in no, Hoseok, I am not a prude.” With those words, suddenly his audience extended from Hoseok to the entire team.

“Bro, you’re fucking with us. You kissed someone?”

“Well,” He starts, dropping his body onto the back of his seat. “I did it all.”

Your face is flushing crimson. Jungkook is really testing your patience today, isn’t he? First Dahyun’s confession and now this? Stuffing lettuce and a couple pieces of meat into your mouth, you’re attempting to pretend to keep yourself busy to the point that you’re not included in the conversation.

“No way,” Hoseok’s eyes are widened to the point it could fall out of its sockets. “Who was it? Do we know her?”

“I don’t think it matters.” Jungkook responds, stuffing some kimchi into Hoseok’s mouth to stop him from speaking any more. “You don’t need to hook me up then, right? Since I already lost my virginity?”

“Oh, it definitely matters,” Chimes in Jimin, another member from the team. He’s sitting on the other side of Jungkook, tugging on the younger male’s sleeve. “Tell us, tell us! You never even had a girlfriend. Was it a one night stand? Do you even do one night stands? You don’t even look like you sleep around.”

Irritated by the interrogation, he groans, aggressively ruffling his hair. He smells like your signature vanilla scented shampoo and you’re wondering if he stole some from your house or if he decided that it was going to be a staple item in his routine. “I don’t do one night stands. She’s just someone I wanted to do my first time with.”

“Wow, she sounds special. You gonna ask her out or what?” Jimin asks, body shifting closer to Jungkook. 

“What makes you think he likes her?” Hoseok counters. 

Jimin rolls his eyes at his teammate before attacking back. “He specifically wanted her to take his virginity, what else could it be?”

Hoseok’s mouth drops, suddenly shocked by Jimin’s statement. “Wait, you make a good point. Forget that college chick taking your virginity, who’s this girl that you, yourself, chose to pop your cherry? I wanna know! Wait—” His lips tug into an impish grin as he turns to watch you cramming a portion full of kimchi into your mouth. “—You know.”

“What?” You say; if Yura was here right now she’d call you a hypocrite for speaking with your mouth full. “You know who the girl is. It’s impossible for Jungkook to hide anything from you, you definitely know who it is.”

“I—“ Just then, the door of the restaurant rings its bell, a figure making its way to the table as he screams a bright “hello!”

Kim Taehyung.

He’s still as handsome as ever. The last time you saw him, his hair was in between a shade of grey and a platinum but you’re not really sure since it was hidden underneath his graduation cap. He must have dyed it sometime when he left because the strands from his head are now a pastel pink. 

Taehyung was your unofficial hero, intruding in the conversation and capturing everyone’s attention away from you when you needed him the most.

The team is rowdy at the sight of their friend, taking turns shoving and pulling on him as he expresses his love for them in return, full of laughs and smiles. 

“I heard our little Kook won the 100m freestyle today!” He says, hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, dragging him into his embrace. “Congrats! I’m so proud of you! I also missed you, buddy. Look how far you’ve gone!”

Despite Jungkook dismissing your crush on Taehyung, he was still Jungkook’s role model. Taehyung did the impossible— snatching up the international scholarship and heading to a well renowned university to be part of their swim team. Everything Taehyung was is what Jungkook aspired to be.

“Thanks, Hyung. Can’t believe you’re back, what are you doing here?”

He lets out a chuckle, running his fingers through his soft locks that cascaded over his face. Taehyung was like the lead character of an anime; a flawless personality and attractive. Maybe the only negative thing about him was that he never pursued a relationship and girls were always left rejected, jilted and disappointed... why does that sound familiar?

“Decided to come back during my semester break. Where’s your love?” Right when he says the term of endearment, his eyes meet yours, your cheeks burning hot. “Taehyung.”

The way he says your name sounds smooth and sweet like honey to the point it’s what you want yourself to drown in. He’s advancing toward you, arms opened and welcoming you into his hold. “Missed you, bub. We should meet during my time here and catch up.”

From behind, Jungkook’s nose is scrunched up in disgust. Bub?

The night was filled with stories of the States that Taehyung shares amongst the group; how he managed to get lost after getting on the subway, or a time where he ordered the wrong thing off the menu but it was a great experience, or the time he dyed his hair the wrong color because of miscommunication with the barber. Regardless, Taehyung was living an entirely different life in America and although alone, he seemed... happy.

Eventually, the owners of the restaurant have to escort you guys out of the place, overstaying your welcome there.

“Shall we head for dessert?” Jungkook asks, hands in the front pockets of his jeans.

“This late?”

“Maybe places aren’t open but... you wanna stay over the night? I’ve been waiting patiently throughout dinner to hear what you’re going to say and I don’t want to leave the night without hearing it.”

Right. You were supposed to confess to Jungkook tonight. You had finally gathered enough courage to confess to your best friend of almost two decades, possibly throwing your friendship on the line. Should you even do it? Was it even worth it?

“Please.” Jungkook begs, pouting with his puppy eyes. And as if he could almost read your mind, he adds, “Nothing you can say will make me leave you.”

“Fine. Let’s go.”

Out of the shower, you point with your head toward the bathroom, trying to grab Jungkook’s attention by calling out his name. You’re in a baggy shirt you borrow from him and a pair of shorts you accidentally left over, too lazy to actually walk over next door to grab your own clothes for the night. “It’s your turn.”

He swallows. His stare is glued to your exposed, smooth, freshly shaved legs that you flaunt previously in achievement. Eyes roaming over your body, he feels his lower stomach stir when he notices how obvious it is you’re not wearing a bra— the sudden change in temperature from the steaming hot shower to the cool windy night in his bedroom perks your nipples through the thin fabric.

You crinkle your brows. “What are you drooling over? Go shower, you reek of chlorine.”

After he quickly shifts off the bed and showers, he comes out, dressed in his own pjs, pulling the covers off the bed that you’re sitting underneath.

“Hey! What was that for?”

“We still need to talk.”

“There’s no dessert here.” You state firmly.

He glares at you, sliding into the empty space beside you before snagging the blanket to drape over the both of you. “Just think of me. I’m sweet.”

You hum, lying down closer to him to gather his radiating body warmth as he wraps his arms around your frame. “More like bitter.”

Jungkook must have been spent. His breathing was slowing down and his lids were heavy from such an eventual yet long day that it even shut him up from responding with a comeback.

When what feels like hours later, you’re still awake, head resting on his chest with his arm placed underneath your body. “This feels right,” you say to no one in particular, tapping your finger against his peck. “Everything about you feels right.”

Letting out a sigh, you continue. “Watching and hearing about all these girls that are head over heels for you eventually get rejected or forgotten about is discouraging. It makes me feel as though I’m just like them— pining for a guy who would never love me back. I remember when I told you about my crush on Taehyung and you immediately shot down my beliefs. I hated you for that until I realized that you were right. Maybe I didn’t like him because once I knew how I felt about you, my crush... seemed so small in comparison.” You’re tracing imaginary shapes on his body with your pointer finger, murmuring while scrambling through your disorganized thoughts.

“Yura convinced me to tell you how I feel. I don’t understand what goes on in her mind but she thinks that you’ve been hinting things to me. Even so, I’m scared of losing you as a friend. What if this doesn’t work out? What if you reject me and we resent each other?” You clench your jaw, taking in a deep breath before rounding up every brave cell in your body. “Regardless of that... I think I love you.” and instantaneously, you feel the weight of burden lift from your shoulders. Even though he’s asleep through your confession, it felt good to at last say those words confidently out loud.

But Jungkook’s not asleep. He’s wide awake, freezing in place like a statue, careful not to startle you. You love him.

[athena-is-a-chaotic-lil-shit]

Of Ice and Blood

Part 3

Hey there! Thank you for taking the time to read this

There are so many left out details here that I did on purpose for future explanation within the fic for the element of mystery I'm trying to brew . Hope you don't mind! Enjoy reading❤

Part 1

Part 2

Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

1.7k words.

Pairing: Tai'chi Kashharzol (Orc) x Pearl Blackbell (Human OC/Reader)

Warnings: cursing, violence, injury and fighting.

*

Without thinking, I drove my fist towards the voice, regretting it the instant I recognized who it was.

Tai'chi.

I shouldn’t have been surprised when I found my fist encased in his hand. He seems unfazed by my reaction, seemingly expecting it.

“Oh shi— I’m so sorry!”

How the hell did he sneak up on me without making a sound??

“Feisty- I mean, I should be the one sorry, for startling you...And for following you. I just wanted to, make sure you were alright.”

I blinked. He was concerned?

He spoke up when I didn’t respond.

“So, are you okay?”

“Y-Yeah. I’m fine. Just, disappointed.” I breathed in and sighed as he gently let go of my fist.

Oh, and his scent helps right now. He smells so...wonderful I don’t know why. It’s not like I’ve been surrounded by disgusting odors my entire life. I swear I’ve inhaled appealing scents like lilac, sandalwood, cinnamon, even rain has its particular smell! But Tai'chi, he—he’s something else entirely.

“Shouldn’t you be somewhere else like, I don’t know, maybe getting lunch with some of your friends or in a classroom?” I asked. I wonder why he would even bother to be in my presence. Anyone should be creeped out by the way I spoke up earlier. I mean, who does that? Plus, I did throw a stranger down to the floor. But part of me knows he deserved that.

Definitely.

“Want to talk about it?” He ignored my question. Tai'chi was now sitting cross-legged beside me, the oak’s root in between us. His deep azure eyes studying, watching me carefully.

“What?”

“What you did back there, wasn’t something a plain, timid college girl would do.”

Wait. He knew I was pretending to be one?

“Yes, I knew.”

“You can read minds?!” I stammered out. He can read my mind this whole time?! Shit.

He held up for a second before a boisterous laugh broke out of him and echoed through the circling trees, scaring away some birds perched above. I don’t know if I should be offended or flustered by his guffaw. It was so, so deep and rich and —

What the hell Pearl? What if he's reading your mind??

Tai'chi faced me again, sighing once he calmed down.

“To answer your question, no, I can’t read minds. But like I stated before, your face gives it away. Or your brows since you’re wearing a mask, but I can imagine your expression.”

I let out an incomprehensible noise.

“How did you find out I was pretending to be…you know,” waving my hands around.

“The moment we made eye contact this morning when you entered. And the way you shifted your body at the last second to prevent yourself from plunging into the trash bin, I knew you were something more. Your eyes and your actions show your experience in combat. A skilled warrior would notice these little things right away.”

My jaw fell open, and I’m sure he knows. He left me speechless.

Should I tell him I am a trained martial artist and a weapon wielder?

But we just met like 5 hours ago!

He seems trustworthy. And he’s an orc, didn’t they have a code of honor or something?

My thoughts ran wild I swear Tai'chi could hear my mind, screaming.

“Hey, it’s okay if you don’t wish to. And I must’ve sounded, creepy when I admitted I’ve been observing you. But before anything else, will you allow me to introduce myself, for real this time?”

“You mean your name isn’t Tai'chi?”

Letting out a chuckle, he replied, “I swear to you, my name is Tai'chi. What I mean is, I want you to know my full name. Do you understand what this implies, Pearl?”

I racked my brain for a moment, trying to recall what my parents said about orc traditions when my uncle, papa’s brother, married the orcess he fell in love with. Something about an orc’s real name being reserved only to those they’re close to?

“I guess so? But what exactly?”

“I want to become your friend.”

I couldn’t help the slight warmth creeping into my cheeks behind my mask. He can’t see it, can he? A friend, he says. A friend!

“Oh,” was all that came out. A pause and;

“Uh, I mean, I’d love to be your friend! I never had an actual friend before. I mean, have cousins, but we aren’t acquainted enough to consider myself their friend— I mean— uh, what should I do?” I blurted out a little rapidly.

He smiled. He actually smiled! Oh, damn, it was adorable!

Tai'chi was about to say something, but he snapped his mouth shut and grimaced. I was confused by his sudden change of mood, along with his scent.

Then it struck me.

The two of us shot up when multiple smells filled the air, making my stomach clench.

We were followed, not just one but six individuals. One of them was the pretentious human from earlier.

My day can’t get any better. And is that a baseball bat? Great. Fucking great.

I swear. I’m cursed to find trouble anywhere I go.

“Hello, freaks.” The guy in the middle began. “Whatcha doin’ out here in the forest?”

The others began spreading out and surrounded us.

“Planning something nasty I bet.” A human to my right spat.

“You will pay for what you did to me, you bitch. Just so you know, my father is the dean of this university. No one will ever hear a word of what I did here and what we will do to you.

'Dean’s son, David Silverstone, assaulted by an insane student in the woods within campus grounds. His friends graciously helping him fight off the lunatic until she passed out and was carried to an isolation chamber for monitoring, later finding out about her severe psychological disorder.’ Now wouldn’t that be a hit in the papers!” The bastard and his companions cackled and snickered, some of them stealing glances between my legs and I felt my skin crawl.

Tai'chi growled lowly, silencing them for a brief moment. He was getting mad but held his ground.

“And you,” the human pointed, “you beast. It won’t be hard antagonizing you, people will no doubt believe you were the one who violated the schoolgirl and left her in the woods to die.”

This fucking—

I felt a hand on my shoulder just as I was about to start, gently gripping, in hopes of trying to calm me down. He knows they were baiting us on making the first move. He shook his head, and an idea popped up.

Taking a deep breath, I attempted to make my voice as girly as possible, sounding so hilarious, like those overdressed, flashy high school girls with flowery perfume so strong I wrenched every time I get a whiff of it.

Provoking them would do.

“Oh, I’m so scared! Should I get on my knees and beg for mercy? Oh please, great and noble one, have mercy on my poor soul.” My voice laced with mockery and sadness, with my legs fake trembling and my arms flailing.

And did Tai'chi just snort?

“If you beg nicely, I will perhaps give you a chance to— ”

My sudden wheezing interrupted him and I laughed. Hard. I can’t believe he bought my terrible acting! I expected him to straight-up be offended rather than actually bite the false bait. He is dumber than I thought.

I was holding my middle by the time I was done. Tai'chi’s shoulders were moving slightly, probably chuckling and trying to hold back his amusement.

“Did you honestly take it seriously??? I can't— oh my God!” I choked out once more before I went on.

“There’s no chance in hell I’m gonna bow to you, not even one degree of an angle, you foolish, idiotic, spoiled, bastardized son of a bitch.”

His face was turning red out of rage and oh! Wasn’t that a sight to behold?

“You brat!” Turning his head to the others, he yelled, “What are guys standing there for?! Get them!”

Good.

Perhaps they didn’t catch my hands slipping on my beloved crimson knuckle dusters out of the bag when I was laughing then, tugging down my hoodie’s sleeve to hide it.

“Don’t move.” I told the orc, whose eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“But—”

“Just don’t.” I said with my voice firm. I will take them on my own. I can’t have him getting in trouble and people blaming him for being an orc. Imagine that. The ones who attacked him will be viewed as victims because they were up against him, an orc. Numerous humans will jump at the chance to throw dirt at their race, a single act of self-defense treated as a one-sided assault to humans, the thought of it being enough to somehow remove all of them from the city, but everyone knows it's not that simple. Dimwits.

I strode forward without earning his response, waiting for the first person to come at me.

I took my stance, although it was more of preparing half of my body since I was still hiding both of my hands.

They all seemed confused and hesitant, which was what I was going for. To me, and those with experience in hand-to-hand combat, this is one of the most basic stances, but fundamental, nonetheless. A simple form that can determine the outcome of a fight. With my right foot forward, left foot back, both firmly planted to the ground, and my dominant hand wearing my dusters. In their eyes, it was…wrong, foreign. Some may even say it’s an open vulnerability, showing how inexperienced the opponent is, but oh, it is the exact opposite.

I didn’t see Tai'chi’s expression, though. I was on alert and getting into my zone to peer at him, one motion that can put me in a compromising position. Did he notice my brass knuckles? Likely.

“Scared to hurt a little girl like me?” I enticed.

Finally, the one beside their alleged leader charged at me.

A typical amateur approach.

The guy, about two inches taller than me, threw a right punch, which was a huge mistake.

Predictable.

I smirked under my mask and dodged it not a second before it connected. Making him falter as I grabbed his arm and brought it down to my knee, dislodging his joints.

A high-pitched scream of pain broke out of him as he dropped down on the forest ground, gripping his bent-off arm, cursing, but refused to rise and fight me again.

I gave him one last glance before I looked back at the others.

“Who’s next?”

****************************************

Those human shits just can't leave them alone! Interrupting their supposed-to-be official introduction! There's more to the orc that meets the eye *wink* Who is he exactly? Why was he so... observant?

Part 4 is actually on its third revising— and I'm still trying to come up on HOW to phrase my next words to lead to part 5. I let me brain take a break from spewing senseless words for now so I'll probably post the next part of this later or tomorrow

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed! And I'd appreciate it if you have some advice for me, or just point out some mistakes I made! Thank you

Ps. This is really not perfect formal writing if you're wondering. I just type away whatever comes into my mind, and then proofread it to the best I can. And I hope you don't mind me using a lot of spaces. It... sort of makes my mind clear and continue moving forward, and it helps me when I'm reading it again, mentally taking note that with every line between spaces there's a slight pause and again, read it clearly like you were the one thinking it. I don't know how to explain how my own brain works but I guess that's that?

Tags: @kokokatsworld @crackinanutshell

[lastbluetardis]

And Baby Makes Seven (10/?)

Things don’t always go as planned. Faced with an unexpected pregnancy, James and Rose have to work quickly to get everything prepared for their fifth child, and to prepare their eldest children for a new addition to the family. Ten x Rose AU, Soulmates AU. Tagging @doctorroseprompts

This chapter: teen, 5200 words

Ages of the Tyler-McCrimmons at the start of the chapter: James: 39, Rose: 34, Ainsley: 9, Sianin: 6, Twins: 7.5 months

If you like reading my stories, consider leaving me a tip? Or leave a reply on this post to tell me what you thought? And as always, reblogs are very much appreciated so more people can see this.

AO3 | Perfectly Matched Series

Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 |

Now that Ainsley had been let in on the secret of the new baby, Rose and James didn’t need to work as hard to uphold the facade. Sianin, bless her little heart, had no idea what was going on, but was glad that her mum wanted to laze around the house, which translated into Sianin getting plenty of snuggles on the sofa as they watched cartoons.

James seemed to be taking “over-protective” to a whole new level. He jumped at the chance to care for their children, either taking over or joining Rose in all bedtime routines. If a twin awoke in the middle of the night, he sprang out of bed before her groggy brain could even realize Hannah or Maddie had made a sound.

But when she brought it up to him, he flashed her a charming grin that never failed to melt her, and simply asked, “You’re upset that I want to care for my children?”

And really, when he put it like that, her irritation with him evaporated. She had to keep reminding him to let her help, though, lest the twins forget they had a mother.

James and Rose also used the opportunity to place more responsibilities on Sianin’s shoulders, to the girl’s displeasure. Since Rose wasn’t supposed to do most of the normal household chores, James taught Sianin how to vacuum, wash the floors, and a host of other minor but daily tasks.

Rose, though guilty that she was lounging around the house all day when she ought to be cleaning, was glad that Sianin was at least performing the tasks James assigned to her with minimal complaining. 

Ainsley, meanwhile, took it upon herself to help her dad with anything he was doing and to check in with her mum to see if Rose needed anything.

“How long d’you have to rest for?” Ainsley asked as she settled in with Rose and Maddie on the couch for her nightly reading. Hannah was already in her crib for the night, but Maddie was stubbornly refusing to fall asleep in favor of getting snuggles and kisses from her mother.

“A few weeks,” Rose replied, blotting at the drool dripping down her baby’s chin with her jumper sleeve. Maddie scrunched her nose and turned her face away. “We’ve got a follow-up appointment next week to check the status of the bleed.”

Ainsley tilted her head to the side. “Why do you always do that? Make it plural? You said we’ve got an appointment, not I’ve got an appointment.”

Rose snorted. “You’re right. But your dad is joining me at the appointment. Plus, it’s an appointment to check on the baby, who is both his and mine. It feels wrong to claim sole ownership.”

“That’s actually really cute,” Ainsley admitted. She sighed dreamily. “Dad takes such good care of you when you’re unwell.”

A flood of adoration overtook Rose, squeezing her chest until inexplicable tears burned her eyes. She listened to her husband, who was in the kitchen assembling the girls’ lunches for tomorrow. He was humming to himself as he worked, the notes slightly flat and offkey.

“Yeah, he does,” Rose croaked.

“I hope I find someone just like him one day,” Ainsley said with a wistful sigh.

“I hope that for you, too.” Rose kissed Ainsley’s temple. “I hope that for all of my children.”

“How do you think it’ll work with Sianin and her soulmates?”

“What do you mean?”

Ainsley shrugged. “It’s hard to imagine having two soulmates. How can she love two people as equally and intensely as you love Dad?”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, eh? Who knows whether Sianin’s relationship with Elena and Juliette will evolve into a romantic one.”

“I suppose,” Ainsley allowed. “But for argument’s sake, how would it work if they decided to let it be romantic? It seems so strange to be involved in a relationship with two people.”

“Strange as it might be to you, it’s normal for others. Love in all its forms is a beautiful thing, remember that.”

“It feels like it would be hard to make sure you aren’t showing favoritism to one versus another,” Ainsley said.

“Well, your dad and I have four children—we love you all with equal intensity and try not to show favoritism. I imagine it’s something similar.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I would want to be in a relationship with more than one person,” Ainsley admitted. “I want one person who is mine, and mine alone.”

“That’s perfectly reasonable,” Rose said. “You need to decide what works for you, just as Sianin will decide what works for her.”

Ainsley was quiet for several long seconds, but Rose could practically hear her daughter’s mind churning. While she let Ainsley think, she used the time to give kisses to the baby in her arms. The baby was finally getting drowsy; she had her cheek planted above Rose’s left breast, and her head rose and fell with her mother’s breaths. Any time Maddie’s eyes began to droop shut, she wrenched them open and gazed up at her mother.

Being the singular focus of her baby’s attention always made her heart squeeze with love and gratitude. She was the whole world to this tiny, perfect little human, and for a moment, as Rose got lost in her baby’s blue eyes, Maddie was her whole world, too.

“Do you think her eyes will stay blue?” Ainsley asked.

“I think so,” Rose said. “Usually if they change, they would’ve changed by now. All of my babies’ eyes started out blue. In Sianin’s case, they turned brown after a couple months. Yours stayed more or less the same color. And the twins’ appear to be brightening… they kind of look like Gran’s, don’t they?”

Ainsley peered down at Maddie. The baby shifted her sleepy eyes to her big sister, and offered a smile that widened into a yawn. Ainsley snorted and rubbed Maddie’s back. The baby grunted and wiggled around before face-planting into the crevice between Rose’s breasts.

“Silly girl,” Ainsley murmured. “Yeah, they do look like Gran’s. How does that work? I mean, I sort of know how it works. But her DNA is half you, half Dad, and yet she has Gran’s eyes. And apparently I look like Dad’s mum.”

“My DNA is half my mum and dad, and your dad’s DNA is half his mum and dad,” Rose said. “There are bits of all of our past family swirling inside of us, and it’s a lottery draw as to which traits get passed on to a baby.”

“That’s kind of neat,” Ainsley said. “It’s so fascinating that so many things have to happen perfectly to create a baby.” She paused, then continued in a rush, “We had the talk at school today. Y’know, how the girls and boys should be starting puberty soon, if they haven’t started already. One girl in my class had her first period months ago, which is mad. She’s nine! They also explained how in a couple years we’ll all be sexually mature and be able to make babies and so we all have to be very, very careful to prevent unwanted pregnancies as we’re exploring our bodies.

“They went over how a baby is made. Just the basics. Y’know, penis in vagina, sperm meets egg equals baby. I didn’t know that men released millions and millions of sperm when they had sex. That seems like overkill, doesn’t it?”

“What seems like overkill?”

Rose jumped at the sound of James’s voice right behind her. Her mind whirred, trying to wrap itself around the sudden turn their conversation had taken, as well as the fact that her baby was old enough to be learning the basics of human reproduction in school already.

“Did you know you made and released millions of sperm at a time when you have sex?” Ainsley asked, her eyes bright.

James was silent for a beat, cheeks pinkening and mouth going slack. He cleared his throat. “Er… yeah. Yeah, I did know that. But where did you learn that?”

“They gave us the talk in school.”

“Ah,” he said, wincing.

“Why do you make millions of sperm when only one will actually fertilize the egg?” Ainsley asked, cocking her head to the side. She then glanced down at Maddie, who was drooling into Rose’s shirt. “Er, or I guess two?”

“Actually, it was just one sperm,” Rose corrected.

Ainsley frowned. “But… there are two babies.”

“But they’re identical,” James said. “Genetically, they’re the same. Basically, one of my sperm met your mum’s egg, then that egg divided somewhat incorrectly to begin producing two separate babies with the same exact genetic code.”

“Oh. So your egg accidentally made a clone of itself?”

Rose snorted. “Something like that.”

Ainsley looked impressed. Then she said, “But still. Why make millions of sperm? That’s a bit wasteful, isn’t it?”

“It’s all about statistics,” James answered, scrubbing at the back of his neck. “Would you rather try to hit a target with one arrow or many? What if that one arrow is defective somehow? Or your aim is slightly off? By releasing tens of millions of sperm in one go, you increase the odds of fertilization; and the egg can be a bit choosier by only allowing the strongest of the bunch to fertilize it and begin making a baby.”

“Oh. That makes a lot of sense, actually,” Ainsley said. “What stops all of the sperm from penetrating the egg and creating a million babies?”

“Once a sperm meets the egg, it basically walls itself off from getting fertilized again,” James explained. “When sperm meets egg, a biological cascade effect begins. The woman’s egg recognizes it’s been fertilized, so it begins producing chemicals and hormones that tell the rest of the body to prepare for the oncoming baby. And it shuts down egg production so there’s no chance of multiple fertilized eggs trying to grow a baby after one is already growing. Imagine how cramped it would get in there. And imagine how hard it would be on the woman to have multiple babies all at different stages of development in her uterus. Evolution has figured out how to control everything so that doesn’t happen.”

“That’s so cool,” Ainsley said.

“It is a bit cool,” James said, smiling.

“It’s weird that women are born with all the eggs they’ll ever have, but men keep making more and more sperm ‘til they die. That’s way more efficient. What if something happens to the woman and her egg supply is damaged? At least with men, they can regenerate their sperm.” Ainsley cocked her head at her father. “In theory, you could help make a baby when you’re a hundred, right?”

James choked. “I… well… yes, technically. But my baby-making partner would also be a hundred—well, ninety-five—and since she would no longer be fertile, I wouldn’t be helping to make any more babies. Besides, the… ehm… the quality of sperm deteriorates over time. It’s not usually a good idea to procreate after a certain age. And, ehm… the act of making a baby gets… ehm… more difficult in old age. So… ehm… I’m not sure we’d… that we’d… Although I would truly love to be with your mother in that way in our old age, statistically it’s not all that probable so I’m not really expecting to… not that I wouldn’t want to… but…”

Rose kneaded the heel of her hand into her eyes as James’s gob ran without stop and without filter. She eventually reached over and pinched him. He squeaked, but snapped his mouth shut. Ainsley, meanwhile, was in stitches on the sofa, cackling madly as both her parents’ cheeks blazed.

oOoOo

Two weeks and two days after learning she had subchorionic hemorrhage, Rose walked into her OB-GYN, this time with her husband at her side. Despite the fact that her bleeding and cramping had stopped nearly a week ago, she was a little nervous to see what Elizabeth would have to say.

James must have sensed her anxiety, because he threaded their fingers together and rubbed at the back of her thumb while they waited for Rose’s name to be called. He talked to her about nothing in particular, filling the silence between them. Rose let the soothing rhythm of his voice calm her until Elizabeth appeared in the waiting room and called name, gesturing for her to follow.

“How are you feeling?” the midwife asked as she took Rose’s height and weight. “You’ve lost some weight since I saw you two weeks ago. Nothing worrying, but something to keep an eye on. Especially since you ought to be putting on weight as your pregnancy progresses.”

“My appetite is still finicky,” Rose admitted. “Nausea is mostly gone though. I’m hoping that will help. But otherwise, I feel fine.”

“Any bleeding? Cramping? Dizziness?”

Rose shook her head and stepped off the scale, following Elizabeth down the corridor to an exam room. James followed silently and settled into the chair beside the exam table. An ultrasound machine already sat in the corner of the room, and, familiar with the routine, Rose reclined on the table and exposed her belly.

Déjà vu settled over her as she remembered the utter terror of two weeks ago, certain her midwife was about to confirm her worst fear. Her pulse thundered in her ears and she began to tremble as her mind warred with itself, half of it trying to calm her, and the other half spinning out of control. James scooted his chair closer to her and leaned his elbow onto the table above her head. His warmth and scent surrounded her.

“You’re okay, love,” he whispered, kissing her forehead softly. “You’re okay. I’m here.”

“What a cute little bump,” Elizabeth cooed, squirting cool gel onto said bump between Rose’s hips. “Let’s see the cute little baby inside it, eh?”

Rose reached over and grabbed James’s free hand, linking their fingers together and squeezing tightly. He bent down to kiss her forehead again, then he brought their joined hands to his mouth to kiss her knuckles one at a time.

“Here we are,” Elizabeth said, tapping a few buttons into her keyboard.

Rose looked at the monitor and her heart clenched at the sight of her baby. They seemed to be about the same size as before, but Elizabeth was pleased with the baby’s appearance.

“They’re rather active,” the midwife noted, readjusting the probe when the shifting baby went out of focus. “Are you able to feel them, Rose?”

“Not yet,” she croaked. She desperately wanted to, though. She wanted that little flutter of life between her hips. She wanted the undeniable proof that her baby was alive and healthy and growing, because what if the scan was somehow wrong? Rose squeezed her eyes shut and focused deep within herself, trying to sense any ripple of movement in her uterus.

Her eyes shot open when the midwife tapped a few buttons and the heartbeat echoed around the room. 

James let out a soft, “Oh,” his grip on her hand turning vice-like.

Rose glanced up at her husband, but his gaze was locked on the monitor, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. The sight of them made her own eyes prickle. She would never tire of seeing the awe on his face as he beheld their children. He treated each day with their kids as though it was the most precious gift he’d been given; this baby was no exception, and Rose could already see how in love her husband was with the tiny fetus inside her. She could plainly see him, seven months from now, weeping as he held their newborn for the first time, curling his body around theirs as though he could physically shield their baby from any harm the world might bring to them. She could see him sitting with the baby in the dead of night, half asleep himself, yet holding their small child to his chest as he rocked them.

God, she wanted that, was impatient for these visions to come true. Even though she regularly saw him holding and snuggling the children they already had, Rose was desperate to give him his fifth child and bring completion to their not-so-little-anymore family.

“Our baby looks healthy,” James said, his voice hoarse. Rose blinked away the visions in her mind’s eye and was brought back to the present, where her husband was no longer looking at the baby on the screen, but rather down at Rose. She flashed him a small smile that he returned before he focused on the midwife, his gaze intense. “But how is Rose? How is the hemorrhage? Is she healthy and safe?”

“Let’s take a look at that next.” Elizabeth zoomed out away from the baby, and instead shifted the focus of the ultrasound probe to the gray masses surrounding the baby. “Here we go.”

After taking a few seconds to orient James and Rose to what she was talking about, Elizabeth pointed to a black blob along the edge of the placenta. “Here’s the clot. And yes, it is just a clot now. It appears to no longer be actively bleeding, which is excellent news. The placenta is intact, which is also great news. Sometimes a concern is that the bleeding will cause the placenta to pull away from the uterine wall, but that is not the case here. I am very, very happy with what I’m seeing.”

Rose let out a deep breath. James, too, relaxed a fraction.

“Can I go back to business as usual?” Rose asked.

“Let’s not be hasty,” James answered instead.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Rose drawled, reaching up to pat his cheek.

Elizabeth pursed her lips around a grin. She wiped the expression off her face and said, “I see no reason why not. Obviously you are limited as any other pregnant woman is, and I would try to take it easy for the next couple weeks as the clot dissolves, but yes, you should be able to resume all activities as normal.”

Rose was fairly certain she’d read between the lines correctly, yet she asked, “Sex too?”

James let out a little squeak that had Rose rolling her eyes. Elizabeth’s entire profession revolved around people having had biologically-successful sex. They themselves were here because they’d had successful sex. Nutter.

“Yes, you may resume your sexual activities,” the midwife answered.

Rose nodded. She hadn’t been in the mood for sex lately, too concerned was she with the baby and will following the instructions to rest. She knew that James’s sex drive had mirrored her own in his double concern for her and the baby. While she still didn’t have the desire to drag James straight into bed when they got home, Rose was glad it was at least an option, if the mood struck. She’d find other ways to satisfy James if or when his sex drive returned while hers remained elusive.

“Is Rose okay to travel?” James asked. “We were planning to take the kids up to Scotland for half-term break next week. Probably travelling by train.”

“I’ve been cleared to shag your brains out, but no, the movement of a train will be far too vigorous for my delicate condition,” Rose muttered out of the corner of her mouth.

James flicked her nose but didn’t reply.

“Yes, she should be fine,” Elizabeth said, pretending not to have heard their exchange. “Just listen to your body, Rose. It will do a good job of telling you what it needs. Try not to overexert. Rest when you’re tired. Make sure you’re getting enough vitamins and nutrients. Things like that.”

“Thanks,” Rose said. “And while we’re talking about it, do you happen to have any connections with midwives in Scotland? Near Glasgow? James and I are going to be relocating our family. The move isn’t happening next week or anything; we’re getting the kids used to the area and the house we’ll be moving into.”

“And you say I’m chatty,” James teased.

Rose rolled her eyes.

“Funnily enough, I do,” Elizabeth said. “One of my very close friends. We went to school together. I can send you her contact information, as I don’t have it on hand right now. I can also reach out to her to see if she can see you next week, if you’d like? A consultation visit, mostly, assuming she is taking new patients and is near enough to where you’ll be living.”

“That’d be brilliant,” Rose said, accepting the moist towels the midwife handed to her and cleaning off her belly.

Elizabeth made a few notes on her computer, then printed out another scan of the baby for them, despite them having one from two weeks ago. She also scheduled Rose’s twenty-week appointment, which would be shortly after the holidays. Rose was already impatient for January sixth to be here; it would be the appointment when she and James would learn the sex of their baby, something Rose always loved learning. But this time was the added game of being able to tease James for his apparent inability to produce a Y-chromosomed sperm. As though that was something he could control. (A fact he liked to remind her of often.)

“As always, you can call us if there are any questions or concerns,” Elizabeth said as she walked them to the front lobby. “But I’m very pleased with everything I’ve seen today.”

After thanking her, James slipped his fingers between Rose’s and guided her out to their car.

oOoOo

The following week, James and Rose willed themselves to have endless reserves of patience as they readied their children for the trip to Scotland. It felt like they had to pack up their entire house to ensure they had enough supplies for all the kids, including toys and games in addition to the endless articles of clothing.

Robert, bless him, was accompanying them, to help with child care and to give his opinion on the work they might want done to the manor house. James had reached out to half a dozen different remodeling companies to have them come out and take a look at the work he and Rose wanted done; they were due to arrive at the end of the week, since James and Rose wanted the first few days to walk around the house and make lists of repairs and upgrades that could be done, both internally and externally to the grounds.

The train ride went as well as could be expected when travelling with four children. Ainsley was content to read for the entire journey, but Sianin loudly proclaimed she was bored barely an hour into the trip. The twins were awake and wanting to crawl around, but there was only so much space in the compartment car. James, Rose, and Robert took turns walking a fussing baby up and down the length of the train, introducing the infant to cooing passengers who fawned over how beautiful she was. The passengers were extra delighted to realize they were identical twins.

Finally, the train docked in Glasgow, where the Tyler-McCrimmons picked up a rental vehicle and made the half-hour drive out of the city proper to the manor house.

The excitement at the prospect of permanently living in the “castle” evaporated Ainsley and Sianin’s travel exhaustion. As soon as James unlocked the front door, they bolted inside and began chattering to each other about where their playroom should be and calling dibs on the bedrooms.

“I want this one,” Sianin announced, gesturing to the master suite.

“That one is off-limits,” James said lightly, tweaking the end of her braid. “Available to mummies and daddies only. Same with the guest suite on the other side. That’s for when Gran or Grandad stay to visit.”

Sianin deflated a bit, but perked back up when James reminded her that there were plenty of other bedrooms to choose from.

Rose, meanwhile, immediately began to visualize how she would decorate. The current color scheme of the manor was dark, but not gloomily so. Even still, Rose thought that brightening the wall colors from burgundy to a rich cream or ivory would help open up the space and blend the rooms together. It would also make the house feel cleaner, and with five children tearing it apart, Rose knew she and James could use all the help they could get in that department.

The floors were in excellent shape, having been replaced shortly after Ainsley was born. Robert had come to her and James when he was having the work performed so they could help pick out the color and style of the various hardwood, tile, and carpeted floors in all of the rooms. Belatedly, Rose realized that Robert had done so because he knew this home would belong to them in the near future.

From the foyer, which was lit from the warm glow of the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, Rose stared straight ahead into the formal dining room that used to be a ballroom; the kitchen extended beyond that through a set of wide oak doors that were currently closed. She already knew that the kitchen was huge and open, thanks to James’s grandmother having remodeled it to use up more of the defunct ballroom space. The kitchen housed a long table that would easily fit their large family; therefore, the formal dining room wouldn’t be necessary until they hosted holidays or had friends over. Otherwise, that could easily be a place for the children to do their homework.

To her right was what used to be a receiving room, but had evolved over the last century to be the living room. It was already furnished with a couch, a love seat, and a few reclining chairs placed strategically around a television. A fireplace sat along the far wall, and Rose could already see herself sitting in the rocking reclining chair and nursing her new baby, or snuggling with one of her other four children or husband as the fire crackled merrily beside them. Goosebumps prickled along Rose’s skin at the thought of her and James making love by the fireplace, a vision straight out of a Victorian romance novel.

Blinking away that fantasy for the time being, Rose continued her mental mapping of the manor. Behind the living room was another room that had been a different receiving room—most likely, she presumed, a space for the gentlemen when the ladies had overtaken the first receiving room. Because God forbid men enjoy their wives’ presence.

James’s parents had converted that into a study area for James; Rose thought it would make a nice playroom for their family. It had plenty of room to store the kids’ endless number of toys, and it had a closet where they could keep their games. The flooring in there was currently hardwood; Rose made a mental note to chat with James about replacing it with something softer.

Extending beyond the living room was a narrow hallway that opened up to what had once been servants’ quarters. Rose knew that James’s grandmother had remodeled it and created a larger footprint, converting the area into a spacious a guest suite; it was where Robert always slept when he visited, unable to stomach being in the master bedroom ever since he’d lost his wife.

To the left of the foyer was a long, wide corridor with several rooms branching off of it. One of those rooms was a library that Rose already knew Ainsley would practically make her second bedroom. Rose planned to outfit the room with a variety of comfortable furniture and a desk. Directly beside the library and connected with a door was a formal study; she figured James would like to make that his space, filling it with textbooks and knickknacks and turning it into a place he could mark papers and exams on the weekends or weeknights.

Directly beside the study and again connected through a set of doors was a secondary study. This one was at the end of the manor, and therefore had windows on the two external walls. It was filled with plenty of natural lighting and Rose thought it would make a perfect place for her to set up her art studio.

On the opposite side of the corridor from the library and studies were a series of small rooms. There was a half bath that was mostly just a closet with a toilet and a sink, and two small rooms that Rose genuinely didn’t know the purpose of. They were far too big to be closets, but a tad too small to be bedrooms. Rose didn’t care what they used to be; instead, she planned to make the rooms a nursery: one for the twins, until they were big enough for proper beds, and the other for the new baby. It would be perfect, since the last room at the end of the corridor was the master suite. 

Rose already knew the suite was enormous, yet it took her breath away to behold it. The room would easily fit their king-sized bed and all of their bedroom furniture, and still have room for more. Perhaps they could put a cushy rocking chair in this room as well as the nurseries; there could never be enough cozy furniture to cuddle her children, Rose thought.

There was a giant walk-in closet connected to the bedroom, as well as a double-vanity ensuite. The bathroom, too, was huge, outfitted with a tub and a walk-in shower stall; both the tub and shower had plenty of room for her and James to share, which would be perfect for intimate date nights.

Moving from room to room, Rose catalogued how she would arrange furniture and paint colors that would look good in each room and blend the entire ground floor of the house together. She took note of the flooring, and which rooms should be outfitted with carpets rather than hardwood floors or tile, or vice versa. When she and James helped Robert pick out the floors, they’d only had Ainsley; at the time, she hadn’t been able to imagine having five children. Now, she couldn’t imagine anything differently.

“I can see that beautiful mind of yours at work already.” James came up behind her as she weighed whether the library ought to be carpeted or left as it was with hardwood floor. He wrapped his arms around her waist and casually splayed a palm on her lower belly, kissing the side of her neck and sending pleasant tingles across her skin. “What are you thinking?”

Rose leaned into him, tilting her head back to catch his gaze. His eyes were bright with joy and soft with love; she found herself falling in love with him all over again. She turned in his arms, draping her forearms over his shoulders.

“I’m thinking,” she murmured, pushing up onto her toes so that her mouth hovered mere inches from his, “that this already feels like home.”

And though she planted a kiss to his lips as she finished speaking, his answering smile was dazzling.

[writerbyaccident]

Necessary Gratitude (Yandere Shoto Todoroki x Reader)

           With his stoic default expression, it was hard to figure out how Shoto felt at any given moment. Even after being held against your will by Shoto for about two months now, you still had trouble reading him. But as he unlocked the bedroom door and made his way inside, all the while hiding something behind his back, you could have sworn that he looked happy. Or, at the very least, he looked pleased with himself.

           “Hey,” he said softly, giving you a small smile. “I’ve got something for you.”

           Slipping off of the bed, you bit back the annoyed sigh and eye roll that was your first instinct. This was hardly the first time that Shoto had brought you something, seemingly under the mistaken impression that he could buy either your affection or even just your submission. Whenever he had presented you with expensive jewelry, shoes, or clothes in the past, you had always refused to wear them, sneering that you weren’t some doll for Shoto to dress up. The first time you had told him that, you had braced yourself for his reaction, ready to brave yourself for his anger. But other than a frown that seemed more confused than angry, Shoto never fired back. So even though you were exasperated to see that he was still trying to buy his way into your heart, you assumed that it would be easily dealt with, as it always had been in the past.

           “I don’t want anything from you,” you spat, staring Shoto down. Rather than react with the frown that you had come to expect though, Shoto’s smile simply grew as he set the paper bag down on the bed.

           “I know, I know,” he chuckled. “But I figured it out.”

           “Figured what out?”

           “What was wrong with all of the other gifts. I finally realized why you didn’t want them.”

           “Oh, yeah?” you scoffed. “And why was that?”

           “They were meaningless. Beautiful, yes, but ultimately they were hollow. Those gifts could have been for anybody, even if no one else would have deserved them. The things I give you ought to be personal, ought to fit you. Only then can the gifts I give you actually show my love,” he explained.

           At his words, the temptation to roll your eyes surfaced again, and you might have given into it this time, but before you could, Shoto pulled out the present he had bought you. Your eyes widening as you took it in, you begrudgingly had to admit that Shoto was right about this one: it definitely was more personal. That is, personal to him. Held up in front of you was a t-shirt, something that you wouldn’t have thought twice about if you had seen it in a store window. But seeing your captor holding it up to your face, expecting you to gush over it, was another story. For it wasn’t some regular t-shirt, oh no, it was a piece of hero merchandise. It was hero merch of Shoto.

           The image of him clad in his hero suit was emblazoned proudly on the front of the shirt, with his hero name taking up the remaining room. And as if that wasn’t bad enough, you could tell just by looking at the shirt that it wouldn’t fit properly, being several sizes too small. You had no doubt that Shoto knew your exact size though, meaning that he was assuredly looking forward to seeing you wearing the top in more ways than one. Still staring at his so-called gift, shaking your head was practically a reflex.

           “No,” you said.

           “No? What do you mean, no?”

           “There’s no way in hell that I’m wearing that.”

           “Of course you are,” Shoto told you, his eyes beginning to narrow dangerously. “Don’t be such an ungrateful little brat. I bought it just for you. It’s perfect for you.”

           “I said no,” you snarled.

           For just a moment, you thought that Shoto would let it go, as he had when you refused all of his previous gifts. But his resolve must have hardened, for before you even realized what was happening, you were encased in ice all the way up to your knees. Unable to back away, you had no choice but to watch as Shoto walked towards you, his face a picture of inner resolve, his expression that of someone utterly sure that they are doing what is necessary, what is right. That expression did not change, not even when Shoto burned the shirt you were wearing to ashes, the flames devouring it too fast for you to feel anything more than a lick of heat. Staring up at Shoto with wide eyes, you didn’t protest as he cupped your cheek.

           “So,” he said with surprising gentleness, as if he was afraid of scaring you, “you can either put it on now, or I can go ahead and burn the rest of your tops until this is the only one you have left. What is it going to be?”

           Your eyes downcast in defeat, you reached out and took the shirt from Shoto’s hands, putting it on in a hurry. As you had suspected, it was far too tight, clinging to every curve and contour of your body. Not only that, but you could have sworn that the image of Shoto on it was burning, branding your skin with his silhouette. The discomfort you felt seemed to pass unnoticed by Shoto though, who simply stared at you with a mixture of pride, appreciation, and hunger. Leaning forward, he nuzzled your neck happily.

           “See?” he murmured, his lips curled into a smile against your skin. “You look beautiful.”

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[dangan-meme-palace]

Analysis – Kokichi's Plan in Chapter 4

The concept, the execution, and the failure.

Before we start, it's my personal recommendation that you read this analysis before rewatching the chapter 4 trial, and then reading it as you rewatch it. Unfortunately, due to tumblr limiting the number of pictures I can put in a single post, I've decided to refrain from adding screenshots as I just have too many I want to add. However, my points are evidenced by the trial itself if you watch carefully with them in mind, and so I'm encouraging you to do so. Please, please do so.

Concept

By my analysis, Kokichi's plan was to implicate himself as the culprit and for Gonta to get away with the murder in order to mercy kill the rest of the students and save them from despair.

Kokichi mentions this much before and after the trial, most people remembering the moments after and not the moments before; probably because between subtle admittance and loud screaming and crying, you'll remember the screaming and crying more. This analysis is based on the fact that his words pre- and post-trial are true, which is backed by several canon instances and also it just makes sense.

Execution

Now! This plan required a few things to work:

It required Kokichi to make everyone hate and be suspicious of him

It required Gonta to cooperate

It required Kokichi to be able to get around Shuichi's deductive reasoning in some way

It required a majority of the class to vote for Kokichi

If that wording seems specific, it's because it is!

I'll be talking about each major component of this plan and how each factor (almost) worked together to create a perfect storm + when, how, and why this plan failed despite quite frankly being a fantastic display of Kokichi's talent as the Ultimate (Supreme) Leader.

The 1st component is pretty much accomplished before the chapter even begins, he is a self-proclaimed liar that annoys people regularly after all, but in order for the 3rd and 4th components to really work he needed to sink his reputation even lower. He does this in a multitude of ways both before and during the trial: making sinister faces or looking nervous at appropriate times, antagonizing everyone (but most importantly Gonta and Kaito), and just in general being a lying nuisance that no one really wants to listen to.

The 2nd component was accomplished inside the Virtual World... and then immediately undone as soon as Gonta logged out due to a couple of crossed wires. The fact that Gonta forgot remaining undiscovered by everyone (including Kokichi) until two-thirds of the way through the trial is important to how the plan failed and adds perspective in areas, but I'll hold off on explaining why until it's time to talk about it in-depth. Make a mental note and let's move on.

The 3rd component explains why during the investigation every single surviving member of the cast told Shuichi that they trusted him but then when we get really into the trial we start seeing them doubt him immensely, Kaito being among the people that doubted Shuichi the most. Why is that? How did everyone go from relying on Shuichi to thinking for themselves and doubting his reasoning, and what does it have to do with Kokichi? It's simple: Kokichi lead the others into doing so.

We see this a lot during the investigation period, or at least the prep work of it. Kokichi constantly encourages the others to say things like: "We can't leave this all to Shuichi, we have to work hard too!" by telling them that they should all rely on Shuichi and to never doubt his judgment. Kokichi was using his bad reputation to make them come to a conclusion that is the exact opposite of what he said. More on that a little later as well!

Kokichi knows his reputation, he's the one that made it that way after all, and frequently you will see him use it to his advantage. Whether he's trying to cover up an emotional outburst or he's trying to make someone admit something, you will often see him use his reputation as someone untrustworthy to lead conversations in subtle ways.

I use the word "lead" with great emphasis as that is his Talent. He is the very best of the best at leading people; The Ultimate (Supreme) Leader. When he wants someone to think a certain way or do something they end up doing it whether they realize it or not, because he is extremely talented in his field. I cannot stress enough how good this man is at leading conversations and people into going where he wants them to go. Oh shit back to the point–!

During this time we also see Kokichi acting strange, so strange that Shuichi mentions it four times in his internal dialogue. Following him, being helpful, offering advice and hints... it seems nice until you realize his intention wasn't to become good partners with Shuichi, but to instead ruin Shuichi's reputation with the others by having them associate Shuichi with Kokichi, who they already hate thanks to component 1.

During the trial you'll see this subtle manipulation working as soon as Kokichi starts calling Shuichi partner and making Shuichi agree with his points, putting on a false show of partnership. To the others it seemed that Shuichi was picking Kokichi over all of his friends even when Shuichi himself tries to explain otherwise, and this is absolutely no coincidence.

Kaito is especially affected by this because Kaito and Kokichi are sworn enemies, and in Kaito's mind, Shuichi just picked his enemy over him. It really hurt him to be "betrayed" like this, causing Kaito to turn his back on Shuichi despite the numerous promises that he would never do such a thing he made prior to this trial. Kokichi really focuses on breaking their friendship too, interrupting Shuichi multiple times when he tries to tell Kaito that it's not personal and making sinister faces while saying that Shuichi is his partner now, taunting and gloating to Kaito's face about the loss of his sidekick. Breaking them apart was actually key to how Kokichi used Kaito's influence to his advantage in component 4.

Focus on Kaito aside, everyone else also refuses to agree with Kokichi –and Shuichi by association– which means that no matter what Shuichi says or how hard he tries to prove it, as long as Kokichi interrupts him and spins the story to make it look like he was somehow involved in that deduction, no one will agree with Shuichi no matter how much logic he throws at them. He has placed Shuichi's deductions in a permanent state of check. No matter what Shuichi says or does, Kokichi can and will get in the way of it immediately to control the narrative of the trial.

During this time Kokichi also says that Gonta is the culprit and I know that it tripped a lot of people up so I'll elaborate on what he was doing before we get to the next component. You have to remember that Kokichi's style of lying for this trial has predominantly been him saying the exact opposite of what he means in order to make the others do it. If Kokichi says "go left" they will all go right, that is how he uses his reputation. Notice how when he says Gonta is the culprit everyone's immediate reaction is to defend Gonta and persecute Kokichi even more than they were before, effectively framing himself by making it look like he was framing Gonta. When looking at Kokichi's lies it is sometimes essential to analyze the reaction he got than the lie on it's own because what he wants out of people is just as important as what he says to make them do it.

This leads into the 4th component: Kokichi getting the majority vote.

Kaito unquestionably holds the most influence in the trial after Shuichi loses all of his, gaining more by spearheading the hate campaign against Kokichi, and because of this everyone almost lost their lives in a mass execution.

After Shuichi's reputation in the eyes of the others is seen as being led astray and therefore less trustworthy, Kaito is the one that causes and loudly encourages everyone to rally against Kokichi, and by extension, doubt Shuichi's deductions. Kaito doing this more out of a hatred/distrust of Kokichi than anything related to Shuichi, with the rest following suit because they can't trust Kokichi, who they've been lead to hate so much in this trial by both Kaito and, unbeknownst to them, Kokichi. Kokichi essentially created his own witch hunt, with the cast's irrational anger without proof almost leading to a false conviction.

Allow me to further emphasize the fact that everyone but Shuichi was convinced that "Kokichi was a cold-hearted murderer trying to frame poor Gonta for his own crimes." Also allow me to remind you that according to the rules you don't need everyone to vote for the same person in order to win, you just need a majority. Kokichi had that majority and was about to "win" the trial.

...So why didn't he?

Failure

Two. Crossed. Wires.

That's it. All it took was one little piece to be out of place and Kokichi's astonishingly brilliant strategy crumbled in an instant. Allow me to clarify:

Everyone remembers the moment when Kokichi yelled at Gonta, right? The big, bad moment? That one? Good. I'm about to explain to you what Kokichi was thinking while he yelled.

In Kokichi's mind, his plan was almost complete. He had done the impossible! Everything had gone according to keikaku! He had gotten Gonta's cooperation, he made everyone blame him, he made everyone stop listening to the Ultimate Detective, all that was left was for Gonta to condemn him in front of the others and they would all vote for the wrong man. That one little nudge at this very crucial turning point and the plan would finally be complete, his effort made to bear fruit...

Except... Gonta never condemned Kokichi with any sort of evidence, all he said was "I don't know!" and "I didn't do it!" Gonta was about to trip them at the finish line and so Kokichi, as subtly as he could, told Gonta to blame him, the "culprit". Once, twice, a third time... he really tried to explain to Gonta what he was meant to do without alerting the others. It didn't even have to be true, as long as Gonta denounced Kokichi with even the slightest bit of evidence, the others were in enough of a frenzy to believe anything that pinned Kokichi as the culprit. Still, Gonta doesn't catch the hints from his collaborator. How could he? He didn't remember ever becoming partners in the first place. However, Kokichi doesn't know that and gets very frustrated that Gonta is about to throw away their one ticket to stopping the game, so he screams "Just make up an excuse or whatever" in his anger, still trying to get his point across. Gonta can't fuck up now. This is their only shot. Despite this, once more Gonta doesn't know what's going on and misses his cue.

Shuichi finally notices this as well, coming to the conclusion that Gonta's avatar had been the one with the error. Kokichi quickly realizes that his partner isn't available to him anymore, his memories lost in a bundle of wires and code. The moment is over, the frenzy has cooled off by the time Shuichi was done explaining and there was no way for him to lead the conversation again after ruining his own reputation like that. The plan failed.

All because of two little wires.

From here on out we see Kokichi visibly withdraw. There isn't anything left for him to do but complete the trial and think of a new plan. He's less motivated than before, insults everyone less than before, offers his input less than before, and generally seems like he can barely keep up his facade. You can't blame him though, with everything that happened that day and the fact that it was all in vain anyway really must have taken it's toll on Kokichi. From his friend trying to kill him to trying and failing to plan around his own murder to orchestrate and get away with a mass mercy kill... it's an unbelievable understatement to say he was having a bad day.

He speeds the trial up as much as he can with Kaito stubbornly getting in the way, forcing Shuichi to cross everyone off the suspect list except for Gonta, the unwitting blackened. Whether it was out of pity for Gonta's confusion or just him wanting the trial to be over already due to emotional exhaustion, or perhaps even both, doesn't neccesarily matter. Shuichi ends the trial regardless, and it's all over. Kokichi wasn't able to save anyone from despair and two of his friends died for nothing. He has no one to rely on now and no one left would ever consider letting him close to them. Roll credits... until he comes up with a new plan moments after Gonta is executed because if there is one thing about Kokichi you can always bet on, it's his quick wit.

Afterword

Now that we're at the end, I would like to make something very clear because with how much emphasis I put on Kokichi's capabilities as a leader I'm worried that I might be misunderstood.

I do not believe Gonta was manipulated into murdering Miu. Canon proves that Gonta was a willing collaborator due to external factors not relating to Kokichi's talent as a Leader, but instead because of despair and his own desire to protect everyone and that's that.

It's not really related to this anaylsis, however if I see someone using my own analysis to try and prove that Kokichi was anything but friends with Gonta I will go apeshit. Do not fucking do that.

[haosvteen]

Betcha | lee chan

a/n: i drew a little bit of inspiration for this from ‘betcha’ by baekhyun, so that explains the title!! this is one of my favorite things i’ve written in a long time :) i hope you like it!! <3

college!chan x female!reader

~ - fluff

word count: 2.8k

masterlist

A warm burst of air greets you as you swing open the door of the stone building, looking down at your watch to see how much time was left before your class started. Since there were five minutes until your professor would begin rambling on about motifs in classic literature, you decided to walk down the hall a bit to grab a drink from the vending machine. Your shoes squeaked on the glossy tile floor due to the freshly melting snow you obtained on your walk from your apartment, causing a few students leaning against the walls waiting for their classes to look up at you. Ignoring their looks, you approach the vending machine and swipe your card. Prepared to make a selection, you hear loud laughter coming down the hall on your right. 

Turning your head, you’re met with the image of a group of rambunctious boys joking down the hallway towards you. They were laughing and shouting so loudly that everyone in the building probably heard them. In the center of it all was Lee Chan. Gosh, the way all of his friends were doting over him and hanging onto his every word was enough to make you scoff and shift your focus back onto what drink you’d be choosing from the vending machine. 

You heard several girls whispering to each other saying things like “What I’d do for Lee Chan to just look at me” and “One time he held the door for me at the library, I haven’t stopped thinking about it since”. Hearing them talk like that made you physically ill. He’s just a person, a human being...and he isn’t that special anyway. You’ll admit that he’s attractive, you’d be lying if you said anything other than that. He also is quite intelligent, always earning A’s on his essays in the class you share.  But his personality is just...yuck. The way he never pays attention in class, constantly on his phone texting whatever girl he is baiting that week with no reprimand from the professor. The constant offers from all girls on campus to perform every task and errand for him. The general lack of care for anyone, but himself...he’s not really your favorite individual on campus to say the least. 

Not to mention the way he always tries to one-up you in class. You’ll proudly own up to the fact that you’re a good student, amazing even. You pay attention, never miss a class, and raise your hand almost always to answer any question the professor throws your way. But every time, Chan just has to go and say the exact same answer as you, just in a better way. Of course, causing him to receive all the praise from your professor and earning an adoring gaze from the girls in the class. There are no words to describe how much this infuriates you. Especially the cocky smirk he throws your way after the professor says, “Great answer, Chan, I couldn’t have said it better myself!”. 

As the frustration due to your thoughts grew, you were ripped away as someone leaned up against the vending machine, mere inches from where you were standing. Speak of the devil. 

“Hey, Y/N, ready for class today?” Chan asks you, with that same cocky smirk on his face that you’ve, unfortunately, grown so used to seeing. As if the sight of his lips raising is a trigger for you, a fire starts deep within you, annoyance, and frustration growing every second you’re in his presence. Rolling your eyes, you ignore him and raise your hand to press the button on the machine and finally make your selection. Before you had the chance for your finger to collide with the plastic, Chan beat you to it and pressed the glowing white button for mint tea.

Speechless, you simply scoffed and looked at him with wide eyes, not believing he just did that. Who does that?! “Take it easy, babe. Don’t act so offended, you know you were going to get mint tea anyway. You get it almost every day before class,” Chan says casually, leaning his head back against the machine, chewing the gum in his mouth with a smile.

As much as you hate to admit it to yourself, he was right. You were going to get the mint tea, it’s your favorite...and it’s a little weird that he knew that. Just to spite him, you respond, “Actually, I was going to get strawberry milk today, but I guess I’ll have to settle for this instead since you took it upon yourself to decide for me”. The annoyance in your voice was evident, but if Chan noticed, he didn’t let it show on his face. He leans down and grabs the bottle of tea out of the machine, not breaking eye contact with you the whole time. The tension could be cut with a knife and you knew his group of friends standing several feet away and the group of girls gawking at you both could feel it as well.

Standing up, he extends the bottle towards you saying, “Then let me make it up to you then” with yet another cocky smirk, paired his eyes trailing your body up and down. Your face twists into a look that says ‘That was the cringiest thing I’ve ever heard, also I am incredibly grossed out’. 

“Uh, no thanks,” you say, grabbing the mint tea from his hand and walking down the hallway, hearing his friends teasing him by saying, “Oooo” and no doubt giving him joking punches on the shoulder. 

Your mind was a scrambled mess from the interaction you just had. Who does he think he is? Does he think every girl on this campus is begging for his attention?! In all honesty, you wish he would just ignore you so you wouldn’t have to deal with his antics and casual flirtation. It infuriates you to no end and quite honestly keeps you up at night thinking about how he believes he runs this campus. 

Making your way into the classroom, you quickly slide into your unassigned-assigned seat in the front row, trying to pull out your notebook and pen all while attempting to organize your thoughts and irritation about whatever that conversation was you just had. You let out a large sigh as you flip to the next open page in your notebook and the professor begins class, giving you a scolding look for the huff of air you let out to express your exasperation. As you begin to jot down some general notes about what the prof is saying, you notice he who must not be named enters the classroom.

 “Oh, Chan! I’m glad you could make it,” your professor cheerily says as Chan saunters in.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Chan responds, flashing a bright smile. This causes yet another heavy breath to leave you as you shake your head at your professor’s naivety and how simple it is for him to be charmed. You realize Chan is making his way over to pass you in order to find his own seat. Looking down at your notebook to continue taking writing and ignoring the close proximity of your least favorite person, you notice something is slid onto your desk as he walks by.

Strawberry milk.

You couldn’t help the blush that crept up your face. You quickly grab it, tossing it into your backpack, hoping no one saw. Confusion and shock flood your head as you simply stare at the board in front of you. What was his goal with that? Probably another one of his flirtation tactics, no doubt. Did that actually work on other girls?! The bar is so low, apparently. You turn around to hopefully catch Chan’s gaze and give him a confused and weirded out expression, but when you turn around he’s simply leaned back in his chair, listening to the professor, seemingly bored out of his mind. You know he knows you’re looking at him and is just refusing to meet your eyes. Narrowing your eyes at him, you whip your head back around to focus on the lecture. There is no way you were going to let Lee Chan of all people distract you.

As the class was drawing to a close, your professor announced, “I’m trying something new for the final this semester. Instead of taking an exam, as students have done in the past, I’m going to be placing you into groups to complete a presentation”. He was met with groans from students like you who would just prefer to study on their own and get it over with by taking a test, but there were also silent celebrations from students who think that a group project means less work for them. However, only one thought was racing through your mind:

Do not put me with Lee Chan.

“I will go ahead and read off who your partners are, then you will be dismissed. The directions for this assignment will be posted on our class website later tonight and we’ll discuss it more next time we meet. Well, I won’t keep you waiting”, he explains and begins to read off the names. It’s embarrassing to admit but you were literally hiding your hands in your sleeves and crossing your fingers that you wouldn’t be paired with Chan. It might seem dramatic and a drastic measure to take. He can’t be that bad, right? Wrong. You’d heard rumors about his poor work ethic in group projects. That combined with his overall playboy aura is not a good match for you. 

“Lee Chan and Y/N Y/L/N,” your professor says. It’s like your mind is frozen. Of course, this would happen to you. Just your luck. You didn’t even pay attention to the final words your professor had to say before wrapping up class because you were dreading having to do an entire project all by yourself.

As you closed your notebook and began to pack away your things, you felt someone standing near you. With a sigh, you look up knowing exactly who it is.

There he was, standing with his hands in his jean pockets and that cocky smirk making yet another appearance. Rolling your eyes, you sling your backpack over your shoulder and stand up, grabbing your phone.

“What’s your number?” you bluntly ask, not so much as a question and more of a demand.

“Oh, how the tables have turned,” Chan says with a laugh, grabbing your phone to enter his number in. His fingertips grazed your hand as he gently took it from your grasp. You’d never admit that it made your heart skip a beat or two, though.

He finishes typing in his number and as he is handing your phone back, he suggests, “Let’s get lunch or something to talk about the project”. You started walking away from him halfway through his sentence, causing him to trail off at the end. 

“No,” you call out as you walk out of the classroom. “I’ll text you.”

Not going to lie, you kind of felt like a badass. Chan deserved a taste of his own medicine and you’re just the lucky person who gets to give it to him. 

You make your way to a local coffee shop a little way down the road, mentally preparing to deal with customers and make beverages until the late hours of the night. Entering the backroom to set your things down and tie your apron on, making your way out to behind the counter to begin your workday.

The hours dragged on and on, filled with heating up pastries and making cappuccinos until it was 10:30pm and there were only thirty minutes left until close. There were a few people in the shop, working on their laptops, or having a chat with a friend. It was around this time of night, you started to clean up behind the counter and prepare everything for those who open the store the next morning.

You bent down to grab a square bucket from under the counter and a damp rag, heading over to clear off several tables from customers who had recently left. As you’re placing some plates into the bucket, you hear the doorbell jingle, signaling that someone has entered.

“One moment, I’ll be with you in-” you begin, but look up to see Chan. You suck in a sharp breath of air as he walks toward you with that damn smirk on his face. You continue to gather the dishes from the table, hoping that maybe he would just go wait by the register. Wishful thinking on your part as he comes over puts a hand on the table, leaning on it and tilting his head to get a better look at you.

“What do you want, Chan?” you monotonously say, not drifting your attention from clearing the table.

“Well, I tried texting you, but you didn’t respond,” he explains.

“Uh, yeah because I’m working,” you respond matter-of-factly. You finish wiping down the table and lift up the bucket to go over to the next table. Chan takes the bucket from your hands and you look at him with the most confused expression, but he just motions for you to go on to the next table. You shake your head in more confusion, but accept it and go on with him trailing behind you, hauling the heavy bucket of dishes.

“Yeah, that’s why I came here,” he continues the conversation as he sets the bucket down on the next table. You stop cleaning and look at him with yet another confused expression. How does he even know you work here? He must have been able to tell what you were thinking by the look on your face because he says, “I like coming here and I see you here, so”. 

No matter how weirded out or confused you were, you carried on, “Why did you even need to talk to me in the first place?”

“Oh, I already have our presentation outlined and in a PowerPoint. We just have to do some research and put it all together,” he casually says. You don’t know who said that he has a poor work ethic in group projects, but apparently, they were wrong. 

“Thanks,” you respond simply and head back behind the counter, with Chan following you yet again. 

“We’re meeting on Thursday at 4:00 to finish it,” he says as he lifts the glass cake stand and grabs a blueberry muffin, starting to dig in. 

Rolling your eyes, you reply, “Thursday doesn’t work for me. I also hope you’re planning on playing for that”.

“Oh, no, I figured it was on the house,” he sarcastically teases. You give him a stern gaze and he continues, “Of course I’m going to pay for it, I don’t want to get you in trouble or anything”. You don’t know why, but that made you kind of...blush. And you hoped he didn’t see.

“Anyway, why can’t you do Thursday?” he casually says, still picking chunks off of the muffin and eating them.

“I have plans, Chan. News flash: the world doesn’t revolve around you,” you retort as you begin to clean the coffee machines.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s your world, I’m just living in it,” he says as if it didn’t mean anything. What did it mean? It’s not like people just say that casually. At least you’ve never heard people say that about people casually. You barely had any time to think more about it when you heard him say a little quieter, “Do you have a date or something on Thursday?”

Your heart began to race...and what for?? Was he...jealous? Why would he be asking if you had a date? Why would he care? “No, I don’t have a date,” you respond. At that, you see Chan’s head perk up.

“Okay, well how about Wednesday, then? I could do like...5:00?” he says.

“Yeah, that works,” you reply, looking towards him and giving him a small smile. A facial expression you never thought you’d be giving Lee Chan. There was just something about the way his eyes lit up...and that damn smirk…

“Alright, then,” he says while reaching into his pocket and pulling out a bill, placing it on the counter to pay for the muffin he took. Making his way to the front of the shop to exit, he turned around to say, “It’s a date”. 

And there you are, left a blushing mess behind the counter. Waiting for Wednesday at 5:00.

[malpractiice]

FATHER. ╱ HEADCANON

trigger warnings: substance abuse, crime, prostitution (implied)

     growing up, avery was surrounded by friends whose fathers were cold, distant, and unloving: their relationships were tense at best and abusive at worst, and she was well aware that she was incredibly lucky not to be in the same boat. ever since she was a child, her father had been open, supportive, and loving - he’d wake up early to eat cookies and watch spiderman with her every morning before getting ready for work, he’d show up to every recital and tournament, and where her friends’ fathers were too busy with work to spend time with them, her dad just brought her with him to work whenever he could instead (little avery spent a great deal of time attending public trials that had nothing to do with her simply because she wanted to learn about her dad’s job and watch him work). he always had her back, and he always made her feel loved.

     her dad, in a lot of ways, was her best friend. and that, inherently, became the problem.

     harry, her father, had a terrible relationship with his own dad - he’d been strict, cruel, demanding, and always angry. as a result, he wanted more than anything not to put avery through the same things he had experienced - he wanted to be the kind of dad he’d always wished he’d had. but because he was so desperate not to be like his father, he ended up turning into the polar opposite. and in many ways, that was fantastic: he was warm, loving, and kind. in other ways, it wasn’t, because the line between father and friend was blurred, and inevitably crossed and left far behind. she snuck into his liquor cabinet when she was thirteen - his response was to just start buying her whatever alcohol she wanted whenever she wanted, because he wanted her to be happy, and he dismissed the parental responsibility to keep her safe and healthy in favour of maintaining that happiness, no matter the cost. she punched a classmate and broke his nose when she was fourteen - he paid off the kid’s parents to ensure they wouldn’t press charges, because keeping her happy and free of a criminal record was more important to him than holding her responsible for her actions and teaching her to face the consequences. 

     he wanted to be her friend more than her father - he wanted all of the fun parts of fatherhood (the bonding, the laughs, the love, the good times) and none of the tough ones. he didn’t want to jeopardize their relationship by reprimanding her, teaching her, or raising her with her own best interests in mind. and had their lives not fallen apart, the worst that would’ve come of that would probably just have been avery turning into a spoiled brat of a trust fund kid. 

     but when addiction turned to bankruptcy and bankruptcy turned to crime, the nature of their relationship had consequences far beyond some arrogant entitlement typical of so many in their socioeconomic circles. when her mother left and begged avery to do the same, she refused, despite all logic telling her to listen - her dad was her best friend, and she didn’t want to abandon him. she wanted to help him - save him. this, fundamentally, was the issue that started the beginning of the end for them: he had never been her parent, he’d been her friend, and this fifteen year old child was becoming her dad’s parent more than he had ever been hers because that was all she knew.

     avery would cover him in blankets and set out water and breakfast for him when he came home and passed out on the couch - she woke him up so he wouldn’t miss court dates because he’d crashed so hard from the coke that he couldn’t get up on his own. she picked him up when he passed out at the wheel and crashed one of his cars. she gave him clean urine when his work demanded drug tests. she let him pawn off her valuables when he lost everything so that they could keep their house. she worked two shitty, minimum-wage jobs to pay his bills and debts, and when she couldn’t keep up her grades alongside her work hours, the compromise she made to ensure she could still get her scholarship was to quit both and pursue a different kind of work - work a teenager should never have to do (work her father knew about, condoned, thanked her for). when he started selling drugs to finance his own addiction, she kept his books. when he owed the wrong people far more money than either of them could pay back, it was avery that arranged for them to clear the debt in return for his last luxury car while he was tied up in their trunk. she went with him into dangerous situations because in his words, they wouldn’t kill him with his innocent daughter right there. the list goes on - he relied on her like a partner in crime, in a way a parent should never rely upon their child, and she enabled him every single time because she was terrified to lose the dad she’d already long since lost. 

     it wasn’t until he was regularly in and out of jail that she started seeing that it wasn’t sustainable - she wasn’t saving him, and the ways she thought she was helping him were only making it worse. she couldn’t be his parent, and she couldn’t save him if he didn’t want to be saved or wasn’t willing to try to save himself. when she got the scholarship to harvard she’d been working so hard for when she was 18, she finally made one of the hardest decisions she’d ever made - to leave. to let him lay in the grave he’d dug himself or crawl out himself.

     he didn’t blame her; they stayed in contact, although their conversations dwindled more and more over time. she told herself it was because she was too busy with school, she made excuses upon excuses, even though the only one she was lying to was herself. the truth was that she couldn’t bear to talk to him - she could never stop blaming herself for abandoning him in the hell he’d made for himself. she heard his voice, heard his pain, and it broke her heart a little more each time to feel that her dad, her best friend, was suffering and alone because of her. because she couldn’t save him - because she gave up. because maybe if she had stayed, he would’ve been okay.

     when an armed robbery went wrong and he was sentenced to life in prison, she finally cut ties. it wasn’t because she resented him for the lives he’d unintentionally taken - although she’ll never see it, she doesn’t have enough empathy for anyone other than herself to care about the people whose lives he was responsible for ending - it was because his life was over, and she couldn’t handle the guilt anymore. she couldn’t handle the constant reminders that, to her, it was all her fault that he had nothing left. she was a coward, and instead of helping him through what might’ve been the hardest time in his life, she blocked his calls and ran from him instead to spare herself the pain.

     in time, she came to understand that as his teenage daughter, it had never been her job to save him or help him, and he never should’ve put her in a position to have to. she came to understand that it had been his fault for putting his dependent child in danger for his own benefit and wellbeing - he never should’ve shirked his duties as a father, he never should’ve treated his daughter like his business partner, and he never should’ve depended on his child like his child should’ve depended on him. it was his responsibility to raise her and keep her safe, and it was him that failed her, not the other way around. she still feels that guilt sometimes despite her better judgement, and she’s fully aware that only talking to him about it after all this time would be likely to give her any closure. but that brings us to the biggest truth that avery will, in all likelihood, never have the strength to admit to herself: she’s not staying out of contact with him out of guilt anymore.

     she’s running away from him because she’s turned into him, in all of the worst ways she was so determined to avoid, and talking to him again after so many years would force her to face it.

     she’s not ignorant to the fact that working for murkoff is no less criminal than the work her father started his own downfall by doing for the organization he eventually fell out with. she knows she’s fallen into addiction just as severely as he had, with just as little interest in ever pursuing sobriety. she’s fully aware that just as he had with her and everyone else in his life, she’ll use anyone (no matter who they are to her) and throw them aside when they’ve outlived their usefulness. she knows her values have eroded with time, pushed aside in favour of the pursuit of her own success. she’s consciously aware of all of those things - she can live with herself for that. but the moment she’s forced to acknowledge that all of those faults put her right down on his level, she’ll fall apart, and she can’t do it. she won’t be able to live with the knowledge that she became the exact same kind of person who destroyed her belief in good, who took her childhood and threw it away, who made her give up on the idea that she was anything more than alone in the world, with no one to have her back but herself.

     she doesn’t see that her father did everything he did either because he just wanted her to be happy or because he was so desperately broken by addiction that he felt he had no other choice. she doesn’t see that she’s done worse than he ever has simply because it benefited her, interested her, because she wanted to.

     avery healed by believing her father was a monster, and she would break if she was forced to see that she’s far worse.

[tothedarkdarkseas]

The way Vampire AU has taken off has really warmed my heart! So many great thoughts all round. I sent you some elaborations on my own personal headcanons for it as a submission, just for the fun of it. Enjoy!

Hi! I got your submission last night and read over it-- it's very elaborate, you've clearly put a lot of thought into fleshing this AU out and it sounds like a ton of fun. I know you mentioned at the end that you had no intentions of writing it because you're busy with other fandom projects, but I'm sure there are many who'd be interested in reading your ideas if you ever decided to make a sideblog for it. I'll post your submission for others to read below a cut here so that the post won't be too long on the dashboard, and I'll reply to some of the specifics underneath!

Yes! I have so many more thoughts on a vampire AU, I figured it would be easier to put them in a submission. Hope you don't mind.

The concept is just so fascinating to me, because so much of it lines up perfectly with the character dynamics we're given in the canon, and what doesn't has the potential to expand on and explore those dynamics in a really interesting way.

I agree 100 percent about the tone it would have to be written in. An actual brooding, dark prince Murdoc type of thing wouldn't work for me. (Murdoc would try to play up that persona, but in reality, he'd be far from it.) In my mind, the tone would be half What We Do In The Shadows and half Being Human UK. Four misfits living in a mouldering mansion somewhere, getting on each other's tits - but deep down they've got each other's backs. There's a bond, even if they can't quite explain what it is.

In my mind the bloodlust would function as an addiction. Murdoc is no Mother Theresa but he's not comfortable with indiscriminate murder either. (Guilt and self-loathing is not a good combination in Murdoc.) Knowing there is no in between for vampires - you can't have a sip here and there, it's abstinence or nightly slaughter - he stays teetotal from blood and tries to channel his desires into other addictions instead. Any and every addiction, really. Drugs, booze, sex, theft, you name it. Which is how he comes to be doing donuts in a stolen car in a Tesco car park, at the exact same time Stuart Pot is making a midnight run for condoms and Tango.

I picture Murdoc's turning of Stu would be this confusing moment that even he can't fully explain, so he's always switching his story about it. One day he'll say he didn't want to deal with the police, another day it'll be vampire enforcers he was afraid of - "total killjoys, they'll bung you in a blood-filled coffin for a hundred years over the TINIEST infraction". Other days he comes close to admitting he felt guilty, that he flipped out over the idea of killing someone after all, when he's dedicating all his energy to avoiding doing just that. Sometimes he just calls it a moment of madness.

But in every vampire movie, there's that moment. The moment where the newly-turned vamp rises from the grave as this beautiful unearthly creature of the night, and I mean . . . this absolutely would be Murdoc's experience of it. He's almost convinced himself there aren't real vampires like that, that it's all Hollywood bollocks, and then Stu rises up in front of him like some black-eyed, blue-haired god, and the part of Murdoc that isn't utterly gobsmacked by it can't help resenting the little sod for making it look so easy. Murdoc likes to take the piss out of him and claim he's like one of those Lost Boys California pretty boy vampires, but he's jealous really.

I imagine Murdoc would be similarly mercurial about how he was turned. There's always some hyperbolic story about it, designed to paint Murdoc in the best light. Sometimes he was the premier occultist of his day. Sometimes he sold his soul to the devil for immortality. Sometimes he was turned by a beautiful vampire seductress, who was bitter he broke her heart. It's all bollocks. The truth is definitely something less glamorous, and I would imagine actually much sadder as well? I'm not sure what, but I'm picturing something like Murdoc's father being some small-time occultist who sold his son to vampires, or maybe Murdoc was working some menial job and was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he was turned by some vampire who would have drunk him dry, if Murdoc hadn't fought him off. Or maybe it's a bit of mystery, like the mystery of his mother in canon. Someone did this to Murdoc, someone made him what he is, but he has no memory of it. And all the different stories are actually partly a coping mechanism for that, as he tries on different explanations for size. (It would also explain why he would refuse to abandon Stu after turning him. Because navigating this new reality alone is something he wouldn't wish on anyone, even some dumb kid.)

I think the supernatural element would also be a great way to expand on and deepen Murdoc's relationships with Russell and Noodle. In supernatural fiction there are always two types of beings that hate each other. Usually vampires and werewolves, but often vampires and ghosts too. As, obviously, vamps can't drain ghosts, and they spend their lives running from the guilt of all the people they've killed. Ghosts are a constant reminder of that - and of the afterlife they both fear, and resent that they were denied. I can picture Russell maybe helping Murdoc exorcise the ghost of Hannibal or Jacob, and that's how they meet. (And why he has more patience with Murdoc than most. He's seen him at his most vulnerable.) Noodle would be great as a vampire hunter too. Her dynamic with Murdoc would be fraught as on the one hand, she respects Russell and venerates him for his connection to the spirit world, so to a certain extent anything he says she'll try to respect. And Murdoc is supposedly reformed, and she has moments where she even almost quite likes him. But her instinct is not to trust him. Her instinct is to put him down, and they both know it. As much as he battles his bloodlust around her, she battles her urge to put a stake through his heart, Van Helsing style.

Finding out he turned someone would be a MAJOR ruck in their relationship. But I think Murdoc would use 2-D to convince her and Russell to stick around - because he turned him, but it wasn't like he was chowing down on the lad, it was practically an act of charity, really. Practically an act of atonement. And if they both leave now, Stu is only left with Mr Bad Influence Murdoc Niccals, to teach him how to be a vampire, and restrain his urges and whatnot. And Murdoc has never been much good at all that AA, 12 step stuff, so unless they WANT poor sweet Stuart Pot to wind up spending eternity as some kind of crackhead . . . it would be a kindness to him, really, to stick around.

I could not agree more about how Murdoc turning Stu would mirror their Phase Two dynamic, with Stu literally having become "the thing Murdoc turned him into", and resenting that. But also, having moments of perverse gratitude for it? Stu is vain, and vampire Stu would be gorgeous, which I reckon he'd love. And though I think he'd hate that his normal life of footy with the boys and Sunday dinner at his mum's was over, I can also imagine him feeling this whole new world has opened up in front of him, something most people aren't special enough to gain entry to. And he likes that.

I can even see the fame thing and the band happening. Music would be a great, healthier way to channel the urges he can't act on. And I can see Murdoc agreeing. Admitting that he's been playing in bands for years, because it's actually a great cover for a vampire lifestyle. Being nocturnal is practically a prerequisite, when you're a rock star, and you can get away with looking all kinds of weird when you're in a band, because people just chalk it up to the aesthetic. Still, until he met 2-D, none of the bands he'd been in were actually any GOOD. 2-D reawakens his love of music, the same way he is the turning point for Murdoc's career in the canon.

Vampirism would also be a great way to explore Stuart's flaws. His vanity is an obvious one, but I can also see him avoiding his family and not letting them know why he'd disappeared for years. Just too self-absorbed to appreciate the harm it's caused. I can also see the pill problem happening as he imitates Murdoc's habit of abusing substances to try and blunt his bloodlust. I can imagine him saying stupid stuff like "you never even took me to the hospital!" and convincing himself he experiences phantom headaches, because he doesn't want to admit he's becoming just like Murdoc, actually. He tells himself the pills are medicine and he really needs them, and it's not the same at all.

And I can see him getting too carried away with his lusts, and having several near misses or disastrous incidents where he brings girls home and loses control of himself. Where Murdoc jumps in and saves it from getting too out of hand, but at the same time exposes how he's basically been stalking Stu "for your own protection", with a side of decidedly voyeuristic intentions. Stu has . . . strong (and somewhat confused) feelings about this.

I think Murdoc would be the same trouble magnet in the vampire underworld that he was in the criminal one. Feelings about Murdoc range from "this unwashed oik should NEVER have been allowed to become one of us" to "I WILL STAKE MURDOC FAUST NICCALS IF IT'S THE LAST THING I DO". Murdoc would definitely continue his streak of petty crime any time he entered the hallowed halls of the vampire hoi poloi. He'd be pilfering left and right. And I can't imagine he'd ever kowtow to the aristocracy, which, in a subculture as obsessed with class as vampires . . .  yeah, he's insolent, to say the least. And they hate it. They just hate Murdoc, generally. I imagine 2-D might consider crossing over to the dark side to join them, to spite Murdoc, before eventually he realizes that - amazing as it sounds - even Murdoc has higher moral standards than these people. Maybe he's better off with the devil he knows.

I love what you said about Murdoc and Stuart being hung by the same rope, for all eternity. That's exactly the dynamic I think a vampire AU would bring about. I also think Murdoc being Stu's vampire sire would be interesting in the romantic sense, as part of them would always second guess if that was the reason for the bond they feel. Are they developing feelings, or is all of this just the blood bond? I can imagine Stuart hating his own inability to judge why he feels so drawn to Murdoc, and I can see Murdoc trying to convince himself any possessiveness or pride or protectiveness he feels over Stu is just what all vampires feel when they turn someone. (Even though it's not.) It would be a potent brew.

Anyway, this was long but I will never have the time to actually write this (I have five WIPs in other fandoms already) so I thought I'd let it out somehow. Thanks for giving me the space to talk this over!

(If anyone wants to run with this and make something of it, by the way, have at it! Just credit me somewhere for the idea. That'd be good.)

This was quite a ride! I love the idea of Stuart Pot's mortal life ending when he's mowed down in a Tesco car park buying condoms and Tango. It's cruel to say it's what he deserves and frankly the complete antithesis of the whole conflict I'm begging for, but... it's what he deserves. I'm also very intrigued by the angle of treating bloodlust as an addiction: it could theoretically be overcome, but practically speaking, rarely is. This makes it easy to see how Murdoc spins off into such a cartoonishly extreme life of debauchery. I love the bit about Murdoc changing his story of what happened, both the night he hit Stuart and his own origin-- the difference being that Stu does know what happened to him, whether he ever chooses to believe Murdoc's ever-shifting justifications for it or not, but no one can ever really know where Murdoc came from except himself. I definitely agree that the truth has to be less glamorous, less thrilling, less worthy of tales and legends. I like Stuart and Murdoc best when they are not men born into greatness nor men born for greatness, not inherently, and I love the private grappling with the belief that they are special and the fear that they probably aren't. Your explanation of the foil-like dynamic between vampires and spirits/ghosts is interesting, I don't know if that's an established piece of vampire lore or if that's your own invention, but I think it's a really solid one. I don't know if I've truly seen those two creatures explored in a world together with such a direct emphasis on that ghoulish ecosystem, so to speak.

And, well, I'm quite predictable but I'm ready to invest $5k in a full novel exploring Stu's estrangement from his family and friends following the transformation, the psychological toll it takes to choose-- though he may feel he has no other choice at all-- to abandon those relationships, how his own descent may mirror Murdoc's as he shelters himself in chalk-tablet excess and a vibrant, at times frightful carnal life to distract himself from the guilt. I'm dying to see how he could approach mending those fences again after years away. It isn't something one sweeps under the rug, isn't something that he can make amends for. This sort of thing shatters a family, and in my imagining of Rachel and David, it certainly shattered his. This kind of permanently-marred family drama really captivates me and is something I don't think we should shy away from in stories about addiction, and it would be fascinating to explore the human element of that against the metaphorical monstrous one.

I love what you mentioned about the "blood bond" and how it factors into the pull between them they're too unsettled to really name. This adds an extra layer of confusion, as you say, and better justifies why they find themselves orbiting each other, pretending there's a blood-coloured chain tethering them and ignoring the heavy weighted padlock in the middle that pulls them down, down, down. I've spoken a lot on this blog about why Stu is participatory in the relationship when he dislikes Murdoc in such a profound way, and while I absolutely never tire of the messy, bleak human weakness and ego of that, it would be quite special to explore that with something that almost feels like an excuse for Stu, a macabre justification entirely out of his hands; it gives him permission to be part of this broken spiral and absolves him of the responsibility of acknowledging his choice. I'd like to think he still lives with it, as Murdoc does too, but they may appreciate the safety of the smokescreen as much as they struggle to see through it.

Thanks for sending me your ideas, I hope other readers will enjoy seeing your elaborations, and if you're having fun thinking about these two goons I'd encourage you to consider making a blog. Sometimes you get lucky and draw in people who are incredibly kind!

(Lastly, unrelated fun fact about vampirism in my life: my first job was playing a vampire at a haunted amusement park. Our "Scare Zone" was designed as a junkyard taken over by a vampire gang, and I was the "queen" with a throne made of old tires. It was... a fun job and also not a fun job, haha.)