#she is so full of anger and sorrow and trauma and she tries to make amends

[dollypopup]

no other thoughts, just full baghra brainrot. she was terrified as a child, she hid as a child, she cleaved her sister in two as a child, she wanted for a child, she left near all her children, she will never be a child again, not for a thousand endless years and it will never heal. she was never allowed to be a child, her father committed atrocities, her father was a saint, she was one of his atrocities, she is his legacy, she becomes atrocious, it will never heal. she burns down villages for her child. she only has her child. her child cuts her finger off. her child commits atrocities. her child is her legacy. she was wrong. it is too late, it will never heal. she cannot stop her child, she cannot stop any of her children, she abandons her children, her children sequester her away, they are right to. it will never heal. she comes to her childhood home, hidden away, the price to enter is blood, the price is always blood, her sister was resurrected, her sister's legacy will die, she will kill her sister's child, speaks it into existence, it will never heal. she opens the grave and there is nothing inside but a broken toy, it will never heal. she stands in the fire, she burns the legacy, she says she loves her child, she says it isn't enough, it was never enough- she cuts off her child's hand, her child is her, her child's legacy is torn to the ground, a scar left cut into the dirt, just another funeral pyre- it will never heal.

it will never heal it will never heal it will never heal

[kurt-wagner-official]

Post #78: NM issues 38-40

We open with a dream sequence from Max. He’s watching the New Mutants fight Sentinels and then the Hellions until he interrupts the action and tells them it’s time for bed. They casually say their goodnights and walk over to lay down in their graves and go to sleep. He’s been having the nightmare every night since the end of Secret Wars II; it’s the projection of his students’ psychic anguish. The kids are empty shells of their former selves, traumatized by the full memory of their brutal murders at the whims of the Beyonder (except for Berto, who still hasn’t returned). They haven’t told Max what happened, and he’s helpless and frustrated, wishing Xavier were here to help them. But another telepath arrives to offer her assistance- Emma Frost. Frost tells Max that he can’t help them the way she can and says she can take the New Mutants to her school to give them the psychic counseling they need. He tells her to go to hell, and she leaves, warning him not to let his pride be the kids’ downfall. As the days drag on, the New Mutants get worse and worse. They no longer put effort into classes or take joy from anything. Dani gets a visit from Thor, who at this point has been turned into a frog and can sense a Valkyrie. He tries to inspire her to reclaim her old self and her love for life before hopping off to do his stuff in the Thor book. It doesn’t cheer Dani up, but it does make her at least want to get better. There’s been a lot of links between the Thor and mutant books recently, which will culminate in a crossover in Massacre. It’s because Louise Simonson, although no longer Claremont’s editor, is still one of the only people he collaborates with on his plots, and she’s currently dating Walt Simonson, her soon to be husband and the writer on Thor. Max continues to be torn up by his lack of control over the situation, unaware that his doubts are being exaggerated and directed by Empath on the orders of Frost. He decides to take her up on her offer and transfers all his students to the Massachusetts Academy. Dani has enough spirit left to refuse, and Warlock wasn’t affected by the trauma the same way as the others, but the rest of the kids mindlessly follow their new headmistress out of the school.

Sam and Doug are welcomed by Thunderbird and Jetstream, who seem genuinely friendly to their new classmates. But they’re weirded out by the zombie-like behavior of the former Xavier students. Empath tries to dominate the new girls, but they have no emotions to manipulate, and the other Hellions beat him up. Catseye in particular is thrilled to see Rahne again. Frost keeps her word and seems to care about the kids as she alters their memories of their trauma. They’re so grateful that they agree to stay. Back in New York, Max is drinking his sorrows away while Dani decides to go back home to her parents. She feels awful for abandoning her friends but doesn't know anything else to do. She fears that the future she saw months ago of her teammates converted to Hellions is now coming true and tells Max it’s his fault. She bids goodbye to Warlock, now the only student left, and flies off on Brightwing. At the Academy, it seems all is not perfect, and the New Mutants are having violent nightmares that Frost can’t find the cause of. All except for Illyana, who's spending all of her time in Limbo and has given up sleep. At the mansion, Tom and Sharon return. Weeks ago, when Empath was there to manipulate Max, they found and confronted him, but he told them they were in love with each other and wanted nothing else. It’s implied they’ve spent these weeks having sex nonstop until the influence finally wore off and they came to warn Max. This was really too far for Claremont to go, the story could have been accomplished so many other ways. But anyway, this is what happened, and Max puts all the pieces together and is beyond enraged. Frost can feel his anger from Massachusetts, but she has a plan. She calls the cops to say the evil terrorist Magneto is planning to kidnap her students, and they transfer her to the Avengers.

This is one of my favorite Avengers lineups; Captain America, Wasp, Hercules, Black Knight, Namor, and Monica Rambeau when she was going by Captain Marvel. Claremont writes a good Captain America in particular. They get the call about Max and immediately leave to intercept him. At the Academy, Frost is frustrated by the issues still plaguing the former New Mutants, which she can’t get to the bottom of. Warlock has transformed into a plane resembling the Blackbird so he can fly Max to Massachusetts. I really love their relationship. Warlock sees morality in black and white. Max has protected and loved him, so Warlock trusts and admires him completely. Max trusts and admires himself less than anyone else, but Warlock, maybe more so than any other student, makes him feel like he can be that hero. Warlock wants to kill Frost, but Max tells him they’re going to try for a peaceful solution and under no circumstances kill their enemies. Just then, the Avengers catch up. Not knowing the Blackbird is Warlock, Herc hits him full strength, almost killing him. Max flies them down to safety, prioritizing Warlock over all else, but he’s forced to battle the Avengers to draw them away from his student. Even ganged up on six to one and holding back so as not to kill them, Max is holding his own. He calls them out on their hypocrisy for believing in Namor’s redemption but not his own, to which Cap responds that Namor fought by his side in World War II. This understandably pisses Max off. At the Academy, Amara can sense Max ripping metal out of the ground miles away, and Illyana goes to investigate. She ports there, sees the scene, steals Cap’s shield, and returns. At the same time, Max has finally been overpowered, but Warlock regains enough strength to attack the Avengers. He’s about to kill them when Max stops him. He tells the Avengers if they let him heal Warlock he’ll turn himself over. The truce is wrecked when New Mutants return. Although they knew Frost would be mad, they refused to abandon their old teacher, and they port off with him and Warlock, leaving the Avengers wondering if they made a mistake. Max and Frost have a peace summit  and learn what’s wrong with the New Mutants. She healed their minds, but not their hearts. That part was done when their collective father figure tried to risk his life and sacrifice his freedom for them, helping them pull themselves out of their funk to save him. They’re all in agreement that they want to return home with Max, and they depart from Frost as uneasy allies.

There was a lot of really great stuff in this arc. I would have preferred a little more exploration of the New Mutants’ depression; the only one who gets a lot of thought bubbles is Dani, and she’s not as broken as the others. But it was still a good exploration of that pain and grief. Frost gets some really interesting development in this story. Although she manipulated the situation to get the New Mutants as pawns, she also did genuinely help them. She also doesn’t argue when they return to Max. On some level, it’s all part of her long game; she hopes all these good deeds and kindness will lead to the kids returning to her out of their own choice, which would be much more valuable than telepathic slaves. But we're getting more hints that she’s not evil all the way through. I’ll confess that the Frost/Hellions stuff is the part of this series where my knowledge has the biggest gaps, so this was a pleasant surprise; I didn’t Frost being this sympathetic this early in the series. She’s still very much a villain and will remain that way until Claremont leaves, but in this story he leans a lot more into her good side. I like that rather than it being an inner conflict for her, she finds a way to line up her good and evil urges towards the same goal. It’s very complex and interesting. This was also a great Max story; we’ve seen him fight for his students and care about them, but this is the first time he’s been in a position of choosing between them and himself, and he chooses them without an hesitation at all. It’s not really a revelation for him, but it’s a great moment for the audience to see. This is also where his students are put in the same position, and the fact that they’re willing to attack the Avengers for him is really sweet to see and really important for Max himself. This story is also one of the first instances of “the Avengers are cops” in the X-Men franchise. In 21st century stories especially, the Avengers have kinda sucked when it comes to the X-Men, never helping them with mutant issues and showing up full force any time they suspect the X-Men might be doing something wrong. So basically, cops interacting with real-life minorities, although the Avengers are usually just misguided assholes instead of malicious bigots. I guess really the first time that happened was Secret Wars (unless there’s something I haven’t read from the pre-Claremont years, which is possible cause I’ve barely read any of that), but this is the first time it’s happened under a writer who (a) cares about the X-Men and (b) actually knows how to write. I don’t want this to sound like I’m bashing the Avengers, because I really do like them, although not anywhere near to the obsessive extent I love my silly little mutants. But their biggest failing as a group has always been how they treat the X-Men and mutants as a whole. One last thing before I wrap this up: it’s time to talk about Empath. I have very mixed feelings about him. On the one hand, I’m very interested in the concept of how power as strong as his can corrupt an already shitty person into a true monster. But I don’t think this book is a good place to explore that. It works with monster of the week enemies, or it could work as a main focus of a book, but it doesn’t work in this case, with Empath as a recurring supporting character who’s always present but doesn’t have that much panel time to really explore the horrors of him as a person. It especially hurts the idea of what the Hellions are supposed to represent. A big theme in X-Men is evolution, and the New Mutants and Hellions are an important part of that. Unlike the X-Men and their enemy teams, who are usually pretty diametrically opposed, the New Mutants and Hellions have a much less hate-fueled dynamic. There’s even some cross-team friendships. Evolution-wise, it’s the bridge between the blood feuds of the previous generation and the hope for mutant unity in the future (which will be achieved decades after Claremont leaves). If the kids can bridge the divides between mutant factions, there’s hope for the next generation, and there’s even a chance they can bring their mentors together in the name of the children. But Empath throws a really big wrench in those themes and in the whole New Mutants/Hellions dynamic. The Hellions are friendly rivals who really aren’t that different from the New Mutants... except Empath, who’s a serial rapist who tries to assault both teams every chance he gets. There’s not room in the book to delve into all the thematic and narrative baggage that a character like Empath entails, so his being here is just harming the other themes and narratives. Overall, a solid arc some pure gold material that still suffers from an ongoing flaw in the series.

[crymeariveronceagain]

Headcanons for Tam’s return to solreef (plus glimmer’s arrival) after the Neverseen? How it went is only mentioned offhand in the books (i don’t mean that in a bad way, I get that it’s not really relevant to Sophie’s journey like at all) but I think it’s really interesting and I wonder if you have any ideas/headcanons for it?

Oh, yeah, let me just *pulls out three-ring binder crammed full of headcanons relating to this* whip something up for you

Linh is fricking pissed. So angry. She has never been more scary. She's just... she's got so much anger pent up inside her. Tam was the one person she thought she could count on, the only one she's ever truly trusted, and he's betrayed them. He's betrayed everything, he's betrayed their family, he's betrayed her. It would be easier to cope with if he'd tell her what happened, but instead, he's silent, quiet, held off. He hasn't told her he's sorry, hasn't even tried to explain his reasoning. Linh went to Choralmere. She trusted her brother, she went back to the place he'd told her she'd never have to go back to. She loved, she trusted, and all that she'd gotten back was anger, silence, and now she's entrenched in thick, gaping holes of anger.

And underneath all that anger is relief. Relief because she has him back. He's safe, he's whole, he's okay. He's there. He's back. She can't keep everything inside, she's shoving it all down, but when she's alone at night, crushing, terrifying relief is what clings to her. He's there. Her eyes water constantly, she can't handle everything.

Under that, because she is made of layers, all there is is terror. Because he's back, but he's not the same. He's not her brother. He's not her closest person anymore. Whoever that was is dead, gone, forgotten. Never coming back. He's seen things she'll never see. Everything fell apart, and her dearest, and most wonderful brother was lost in that, as well. Her fingers swipe away the sorrow, the grief for someone she once knew. All that's left is someone filled with pain. His eyes trace movement like a soldier watches a loaded gun. She's so terrified that he's hurting, hiding, dealing with it alone. She doesn't want him to be alone, but he put up a wall, when he told her to leave, to get out, to go back to the place that had hurt them both so much. Something broke inside of him, she knows it did, and she can't figure out what it was. Not unless he talks about it.

Tam has never been more scared of his little sister. But he won't tell her what happened. He convinces himself it's for her own good, it's for her, it's because she's so small and innocent and good and he needs to protect her from the bad. Tiergan's asked him what happened, while he was in the Neverseen. He walked away without answering. Tiergan doesn't need to be protected, his brain supplied later. Tiergan would protect you. Tam silently understands that he just doesn't want to talk about it.

Tiergan is worried. Like, so, so, so worried. His kid, his son, got kidnapped, and now he's back, and he's an almost shell of what he was. He brought back a small, dark-haired girl that makes Tiergan even more nervous. The new girl doesn't seem to have a real name, doesn't seem to want to talk about anything. Tiergan doesn't blame her. He wouldn't, either.

Glimmer is... something. She's a husk, an almost piece of furniture-like person. She only talks to Tam, only looks him in the eyes. He tries to get her to go places, seek some type of independence, take a breath of fresh air without him, see the freedom she's gained-- and instead. She stays back. There's pain written in her gaze, trauma written on the backs of her burned hands. Tiergan thinks it's intense dissasociation. That and the guilt both seem to keep her far away from the rest of them.

It's been two weeks, and the silence in Solreef is making Tiergan sick. He wants his children back. No matter what state they're in, he wants them back. And right now, Tam isn't back. He's stuck in that self-sacrificing, painful mindset. So he knocks on Wylie's bedroom door. Wylie pokes his head out.

"Kid," Tiergan says, "I need you to go talk to Tam."

"Why?" Wylie says, confused. "He doesn't want to talk to anyone. He won't even talk to Linh. You know that means that no one's getting through that emo cloak of his."

Wylie had been avoiding the two returnees, but Linh had spent several nights crying on his shoulder. He wasn't exactly the most sympathetic to Tam, right now, but when a tiny hydrokinetic cries herself to sleep on your shoulder, he doesn't think Tam deserves that much kindness.

"You're his brother."

"Adopted," Wylie answers, scowling.

"Doesn't matter, right now. There's something going on in his head, and I need you to find out what it is."

Wylie groans.

"Don't do this for me," Tiergan says, quietly, knowing that Wylie is a very selfless person, but that doing things just because Tiergan told him to is not a good enough reason. "Do this for Linh. You know that not knowing what's going on with her brother is hurting her. Help her, if nothing else."

What was Wylie going to say? No? He grumbled for a moment, but marched out of his room, looking for the idiot emo's room. He found it. It was just across the hall from Linh. Glimmer's room was right next to Tam's. Wylie stared at the door for a moment, trying to figure out what he was going to say. Wylie never knew what he was going to say before he did something. He kind of... just went for it, let it happen, and dealt with the aftermath. He knocked on the door.

Tam opened it, quietly, not saying a word. A pained look crossed Tam's face when he saw Wylie. Wylie looked at him. Tam looked back.

"How you doing?"

"Fine," Tam's dark hair had grown out so much that it had to be tucked behind his ears. The poor kid desperately needed a haircut. Tam started to shut the door.

"Whoa, Tam," Wylie caught the door in his hand. "You're not fine. This isn't what fine looks like. I've seen you fine. And this ain't it, chief."

Tam opened his mouth, then shut it. "I can't talk about it."

"Can't or don't want to?"

Tam shook his head. "Both. It doesn't matter."

Wylie looked at the kid, because that's what this was, a kid. A very small, very hurt, very mature kid. Tam was so adult-like, sometimes, that Wylie forgot that Tam was only sixteen. A literal baby. "Can I come in? I won't make you talk about it."

Tam shrugged, and opened the door a little wider. Wylie walked into the room. The curtains were drawn. Without thinking, he walked over, and opened them. Light flooded over the room, and Tam winced. No, Tam flinched. Wylie catalogued that, silently.

Then, without saying a word, Wylie started picking things up from the floor. Then, he stumbled across a black strip of fabric. Tam flinched, again, and said, hastily, "I'll clean that up, don't worry about it--"

The teenager scrambled to gather every strip of black fabric from where they were scattered across the room. Wylie watched him pick each one up as though it were made of literal flames, that burned him to touch. He caught sight of the outline of a white eye, on one strip, and he knew what the mess of black cloth had once been. "Your Neverseen cloak?" He asked.

Tam froze. "I... yeah."

Wylie watched him, as he looked at the torn strips of fabric as though they held some dangerous, criminal secret. Tam gritted his teeth. "Couldn't bear to look at it."

Wylie walked over to the bed, where Tam had flung the pile. He picked the piece with the eye on it up, looking at it. "That bad, huh?"

No answer. Wylie didn't move, as he looked at the intricate stitching around the patch. Then, a hiccupping sob reached his ears. He turned and stared at Tam. His eyes were squeezed shut, and a hand was pressed over his mouth, holding his pain inside of him. "Oh, Kid," Wylie said, noticing, quietly, how much he sounded like his dad when he said that. He held open his arms. "Come here."

Tam crashed into Wylie, half knocking the wind out of him. The boy was sobbing into his tunic, his arms wound tightly around Wylie's torso. "I'm sorry," he sobbed, and Wylie could barely catch the words. "I didn't have a choice, I couldn't do anything, it's all my fault, I'm sorry--"

Wylie just held him. Sometimes that's all you can do, when someone is falling apart on you. Let them.

The tears finally slowed, and the hiccups faded. Tam was still hanging onto Wylie like no one had touched him in months. Wylie kissed his little brother's head. Tam pulled back. "I'm sorry. I'm fine. It won't happen again."

"No," he said. "This is not happening. This is not okay, this is not fine. You're hurting, Tam. And you need to get it out. So, remember how I said I wasn't going to ask you, or make you tell me what happened? I take it back. This is not okay. You're hurting. And It's my job as your brother to protect you, to help you how I can--" Tam's eyes teared up again at the word brother, and Wylie tried not to think about how he hadn't ever called Tam his brother to his face before. "You're going to tell me exactly what happened to you. Not for me. Not to satisfy some sick curiosity of mine. Not because your sister is terrified that you're gone forever. Not because Dad is losing his mind over the pain you and Glimmer radiate. You're going to tell me what's wrong because it's pulling you apart inside. And you don't deserve that."

Tam didn't say anything for a long time. But Wylie didn't move, from where he sat on Tam's bed, and Tam didn't move from where he stood, near the door. The younger boy's eyes were on the floor. Wylie waited.

Tam didn't say anything. He opened his mouth, and Wylie's hopes grew. Then he shut it again, and all hope was lost. But Wylie didn't move. Neither did Tam.

"You don't have to wait," Tam whispered. "You can go. I don't know how to say it right."

"I'll wait for you to be ready to talk. But we're dealing with this before we do anything else."

And the two of them kept on waiting. Waiting for thoughts to order themselves, to file themselves into a line so that they couldn't ever be convoluted. Tam sat down on the floor, and wrapped his arms around his legs.

And then, about twenty minutes later, which Wylie had thought was a very long time. Tam finally spoke.

And he spoke.

And kept speaking.

He told stories of panic, of terror, of his own mind not belonging to him. He told stories of his body not belonging to him, his powers used to hurt people he loved, people he trusted. "I didn't have a choice," he whispered. "Keefe's life is ruined because of me. I know he didn't like me, but no one else will either. I've lost all my friends, I've ruined everything, and I couldn't even make a choice. I still did it."

Wylie was quiet.

And Tam kept going. The flood of words that had been building up for what had felt like hours but had probably only been half of one were all pouring out, and Wylie could do nothing but sit and listen. There was nothing to say. Tam dragged his hands through his hair, pulling it away from his head, as he described the look in Gisela's eyes when she'd called him the final piece, the way being treated and talked to like he was a thing instead of person had worn away at him until he'd thought he was a thing, he'd given up. It was like the thoughts had been trapped inside of his head, and finally, finally, finally they were all able to pour out.

"All I had was this girl," he whispered, when his voice had finally gone quiet. "And she was just like me. She was a flasher, and they only wanted her because she was useful. She had to talk to me, she was so alone. They never really wanted kids in the Neverseen, we were just useful. And so she and I got to talking. I said, "If I ever get out of here, you're coming with me." She said that that was too good to be true. I seriously, had to convince her to come with me. And she's... she reminds me so much of Linh, you know? It was the one thing i think that kept me sane. She was just... She was like Linh."

And there was the answer behind the two of them, Wylie thought.

Tam shook his head, as though he were kicking out horrible thoughts. "It's... it's just. It's so much, and it's all so bad, and hard and like, I thought I had issues before. Now," a sad, bitter, angry smile hit his lips, and his teeth glinted. "Now I have even more."

"Tam," Wylie said, finally. "It's not your fault. At all. Everything that happened to you... happened. You didn't make it happen. You didn't choose it. You didn't pick it."

Tam didn't move.

"I know I can't say much to convince you of that, right now."

Tam rolled his eyes, and it was the first glint of the Tam that had used to be, the Tam that Linh was so certain she'd lost, the Tam that Wylie had almost thought the Neverseen had killed. He stood up, getting off the floor. "I need to burn that cloak," he said, slowly. "Wanna come with me?"

Wylie nodded, getting up off Tam's bed. "You know who would die to help us?"

"Who?"

"Your sister."

Tam's face blanched. The kid was pale, but now he was paler. "I--"

Then, recognition fluttered across his features. Without saying another word, he walked out the door, and knocked on Linh's. She opened it, and her gray eyes snapped wide. "Tam?" she whispered.

"Wanna help me burn what's left of my Neverseen cloak?" He asked, offering her a piece of black fabric.

She didn't seem to think, and reached out a hand, and set it on her brother's shoulder. "Yeah," she whispered, when he didn't pull away.

Then, before he could move, she hugged him, long and hard, in the way only a little sibling can when they've missed you so much it makes their lungs ache and your soul tired.

The smoke from the cloak floated up towards the sky, and Linh had her arms wrapped around her brother, hugging him, like she was scared he'd disappear. But he didn't.

Hope you enjoyed!

Even if was... complete and utter

uh

[solinarimoon]

Fields of Wildflowers

Chapter 14

A Sihtric x OC story

AN: We’re coming to the close of this story. There will be one more chapter after this. I may do a few more one-shots with Cwen and Sihtric and depending on how season 5 plays out I may continue their story further. Thanks for reading everyone! Moodboard made by the wonderful @serasvictoria

Previous chapters here

My masterlist

Warnings: Canon style battle imagery, trauma response from previous abuses, I believe that is all

Word Count: 4,217

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

Cwen ran through the streets of Winchester until she reached the back entrance to the kitchens. Stopping in the doorway, she quickly scanned the room for any sign of Eadith. Cwen did not spy the fiery headed woman in the main kitchen and she was nowhere to be found in the halls most closely surrounding the kitchens either. Cwen had no idea how much time had passed since she left to bring Storria her food. It felt like a lifetime ago.

Quickly, Cwen made her way back to the kitchens, seeking out Frig.

Spying her near the stove, forming loaves for the next day's bread, she swiftly walked over to the large woman.

“Frig, do you know where Eadith is?”

“Who’s Eadith, girl? You think I know your names?” Frig was tall and wide. Cwen would have wagered she would make an intimidating opponent in a battle. She certainly commanded attention and obedience in the kitchens.

But Cwen did not let the woman’s gruff demeanour stall her search.

“She’s my friend. The redhead.”

“Oh, her. I sent her with rations for the prisoners. Come to think on it, she should probably be back by now. She left close after you did. Now wait here, girl…” but Cwen wasn’t listening as Frig called after her. She raced out of the kitchen and along the corridor towards the chapel, eyes scanning everywhere for any sign of Eadith.

When she reached the chapel, she rapped her palm on the heavy wooden door and whispered loudly through the window for Lady Aelswith before trying to slow the hammering in her chest and catch her breath.

She gasped, realizing that she still had Eardwulf’s blood staining her hands. Glancing down at herself, there were traces of his blood all over her clothes. The sight brought back the panic and Cwen felt her breathing becoming erratic once again.

“Cwen,” a voice broke through her thoughts, “Cwen, what is it?”

She shook her head and realized Lady Aelswith had made it over to the door and was trying to get her attention.

“Cwen, dear, you’re trembling. What has happened?”

Cwen stared through the bars of the window in the door for a moment before speaking, her mouth dry.

“I...I’ve killed Eardwulf,” Aelswith’s eyes snapped up to meet Cwen’s face, shocked at her admission. Cwen continued, her words coming out in rushed breaths, “He was trying to force the King’s hand to act. And… and Sigtryggr was there.. He knows I am here as a spy, but… he let me go to find Eadith.”

“The boys, Aethelstan, Sigtrygr took them. Did you see them, Cwen?” Aelswith’s voice was strained, trying to remain composed but clearly she was worried about the boys.

“I did. They were with him. He’s...,” Cwen struggled to find a way to describe her encounter with the man who was responsible for taking Winchester from the hands of Saxons. “He does not want to harm them. He told me so. I tried to keep them with me, but…,” Cwen paused and looked into Aelswith’s eyes, urging her to believe her, “I believe he truly does not want to harm them. Or any of us, if he can avoid it.”

Aelswith didn’t reply, but neither did her face hold to typical rebuke and scorn that Cwen would have expected.

Shaking her head, Cwen asked, “Eadith? Did you see Eadith? She should have brought you food, but she has not returned to the kitchen.”

“She hasn’t been here,” Lady Aelswith sighed.

Cwen felt a tingling sense of dread creep back up her fingertips and into her chest. She took a shaky breath and grasped Lady Aelswith’s hand around the bars in the window.

“I need to keep looking for her.”

“I know. Be safe, Cwen.”

Cwen turned and marched back the way she had come, sneaking past the kitchen and into the courtyard.

Thinking Eadith may have heard about the events on the ramparts, she headed back towards the Eastern gate to be met with a startling sight.

Lord Uhtred was being ushered in through the gate behind a self-satisfied looking Sigtryggr.

Cwen started forward towards her friend, but slowed to look at Sigtryggr. Silently, he gave her the slightest of nods before she sped forward to embrace Uhtred.

Speaking into Cwen’s hair, she heard Uhtred’s muffled voice, “You are alright? Let me see you.” He stepped back to take in her appearance, her blood stained clothes and hands. Uhtred took her chin in his hand and turned her so he could better look at her face, scowling at the scratches along her brow from where Eardwulf had pressed her bodily into the stone of the parapet.

Ignoring Uhtred’s hardened stare, Cwen spoke to both Sigtryggr and Uhtred in turn, “The boys? Athelstan. Are they alright?”

Before Uhtred could speak, Sigtryggr’s voice answered her concerns, firm yet gentle.

“Both children are back in their father’s embrace. Your Lord, the Dane Slayer has traded himself willingly for their release,” he folded his hands behind his back, stepped closer to speak in a lowerer tone, and added, “It would seem the gods saw fit to indulge my wish to see them unharmed.” The man stepped back now, meeting Cwen’s eye.

Uhtred watched the exchange silently, before addressing Sigtryggr.

“The boys are unharmed, but what about Cwen? Look at her face, her hands and clothes. Is this how women are to be treated in your Winchester?”

“Cwen has the heart of a survivor. Not a battle warrior perhaps, but she is strong. Aside from the scratches, the blood belongs to her enemy. A man lower than a snake,” Sigtryggr spoke with that same calm, yet commanding voice.

“That enemy was your ally,” Uhtred’s voice grew louder, etched with concern and irritation over how Cwen had been treated.

Now it was Cwen’s turn to speak, cutting off Sigtryggr's reply and trying to still the rising tension.

“I was offered care and a chance to clean up, but I refused. I needed to find Eadith.”

“And where is she?” Uhtred questioned, only then turning his studying gaze from Sigtryggr to Cwen once more.

“I do not know,” her voice was desperate and wavering, “ I was coming here to look for her. She should have brought food to Lady Aelswith, but she never made it there.”

Cwen held her fingers up to her lips, turning to scan the streets, looking for any sign of Eadith. Her breaths began to quicken once more and she turned round, wide eyed to look at Uhtred.

“I am sure she is alright, Cwen.”

“You can not know that,” Cwen cut him off.

“Excuse me, both of you,” Sigtryggr interjected, “but Uhtred must come with me. We did not allow you into the city to go on a goose hunt. You are here to meet and discuss with me.”

“Sigtryggr is right,” Uhtred agreed, cutting Cwen off before she could protest further. But turning to face Sigtryggr, his voice leaving no room for argument, “but Cwen will come with us. I will not risk another I care for being vulnerable in this city.”

“As you wish,” Sigtryggr acquiesced with a nod, then turned on his heel to walk back towards the palace, clearly expecting Uhtred and Cwen to follow him.

Alarm and panic lacing her voice, Cwen protested giving up the search for Eadith.

Uhtred took hold of her arm and began to escort her alongside him, “Winchester is large and I will not have you look in the streets alone. His lord or not, Sihtric would have my head.”

Cwen paused, gently pulling her arm back to stop Uhtred from moving further.

“My Lord, how is he?” Her words were small, anxious.

Uhtred bowed his head before looking up and taking in Cwen’s concerned expression.

“Sihtric is in agony, Cwen. The man has done nothing but fret since you left his sight, walking into the city,” Uhtred paused. His grip on her arm loosened and moved to squeeze her shoulder in comfort, “Seeing you up there has nearly broken him. He will fight every man here, Saxon or Dane, to see you back in his arms.”

Tears welled in Cwen’s eyes as she listened to Uhtred’s words. She reached her hand up to hold Uhtred’s arm on hers. Sniffling, she wiped a stray tear away.

“Come along, Dane Slayer.” Sigtryggr’s voice brought an irritated sigh from Uhtred as he and Cwen resumed their path.

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

Cwen lifted her head groggily and sat up from the bench she had been resting on.

After arriving in the throne room, Uhtred and Sigtryggr had commenced to fight, throw insults, and banter back and forth before coming to common ground. The rest of the night consisted of developing plans to help formulate negotiations and division of lands.

It would seem Sigtryggr really did wish to be a better man than his forebears. He wanted only land and a chance for his people to thrive. A chance to prosper.

At some point, a woman had brought them food and Cwen had asked for some water to wash the blood from her hands and clean up her face.

Feeling slightly less soiled, she had laid down upon a bench pushed against the side of the hall. Almost immediately, she had felt the exhaustion of the day's events wash over her. Her body and mind were fatigued, both in equal measure.

Fretful, Cwen succumbed to sleep. But her mind was not fit for restful slumber. Flashes of images raged across her dreams.

Eardwulf’s face as blood pooled out of his mouth, his eyes full of shock and anger.

Feet, her own - she could not tell - running along city streets, turning this way and that.

Her hands clinging to a dazed Aethelstan. Still flecked with dried blood, they moved to cover the child’s eyes.

And Sihtric. His eyes. Watching her, his face stoic and careworn. Those eyes that covered her like a gentle blanket, usually full of care and comfort. Now shifting as his face broke into screams, cries filled with torment and sorrow.

Slowly, Cwen felt herself relax back into wakefulness. Her heart, along with her limbs, felt heavy. Leaden. As if she had not slept at all. The images from her mind continued to play over.

Only the knocking on the great oak doors just moments before had awoken her.

Still dazed from sleep, Cwen stood to walk over to Uhtred’s side, her hands running over her face, trying to erase her dreams..

Lord Uhtred stood bent over, his fists resting against the long table scattered with maps and documents.

“I am glad you were able to rest.”

“My body betrayed me. It was not a conscious decision,” Cwen voiced, “Nor would I consider it restful.”

Uhtred turned to look at the woman, placing a comforting hand on her back.

Cwen offered him a small smile before looking down to the maps. She reached out a hand, absentmindedly tracing the length of some river.

At that moment, Sigtryggr returned with news from his guards. Edward had attacked the city and would soon breach the walls.

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

Urgently, Sigtryggr, Uhtred, and Cwen moved along the hallways of the palace and out into the courtyard, followed closely by several of Sigtryggr’s oathmen.

The city gates had already been breached and Saxon warriors were flowing into the courtyard to be met with the shield and swords of the Danes scrambling from all corners of the city to join the fray. The clamor of battle, swords and axes crashing against shields, men screaming and yelling with battle lust was deafening.

Cwen was met with Uhtred’s arm pushing her to stand behind him while he pleaded with Sigtryggr.

Frantically, Cwen scanned the crowd searching for Sihtric. Or anyone of her companions. But the scene was utter chaos. All she could make out was blurs of bodies whirling and clashing in a bloody dance.

Cwen’s attention was snapped back to the men in front of her as she heard Sigtryggr order one of his men to kill Uhtred if he should harm any Danes.

Next thing she was aware of, Cwen was thrust aside by large hands as Uhtred and Sigtryggr’s man began stalking their way through the fight towards King Edward.

Cwen righted herself and continued to search the crowd, looking for him. She watched the chaos as Sigtryggr prowled like a wolf on the steps beside her.

Her heart hammered in her chest and she felt the clash and reverberation of the fight in front of her ringing in her ears. The adrenaline and fear pulsed out along her limbs as she felt the grip of panic racing through her blood.

She winced when Sigtryggr called for the shield wall to be formed.

His cry lost amongst the din of the violence, Cwen covered her ears instinctively and watched while a horn blower signaled the shield wall and Sigtryggr called once more, his voice now louder and impassioned.

She saw as Edward raised his sword arm and called for Saxon’s to form the wall as well.

It felt like time slowed as Cwen watched the melee stop and the shields form the barrier along both sides of the fight.

A man stepped out from the Saxon line reaching towards something on the ground. It was Finan. Cwen watched as he stooped to pick up a figure. She recognized Eadith’s red hair and gasped as she watched men part for Finan to retreat carrying her limp body.

Then there he was, closing the hole after Finan, beside Osferth.

Cwen grasped onto Sigtryggr’s arm, from behind where he had stepped in front of her protectively.

He turned and observed her gaze, locked onto Sihtric.

“It is your man?” Sigtryggr questioned.

Not daring to take her eyes from him, Cwen gave the slightest nod.

“Come with me,” he instructed as he began moving down the stairs, Cwen continuing to hold onto his arm as they moved through the warriors.

“You will let us pass,” Sigtryggr commanded his men who shuffled out of their way to form a slender path.

Breaking through into the clearing between the shields, he saw her. His face was a mask of fierce battle rage, but his eyes softened when they met Cwen’s.

He took a step forward, pulled to reach her, before Osferth’s sword arm blocked his way.

Cwen still stood slightly behind Sigtryggr grasping his arm.

The man looked back to her, “Go,” he said. Cwen dragged her eyes away from Sihtric to glance at Sigtryggr. He nodded his head in the direction of the Saxons, towards Sihtric, “Go on.”

And the next instant, Cwen was rushing into Sihtric’s arms, crashing into him.

Still prepared for a fight, Sihtric stepped to the side, bringing her around himself, saying, “Behind me, Cwen. Stay behind me.”

He kept her arm in his grasp as she stood behind his right side, hands grasping at him, clinging to his armor.

Cwen felt him pull her hand up to his mouth, pressing a firm kiss against her knuckles and squeezing. His hand still gripped his axe as well and the feel of the wood crushed against her fingers was bruising. But it did not matter. Being back where she could find his grounding touch, Cwen felt her world right itself finally.

She pressed herself firmly against his back. Peering around his shoulder, she could see Edward and Aethelflaed had approached the center of the courtyard along with Uhtred. Sigtryggr and Edward stood staring at one another. The tension was thick as the leaders sized each other up.

Eventually, Edward and Aethelflaed agreed to enter the palace with Sigtryggr and begin negotiations.

Once the respective parties had shifted inside, the opposing armies slowly melted away to opposite portions of the city.

Cwen felt the tension slowly release in Sihtric’s shoulders as he lowered his shield and slid his axe into his belt.

She heard Osferth from somewhere nearby, questioning Sihtric. Cwen kept her eyes closed, hands fisted into his mail and leather, gripping anywhere she could find purchase.

“Where would Finan have taken Eadith?”

“Hild,” Sihtric replied, his voice low and husky, “likely, he took her to Hild.”

Without another word, the three moved along the streets passing other soldiers and frightened townsfolk milling about.

Sihtric’s arm never lost contact with Cwen, but his eye kept scanning and searching. Cwen imagined he was still on the watch for a fight, a threat. Or looking for Finan and Eadith. But she desperately yearned for his eyes to find her again.

After many twists and turns along wide streets, Cwen having no idea where they were leading, they stopped outside of a church.

Osferth only paused, noticing that Sihtric had stilled with Cwen.

Glancing between his two friends, Osferth’s lips twitched upwards into a small grin before he turned and continued up the steps and through the large oaken door.

Sihtric turned, taking Cwen’s arm in his hand and led her to the alley beside the church.

Once he turned the corner, he swept Cwen into his arms in a crushing embrace and lifted her off of the ground.

Cwen felt the seams of her composure that had been slowly unraveling rip apart. She threw her arms desperately around his shoulders as she buried her face against his neck. Strangled sobs overcame her and she started voicing incoherent apologies and fears.

Gently, Sihtric lowered her feet to the ground and ran his fingers soothingly through her tangled, chestnut hair, giving her the time to be broken.

Cwen pulled her face back from his body, her hands moving to rest along his jaw and bringing his forehead to rest against hers.

“It is alright, Cwen. I have you, now. I have you,” he chanted over and over.

In time, Cwen’s breathing slowed and her sobs ceased to wrack her entire body, to be replaced with still slightly shaky gasps.

She felt as Sihtric’s lips placed soft kisses on her forehead, down to her eyes, wiping away her tears.

Finally, his kiss found her lips. And she felt the world pause as they both melted into one another, his fingers tracing soothing lines where he cupped her neck.

When they pulled apart, Cwen met his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered.

His lips pulled into a wide grin, but she continued before he could respond, “I do. I love you, Sihtric. And I am sorry for leaving with harsh words or feelings,” but it was Sihtric’s turn to hush her with a kiss.

When he pulled back, he made sure to look into her eyes before speaking.

“Do not apologize. What you have done takes courage. There are more ways to be strong and brave than by wielding a sword or an axe. I should not have spoken as I did. I was scared for you and let it cloud my mind and my words.”

“But you were right to be frightened,” Cwen interrupted him, “Eardwulf…” Her voice quivered when speaking his name, betraying her.

“Is dead, Cwen.” Sihtric took her face in both hands. “He can no longer harm you. You have freed yourself of him, my love.”

His eyes burned into Cwen’s own with such an intensity, she dropped her face to rest on his chest, overwhelmed.

“I was so afraid, Sihtric.”

She felt as Sihtric rested his chin on top of her head before he replied.

“Cwen, I have been in more battles than I can remember, escaped death.” he placed a kiss on the top of her head before he continued, “but I have never felt fear like that before.”

He pulled her back and took her chin in his hand, tilting her face so he could brush his thumb over the scratches and bruises forming along her cheek and brow.

“I was terrified that I would lose you. But you saved yourself. And we are together now.”

Cwen smiled at him, “I used your knife and what you taught me.”

Sihtric kissed her fiercely before he remarked, “When this is over, we will find time alone where I can love you. Where I can show my woman how she is cherished.”

Cwen felt heat rise in her cheeks. “You cherish me?” She questioned, leaning her face back towards him.

“I do, my lady,” he answered with a smirk before kissing her once more and chuckling as he felt Cwen hum against him deep in her throat.

“Do you think Osferth found them?” Cwen pondered when they finally broke apart.

Sihtric laughed, “He must have or he would have come and awkwardly interrupted us.”

Sihtric took her hand, leading her back towards the entrance of the church.

“Who is Hild?” she questioned.

Sihtric answered her as they walked, “A friend. An abbess. The first time I met her, she was sawing the head off a Dane.”

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

Cwen’s mouth was still hung open in shock when they entered the church to be approached by Osferth and an older woman with dirty blonde hair, dressed in the plain robes of the clergy.

“Cwen, this is Hild, a friend.” Osferth introduced the woman who took in Cwen’s expression and appearance.

“Was Sihtric just telling you of the first time we met? Trust me, it was not as bad as you imagine. The Dane was already dead.” Hild’s smile was genuine and caring. Osferth and Sihtric both laughed good naturedly at her jest.

Still smiling, Hild brought Sihtric in for a hug, “It is good to see you, Sihtric.”

“And you, Hild. Is Finan here?”

Hild answered him, while stepping back to stand by Osferth once more, “He is. And the lady, Eadith. I have patched her up as best I could.”

Cwen interrupted, concern lacing her voice, “will she be alright? Was she badly injured?”

“Not too badly. Some bruised and maybe broken ribs, but that is all. She needs rest, but will be fine,” Hild took hold of Cwen’s hand as she spoke, giving it a comforting squeeze, “would you like to see her?”

“I…” but Cwen hesitated.

Guessing the reason for her hesitation, Osferth interrupted, “She knows about Eardwulf, Cwen. She was more concerned with your well-being than with grief over her brother.” Cwen frowned and looked down at the floor for a moment before looking back to Hild, who gave her hand another comforting squeeze and nodded her head.

“Come on then. Follow me,” she said while releasing Cwen’s hand and turning to walk back the way they had come.

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

They entered the room to find Eadith sitting up with some bandages wrapped around her torso. She was holding onto Finan for support to stand. Cwen noticed the care and concern etched in the Irish warrior’s face as he stood firm by her side.

She stopped short when Eadith looked up from the floor at their entrance. But Cwen did not have long to ponder any hard feelings Eadith might hold against her for killing her brother.

Eadith exclaimed, “Cwen, oh thank God,” as she reached out the arm not steadying herself on Finan, beckoning her friend towards her.

Cwen let out a little laugh, fighting back yet more tears as she closed the few steps between them and gingerly embraced Eadith before stepping back and taking her hand.

“You’re safe,” Finan interjected, placing a chase kiss to Cwen’s temple, never losing hold of Eadith’s waist.

“As are you,” Cwen commented nodding to Eadith, “I tried to find you after,” but the words died on her lips as she met her friend's eye.

To Cwen’s amazement, Eadith gave her a genial smile before she spoke.

“I lost the man I called my brother some time ago, Cwen. I am happy you are safe. Truly, my friend.”

Shaking her head to clear the emotions rushing to her face, Cwen took a breath before their reunion was interrupted by Hild, who cleared her throat before speaking.

“I can offer you all a bit of bread and may be able to find some cheese. It won’t be much, given the siege, but I know you must be hungry.”

Osferth replied for the group, “That would be lovely, Hild. Thank you. But we also should see if we can find out how things go with Lord Uhtred.”

The companions agreed some food would be best before Sihtric and Osferth would leave to find out how negotiations progressed.

Cwen tried to protest and go with them.

“I do not wish to be parted from you again,” she whispered as Sihtric took her aside by the arm.

“I know, Cwen. But you are exhausted. A moment ago you were almost asleep on your feet. Finan is staying to care for Eadith. You will not be alone. But you need rest.” Sihtric’s voice was low and soothing. His face close to hers and she felt the tenderness and concern in his words. “Let Hild care for your face and find you some clean clothes. I will come back to you as soon as I can.”

The idea of clean clothes and rest compelled Cwen more than she would have anticipated. But the weight of the past days events was still heavy on her and Sihtric was right, she needed the rest.

“Ok, but please don’t be away long.”

“I won’t, love. Believe me.” He kissed her softly before leaving with Osferth.

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

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[criticofallthings]

SO IT’S 5:12AM BECAUSE I’VE BEEN TYPING AWAY A NEW HEADCANNON PIECE OF CRACK IDEA THAT WOULDN’T LET ME SLEEP IF I DIDN’T. edit: bc tumblr mobile app is dumb I had to restart in a web browser and it is now 6:03 AM.

Anyway yeah so that Hawkmokn lore tab where we see Guardian lad and Crow get drunk and be merry (brain’s a little scramble rn, but I’m preeetty sure its the Hawkmoon lore tab)?? Yeah so that and trauma bonding / healing bc if I haven’t said it a thousand times and then sme yet, Imma say it again: POOR TRAUMATIZED GUARDIANS OMFG 😭😭😭

No title no beta bc literally just shat this out the past couple of hours:

cw/tw: ptsd, referenced major character death, death, implied depression/major grief, self depreciation

ps. usually I write nonbinary Guardian, but today we got lady she/her Guardian

pps. this fic is a heckin chonker compared to the previous ones

———————————————————————

Crow’s lips were gentle against the Guardian’s own, a bit dry, but sweet and heady with the lingering wine. The kiss was sudden. It was spontaneous. And it made something warm and so soft and so, so very fragile, hatch within the Guardian’s chest.

Until she opened her eyes and saw those golden eyes, glowly softly in the dark, beneath dusky white and raven black fringe. The pale smokey blue of his skin, luminous where it reflected the warmth of the campfire, and cast in deep shadows where the night’s darkness fought to shade his face. The smell of ash suddenly weighs much heavier in the air.

That warm, soft, and fragile thing in the Guardian’s chest goes cold and sharp and hard. Time slows and speeds up at the same time within her mind, stealing her away to a prison of memories. Blood rushes to her ears, drowning out the warning from Ghost to Crow and Glint.

The Guardian shoved Crow away and stood up, a heavy handcannon with a white spade on the stock materializing into her hand, aimed at Crow’s heart. An errant blip of data-Light to Crow’s left is all that hints at Glint’s swift dematerialization. Crow stays prone on the ground, spawled on his back, one hand raised up, in an attempt to pacify —unwittingly making it harder for the Guardian to snap out of that memory.

The stench of burnt oil, sweat, and soot fills her nose. She only hears the crackles of flames and electric buzzing as her heart pounds, coldly staring into Crow’s bewildered eyes. Those deep golden eyes that had haunted her waking hours and chased her down in nightmares. Those eyes filled with cruelty as they watched her stumble to Cayde’s dying side. She doesn’t realize yet, but the tears she couldn’t shed before, now weep from her eyes. The handcannon trembles slightly in her grip.

Ghost floats over into his Guardian’s field of view. He’s careful to let her know he’s doing so by giving her shoulder a bump as he glides to a rest above the stock of the handcannon. He hovers there, his one eye searching both of hers, glow dimmed slightly. His shell gives a soft whirl before he speaks, leaning in gently towards her.

“That is not him.”

The silence is deafening, every second only increasing the tension. Ghost clicks his shell, uncertain if his words were even heard. He tries again, bobbing in the air.

“Crow is not him.”

The handcannon trembles. But the Warlock doesn’t move, bound by so much tension you’d think she was a Hunter about to leap into the air to throw a Blade Barrage.

“Crow is not him.”

Ghost speaks again, insistent, shell whirling softly as he flits closer to his Guardian. A flicker of recognition crosses her face. The handcannon falters, no longer aimed directly at Crow’s chest. Ghost nudges her hand, bumping the Guardian’s aim to the ground.

She trembles, a full body shudder and the handcannon slips from her grasp. Suddenly she’s aware, all too aware of what happened, and the tension holding her still dissipates. She falls to her knees, energy completely spent.

“I, I-I’m so sorry.” She’s barely able to whisper the words in his direction.

Before her, Crow watches, eyes wide and doe-like, shocked and unsure of what to do. Of what just happened. A sinking feeling blooms in his gut.

He knows he wasn’t a good man before he died. Plenty of guardians had made that clear through their boot heels and fists, gunfire and knives, with their Light in three different energies: arc, void, and solar.  As did the Eliksni, who cursed him in their language while their Captains tore him apart with their four arms.

Crow knows it’s an understatement to say he wasn’t a good man in his previous life. Even if he could never learn about who that man was, what he did, and would only by the number of shattered bones and bruised flesh just how much pain that man had caused —Crow decided early on that he could take it. It was penance. It was justly due and therefore he couldn’t call it painful.

But this? This hurt.

It hurt because now he knows that the man he once was had struck an incomprehensible blow to the Guardian he had come to know more of. It hurt because he had been holding on to a small hope, an indescribably small bit of hope, that of all the people he had encountered in his previous life that he had never met the Guardian. Because if they had never met, then maybe, maybe there was someone he didn’t hurt. His first friend. His savoir. His now not-so-secret-crush. And the longer he thought about it, the greater that sinking feeling in his gut grew.

He could no longer deny the shock and subdued anger and almost very well hidden grief he had seen flash across her face when he revealed himself to her and Osiris. He could no longer deny the way they had kept him at distance while easily in sight with a hand hovering over their gun every time they met him for a Hunt or to study a newly sprouted Cryptolith. Why his attempts at humor and jokes were met with cool silence. Why whenever he saw that handcannon, he instinctively recoiled away from it, phantom pain bursting sharply in his heart.

——————

Crow remembers the first time he saw the Guardian wield that gun. How she had effortlessly cleared a pack of thrall in one clip, each headshot exploding in a flurry of solar. How his body reacted: legs collapsing beneath him, his heart burning painfully, lungs gasping for air that never seemed to make it into him, retching pathetically, as tears streamed down his face.

Why was he crying?

Why did he feel an insurmountable wall of sorrow and regret?

She had seen him fall and before the last thrall had burnt away completely, she came running towards him. All he could see in that moment was that gun getting closer and all he felt was an innate desire to get away.

Run, run, run, run, run before you die!

Run you before you burn!

The Guardian came close, hands splayed before her, voice speaking in soothing tones, words lost upon his panicking ears. He had screamed then, in abject terror. It was a garbled and pitched sound as he tried to breathe and vomit and scrabble away all at the same time; his eyes riveted to the handcannon now holstered at her side. Her Warlock mind, keen to details, quickly realized what had triggered his panic and she deftly threw the gun to her Ghost who transmatted it away mid-air.

Crow doesn’t remember what the Guardian said to him, but he remembers how carefully she reached out to him. How she framed his face in her gauntleted hands, so gentle, so lightly, as if he might shatter into glass —just to touch her forehead to his. How the puffs of her outward breaths ghosting by his cheeks helped calm his own.

And he knew then, in that moment that no matter what that gun meant that he was already in too deep. When with a simple touch, the Guardian could soothe away old terrors he himself knew nothing of, Crow knew then. He loves her.

——————

Crow slowly got to his feet, mindful of the Guardian (who was despondently staring into her open hands while Ghost hovered on her shoulder). He looks at that gun, chest starting to burn, heartbeat increasing. Clenching a fist at his side, Crow takes a tentative step and then another until he’s close enough to pick up the handcannon. He gingerly picks it up by the barrel, keeping his hands off the stock on purpose. It’s another small step towards the Guardian before he kneels in front of them.

He pauses there, unsure of what he can do —of what he did that caused the Guardian to react so violently before. He doesn’t think it was the kiss itself...that seemed to be fine until she looked at his face, into his eyes. Ah. Crow rests the handcannon on his thigh and pulls up his hood, jerking it to cover more of his face. Cautiously he grabs the handcannon by the barrel again and with his other hand, slowly reaches for one of the Guardian’s own. She lets him guide her hand to the handcannon and once he’s sure she won’t drop it, Crow gently pushes both towards her again. The Guardian looks away, but cradles the handcannon in her lap.

More hesitantly now, Crow raises his hands to cup her face just as she once did for him. He can’t exactly see with his hood covering so much of his face, but he slowly gets nearer and carefully moves his hands over the side of her face. He leans forward to rest his forehead against hers, the edges of his hood brushing across his nose as he did so, fully obscuring his vision. Crow doesn’t know of anything he could say in this moment —what could he of all people say to her, Guardian of guardians, that could possibly make a difference? So he doesn’t say anything. Instead, Crow softly hums.

It’s an old melody, a lullaby he found while exploring abandoned freighters and passenger ships in the Reef. When Glint discovered his fondness for it, the Little Light would often hum the tune, sitting on his chest, to soothe him on several sleepless nights in Spider’s Lair. Crow hopes that this at least, can help ground the Guardian in the present and away from the painful memories in her past.

They stay like this for a while. The Guardian’s breath evens out and somewhere along the time past, Ghost had dematerialized. It was just the two of them now. Crow stops humming when he feels the Guardian raise a hand to cover one of his over her face. She leans into his palm, then forward against his forehead for a moment.

“I’m sorry, Crow, I’m so sor—“ She starts to apologize and it’s a whisper until she says his name to apologize once more. Crow doesn’t want to hear this, he doesn’t deserve an apology. So Crow cuts off the Guardian by dropping his hands to her sides and pulling her into his chest.

The sudden movement sends the Guardian toppling onto Crow. He curls forward to protect his head, but keeps his arms around her, falling flat on his back. The Guardian doesn’t move to get off of him and Crow takes that as an okay sign. He keeps one arm around her, the other he moves to card his fingers through her hair.

“Of all the people in this world, Guardian, I am the last of anyone to whom you owe an apology.” Crow let’s his words hang in the air, trying to keep his breathing even so his heart would stay less frantic too.

“If anything,” he pauses to admire a particularly silky strand of hair as it slips through his fingers.

“I am the one indebited to you.”

There’s another pause as he sorts his next words before speaking. His hand idly resumes carding through the Guardian's hair again.

“So much so that I wonder if it’s selfish greed that makes me want to stay like this.” Crow sighs, looking straight up into the star speckled sky above them. At this angle he can’t see the Guardian, but he feel her shift slightly in his arms.

“Even though you’ve done so much for a worthless stain of a being as me…Even though I can never atone for the things I’ve done befo—“ He’s interrupted by the Guardian slapping a hand over his mouth.

“You are not him.” She shifts in his arms, sitting up, moving a leg over to straddle him properly.

Crow grabs his fallen hood in a panic, pulling the fabric so swiftly up around his face he hears the fabric creak as its seams struggle to stay sewn. Still, he doesn’t let the material go, trying to keep his face hidden.

“You are not him.” The Guardian repeats herself, lifting her hand from his mouth. Crow can’t tell with what emotion she said it with and he’s too afraid to check just yet. He doesn’t want to cause her harm again, regardless of how circumstantially accidental it was.

“Crow…”

He freezes at the way she calls his name. It was different from how she usually said it. It sounded soft and so warm in her voice. The Guardian prods at one of hands clamped on his hood. He turns his head to the side, trying to escape beneath a look he could practically feel brushing against his hands.

“I...I-I don’t want to hurt you...again.” Crow’s heart beats skittishly within his chest, causing a lump to form in his throat. He’s barely able to say these words out loud without an audible whimper to them. He tries to speak again, but fails.

The Guardian leans forward over him and a shifting moment later he feels her tap her forehead against his. Her hands rest, half-covering his own, but exerting no force to push of pry his fingers away from his hood.

“Crow.” She whispers his name, just as soft and warm as before. Her lips ghost across his clenched hands when she spoke, sending goosebumps down his arms. Crow tenses.

It’s a full body reaction as Crow completely freezes up. Once more he tries to swallow down the lump in his throat with little success. His tongue feels dry and too heavy in his mouth. He can feel his heart rate spike, beating so hard now he’s unsure if the metaphorical ache that had been nesting there is becoming a real one.

“Please, Crow?” The Guardian pleads softly, leaning back and letting her hands slide from his face to over his chest.

“You can’t hide your handsome face forever.” She tries to make it sound light hearted, an easy joke, but the anxious tapping of her finger against his chest reveals her anxiety. Crow takes a deep, shaky inhale, holding it a second before letting it out.

“I-I can’t.” Crow sputters, the breath he had taken just before speaking seemed too little for all the things he wanted to say. Did she really just call his face handsome right now? Oh Traveler, why was that now all he could focus on??

He feels the Guardian shift in his lap again. The movement snaps Crow out of his thoughts and inadvertently he tightens his grip on his hood again. Somewhere behind his head, a seam in the hood gives way and the fabric tears from the stress.

A small chuckle near his ear catches him off guard and Crow isn’t able to stop his head from jerking sideways. This gives the Guardian an advantage and she presses against him, letting her head rest side by side to his. It keeps him unable to turn his face again. Even still, Crow maintains his hold over his ruined hood.

“Well then...” The Guardian pauses. Her voice, low and smooth, is right next to Crow’s ear. Crow flinches slightly, swallowing rapidly again, not expecting her to be so close.

“...how am I supposed to kiss you back?”

“Huuh??”

Crow lets out a confused sound, brain derailing instantly, but also cutting some of the tension out of his body. Certainly, he must have heard the Guardian wrong. But the sound of two ghosts  re-materializing interrupts the Guardian (who Crow is now very aware is straddling him) from speaking as she suddenly freezes.

“OH. Oh! Oh...well uh, w-we’ll come back later!! N-n-not too soon, ofcou—” Ghost’s shocked rambling is halted by metallic clinking as Glint’s shell collides with his. In the background, Glint’s hurried whispers of “Just go! Just go!” are just barely audible before the two Little Lights decompile once more.

Above him, the Guardian lets out a heavy breath once the two ghosts are gone. Beneath his hands, Crow breaks into a brief smile at that. The brief interruption had brought a measure of calm to him and he didn’t want to waste the moment.

“I, well...the man I was did something pretty horrible to you, didn’t I?” Crow lets the question hang in the air, but pushes on. If he lets the Guardian speak now, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to say these words again.

“Not just you, to all the guardians...the Vanguard, and even the Eliksni, maybe even to the Scorn.” The Guardian is still above him, listening, but against his chest Crow can feel the heavy, measured beating of her heart.

“A-and I know. I just know. That that handcannon --the one with the white spade— I know that man died to that gun...This body remembers, but I also think it’s much more than that.” Crow stops to take a shuddering breath in. He focuses on the steady feeling of the Guardian’s heart against his chest to center himself.

“When I see that gun...it’s like I can feel that final shot burning again and again. But then there’s so much more to it. So much pain that isn’t from that bullet, so much grief, and fear, and even anger. Anger at myself, knowing I —all I did was —all I caused was…” He trails off, not able to find the words to describe how those moments felt. When he speaks again, it’s all in whispers.

“But when I see you, I know it’s not right, I know it’s selfish, I know you didn’t even like me at the beginning….but when I see you, I know I’ll be okay. Because the Light gave me a second chance to be okay and you did the same.”

Crow stops when he feels the Guardian shifting again. She grabs him by his elbows and slides off of his lap, tugging on him to join her in a sitting position. His knees are now tucked under his chin and he can feel her legs framing his own. It’s silent for a moment, but then he feels her edge closer to plant a chaste kiss to the back of his hands.

“It was an accident, a trick of the light and shadow…I—you are not like him in many, many ways.” For a moment Crow’s heart plummeted to his gut, wrenching at her first few words. Her hands cover his own again and Crow’s heart grows light.

“Please. Look at me.” The Guardian asks Crow while gently pressing against his knuckles. She rubs her thumbs over the side and backs of his hands, small soothing gestures.

Crow clenches his jaw, then decides against it. He releases his hold on his cloak’s hood, fingers stiff and aching from how tightly he had clung to the material. Crow doesn’t let the hood fall from his face and keeps his eyes shut. The Guardian takes his hands into her own, warming and massaging them to ease the stiffness.

Once she deems his hands warm enough, the Guardian lets them go. Crow rests them at his side, not confident yet to open his eyes. He focuses on the way the air moves instead, trying to anticipate her next move so he doesn’t jump.

Slowly, the Guardian moves the hood off of his head. She cups his face with one hand while the other strokes his cheek before tucking several stray strands of hair behind his ear. Throughout it all, Crow is still. However, his heart beats fast within his chest.

“Wha-“ Crow’s questions are cutoff before he could even start to ask —the Guardian smothering them beneath a passionate kiss. She teases his bottom lip with her teeth and in his surprise, Crow opens his eyes.

He’s immediately consumed by the Guardian’s smoldering eyes, half-open to catch his reaction. Crow’s not one to be outdone, and he raises a hand to cradle the back of her head as he presses into the kiss. He teases the Guardian back with a lick of his tongue, half expecting nothing, but pleasantly surprised when she returned in kind. It’s a sweet and warm moment and once again the Guardian feels that soft and fragile thing flutter in her chest.

“See,” the Guardian whispers against Crow’s lips as she caresses his face, maintaining steady eye contact, “all okay. You are you.”

Crow’s brows upturn at her words, feeling almost overwhelmed. Those words offered more solace to his heart than the kisses —kisses which he could hardly believe happened. He’ll have to make sure she was on the same page as him later, because any further and Crow would fall even more inextricably in love with the Guardian.

They lean into each other for some time, letting the comforting silence speak for them. Beside them, the fire pops as it fades off, nearly just embers now.

Crow’s the first to move, stretching behind himself to reach a spare log. He tosses it onto the middle of the fire. It doesn��t catch right away, but the Guardian flicks a bit of solar Light at it and soon the fire cackles warmly again.

Adjusting himself, Crow scoots closer to the Guardian so that they’re sitting shoulder to shoulder.

“Could you tell me—only if you want to—about…” Unsure of how to ask and knowing it’s taboo for guardians to learn details of their past, Crow trails off.

“I-I just want to listen...if that would help.”

The Guardian catches his hand at that and brings it to her lips. She plants a gentle kiss on his palm. Looking into Crow’s eyes, she slowly nods. He leans forward to give the Guardian a chaste peck on her lips. Crow adjusts how he’s sitting to embrace the Guardian from behind and she shifts to lean into him.

“No questions about details related to your past, alright? Only if you don’t understand something like time or place.”

Crow nods several times, suddenly feeling shy and too anxious to speak. He hugs the Guardian tightly before easing up to let her speak.

“Alright,” She sounds a bit tired now, the exact kind of weariness that only comes from raging against a deep grief and losing the battle, but accepting the scars and moving on. One foot in front of the other. “it’s a Golden Age saying that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Let me tell you the story of how a beloved space cowboy, an enigmatic jailer, and a terribly misguided, but utterly-devoted-to-his-dead-sister brother collided into absolute tragedy.”

[draconic-ichor]

In the Steel Steeds Heart

Chapter 20: A New Beginning

Warnings: strong language, sexual themes, blood/gore, talks of trauma/light torture

Summary: Juniper is returned to Heisenberg, weak but alive.

Feedback appreciated. 18+

This is the first chapter of the Family Au! It’s a bit short. This picks up after the end of Chapter 19

Heisenberg sat in his pew, smoking his cigar. Lady Dimitrescu had said something to him but he wasn’t listening, pale eyes downcast. It had been over a month since Juniper was taken. Hope was slowly being replaced with bitter sorrow. He couldn’t even bring himself to sleep in their bed anymore, instead finding what little rest he could at his desk or on old operating tables.

He took a long drag, closing his eyes tightly. He just wanted to become numb.

He didn’t have long to ruminate on such thoughts. The doors burst open, cold air making the candle’s flame dance. Heisenberg glanced up to see Miranda walk in.

Her black cloak of feathers shimmering in the amber light. His stomach clenched in anger but that feeling was suddenly lost to him.

His heartbeat quickened.

Behind Miranda was another figure, smaller and pale, with a mass of raven curls.

His legs twitched, screaming to stand, but he swallowed, keeping his seat.

Miranda glided forward, pausing before Heisenberg’s pew.

“You may take your seat.” She gestured to the open half of the pew. Without a word, Juniper sat down next to Heisenberg. He looked at her, every muscle wanting to scoop her up.

She was sickly pale, large eyes dull and downcast. She wore a thin white chamois dress, a dark stain of dried blood near her abdomen.

She didn’t speak, keeping her hands folded in her lap, looking down.

Heisenberg swallowed, a mixture of relief and anger intermingling.

What had Miranda done to her?

He didn’t hear almost any word of the meeting, his heartbeat in his ears as he kept looking over at Juniper. She was silent and still. Her curly hair was a mess, with dried blood clinging to it. His pale eyes caught the bruising around her inner elbows, from the iv needles she’d been subject to.

After the meeting had concluded, and everyone filed out of the stone church, Heisenberg stayed. He waited quietly until they were alone.

He turned to Juniper, so many questions wanting to spill from his lips. He reached out a trembling hand, touching her leg. As soon as his warmth made contact with the thin material she broke down.

Juniper crumpled down a bit, eyes wet.

“K-Karl?” Her words were small and timid.

“Buttercup?”

“Can we go home?” She choked.

“Oh course we can.” He pulled her into a hug. She clung to him desperately.

“I missed you.” He whispered.

She nodded, tears staining his shirt.

He picked her up, careful when she winced in pain. He cursed himself for letting her go. Cursed Miranda to hell and back for hurting her. Cursed whatever god was cruel enough to let this all occur.

When they got back to the apartment he took her to the bathroom, setting her down in the tub. He helped ease the clothing from her. He swallowed, seeing her abdomen.

There was an incision from her navel to the top of her pubic bone, sewn shut with thick black thread. It looked red and hot. Heisenberg looked her over, taking note over everything that was different.

She’d lost weight, and in addition to the incision she was covered in bruises and areas of discoloration. Juniper looked up at him with big wet eyes.

“I’ll take care of you, ok?” He murmured cupping her face, “Let’s get you cleaned up, hm?”

She gave a tiny nod, closing her eyes.

He washed her gently with warm water, rinsing the dried blood from her hair and skin. She stayed very quiet through most of the process, only giving a tiny mewl when he moved to clean the incision.

“We’ll have to get some salve on this.” Heisenberg spoke softly, “It looks infected…”

He helped her out of the tub, patting her dry. He instructed her to sit on the closed toilet. Her mess of curls dripped on the tile floor as he left the room for a moment.

Heisenberg returned, arms full of various things. He rubbed healing salve over the incision. Questions burned in his mind, but he decided now was not the best time to ask any.

He wrapped her wound with fresh gauze, binding it to her midsection.

He dressed her in the softest thing he could find, drying her hair the best he could.

After she was settled in the bed and covered with blankets he gave a heavy sigh of relief.

She was here, she was home again.

“Want anything to drink?” He asked, “Tea maybe?”

Juniper gave a weak smile, “You make shit tea.”

Heisenberg chuckled, overjoyed she hadn’t totally lost her spark.

“I’ll try my best, Buttercup.” He patted the bed, “I won’t flood it with sugar this time.”

“Promise?”

“Cross my heart.”

As he padded around the kitchen, placing a pot on the stove to boil, he heard her murmur from the bed. Placing a cup down on the counter he looked up and asked, “What was that, Doll?”

There was a short pause. Heisenberg turned to see her laid back against the pillows, eyes shut.

“I love you.” Her voice was soft, she didn’t move when she spoke the words, but he could feel the depth of their meaning.

His heart clenched, swallowing as he felt his eyes sting.

“I….love you too, Juniper.” He choked, looking away.

~

He brought the cup of tea to the bedside, setting it softly down on the side table. He patted Juniper to rouse her. She tried to sit up the best she could, taking the cup in weak hands. She took a sip, making a slight face after it settled on her tongue.

Heisenberg chuckled, “The best tea you had all day, kitten?”

She looked at him with narrow eyes, taking another sip. It was hot and soothed her sore throat.

After she had that down she fell into a deep sleep. Heisenberg stayed seated on the edge of the bed, watching the rise and fall of her chest and the peacefulness that bloomed over her face.

He smiled, reaching out and taking her hand in his own. He brought it softly up to his lips, dropping a small kiss onto her knuckles.

“Du bist die sterne meiner nacht, meine liebe…”

(Translation: “You are the stars of my night, my love.”)

[spenciegoob]

Triple Edged Sword Part 2

A/N: Hi! This is part two of the “three” part (wink wink) series !!

Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader

Category: Angst/Smut

Content Warning: mentions of death of a major character, dom!spencer, penetrate sex, unprotected sex, spanking, fingering, hair pulling, biting, overstimulation, praise, domdrop

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

Word Count: 2.2k

Part One | Part Three

______

And then Emily died.

And it changed Spencer more than anyone else but her knew. Nobody knew how much it changed the way he loved, how he held her a little bit closer than usual now. How he used more force to kiss her like if he didn’t, she may disappear too.

Of course he got snappier with everyone as well, using anger to mask his intense sorrow over the loss of one of his closest friends. It made sense. Spencer was always like that when it came to negative emotions.

If it wasn’t anger, make it anger.

What didn’t make sense, however, was how he took the anger out with her.

It wasn’t gradual, and he didn’t ask to switch roles before he took control over her in the bedroom. One day he came home from work, a simple paperwork day, but without the distraction of a case, the sadness crept its way into the deepest parts of Spencer’s brain. They made their home there, inhabiting the space with no plan to evict anytime soon. 

He lost control, snapping at Hotch for requesting Reid leave early to get some sleep.

“You don’t think I would if I could?” Spencer had yelled in his boss’s face with so much force it equally scared and concerned the stern man on the receiving end. After that, Spencer knew Hotch was right, and packed up his satchel to return home.

Return home to her.

All Spencer wanted was to go home and let her comfort him, but the idea of being vulnerable in such a self-pity, upset with the world way made him nauseous. 

He found comfort in her, though, even if it was from a place of anger instead.

When Spencer walked through the door only to throw his satchel down next to it instead of his desk chair, she knew that it was a bad day. There were always the little things she noticed he did when he was in that funk; how he asked for a hug instead of going directly for it, or let his hands involuntarily shake instead of trying to hide it. 

She was angry, too. She was angry at the world for throwing Spencer more trauma every time he was starting to heal. She hated how every time he trusted his life to start getting better, it would stab him in the back, twist the knife, pull it out and let him bleed. 

It wasn’t fair, and she would so anything for him.

“Hi, Pretty Boy.” She tried to coax him from his spot still stuck in front of the door, staring at the hardwood floor too deep into his own self deprecating thoughts.

He didn't answer. Instead, he stalked over to her in the kitchen, keeping his eyes downcast. Immediately, she abandoned the wine she was pouring, to follow his movements. Soon enough, he was in front of her, still looking to the floor, while she leaned her back against the counter.

“Spencer?” She could only call out in hopes that he would come back to her, and she believed that it worked when he let his eyes meet hers, but what she saw in them proved her wrong.

It was pure, animalistic rage.

She reached her hand up to graze his cheek, but the action was put to a stop before the soft skin of her palm met his scruff. Spencer’s hand holding her wrist suspended in the air was forceful, but not enough to hurt her.

Never enough to hurt her.

She still gasped at the unforeseen movement, the destructive man in her presence inducing both fear and excitement.

She watched the storm in his mind swarm through his eyes as he refused to look anywhere but down her body. Spencer needed an escape, a way to forget for even one second the absolute wreck that was his mind. There he was, a hurricane circling in on her land, and she would let him swallow her whole.

He watched his own hand trail from her wrist, and make its way to her shoulder. The closer he moved, the quicker her breath became. Spencer had become unpredictable in a matter of seconds and to say she wasn’t growing with anticipation would be a lie.

Spencer stepped into the space between the two, closing her in between him and the counter. Suddenly, he grabbed the back of her neck, pulled her chest to his and forced her to look up at him. 

Their chests heaved in unison with one another, creating a steady rhythm to the dance they had started. 

Spencer stared at her lips, his eyes unwavering with their undeniable desire for her. With his gaze not meeting hers, he couldn’t see that she was unknowingly doing the same.

“Stop me,” he pleaded between heavy breaths. “Because if you don’t, I might hurt you.”

“Spencer.” Her voice held no uncertainty even in the form of a whisper. The two finally looked up at each other, holding an intense stare full of lust. “Do it.”

He wasted no time crashing their mouths together. The kiss was sloppy, teeth clashing and tongues fighting a war. They consumed every part of each other, their hands never seizing to feel every inch of their lover.

Until Spencer grabbed her by the hips, spinning her around to slam her against the counter. The untouched wine fell to the floor with a crash, shattering to little pieces.

His hands roamed from her hips to the curve of her ass, giving it a hard squeeze before pulling one hand back to return it just as quickly.

The loud SMACK! was drowned out by the moan that escaped from the back of her throat, surprising the two of them.

“You like that, baby? You like when I use you like this?” The filthy words leaving Spencer’s mouth made her grow wetter by the second.

All she could muster as a response was a desperate whimper, pushing her backside to him, pressing harder into his waiting hands, and when that didn’t satisfy him, Spencer lifted her off the counter by her hair to whisper in her ear, ripping another moan from her.

“Words, baby.” The softness of his tone was a direct contrast from his rough movements.

“Y-Yes, sir.” The title slipped by accident, but Spencer let out a groan and grounded his hardening member against her ass, eliciting another soft whimper.

“You're gonna ruin me one day,” was all the warning she got before he pushed her back down on the counter and ripped her sweatpants and panties off in one quick motion.

The sudden cool air that hit her pussy caused a shiver, but when Spencer’s fingers trailed up the inner part of her thigh, it was sent right back to her spine.

“Are you wet for me, baby?” He asked before finding the answer for himself. “You are.” His tone was almost tantalizing, but with the way he wasted no time sinking two fingers into her heat, Spencer loved her arousal as much as she did.

The pace he set with his fingers was ruthless, giving her no time to catch up with the sensation of him curling his digits to hit her sweet spot repeatedly. Her loud moans went straight to Spencer’s dick, making him impatient with anticipation.

He leaned over her, pinning her down completely to whisper in her ear, “That’s it, sweetheart, fucking take it.”

“Spence I’m... I’m gonna-” She tried to moan out, but Spencer sunk his teeth into her exposed shoulder around the strap of her his tank top.

“I know, baby, do it. Cum for me.” That was all it took for her to squirm under his bodyweight, moaning his name like a prayer. The feeling of her clenching around his fingers that never seized their movements was heavenly for Spencer.

She was still his own Goddess.

She whimpered at the loss of his fingers buried deep inside her only for them to reappear at her lips.

“Open.” He stuck his fingers coated with her orgasm down her throat, causing her to gag slightly. She sucked her arousal, hollowing her cheeks around his digits. Spencer laughed at her blind compliance, a kind of laugh that was twisted in its own special way.

“You’re being such a good girl for me. Do you think you deserve my cock?” He asked, burying his fingers deeper in her mouth, pushing down on her tongue to get her to gag around them again.

She moaned loudly around them, eyes rolling back in pure ecstasy as he ran the tip of his cock between her folds, gathering her previous arousal.

He ripped his fingers from her mouth to use the same hand to pull her hair back, arching her back while slamming their hips together.

They both reveled in the feeling of Spencer filling her up to the hilt, their loud moans creating a filthy symphony.

He pulled back slowly, antagonizing her once again, only to slam back deeper than before.

“Spencer!” She screeched at the feeling, pain and pleasure mixing, a cocktail stronger than any alcohol.

“I warned you,” he started as he set a brutal pace, fucking her hard into the counter, the grip on her hair never relaxing. “I warned you this would happen, but you were a brat, and look. Now you can’t take it. I though you were a good girl.”

“I am, sir, I can take it. Just please, Spencer. Please.”

“Please what, Y/N?”

“Don’t fucking stop.” He smirked down at her, and pulled her hair back harder so she rested against his shoulder, hitting her deeper than both thought possible. He leaned down to her ear, mimicking his previous movements as her eyes squeezed shut, the sensation almost too much.

“That’s my girl.” The comment made her come around him once more. Her vision went white as her body threatened to collapse on herself, Spencer having to hold her upright. 

“You feel so fucking good, sweetheart.” He threw his head back, his eyes screwing shut as she clenched and unclenched around him. “Do you think you can give me one more?”

“I- I can t-try, sir,” she panted between little whimpers, overstimulated with Spencer’s brutality. 

“Good girl,” he said before reaching down to rub circles on her clit in time with his thrusts, his other hand kneading her breast.

There was no room left in her mind for anything other than Spencer, and the extreme pleasure he was giving her. He took control over her body, pulling on the reigns and guiding her to euphoria.

“I’m right there, Y/N. Cum with me.” Her body belonged to him, and in turn his was hers as they toppled over the edge together. Spencer’s warmth spread through her as he shot his load deep, her orgasm milking every last drop.

She could no longer hold her own weight, threatening to fall to the ground if it wasn’t for Spencer keeping her upright. Their heavy breathing filled the silence that settled over them, neither knowing what to say.

Once they both came down from their shared high, Spencer slowly pulled out of her, careful to not hurt her.

“Come on, sweet girl, let’s get you cleaned up.” Spencer scooped her up bridal style, leaving the broken glass and messy counter for later. He carried her to the bathroom and set her down on the edge of the tub.

She just sat there, watching Spencer gather lotion, a washcloth and a cup of water with eyes like glass. He handed her the water to which she took with two shaky hands before turning his attention back to the sink to wet the cloth.

Spencer kneeled in front of her, slowly opening her legs with the delicacy one would handle fine china with. When he brought the washcloth up to her core that was still leaking with his cum, she couldn’t hide the wince from sensitivity.

His head snapped up, and their eyes met only for a second, but she saw the glimpse in his eyes that she needed to confirm.

His eyes were filled with such intense guilt.

“Hey,” she cooed, putting her hand on his chin to bring his head back to her level instead of him staring at the red scratches on the inside of her thigh. “It’s okay.”

“I hurt you. I didn't mean to I- I just-” Before Spencer could continue, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders and latched onto his body to which he immediately relaxed under.

“I’m okay, Spencer, really. I promise I’m okay.” She stroked his back as he started to shake with tears. “I actually quite liked it.”

He pulled away to find her looking down at him with a soft, reassuring smile, but he couldn’t find the strength to return it.

“Let me take care of you this time,” she pleaded, pulling him up from his kneeling position. Without letting go of his hand, she brought him to their shared bedroom, and opened the covers for the two to crawl into.

“Can I read to you?” She asked once they were settled, Spencer resting his head on her chest, their legs intertwined like lock and key and her fingers running through his wild curls.

“Please.” It was so gentle when spoken, enough to almost bring her to tears. The man she lay with had one of the biggest hearts God had gifted a human being, and yet the world loved to chip parts of it away.

She reached over to the nightstand, grabbing the first book she could reach. She hadn’t realized her decision until she opened the beat up novel to the first page.

With a deep breath, she started.

“For a long time, I used to go to bed early. Sometimes...”

____

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[unknowconcreteflower-art-blog-me]

Re-contextualizing Angel Dust: Charlie was not ready for this...

And for the sake of warning Hazbin Hotel is an adult cartoon containing heavy dark subject matter (such as rape and drug abuse, that maybe trigger to views so please tread carefully. Warning out of the way on with the post! I also just wanna get this out there older post my analysis of Val and Angel people kept commenting “what Angel Dust isn’t in love with Valentino” and my rebuttal was “no no that’s a past Angel Dust a younger one who didn’t reach that level of abuse just yet” while their argument was “no it’s the current Angel Dust” which can’t be the case. To prove my point I would like to refer back to the comics and the music video and looking at it with the context of the show. And please read my previous post if you want more explanation on Addict. 

I just want to start off with explaining his relations to Cherri, needless to say Cherri is someone who Angel sees as a true friend and confines in her. And she is there for him as he is for her even willing to fight for her knowing well that he will get in trouble for it. Though one has to wonder why is there such this deep love and care for each other. Looking back to Addict, where we have Cherri singing her “Yeah you fell in love and you fell deeper in this pit...” and several times we have an unknown character pop up during her part of the song. With the little snip bits of info we get from the sequence we can tell that Cherri is in the line of work because of someone who’s over her head. And what they have over is an emotional hold over her if we want to lean in on what the lyrics it might in a romantic sense be we still don’t know who it is tho. So what makes this so important to Angel Dust.

This is because she herself is in the similar situation as Angel as in the both of us are trapped in the holes we dug ourselves into. Giving Angel someone who can understand the stuff he’s going through. Cherri knows why he’s acting out because he’s just trying to hide how hurt he really is cause” hey so does she”. And knows she doesn’t have to say anything but just be there; and takes him out on a night out with her when he’s down. That’s why Cherri is so important to him she’s someone he know that’s not going to look down on him or patronize him on his actions. And his number 1# go to person; which is why he probably reveal to her that he wants to get clean because hey that’s what binds them together... This connects why he broke streak and his stopped his sobriety. 

During the opening scene of the show we have Valentino texting Angel to do work right after the extermination. Which I also have to point out that Val showing a lack of care for Angel safety after the extermination. He clearly wants his money and is making Angel put himself out there for work. And what does he do after he’s done with the job; he falls back on drugs. Now this is important to note... remember during the News broadcast Charlie confirmed that Angel was clean for 2 weeks before all of this happened! He was doing so well what could have possibly made him break his streak-Valentino. 

People were theorizing Val gave drugs to his employees meaning Val isn’t only his pimp but supplier as well! Giving the reason why Angel stayed with Val for so long; when I did my analysis of the music video Addict I said Val maybe the first one to find Angel when he first came to hell. Manipulating Angel in a weakened state to view him as a sort of savior and made him forget his sorrows and how did this happen you may ask... “drugs” using sweet words to mask his hidden agenda. So Val basically trained hims like a dog on a leash in a sense of “you’ll get a love & affection with a treat” which translates to “if you do this job for me I’ll give you all the love you were denied when you were alive as along with the drugs you’ve been craving”. I will argue that Val made Angel even more dependent on drugs; because he made it his number one coping method he’s the enabler. After Angel was assaulted and raped by Valentino probably made it even worse for him because Val’s his boss, he goes to work he has to see him... triggering him to fall back on to drugs. That’s why Angel needs his drugs and needs to numb himself, so him breaking his streak clean after taking a job from Val wasn’t coincidence back then. 

“he’a been behaved, clean and out of trouble for 2 weeks now” until Val got to him...

This makes Val even more dangerous to Angel’s road to recovery than we could have ever imagined. No only that but it makes it difficult to tell someone about it as well Angel is afraid of him and has to stay in contact with him since he’s his employer. This would be good time to bring up my rebuttal for my case of Addict: I get. I identified that the Angel Dust in the beginning of the music video is a younger one that still has some love for before figured out he was using him and he stood up to Val (pre-trauma). And the Angel Dust at the end credits of the music video and the one in the comic is the current Angel Dust and show (post-trauma). When you look at the interactions with Val (via comic vs music video) they are clearly different hence the two different Angel Dusts!

I will be referring to the comics in this section so if you haven’t read them please do.  

When Angel is in the limo with Val he’s trying to make it very apparent that he’s upset that he’s not getting any attention from Val. Being very huffy and puffy not even looking at him as Val’ counting his money, forgetting that he’s right there. This is very important because Angel doesn’t hesitate to hide his emotions, this Angel is willing to show discontentment in front of Val being angry and annoyed at him which leads up to why he doesn’t kiss want him and outright rejects him. He shows he’s willing to fight back against Val’s mistreatment and neglect of him, becoming more aware of it. In my earlier post I deduced this scene is where Angel first time he’s disobeyed Val and finally gets the full picture he understands he doesn’t mean anything to Val and he’s using him. He’s no longer willing to put up with his mind games anymore and probably would have left Val that night... which is why he raped him to gain control over Angel. 

Music video vs. Comic scene

Now looking at the interactions Angel Dust has with Val are completely different he’s submissive to Valentino when we see his conversation in the limo. Not only that but it shows why Angel Dust went on that drug deal for Val; to show him he can do something else other than being a sex-worker. Angel wants out and this was his way of giving himself another option but Val shuts it down completely! Even before he entires, he’s holding his arm in fear and discomfort, even when he’s trying to plead his case he is terrified. He’s no longer willing to fight back because of what Val did to him. And Val reminds him constantly that he could do it again if he wanted to by reminding him of that night! He does this by grabs Angel face when he tries to explain himself, like he did when he forced Angel to kiss. Val forces him to smiles when he leaves the limo he wants him to never show any form of disagreement or disobedience like the last time because that’s what got him in trouble last. To add more salt in the wound he makes him Angel call him “Mister Valentino” reminding him he’s in control! The man is practical holding a gun over Angel saying “the same thing will happen, if you disobey me again...” AND THAT IS SADISTIC AS HELL! It making me hate Val even more and after he leaves the limo all he can do is let out his anger in silence as when he smokes similar to when we see him smoke at the end credits to Addict this Angel is our current Angel Dust. This is his way of expressing his sorrow in silence why he’s an addict.

So you maybe asking how does Cherri bomb come into play, well I don’t think after the initial incident with Val who does Angel confine to Cherri and destroy a bar together. You see the pattern; Angel has a break down, uses his drugs comes off of the high, he goes to Cherri and in turn go out, and have fun well her kind of destructive fun! And it has been confirmed that he learn all about weapons from Cherri so basically this is the reason why! He wasn’t breaking his clean streak “to do his girl buddy a solid”  he went because he wanted to be with the only person who could understand him at that time. And she just happened to be in a fight and he jumped in thinking  “oh my home girl’s in trouble I gotta help her out...” and that’s probably did out of instinct to protect Cherri. Charlie and Vaggie cut in... now things start to get a little dicey I’m not trying to attack them but they didn’t handle it this best way. They didn’t know anything, and before know Angels story a lot of people are upset with Angel’s action but now that we have context they’re (Charlie & Vaggie) in the wrong. 

These are the points of why Angel cannot confine to Charlie or Vaggie, I will also argue that they pushed Angel further from them. Angel is someone who’s very prideful and isn’t going to tell someone that he’s hurt. Unless they figure it out for themselves or feels safe with them (Cherri). Looking back Vaggie & Charlie made a huge “No-No...” and this scene is incredibly painful to watch. Let’s cut to Vaggie how does she address Angel by scolding him for his actions she goes right to the blame game, which is the last thing she should be doing if they really want to help Angel. They don’t even take the chance to ask him why he did it; unintentionally isolating him from help. 

What bother me is that Vaggie is quick to call Angel’s actions are a result of being “selfish” which is not the case now that we have context. And probably why Angel just kept trying to piss off Vaggie because he knows that his actions weren’t out of wanting be “selfish”... and makes it clear that he still wants to go clean. It probably actually really hurt him to when she said that  and I’d like to point out that people who struggle with addiction it’s not easy to stay clean and people can relapse. Basically what Vaggie did was shamed Angel for relapsing which is not okay and paints him as a bad guy immediately! To say he ruined the image of the hotel ... it made me furious at Vaggie putting all the blame on Angel. And we know that’s not the case even before the fight was broad casted the demons and sinners in Hell were already laughing at Charlie’s idea and let’s be honest it was reasonable. Because WE DON’T KNOW IF IT’S POSSIBLE YET so putting all the blame on Angel Dust was uncalled if anything it’s just the cherry on top. I’m not trying to attack Charlie but she really doesn’t know what she’s doing she doesn’t know how to send a soul into heaven. Is it irresponsible to broadcast a client before they are proven successful, not only that but it puts a lot of pressure on Angel to prove theory that we’re not sure is true yet.

And let’s be honest did Charlie really believe Vaggie’s word’s wouldn’t but hurtful they didn’t even take the time to ask him why he did it; immediately writing him off when clearly somethings going on now she’s painting the image that they don’t care about him, they just care about the hotel, and that they just wanted to use him as a poster boy! Hmm... now who has used Angel Dust in the past for their own personal agenda... oh yeah VALENTINO! Which is why he goes on saying “I made you look sad and pathetic...” he chooses those words not to just make Vaggie mad but that’s probably what he was really feeling on the inside. Angel really did want to apologize to Charlie but after what Vaggie said to him it probably made him feel like his apology meant nothing and leaves these actions carry on into Addict. This is where naivety is her biggest downfall she rushed into it thinking just keeping Angel clean is gonna redeem him she was so not ready to broad cast the hotel. She makes it sound easy but it so much harder than that!

THIS WAS A 100% CALLED FOR! AND SHE DOESN”T EVEN REALIZE IT!

This is why Angel flips off Charlie and doesn’t want to talk to her, he’s basically doing cause “Why should I tell you about my problems you don’t really care you just care about your hotel...” that’s why this is so important to highlight. They already gave him that impression, that they think little of him and that they aren’t going sympathize with him but scold him. And Charlie should have stopped Vaggie yelling when she had the chance. Vaggie sabotaged her chance to understand Angel Dust and help him. And did she really think her temperamental girlfriend was the one to help sympathize and redeem sinners.  If she really wants to help Angel Dust she needs to stop thinking it’s gonna be a cupcake walk, people have reasons why they fall to these bad habits; people have issues, relationships, traumas, that they need to navigate before they can heal. Which makes me believe that Charlie isn’t the one who’s going to get Angel Dust to open up to them about his trauma. Vaggie’s out of the question if not then who... 

HUSKER 

Yup our favorite flying poker kitty... I’ll do a separate post on that because it deserves it’s own explanation! (Side note I really do love Vaggie we don’t know her story so don’t hate her) Hope you guys enjoy the post~

[wlw-lovestruck-fiction]

Ok as always i need angst 😂 what would have happened if when Myrine paralyzes Xenia and attacks MC, she managed to hurt mc 😶 the angst of Xenia seeing MC injured while trying to defend herself with the knife, until they end up in the situation of MC at the mercy of Myrine with the knife to the throat (battered and cut by the fight) and well... Myrine fulfilled his threat and cut MC throat. Xenia's reaction to it all while she is paralyzed and after. Thank you so much and sorry 😅 Send love 💕❤

First of all, anon. Thank you for giving me writing motivation with this.

Second of all, you are fucking cruel.

- Mod JD

Warnings for: Blood; Death; Attempted Murder; Grief; Trauma; Flashbacks; Angst; Tons Of Angst; Pain Xenia Doesn’t Fucking Deserve; Ruelle Hugging Someone Of Her Own Free Will; Did I Mention Blood?

Read at your own risk. 

(These are Xenia’s thoughts)

“What did you do to her?”

“A simple paralysis poison.”

Myrine’s smile was nothing short of wicked as she waggles her fingers. Xenia could barely hear what she said next over her own thoughts - she should’ve been prepared for that, she’s such a fool - Iris jumping at her momentarily ripped her away from those, and when he got kicked away, part of her mind spat out some humor - she could see the anger on her love’s face, increasing with every insult that flew from Myrine’s rotten mouth.

(HOW DARE SHE.)

Xenia desperately tried to move to help MC in the following battle, but she couldn’t, helpless to only watch, helplessly lying there, her mind screaming out with pain and an endless stream of insults at herself, what an idiot she was, a failure, unable to -

Myrine took MC into her grasp, holding her in plain view for Xenia to see. Helpless like her, unable to move. This couldn’t - she had to DO SOMETHING, she needed to save her, get to her, to tackle Myrine down at whatever slushing cost there was, and if it would be her own life -

“You see, Xenia? This is what happens when you get sloppy. When you get soft.”

(I will end her.)

“You have so much potential. If only you could see past these nonsensical feelings of yours and stop letting them hinder your ambitions. This girl is holding you back.”

(This queen is making me stronger than I ever could’ve been on my own.)

“You could have achieved your greatest dreams by now, could have obtained everything you ever wanted... All you had to do was marry her and kill her, and you’d be the Queen of Lysende right now.”

(I have everything I wanted.)

She wants to scream it, wants to shout it over the paralysis, but she can’t. She can’t do anything at all.

“You could’ve done it any time - it would have been so easy. And instead you’ve wasted your time and energy looking after her, playing house with her.”

Her scoff hurts more than she cared to show. It reminded her too much of the way her old mentor had sounded when she’d accidentally added too much of a herb into her potions. Just now it was twisted. Ruined. Wrong.

“Take now, for example. Had you not been so concerned with protecting her, you might have been able to fight me now.Instead, you made a stupid, rash decision. And now you’re helpless to stop me.”

She’d protected MC because Myrine might have killed her if she hadn’t. But… could MC have slipped away? Could she have retaliated? Could she… Had she done something wrong? Was her protectiveness finally demanding it’s price? MC had told her to not always - was this what came of it now?

“Have fun knowing she bleeds out.”

With that, Myrine moved the knife over MC’’s throat. The queen drops to the ground with a gurgle as Myrine laughs silently and calmly vanishes in thin air while Xenia’s eyes fill with tears.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even see her - she had to - she couldn’t - she could only blink the tears away, tears of rage and worry and pain and sorrow.

(NO!)

(NO!)

(MC!)

(Ruelle, please… please, anybody must’ve…)

“...Xenia…”

(She lives. She lives. She’s…)

“... I love you.”

(CALL FOR HELP, YOU FOOL! DON’T WASTE YOUR ENERGY ON ME!)

“I’ve... “

Her voice is so weak, so gurgling, wheezing - Myrine must’ve only lightly cut her, to make sure to prolong her suffering, to make sure she’d die as slowly as possible.

“I’m so happy I met you… I… I just… I need you to know how much you mean to me… before I…”

(Shutupshutupshutupdon’tplease)

“You’re slushing incredible… you’ve made my life so much better… you’ve helped me so much, and I could…”

(Please stop using past tense, please-)

Xenia’s fingertips and toes moved. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

“I always wanted… hoped… to marry you. One day.”

MC’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but Xenia felt the words deep in her heart.

“I would’ve understood if you didn’t- I’m… you never would’ve had to, and-”

(One day. One day, I would have.)

“I want you to know… none of this… is your fault. You did everything you could, and that’s more than I ever would’ve asked.”

(And it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.)

“I love you. And hey… if… afterlife turns out to be a thing… you can… live with Val there.”

(Don’t speak of that. Please. Please no.)

Xenia heard and felt herself sob.

“I’ll say hi to him from you.”

(He’d love to meet you. But please… please don’t say this as if…)

“...please…”

“Xenia!”

“..I… love… you…”

Every word was torture with her still weird-feeling lips and tongue, but at least the poison seemed to wear off a little faster now.

“Save… your… energy… or...call...help…”

“I can’t… It feels as if when I scream, this is going to rip open further…”

(No… NO!)

Xenia sobbed again.

“Please… don’t cry… I…”, MC sniffled, “I don’t want to spend my last moments hearing you cry…”

That made Xenia sob again. Just while she tried to wrangle herself back for MC’s sake, she felt how her lower arms could move up to her elbow.

(Enough.)

She moved. Forced her hands to pull the dead weight of her body and push it with her feet, forced herself to turn around and fall off the bed, landing with a slam and a muffled noise of pain.

But that was worth it when she saw MC’s eyes on her. She didn’t mind the puddle of blood as she dragged herself over, didn’t mind how it stained her hands and arms and chest. She knew she wouldn’t be able to reach her herb bag, and she didn’t have the strength to shout yet… but she could cup MC’s face, she could lean their foreheads together and force a smile for her sake, could feel how MC took one of her limp arms and wrap it around her.

“Don’t… move… for my sake.”

MC kissed her. It tasted of blood and love and despair, relief to be with her, grief to leave her.

“For your sake… I’d do anything.”

Xenia kissed her again.

“Sweet... little... fool.”

Her voice dripped with affection, her eyes dripped with sadness, her heart bled at the smile that ghosted over MC’s beautiful features.

“I love you.”

“I would’ve married you.”

Xenia whispered, closing her eyes and holding her forehead to MC’s.

“One day, I would’ve asked you to marry me. I would’ve let you take off my veil as we sealed our love. I would’ve held your hand in public every single day, would’ve kissed you good night and good morning, would’ve…”

She felt a new rush of tears and pressed her lips to the smiling ones of MC, sobbing - and when she pulled back, she didn’t feel her love’s breath any longer.

“MC?”

No answer.

“MC?!”

“Xenia…?”

Silent.

And in that moment, Xenia found the strength to scream. Incoherent, wordless, full of pain and grief and rage and hatred, sorrow, despair, a love that was taken away, again, and left her heart ripped out entirely.

She held MC against her and sobbed, not caring to hide her emotions as usual, not caring that she knelt in a puddle of blood and had it smeared all over her, not caring that she begged MC to come back and cried for help at the same time - and that was how Ruelle found her as she slammed open the door, taking in the scene before her with utter shock and having half a mind to shoo the guards away with word to fetch a bucket of boiled water.

“She… Myrine… I… paralyzed...  I couldn’t....”

Xenia looked at her niece with such pain that Ruelle took half a step back before rushing to her side, assessing the situation in full and then rushing over to Xenia’s bag, taking out the antidote for the poison and some bandages and other salves. She swallowed and crouched down next to Xenia - thanks to her aunt’s impeccable training, she was able to stay calm for now.

“Rub yourself down. I’m…”

Ruelle swallowed, handing Xenia the antidote, slightly uncomfortable. Xenia nodded in shock and pulled back, eyes on MC as Ruelle bent over her, checking her pulse.

“She lives. Barely.”

Xenia sobbed. Ruelle swallowed and cleared her throat - and she saw Piama, Lyris and Galen in the door a moment before the Spring Princess let out a blood-curling scream. Galen almost dropped the water they carried as Lyris pulled Piama close to him and shielded her from the view.

Only Galen stepped inside, dropping the bucket at Ruelle’s side before rushing to toss her Xenia’s bag entirely, then sat down at the Spy Mistress’s side and carefully touched her arm.

“She’s in good hands. You taught her well. You’re not alone.”

Ruelle quickly washed out the wound before practically drenching it in a healing potion, fumbling around in the bag and taking out a needle and yarn.

“Let me-”

“Xenia. You’re shaking.”

With quick, methodic stitches, Ruelle sewed the wound shut tightly, happy to see that the inner layers were already slowly starting to mend thanks to the potion - after she was done, she smeared another salve around the outer layer before wrapping it up in a bandage.

Only the slight shaking in Ruelle’s voice spoke of her fear and worry, and how soft it was in comparison to usual.

Lyris and Piama carefully walked over to the bed and sat down next to Xenia - even Piama got over her usual discomfort with the Spy Mistress enough to offer one of her hands. Xenia held it.

“Piama?”

“Yes?”

“Get a thick layer of sheets. Lyris, Galen, please take the blanket and help me get MC off the floor.”

Piama rushed off - one of Ruelle’s hands reaching up and brushing her thigh as if subconsciously, and Galen and Lyris carefully, slowly moved MC in a sitting position to slow the blood flowing up, then cleaned her up best they could. By the time they were done, Piama had returned with the sheets and spread them on the bed - the old ones were rolled to prop MC’s body up diagonally, the others so she wouldn’t utterly ruin the mattress with the amount of blood still on her.

Xenia hadn’t done much over that time, just sat there like in a trance, reliving past and current trauma in a loop, seeing Val and MC melting together - Val slashed by MC, she herself letting a painless poison flow between MC’s lips, Val dying from the apple, MC passing away to an illness she couldn’t cure, blood, poison, sickness, murder, death, death, death over and over and over again.

“She lives. She will live.”

That was, until Ruelle carefully took her hand and pressed it onto MC’s chest.

A faint beating. Not strong, but unstoppable.

Ruelle leaned in and… hugged her, whispering so softly only she could hear.

“You won’t lose her.”

Those words broke through her stupor, and Xenia sobbed dryly, wrapping all arms around an increasingly alarmed Ruelle, spending moments just there before she pulled back, wiping at her eyes and wrapping all four arms around herself.

“...thank you.”

She said weakly, breath shaking as she slipped onto the bed further and leaned in to kiss MC’s forehead.

“Should we… stay?”

Piama asked softly, earning a shake of Xenia’s head.

“I’ll… wash her myself.”

(So I at least did something.)

“Tell us when she wakes up again, yes?”

“I will.”

Ruelle said, clearing her throat.

“I’ll stay here in case… she returns.”

When she woke up, the queen hadn’t moved a bit, unsurprisingly. Xenia sighed and got out of bed, stretching as she walked to the washroom and washed the traces of last night from her face, looking at her still slightly swollen, exhausted eyes.

Xenia nodded. The rest left slowly, and the Autumn princess went invisible, giving Xenia enough privacy to take a washcloth and rub the rest of the blood off silently, only stopping to kiss MC’s forehead again and again, changing the bandage slowly when she was done with it - the wound already looked a lot better.

She asked Ruelle to get some broth and she did, Xenia working in some herbs that were supposed to help her body regenerate.

After that was done, she could do nothing but wait and track Myrine on her map, figuring out the pattern eventually. She didn’t allow herself any sleep, but she couldn’t help it, the emotional and physical drain overwhelming her with exhaustion. She fell asleep at MC’s side, two arms draped around her.

“... Xen… ia…”

Her head flew around. She rushed out of the bath and sobbed as her eyes met green ones looking right up at her, a weak smile on lips that she feared would never move again.

She wiped a tear away and moved over, taking a seat next to MC and stroking her thumb over MC’s lower lip.

“Hush. Don’t strain your throat..”

MC kissed Xenia’s thumb and closed her eyes, wincing a little as she tried to lean into her palm.

“Don’t move, my love.”

The look in MC’s eyes after that made Xenia’s heart melt. MC didn’t speak, but she slowly moved her hand and placed it on her own heart first, then on Xenia’s. Xenia took it and kissed it, then did the same.

*Sorry I worried you.*

MC mouthed slowly, and Xenia just leaned in and kissed her forehead, happy she’d invested time to learn reading lips.

“You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

She whispered softly, then pulled back to find MC smirking ever so slightly.

*It takes more than that to keep me away from you.*

*I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.*

Xenia mouthed back, and MC glared.

*Don’t you slushing dare.*

Xenia swallowed and nodded. MC stroked her cheek and then tried to pull her in. Xenia let her, and allowed MC to kiss her, softly, gently, feeling two tears slip from her eyes that MC kissed off of her cheeks before letting her pull back, softly smiling up at her.

*I’m here.*

Xenia smiled back and pressed another kiss to MC’s forehead… which was when Ruelle cleared her throat and slipped from the shadows.

“If you’re done being all sappy… can I tell the others now?”

MC mouthed a ‘yes’ and Ruelle left, leaving Xenia and her alone for a moment.

“She saved you. Stitched your wound closed. The others… helped best they could.”

MC smiled.

*And you never left.*

“I just sat there and did nothing.”

*Which no one would think to blame you for.*

“I-”

“You... stayed. You... let others... help... when you couldn’t... yourself. You… let them… comfort… you.”

“Didn’t I tell you to not strain your throat?”

“I’m… happy… you accepted… help.”

“MC…”

“I… love… you… always.”

Xenia kissed her if only to shut her up. MC kissed back softly, cupping Xenia’s cheek and deepening the kiss a little.

“And I love you.”

And for that one moment, MC’s smile blew all of her worries away.

[theresnosafeharbor4myships]

TITLE: Out of the Grave - Chapter 1: The Void

A/N: An alt ending/fix-it fic. Because we and they deserved better--so I made it happen.

83 hours and 37 minutes. Not that he'd kept a count exactly. Just that his eidetic mind knew the exact moment Abbie had left this world, taking his heart with her and leaving him hollow, and his quick thoughts often calculated the duration he'd kept breathing without her. He'd spent the first 6 hours and 24 minutes working with Miss Jenny and Master Mills—and ultimately, ironically, his old pal the Horseman—to try to defeat Pandora and force her to release his Lieutenant, only to learn she'd actually expired. The dreams he'd had, sweet and aching moments with Abbie reflecting on their meet cute, time in the Archives, relaxing on their front porch where she'd tried to explain why he should let her go, would never suffice. He hadn't said the things he'd wanted—needed—to, hadn't explained how she'd helped save him: from roaming lost in this world, from imprisonment and institutionalization, from his son and the myriad monsters they'd encountered, from a wife who'd never truly been honest with him. And yes more important matters: from going mad, drowning in loneliness, feeling isolated, floating adrift in a world that still confounded him sometimes. And at times even saving him from himself. No, he hadn't said any of those things. And now he never could. Which is why he'd spent the next 49 hours and 52 minutes drowning his sorrows, his hollowed out chest, and his overactive mind in rivers of alcohol. He hadn't gotten smashed or wallowed in oblivion. No, he'd needed it to last, so he'd drunk just enough as the hours passed to keep the clawing ache in his empty ribcage from swallowing him whole. Miss Jenny had come by sometime around hour 32, banging on the door so hard he thought the roof would cave in. If he'd cared at all, he might feel concerned about her waking the neighbors in the dead of night, but he couldn't muster enough decency to. He'd ignored her at first, thinking she'd take a hint, or at least think him not home, but her insistent knocking continued. "I know you're in there, Crane." More banging. "Let me in there, or get out of my sister's house." It was a low blow, but one he deserved, for Miss Jenny had lost just as much as he had. If anyone had earned the right to drown her demons with liquor right next to him, it was her.

He'd stumbled to the door—okay, maybe he had gotten smashed, for he felt her knocking vibrate through his brain—bottle in hand, and unlocked it, turning the knob and walking away before he'd even seen her face. The slam of the door rattled the house but not him, and he shuffled back to his couch cushion, dropping down onto it, sipping from the bottle, and staring into the fireplace embers. Jenny said not a word, simply restarted the fire and plopped down on the other end of the couch, gazing at the vibrant blaze as it danced shadows around the room. After a few minutes, he threw out his arm towards her, bottle in hand, and she took it from him, downing a few gulps to try to silence the ache. She tried to return it to him, but he waved her off, waiting another 30 minutes before slowly rising—why did simply existing hurt so much?—and  retrieving a few more bottles, which he'd purchased on his way home from that graveyard, from the stash in the kitchen. He placed them on the cushion between them, an open bar for them to sink into. Another few hours dragged by, and he felt more than heard Jenny crying at some point, the room changing from desperation, anger, and pain to grief and mourning, and he joined her, tears cascading down his face unabashedly. Their silence made their shared sorrow all the more palpable, exchanging emotions they couldn't speak aloud, the shroud around them sucking the whimpering breaths out of them as easily as it'd done to their partners. How could he have kept silent all this time, holding in and swallowing down the words that'd desperately begged for release? He'd tried to ignore them, the burgeoning affection, passion—now that it mattered no longer, he could admit it, cowardly fiend that he was—and love he'd harbored for Abbie since long before proprietary permitted it. He'd killed his wife for her, for Heaven's sake! And while he pretended mere friendship, ignored everything that screamed at him to make his feelings known, he hadn't hidden a damn thing. Miss Corinth, Betsy, even Pandora had seen his love for her. What an abominable fool he'd been. And now the one person who needed to know, who should've heard it from his own lips a thousand times over, never would. He let the tears burn down his face, though they washed none of his self-recriminations away. He deserved every horrid thought he had about himself. They ripped through his mind, scathing him, leaving him more raw and aching than he could ever remember feeling before. His entire body ached, joints, marrow, muscles, head, chest. And still he sipped on, needing the numb, refusing the full onslaught of trauma a clear mind would force him to face. He'd lost before, lost battles and comrades and his dignity. Lost loves and his homeland and best friend and life. His world and his wife and his son and the dreams he'd had and held and hoped for. Hell, he'd even lost Abbie a few times. But never where he couldn't get her back. Never where he couldn't find a way to follow, to find, to free her. And Master Corbin too. To lose both within hours of each other...they could shrivel into oblivion right now and it'd feel better than this. Master Joe had become his compatriot, his comrade in arms against the monsters and the daily dose of estrogen floating around the Archives—not that he'd trade the Mills sister or Agent Foster for ten regiments of men—not to mention a brother and friend. And Abbie...the ache in his chest seized him anew, and his shoulders hunched in against the black hole of despair threatening his breath. He couldn't begin to enumerate all the things she'd become to him. Partner, secret-keeper, fellow Witness, best friend, confidant, companion, roommate, voice of reason, inspiration, keeper of his heart. He thought he'd been in love once, had been in fact, but losing her had felt nothing like this. He'd sat in pain, suffered with the guilt that he'd not devoted enough to her, hadn't held tightly enough to a union that hadn't been what he'd agreed to, despaired that she'd died by his own hand in an effort to save Abbie. He'd had to—it hadn't even been a choice by then. Now, though, without Abbie...he didn't know how to keep breathing, wasn't sure he wanted to. Couldn't see beyond the bottom of the bottle. How could he walk through the world, the Archives, the town, this house, with memories of her around every corner, breathing down his neck, invading his mind, shredding the broken pieces of his heart into shavings? How could he solve the mysteries of the supernatural without her intellect, expertise, and help? What was one Witness to do without his other half, the best part of him, his anchor to this era? He couldn't sit still with himself and his maudlin ruminations another second. Without thinking, Ichabod hefted himself off the couch and shuffled down the hallway, making a pit stop before grabbing a box of tissues from the hall closet. He set them down on the cushion between them and took his seat again. Jenny had stayed until the sun was well into the sky, barely any words spoken but sharing the pain of their losses just the same. She'd stretched her hand out towards him, bridging the empty spaces around them with a simple reach of her arm across the cushion. He looked at her hand, open and alone in the expanse between them, and he slid his hand into hers, both of them holding on and squeezing tightly, attempting to convey all the things they couldn't speak with words. A moment later, she slipped quietly out of the house, the finality of the door clicking closed somehow louder than the slam she'd entered it with, sealing him into a solitude he'd never comprehend. More hours passed as he'd slept off the nasty hangover he wouldn't admit he had, as he sat in the bathtub letting the hot water steam over him until it cooled off and had him shivering, as he roamed aimlessly from room to room, gazing longingly at all the remnants of Agent Lieutenant Grace Abigail Mills: her hairbrush, those heeled boots that still left her a foot shorter than him, the cappuccino she'd just started drinking again at his behest, her pea coat with the faux-fur hood that made her look adoringly like a diminutive Eskimo. Now, just over 84 hours had passed, and he still didn't have a sweet clue as to how to get through the next one, still sat in this one corner of the couch, only this time without a drink in his hand. Without so many things... Without a case to work, without his partner in crime and, he'd begun to hope, in life from here until the end, without a purpose, he might as well lay back down in that cave he'd emerged from and sleep for a few more centuries. "Crane." Her voice, soft and lilting and perfect, floated to him, a haunting sound he both craved and feared. He'd thought he might have imagined her during his indulgent consumption of alcohol, but no...it was here in his lucid moments that he'd conjured the sound of her, the voice he'd long to hear until the day he drew his last breath. "Crane." She sounded hesitantly happy, guardedly optimistic, a smile coming through her tone. Exactly how he heard her in his mind, same as he'd done when she'd been lost in the catacombs. He shook his head slightly to escape from her, not ready for conversations with her yet, everything about him still too raw to face all of the things he needed to apologize for, all of the things he'd never had the audacity to tell her when she'd stood by him, encouraged him, spurred him on. "Ichabod." She accompanied her insistent tone and the rare use of his first name with a hand on his shoulder, and he nearly jumped out of his skin, scrambling up from the couch to face whatever ghoul had come to destroy his feeble, battered mind. And his jaw dropped. There she stood...Abbie. In one piece, small in stature but large in presence, beautiful and strong and...breathing. How could this be? "Abbie...?" His whispered question sounded more like a squeak, but he didn't dare try again, wasn't sure what devilry was at work here, arriving to destroy him when he was at his lowest, his most vulnerable. She looked at him, her expression a mixture of sadness and apology, a small smile of hesitation and hope playing on her face. "Hi."

[sonofanumbranwitch]

P5S Seven Heavenly Virtues PT.5. Akane Hasegawa and The Jail of Kindness.

So the next few Jails are kind of different from my last few because I actually feel like they match their sins rather well. Akane is supposed to be the Jail representing Wrath and this actually fits her perfectly with her anger towards her father and the injustice of the world. But we’ll need to change a few things to make her fit my concept for Akane “Jophiel” Hasegawa.

So the first changes I want to discuss are the aesthetic and design changes to her Jail because they are the more blantant ones. The whole shrine aesthetic of the original are cool and all but they don’t really have anything to do with Akane’s monarch aesthetic. Perhaps in the sense on how it relates to her mourning for her mother.

But her Monarch’s whole thing is she wants to be a Phantom Thief. So instead of the shrine the Palace is a dark city for anti-heroes to run around in. Think the aesthetics of the early 1990s Batman animated series.

Also the Jail has been expanded to be a full jail with Prison Keeps and everything. A Chekhov’s Gun that was never triggered is the fact Akane has over 50,000 subscribers to her Phantom Thief stream. So the first thing she did when she was changed into a Monarch was give all her subscribers her keyword and steal their desires. Now people all around Japan are dawning masks and capes and are throwing themselves into dangerous situations in order to be “Heroes of Justice.”

I also was having a hard time trying to figure out how to make kindness as a virtue a bad thing. But then I remembered how kindness can be harmful toward one’s self if they allow their kindness to make them forget about their own needs.

So our next change for Akane’s story is her relationship to her father. It’s still rocky but she doesn’t open express her anger towards her father. Instead she’s been bottling up her feelings. Trying to put on a strong face for her father instead of allowing herself to work through the trauma of losing her mother. A lot of inspirations come from Riley’s journey from the Pixar film Inside Out. By denying her feelings she’s only getting angrier deep down but she does it because she doesn’t want to burden her father.

Zenkichi of course is aware that his daughter isn’t doing as well as she pretends to be. But given how shaky their relationship is he isn’t sure how to address the problem. In comes Makoto who is able to connect with Akane given her own experiences having a police officer for a father.

Makoto will be playing a larger role in this Jail overall. She acts as the mediator for Akane and her father. Helping them to communicate their struggles and start towards rebuilding their relationship.

“Akane I understand how you feel. You put on a strong front for your father, but deep down your in terrible pain. You both are! You’re father has tried his best to endure the pain of losing your mother just like you. But two need to be honest with each other or you’ll never stop having that pain. Once you lose someone, it’s too late to say the things you need to. I waited too long to tell my father how I felt and I lost my chance. Please learn from my mistake. I would give anything to have the opportunity you have.”

Akane’s boss form is inspired by the Joy angels from Bayonetta. Akane wants to be a phantom thief so her boss form has her copying the move sets of the thieves. She splits herself into these Phantom Thief clones and there is now a series of one on one match ups instead of just fighting Shadow Joker. The thieves eventually figure out they beat the shadows by switching opponents with each other. Ex. Ann and Yusuke switch opponents because they can take advantage of each other’s elemental weakness and so on.

The Jail ends much the same with Zenkichi finally having a real heart to heart with his daughter. Akane finally lets lose all her pent up feelings. Her sorrow at losing her mother, her frustration with the justice system that failed her, and her complicated emotions surrounding her father.

“I know you want me to be happy dad. But I’m not. I haven’t been for so long, ever since mom died. I knew what really happen but no one believed me. And then I saw just how sad and angry you were. I felt like I was going crazy. I didn’t want to make you feel worse and I didn’t want feel anything at all. So I just forced myself to smile. Please don’t be mad at me.”

“Oh honey. No. No no no. I could never be mad at you for that. I’m sorry for all this. I never should have let you feel like you had to hide your emotions for my sake. I was afraid of losing you, so I buried ideas of justice for your mother. So I’ll set things right. I swear I will find the criminals that hurt my family and I will bring them to justice.

“So you’re really going after him?”

“Yes. I promise you… and your mother.”

At this point I would just be retyping the dialogue from the original version, which just goes to show how good Akane’s Jail always was. I actually felt conflicted about changing the nature of their relationship at all, but I feel like the core idea here is still the same. Namely how trauma had strained this relationship between a father and daughter and how they need to come together to face it head on instead of pushing it down.

[futurewriter2000]

Minor Complications

A/N: This idea has been stuck in my head for so long as I was studying german and I couldn’t hold it inside anymore. I hope it’s close as you imagined it @slytherinlovesgryffindor​ and I’m sorry for making you wait for so long. Man, I love Fred imagines. 

REQUESTED BY @slytherinlovesgryffindor : Heyyy i see you are taking Fred weasley requests. So do you mind doing a post war , Fred lives , angsty , bff imagine with some bit of george too . thanks:)

XX

It was just another day at the Diagonalley. You just left Flourish and Blotts, buying a children book for your nephew, who is celebrating his 4th birthday. 

You know he doesn’t read much but your sister always, and always was a big bookworm and she will make sure he will love any book she reads to him. She had always had an amazing story-telling talent and you are forever grateful for her forcing you to read until you started loving books as well. 

You put the book, wrapped in harsh, brown paper into your bag. You smiled as you looked forward, seeing the lights of your favorite shop turned off. 

It was late and you had always been the kind to do everything last minutes. You smiled as you passed Weasleys’ Wizard Wheezes, nuzzling your nose into the warm, red scarf one of the boys bought you for your birthday. 

It still had his scent. Mostly because you had barely worn this scarf but when you did, you always made sure it was this exact, red scarf. 

“AAAARRRRHRHHHHRHR!!!!” you heard a shout behind you, making you scream in fear as two long arms wrapped around you, lifting you off the ground and twirling you. 

Flashes of death, pain and pale, stoic figures played in front of you in that moment, causing the most horrendous feeling to burn your bones into numbness. Petrified, you started kicking with your legs, trying anything to get out of it until you heard two familliar, distinct laughs echoing in sync. 

“YOU BLOODY INCONCEIVABLE UNREPENTANT LITTLE PIECES OF SHAT!!” you fumed, finally stepping on your feet as a pair of identical red-heads cackled in front of you. You started shoving and pucnhing them both as your heart continued to race faster. “WHAT IN THE BLOODY HELL IS WRONG WITH THE TWO OF YOU!?!?!?!?” 

“Now, that is not nice, (y/n).” one of the cooed but you were extremely upset by their little “prank” that at this time, you just couldn’t. 

You couldn’t deal with this. 

Tears flooded your eyes as you pushed them both out of your way, disapparating into the unknown as the other two stayed behind, looking after you. 

Both of them exchanged a guilty-full look, one scratching the back of his head as the other drowned his heart in sorrow. 

“Reckon we went too far, too soon?” said George, leaning in. 

“Yup.” said the other, leaning back to his brother. “Roses?”

“Yup.”

---

You were furious at the two boys but you managed to calm yourself down. It was just the disbelief that they don’t have any trauma from what happened, especially Fred since he was the one-

“Knock knock!” you heard his voice after the doorbell cut your train of thoughts. 

You kept looking at the door for some reason, deciding whether you should open the door with a smile that was painted on your lips by his voice or the glare that was the result of the past events.

“You know I could just apparate in there and forget all these Muggle gestures of ringing the doorbell.” he kept talking, ringing the doorbell one more time and with a long pause continued. “Knock knock.” 

You laughed to yourself and shook your head, walking to the door and opening them with a forceful glare. You leaned your whole weight on your back and crossed your arms, trying to make him as intimidated as you could. 

However, with Fred Weasley that was difficult. 

You couldn’t even see his face due to the bush of red roses he held in front of him. He slowly, carefully, nonchalantly lowered the boquet of roses and showed his cheeky smile. 

You tried to hold your ground intently as he continued to watch you with his doe-eyed, beady eyes, quirking his lips in a grin. 

You pursed your lips together, losing all the toughness you tried to manage and painting a smile on your face. “Give me the roses you big oaf.” you laughed and his whole face lit up. 

You moved to the side, clearing his path into your apartment and watching his big steps enter proudly, stopping when he was next to you and leaning forward. 

The two of you were an inch, less than that, apart and he kept looking at you, firstly observing the eyes, then the forehead to your nose and lips until he met your eyes once again and smirked. “Can’t be mad at us forever, can you darling?” he raised an eyebrow before taking off his shoes and taking the roses into the kitchen. 

You felt a bit flushed from the proximity he had caused between the two of you. The tension you could still feel lingering was so intense, you could cut through it with a knife. 

‘Why? From all the people... it’s your best friend...’ - you thought to yourself, holding onto your chest and checking if your lungs were functioning normally- which in your case, didn’t. 

You cleared your throat, looked at the hallways mirror and tried to fix your hair before you entered the living room. You flipped it to the side and was about to go into the kitchen until you stopped, stepped back and looked into the mirror. 

‘I could have at least brushed my hair-’

“Are you trying to look good for me?” you heard him tease, leaning on the doorframe with his arms crossed and his usual smirk plastered on. 

You stared for a while, feeling your whole body heat up from the embarrasment before shaking it off and scoffing. “Get your head out of the gutter, Weasley.” you walked past him, knocking his arm lightly until you entered the living room with a beautiful tuft of red roses on your table. 

You stopped at the sight and smiled. 

It caused a warm, cosy feeling immerge inside of you. Something that wasn’t close to butterflies nor any kind of nervousness. You felt safety, family... you felt loved. 

He could see you drift away into your own small world, noticing how you took a hold of the necklace both he and George bought you for your birthday. You brought the silver chain up to your plush lips, pressing on them lightly as your eyes glimmered with glee. 

He stepped behind you, his chest close to your back as he wrapped his hands around you gently, feeling you drift away your day dreaming. His long, slim arms wrapped around you as vines hug a tree, spreading warm, fuzzy feeling through your body. Snugly, you let your head fall back on his chest, holding onto the arms he embraced you with. He kissed the side of your head delicatly and whispered. “I’m sorry.” he then buried his head into your neck, breathing in your scent as his red hair started tickling your cheeks and causing you to smile. 

Your arm pulled itself up to his head, your hand digging into his dense hair and triggering some variety of euphoria through both of you. 

He could feel himself breathe heavier, feeling you so close but too timid to do anything about it. 

The doorbell stirred the both of you. You turned around, facing Fred as his hands placed themselves on your hips, his eyes longinlgy gazing into yours. Despite the doorbell, he could still feel the intimate moment between the two of you. As his middle and ring finger on his left hand touched your exposed skin and feel the goosebumps underneath them, he knew you could feel it just as well. 

“Knock knock!” a similar voice echoed from the other side and it eased all of the tension that built up. “Should I apparate? Fred did you apparate inside?” 

“No. I waited like a true gentleman!” shouted Fred with a wink, running to get the door for his brother. 

“Well, you surely didn’t wait for me.” George narrowed his eyes at his brother. “I thought we would do this together. Double the power.” he kept joking, walking into the living room to find you flush red. He stopped to think, looking around suspiciously. “Did the two of you start wine without me?”

“Not until I forgive the two of you for acting like two arseholes.” you joked, walking into the wine cabinet and pulling out one of the bottles. 

“I thought Freddie took care of that already.” George walked after you, grabbing the glasses and as you stood up, he slung his arm around you. “I am terribly sorry for pulling such a cruel prank on my dear best friend, (y/n)(y/l/n). I will not let it happen again.” he kissed your cheek and jumped over to the couch. 

But there was something... something in his words that sounded defient, light and not atoning at the slightest that made your veins boil fury. 

When Fred said those simple three words, you could feel the heaviness he carried in them but with George, it felt like another forgive-forget apology. 

You stood in front of him, tense and furious as both of them joked around. You held the bottle of wine in your hands and it just popped in your hand, splashing the wine all around. 

Both of them looked at you with wide, worried eyes as you glared. 

“No! It won’t happen again, George! It won’t!” you started to shout at him. “Because as funny as it was to you, running up to me and thinking it would be fun grabbing me from behind and scaring me half to death, I was thinking of the last time someone did that to me- Mulciber if you both remember it clearly- Mulciber, who grabbed my body- that could not even in the slightest compare to his gorrilic one- and shoved a stupid shard of glass into my ribs because I disarmed him!” 

“I’m sorry, jeez, (y/n).” George tried to speak, knowing exactly what would follow his insensitive words. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I know how that sounded and I didn’t mean for it to come out like this, darling.” he tried to take a step forward but you wouldn’t let him.

“You don’t sound like your sorry.” the anger started to cloud your judgment and all you couls see was red and blue. 

“Well, as I reckon- you didn’t lose anybody at the stupid battle!” his words just kept coming out and Fred could only stare, not knowing himself how to stop this argument. “I almost lost a brother! I did! So why don’t you stop the self-pity act and just deal with it as the rest of us!”

You felt dumbfounded from his reaction. “I did lost-”

“No, you didn’t!”

“Yes, I did!” you continued to argue. 

"NO! YOU DIDN'T LOST ANYBODY! I ALMOST LOST MY BROTHER! MY BEST FRIEND! YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT IT FELT!"

"I ALMOST LOST FRED TOO!!" you shouted so loud, your vocal cords numbed away, quivering the next few words in quiet, raspy voice. "I almost lost him too." you looked directly into Fred's eyes, tearing your own as you did, then focusing back on George. "I was there, holding him, pale and half-dead in my arms. And instead of fighting what came next, I couldn't do anything. I couldn't move a muscle or mumble a word. I cried- I cried just as much as you did George because even if I don't understand the strong connection the two of you have, I still love him. And when he was in my arms, lifeless, so was I- I was dead with him. So don't you tell me that I haven't suffered a loss. We all had lost somebody that day. We both almost lost Fred that day. " tears fell down your eyes and George finally realized what he had said and done. 

He stormed into your arms and sobbed into your neck. You sobbed into his as well, gripping his shirt as he did yours. “I’m sorry.” he appologised sincerely, pulling away and looking at you with glistened eyes. He let out a laugh, taking a hold of your cheeks with his palms and squishing it playfully. “Look at us pathethic fools, crying like two whimps.” 

You slapped his hands away amusingly, wiping away the tears with your sleeves and straightning your face expression. “I don’t know what you’re blabbering about. I had pollen in my eyes.” you sassed as the other two laughed.

“Look at the two of you bonding over me.” Fred awed, swinging his body like a child and sitting down. 

Both you and George exchanged looks, before looking at Fred all too seriously. “You think this is funny?” asked George, crossing his arms as you followed his lead.

“I think I can make fun of my death more or so as you can make fun of your missing ear.” 

George bit his cheek, narrowing his eyes at his brother. “Touche.” 

“And me?” you asked, demanding an explenation. 

“Well for you, my dear.” he put his right foot on his left knee and wiggled his eyebrows. “I think I can mention me winning a fight with death itself as much as you think you can deny that what happened before doesn’t change things.” 

You felt your heartbeat jump to your throat and your body twist into chumps of nervers. You felt your cheeks heat up the moment his eyes locked with yours, his colour showing the change in their danger. 

Forcing a laugh, you rolled your eyes and sat on the armchair opposite of him. 

“What happened before?” George perplexed, glancing between the two of you. 

“Your going to deny it now?” asked Fred, ignoring his brother as he leaned forward and continued to hunt for your eyes. 

“Hello?” George waved his hand but you ignored him as well, turning your head from the side, so your eyes could meet his. 

“Maybe.”

“Maybe what?” 

“What am I here?” George continued. “A wall?”

“Maybe what happened before did change things.” you smirked and you could almost see the triumph on his face as his lips reached his cheeks.

“I think it did.” Fred continued, leaning back on his seat as you mirrored. 

“Good to know we established that.”

“I think we could establish that further into tomorrow night, seven perhaps?”

“Eight.”

“Always the princess.” he teased and you laughed.

“Well, what’s a princess without her frog.” you winked and it was his turn to laugh.

He turned to his brother, who sat there sulking and smiled. “Guess, you’ll close the shop tomorrow?”

“GuESs yOU’ll cLoSE the ShOp tomOrrW...” Geroge mocked Fred as the two of you laughed. “Yes, I’ll close the shop tomorrow.” he stood up and walked to the wine cabinet. “Took you both long enough.”

[coleyholts]

The ER and the Operation

First off-Sorry I haven’t posted in a while.  For obvious reasons, this post took a lot of time to put into words that were relatable.  

Trigger Warning: Infant Injury.  This is by far the worst part of the entire ordeal.  I want the reader to know that none of this is exaggerated whatsoever, and it may be difficult to read.  What happened in the ER and trauma center that day has truly changed me.

The glass doors parted in front of me to reveal a line of people waiting to get checked in. This was the first time I cried. They all quickly waved me up ahead of them once they saw that I had an obviously unconscious, super pale, vomit covered infant in my arms.

The helplessness set in when I was required to sign in like everyone else.  It’s not like I expect special treatment, but my baby was dying and no one seemed to understand the urgency of the EMERGENCY.  There were no nurses coming out to receive a trauma patient. There was no alarm.  I stood there, alone, with my rapidly worsening baby, sobbing and screaming for help while dripping in her breakfast and lunch.  At this point, she would wake up and pass out again in a vicious cycle.  Over and over, I watched her light dim for what felt like an eternity. After what I would rationally estimate to be about seven minutes (48,369,526 years to a scared parent), they finally called us back.

Everyone was taking their time.  I wondered if they thought I was being dramatic.  Were they rolling their eyes and blaming my emotion on “New Parent Syndrome?”  They were.  I felt it.

It wasn’t until they FINALLY decided to run vitals that they discovered what I was trying to stress since I had entered the hospital.  My daughter had something way more serious going on than any of us expected.  We walked (very briskly) down the hall to get a better look at what was actually happening in her head.  The tech and nurse cloaked me in protective gear so that I could stay with her.  I gently stroked her toes (also known as de peets) as she woke up, cried in pain, and fell back into her trauma-induced sleep while they got all of the imagery they needed.

We were brought back to our room and had a brief moment alone.  I held her so tight while I kissed her face and alternated holding her feet and hands.  They were so cold.  A nurse rushed up to our door, looked at me and said, “make sure to keep her as upright as possible.”  

That’s when I knew there was a bleed in my baby’s head.

A team of nurses came in and told me that they were going to start an IV, which actually made me feel relieved to know she would be feeling better soon. This is when Daniel arrived, and being that he is the epitome of girl dad attitude, he understandably doesn’t like to watch her get stuck.  He stuck his head in the room and immediately backed out when they tried to start the line. Unfortunately, we found out very quickly that she had no blood in her limbs whatsoever.  

They stuck her over and over again just to find air bubbles, which means they were unable to administer any intravenous medication to replace fluids, relieve pain, stop her from fading in and out of consciousness, or do anything to prevent the blood pooling in Natasha’s skull.  They decided that her condition was serious enough that she needed a line no matter what it took, which I agreed, which meant that they were going to use a legitimate power tool to drill into her shins to run a line into her bones.  I consented and sobbed, knowing the pain my baby had already endured that day was going to be the start of much more, if she survived.

While this was going down, Daniel was right outside the door, unaware of the issues we were running into, he heard a nurse at the nurses’ station ordering a helicopter for an infant, and that the “family wasn’t aware yet.”  My husband is a strong, supportive man that is a fixer.  If he cannot fix a problem, he expresses himself with (verbal) anger.  He comes into the room and says very abruptly to the nurse, “You’re flying her out?! Why?!” to which the male nurse responded, “because there's something seriously wrong and it needs to be fixed.”  I saw him escalating with anxiety so I assured him that they were just having a little trouble getting the line in and he returned to the hallway to start the wait for the doctor who was going to tell us what the hell was actually happening to our baby.

When she arrived, the doctor came in with Daniel.  She told us that Natasha had fractured her skull, and along with potential brain damage and hemorrhage, we were also concerned about blood loss, as her supply was pooling in her head.  The only way to save her life was to get her to INOVA Children’s Hospital for an emergency surgery, on a helicopter that I was not allowed to accompany her on.

Alone with my baby and the nurses, I was so upset.  My sweet girl was in so much pain. I made eye contact with a nurse and while sobbing, begged her to please administer anything whatsoever to ease the headache and all of the needle sticks-not to mention the drill.  For the first time, someone heard me.  She RAN into the hall and managed to bring back Versed, which can be administered nasally to relax muscles and calm the patient.  I am given the same drug when I get my back injections, so I was relieved.  It also prevents the patient from remembering everything, when administered in proper dosage.  It helped Natasha’s discomfort immediately.  They gave her the numbing shots in her legs, and while she was dozing and truly unaware of my presence, I stepped into the hallway.

This was the first time since the CT scan that she wasn’t in my arms. This time was different.  We knew the severity of the injury and she was being cared for by the entire trauma team of 7+ people.  I took one step out of the room, one step to the left, and planted my butt on the wall and hands on my knees for stability while I hung my head in complete disbelief.  How could this happen?  I opened my eyes and saw my clothing, dripping in her vomit.  I can still smell the banana berry baby food she ate without hesitation two hours earlier.  I screamed and sobbed as my muscles locked up in my legs and chest, then I felt someone put their hands on me.

I was literally picked up and supported while I shakily stood, completely losing my mind over the guilt and hatred I felt for myself.  The drilling began and I let out a sound I didn’t know I could make, while I was held tighter than I’d ever been.  I pulled back, just for a second, to look into the eyes of my soulmate and all I could say was, “I’m so sorry.”  Daniel pulled me back in, kissed my face, wiped my tears (which really didn’t do anything considering they just kept coming, but the gesture was so kind), and proceeded to tell me that it wasn’t my fault, and that he loves me and he loves that I am his daughter’s mother.  In that moment, his anger subsided and he moved to a different headspace.  That small exchange is burned into my heart forever and I have never been so incredibly thankful to be his wife.

They helicopter team arrived and they were still unable to get a steady line going.  According to their transport regulations, a patient transported by air has to be hooked up to an IV as well as intubated.  Time was ticking and my baby was visibly fading.  While still in the hallway, we were met by some medical coordinator who was trying to arrange a ride for us while she was in the air.  I don’t know how he was able, but after insisting over and over, they let us go.  They finally put an IV in my baby’s forehead; there was no other way.  They were discreet and covered it but I know what an IV mark looks like after the fact.  They could not get her intubated and save her so that (very brave) helicopter team took a huge risk that ultimately got her to INOVA by deciding to take her anyway.  WE kissed her goodbye while sobbing and told her how much we loved her.  The thought of her dying in flight weighed on us heavily, so we took off as soon as they wheeled her out.

The ride there was crazy.  I had no thoughts and all the thoughts going through my head.  My heart was nauseous.  I set a quick group text to my immediate family.  We saw the helicopter fly over us and it was a sigh of relief-knowing we were FLYING down the highway but she would be there faster.

We pulled up to the ER/Trauma Center.  I got out and ran in.  All I could get out was “Natasha” until they asked my relation and I somehow got out, “my baby...”  They valeted the car so Daniel could be with us.  They were rushing to get her into surgery.  They brought us into the trauma room (families usually aren’t permitted there but there was no time) and pulled up some waiver and permission forms.  They briefly explained the surgery, we signed, then it was GO TIME.

We stepped out of the room as the table with my baby strapped to it-full of wires and tubes-flew out of the trauma room.  The anesthesiologist made brief eye contact with me, halted the team, and said, “Let her kiss her baby.”  He knew she could easily not make it through this surgery.  Daniel kissed her and loved her for a few seconds and backed away with teary eyes.  I laid my forehead against her cheek.  I sobbed and screamed.  I kissed her over and over as my tears soaked us.  I told her I was so so sorry and that I loved her so much.  I wished it was me.

They took her away then.  The team saw my raw sorrow.  I got a very quick but kind pat on the back and they took off.

We were met by a social worker who brought us to a private room where we could chat and have some water.  Of course, we were asked all the suspected child abuse questions, but they got the idea pretty quickly that this was a freak accident.

After the interview, we were brought to a huge waiting room that must have been filled with 100+ seats.  We found a spot and the social worker left us.  We sat for a moment, touching hands.  They we both had to cry, then stand, then pace... The wait took forever, even more so not knowing if she was even going to live.

My brother, Jason works out that way and asked us if we needed anything right at that moment.  I was wearing a paper shirt provided by a nurse, so we gave him a small list and he stopped by.  He and Daniel stepped out for some fresh air while I sat breathing deeply and trying not to worry myself into another panic episode.  Then, an actual angel emerged from the hospital doors.

Dr. Leon Moores, a pediatric neurosurgeon at Pediatric Specialists of Virginia performed the emergency surgery.  I called for Daniel as Dr. Moores hugged me so tightly.  I didn’t know if this was a good or bad hug yet.

Daniel and Jason walked (ran) back in and sat with us to hear the outcome.  He told us that he was able to remove a blood clot the size of his fist from Natsha’s skull and that her vitals were wonderful.  So she had 100% survived the surgery.  Next was about brain damage, and by some miracle, her brain remained unharmed.  Dr. Moores saved my baby.

While they were getting her settled into the PICU, Jason took us to Target to get some clothes and snacks.  We had no idea how long this journey was going to be.  We got back to the hospital, gave gigantic hugs, and went up to see our baby as she woke up.

[arastarboy]

The Sparrow's Heart

Chapter 1 - Death

The bells rang ever so loudly in his head, their harrowing sounds growing evermore present, like an incessant nuisance. Until this critical juncture, where they at last silenced themselves. He found peace at last. The droplets of rain striking his smeared visage cleansed of the impurities that stained him, but there was an untraceable bitter taste that lingered on his tongue where the rain fell. The coldness spread from his core to the extremities, swallowing him whole. It wasn't long before the calming touch of the rain he relished mere moments ago, now felt like nothing at all. Genji turned his gaze from the endless cloudy sky to where he felt some sensation. He looked down, to see his severed arm paint the earth with a sorrowful crimson. A blade impaled through his sternum, the sparrow still felt the steel extend its reach beyond his bareback. Weakness overcame him but in a moment of solace, as he accepted his faith and prepared for departure to the endless nothingness that awaited him, he mustered the strength to grasp the hand that wielded the bane of his existence with the arm that remained tethered.

"Are you at peace, Hanzo?" The Sparrow muttered, an inquiry met by damning silence. "You've fulfilled your duty and slain your only brother." Still, he was met with silence and with frustration mounting a second wind sparked new life within. A grip that fixated on Hanzo's wrist now took him by the collar drawing Hanzo closer to his brother, as death's grip tightened around Genji. "You're despicable. You didn't learn a thing from our father. You let the elders played you like some pawn."

The blade from Genji's abdomen was extracted, at last, the venom in his dying words finally began to take effect upon the apathetic Hanzo, invoking the turbulence of emotions, he so desperately attempted to suppress, to surface. Angered, Hanzo gave his brother one final push, forsaking him to the earth. A solemn vow to fulfill his duty to the clan he valued above all else, including the life of his brother, upon which he metaphorically spit on with a last act of disrespect. "You're but a disgrace to the clan. You are not fit to be Shimada. You have forgotten the burden the name carries. We can no longer abide by your childish behaviour, Genji."

Turning heel the last living Shimada departed, kicking dirt onto the body that would soon be a corpse. It was only mere moments ago, that he could appreciate the colourless darkened sky in all its glory. It was monotone and drab, but there was beauty in simplicity. Beauty that slipped from his grasp with each passing second, slowly the crying skies above became nothing but a hazy reflection until it became nothing at all. An endless void from which light could not escape, the eternal nothingness. Genji verbalized nothing for he damned his faith, he did not embrace death willingly and it is only in his twilight he came to realize. Death had forced thyself upon him. How he longed for the pleasures of the flesh that he once drowned in, without a thought for consequence. A female companion wrapped around one arm and a drink that would make any man far more honest than he was capable of being in the other. Even the sounds of the arcade machines now played in his head like an addictive melody, even if such sounds were anything but. "I don't want to.." But the choice was not one for him to make.

"Calling Overwatch HQ, Agent ID: X-90843. Operation: Dragon's Breath. Code Alpha: Requesting immediate medical assistance. The subject is in critical condition. EMT has stemmed the bleeding but the wounds still prove to be fatal. Transporting subject to Tokyo facility. Priority: Valkyrie."

"Out of the way!"

"Operating room now!"

"Where is she?!"

"She's on her, ETA 15 mins. Tracer is with her."

"He won't make the 15 mins."

The hands of time mercilessly marched on. With each second that was lost to the sands of time, Genji's spirit communion to the great beyond intensified. A pitiless existence, transfixed onto the great divide between life and death, unallowed to cross into either.

"Even if she gets here now, there's nothing she can do.."

"Then it's a good thing Overwatch's medical research is ahead of its time wouldn't you say?"

A voice commanded the attention of the room as the doors to the operating room flung open. The committer, however, was careful not to contaminate the cleanroom and abide by the strict protocols set in place, dressed in a white lab coat, flaxen hair tied up and away from potentially hindering her work, a stethoscope slung around her neck. She walked with purpose and urgency, just a pace short of running. Approaching the patient with one glance she assessed his condition, the accompanying report was studied just as quickly and put to the side, which only served to reinforce what she had already predicted. "You over there!" She commanded personnel as if this was a battlefield and she was the presiding commander. Beeps of all kind sounded off, each one indicating one critical condition after another. They were cascading, mounting, becoming overwhelming.

"He's going into cardiac arrest!"

Even as the room around her descended the spiral of chaos, she stood steady at the eye of the storm, steadfast and resolute, armed with the skills and knowledge to navigate the storm. With two paddles she marched onto his bedside. "Move!" She demanded. "Clear!" She carried as she imposed the two paddles onto his chest. The electrocardiogram detected no significant change. So she tried again. "Clear!" And again. "Clear!" And Again. "Clear!"

"Dr. Ziegler.." A nurse placed a hand on her shoulder, to distract and detract but the same complexion of determination persevered. "Clear!" She slowly retreated the paddles. Perhaps it was time to admit, admit that even for all the advancements in medicine she made, all the times she stubbornly defied the odds, there are some souls the grim reaper was unwilling to let loose once more onto the world. It was then, the eternal void answered her remorse. The monitors once more established a steady pattern. The heartbeat she read was weak, but it was stable.

"Induce hibernation for at least a month." She directed. "Providing he can maintain this heart rate for another hour we can proceed with the operation. We'll need to amputate both legs. The tissue has already begun to die, we need to act quickly before an infection sets in. Ready the therapeutic cybernetics, we'll install them right away, as long as the neural interface is successful he should wake up feeling as if nothing has changed."

Drawing a pen from her pocket, she recovered a holo pad upon which she scribed all her directives and approved with her impression at the bottom, before handing it off to the appropriate staff to follow through.

"Prepare the healing pod. There's not much tissue left, but we'll at least be able to regenerate what remains."

The doctor turned to the patient once more, sapphire hues carefully studying what remained. From what patches of skin not stained by crimson, she could deduce the man either maintained an effective skincare routine of sorts or was blessed by genetics. He was an ideal "specimen" so to speak, a good bone structure served as the framework for his figure, upon which he maintained an ideal muscle tone. Perhaps the picture of health so frivolously the media often advertised. Yet for all his physical virtues, he'd now be forced to forfeit nearly all to cling to what little life still sparked within. A sense of remorse now burdened the prodigal doctor. The man appeared to be around the same age as her, uncertain as she didn't have the opportunity to study identity details yet, being consumed by the severity of his injuries. Despite his youth, he was massacred, defiled, what remained was a husk of who he once was. Wounds so deep it cut to the bone, and in some instances wounds, the cut bone was openly exposed to the contaminant-less air of the operating room. Angela bit her lower lip, a growing frustration burrowed in her chest, this was more than attempted murder this was all-consuming hatred unleashed onto another, an act of sincere evil.

Irrespective of the therapies that would restore his body's full functionality, in some instances enhancing his capabilities, allowing him to discard the limitations of the fragile human body, the extent of the mental trauma he'd now be forced to cope with remained an uncertainty. He'd continuously tread the line between man and machine, would he be able to establish equilibrium? The porcelain skin of her thin digits caressed the edges of the gaping wound upon his chest. It was a prayer if anything. Not that she invested much faith in an omnipotent force beyond human comprehension, but if there ever was such a thing, let it show him mercy. There she felt some reassurance, an answer to her prayer of sorts, a strong steady rhythm to his breathing as if he was stubbornly defying the odds and clinging to life. The crestfallen doctor found some solace, at last, which manifested as a subtle smile that curved to her pale lips. "Don't give up." She whispered

"Dr. Ziegler. Commander Morrison, Blackwatch Commander Reyes, and Captain Amari are here to see you." She turned her head in surprise, seldom did the three heads of Overwatch convene. To add to the exceptionality of the moment, the three gathered to addressed her, whereas more often than not, her correspondence with top brass involved exclusively Morrison. Intrigued Angela pried herself away from the table and departed the room. "Prep him for surgery." She instructed before her impromptu exit.

"Commander Morrison, if this is about the situation in Switzerland my team there is more than capable of handling it." She quickly commented, taking a stab in the dark as to what pressing concern would warrant such an intervention here.

"It's not about that Angela. But this a sensitive matter, let's find somewhere quiet." The air in the atmosphere suddenly grew heavy. Angela felt the temperature of the room plummet and her bones grow stiff. Something ominous hung between the two parties convened here, She studied their expression and she could already deduce whatever the matter was, it was something she wouldn't be able to stomach. The doctor sighed, venting the doubts that restrained her before she followed the three into an isolated room and as the door shut behind her the sense of tension only wrung tighter.

Nearly an hour had passed.

"No way!" She stated thunderously, her voice carrying to the nearby halls, warranting the few curious eyes to wander to the room through the glass window. All such gazes were met with a scornful one from Reyes, that immediately re-directed them back to their duties.

"Angela, calm down. This benefits Overwatch and the people of Japan. We haven't gained any ground in our fight against the Shimada, this is our best chance." Morrison interjected.

"I won't!" She protested with vigour once more.

"Angela, you're being stubborn." They presented a unified front, with even Ana echoing their sentiments. Angela felt as if she was being cornered, forced to do their bidding or else, but she was not so easily toppled, she'd stand her ground and uphold her morals. Superiors or not, she had no intention of following through.

"Stubborn!? I developed that technology to increase the survivability of our soldiers on the front lines. The technology isn't even finished, neural compatibility caps out at 75% on even the most trained soldiers who have been using enhanced augments for 10 or more years and prolonged connection could permanently damage the nervous system. But you're asking me to administer an upscaled version of that technology to a patient who barely escaped death. You're trying to turn him into a living weapon for your war and I won't do it! It's unethical and that putting it mildly." Angela explained, all the details laid bare before top brass, every argument a sound objection against their stance. Yet even after sharing a glance, they appeared to remain unmoved. "He doesn't deserve this…"

"Yes but I understand that the cybernetics can shock his nervous system awake once initialized it might even bring him out of his hibernation state," Morrison added.

"I-" Angela prepared to defy them one more, dissuade them if possible, open their eyes to this corrupted train of thought but she was interrupted by a hand being hammered onto the table that divided the two sides. Reyes, at last, stood from his seat and approached, the taller man now towering over her. Eyes that knew no compassion attempted to pacify her but it was met with a gaze deterministic gaze that did not crumble to such petty displays of power. Angela stood her ground against that scowl.

"Angela-" But Reyes was quickly interrupted. "It's Dr. Ziegler."

"Fine." After a huff, he continued, unperturbed by her open defiance. "I am the one responsible for Genji Shimada, as I am the leader of the operation, assigned by that man right over there." An extended index pointed to Morrison sitting across the table and the doctor's vision tracked to meet an apathetic gaze. "I allowed you to save him but if you won't do as you're told I'll easily give that to someone who has the stomach to do what is necessary since you do not."

"It's not a matter of having the stomach for it, it's about wanting to do what's right, and it's my technology," Angela answered his blatant insinuation of her cowardice. A slap to the face, how she would like to respond in kind but such an action would only weaken the position she fixed herself in. Ethics guided her judgement, and she could not comprehend why it didn't at the very least guide Morrison and Amari as well. Her response was met with a satisfied smirk from the Blackwatch commander. More than an insult, now he was mocking her. She didn't have the power to stop the proverbial train travelling at Mach speeds and he knew. So through his mannerisms, he provoked her, provoked her to do something imprudent and permanently validate him. Ziegler clenched her fist, ready to do just that.

"All technology you develop while working in Overwatch belongs to Overwatch. All I have to do is hand over all this tech to someone who sees things a little differently." Reyes carefully navigated the dynamics of power in this conversation, slowly robbing Angela of all of it. If this were chess, he'd be but one move away from checkmate and now he reached for the final piece to do just that. "But I wonder. Can you trust someone else to do it right? Are you willing to play with someone else's life just to defy a direct order, doctor?"

Enraged, Angela gritted her teeth, canalizing all her rage into that right fist, ready to unleash it all unto that smug face and permanently free him from his arrogance. Faith intervened however, a device mounted to her wrist sounded off an alarm, reminding her of her priorities and keeping her grounded in this trapped cage. She looked at Reyes. "You're despicable." She said with conviction, before marching through him and shoving Reyes aside with her forearm to exit the room.

"That was over the line Reyes," Amari commented, reflecting on his conduct before the doctor. It was met with nothing more than a shrug of his shoulders as a retort.

"Over the line or not. She has no choice now." The Blackwatch commander triumphantly remarked, without a thought to his methods.

Morrison simply observed, in silence, hesitant to the leap to the defence of either of his friends. As he saw it, the objective they established was accomplished, however crudely it may have been achieved.

Angela slowly traversed the halls to her destination, her thoughts all-consumed by the situation imposed onto her. She tried to internally reconcile the two opposing sides with an explanation that was sufficiently satisfied but she couldn't conjure on. From every which angle she approached this problem, it was unjust. She just simply couldn't do it. She soon turned her gaze up from the floor, her team was ready to undertake the surgery. What deliberations she had regarding the previously discussed subject would have to wait, as now this required her unbridled focus. As she entered the room a nurse had offered her a mask, one she placed against her face and the automated features of the masked worked to secure its position there. Angela looked down at her gloved hand where the sensation lingered, the feeling of his beating chest, the feeling of him fighting for his life. She was unsure why she clung to that feeling but it gave her some respite at this moment. Ste stepped forth, and beyond the curtain, there he was; Genji Shimada.

--

Links to this Chapter on:

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13817101/1/The-Sparrow-s-Heart

https://www.wattpad.com/amp/1025065233?__twitter_impression=true

[vnights]

Canned Food

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Includes a bit of heavy angst, and depictions of children in high-stress situations. Writing some of Mikes more iconic memories (and the source of his food-related trauma whoops) enjoy ??

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Michael has an incredibly strict diet. It must be from some kind of bowl or container, and it all must be one thing. Specific, yes, but it’s necessary if he wants to hold his supper. It wasn’t always like this, though. Lil’ Mikey used to snack often, and take large mouthfuls of food during family dinners. He used to be a real eater! Now, he can only remember those taco-tuesdays.

...All the children were waiting for their father at the table, listening to the front door open and close, all without a greeting. Tension began to rise in the kitchen as the three watched William enter, stripping his coat off, and looking at the empty plates. There was a scowl, but.. This bad-day negativity was quickly pushed down, being replaced by forced joy, a small grin finding the mans lips.

“I take it you’re hungry?” He asked with a head tilt, his smile rising as all three nodded at the same time.

“We’ve been waiting here for hooouuurrrrs! I thought we were going to starve!” Elizabeth exclaimed dramatically, slouching in her seat and pouting. This drew a chuckle from her father, who shook his head at her.

“Your brother hadn’t grabbed you a thing? I’m sorry, sweetheart.. How irresponsible of him.” His eldest son went wide eyed and held his arms out, mouth shaped in a small ‘o’, becoming personally offended by taking unwarranted blame. While moving to the fridge, William snickered and corrected himself. “I’m joking, loosen up a little bit.”

Frozen vegetables were removed from the freezer and placed on a pan, a pot of water being centered on the heating stove. A simple meal was planned, mac and cheese with veggies. It was easy, and required little effort. ...Doesn’t mean it isn’t like a chore, though. Today has been active from start to finish, and Will was mainly hoping to just.. Sit for more than a second. Luckily, things need time to warm up, giving him time to rest, taking a seat at the table with his children.

“Did everyone behave? No fights today?” His opening question.

“Eliza threw a big hissy-fit ‘cause she couldn’t play outside, then she went out anyway and started screaming when I pulled her back inside!”

“I didn’t scream! Yuh- You should have just let me out!”

“But you didn’t want your shoes, and you got dirt all over the flo-“

Both kids silenced upon looking over, watching their parent rub his temples, feeling a headache coming on. He grumbled lowly and leaned over, deciding to.. Not argue, and just settle it. “Elizabeth, you need to listen when Johnathan is in charge. It’s all I ask of you. Johnny, just.. Just let her play without shoes, it’s not a big deal. Nnnnow... Michael? How was your day?” The middle child finally looked up from the bear in his lap, simply shrugging in response. His tiny scowl spoke much more than he did, however. And.. Seeing as both the other kids seemed hesitant, one could guess something else happened today. “...Mike. Go ahead, dear.”

Glancing to Johnny and Eliza, the boy sighed and opened his mouth very wide, taking in a big breath. “...Johnathan was in my room and wouldn’t leave, so I left and went into his room, and then he came and pulled me out and ripped my shirt! An’- An’ he ripped Chica’s foot, too, and I tried fixing her but- But Elizabeth said she could help, so I gave her Chica and she made it even bigger’er, and when I said I was gonna tell you, they shut me in the bathroom, and wouldn’ let me out if I promised not to tell, but I- I told..” The child lowered his head and raised his shoulders, looking between his brother and sister, who now wore angered expressions.

There was no energy to deal with this. None. “..Why can’t you just get along with one another?.. This is why I don’t leave you home anymore!..” William stormed and stood up, squeaking the chair back loudly, causing both Mike and Eliza to flinch. He turned to take care of the thawing food, putting everything in and on the oven. With that little outburst, the tension has made its reappearance, keeping the kids on their toes. With silence finally filling the air, William had the chance to calm himself, grabbing a book on his way back to the table. “...Please stay hushed, sweets. Daddies head is pounding..” His request was accepted by each of them, each Johnathan, Michael and Elizabeth being silent, shooting glares at one another.

Waiting for the oven to beep was agonizing. The ice they were standing on was thin, as their fathers temper was like a ticking time bomb, just waiting for that one, little, thing. They were lucky to not have set it off. For right now, anyway. Once food was ready, William sighed heavily and stood up, folding his book and setting it aside before going to the stove, asking the kids to line up with their plates. One by one, they were sent back to the table with full plates of food, retaking their seats before digging in. Johnathan and Elizabeth did, anyway. Michael seemed to be.. Distracted, and not eating. He just didn’t feel like it, his stomach being stirred with anxiety and bad feelings and everything.

His reluctance was noticed early on.

“...Michael, why are you not eating?” William started softly, keeping his temper collected.

Mike shrugged, keeping his eyes to his teddy. “I will in a secon’..”

“...At least show me five bites. Can you do that for me?”

“I guess so..” Mike nodded and did as he was asked, scooping up five rather tiny bites. He’s simply lost his appetite, rethinking the day and all. None of his family members seemed impressed with his hesitant swallows, though.

“C’mon Mike, it isn’t torture! Just eat the food!” Johnathan decided to add.

“I am! Lea’me alone!” Michael shouted in retaliation.

“Stop bickering and let him eat! He’s eating! There is no time limit on food!” William blew a fuse and shouted, making every hush-up again.

They had a quiet meal. Only three of the people at the table finished their plates, Michael was still not done. Not nearly. Johnny and Eliza went to their rooms, Will went to shower, and Mike was told to stay until his food was finished. There were no doubts, not a single one, which is why William took his precious time rinsing the work days grease off his body and mind. And, for a moment, it seemed to work. He felt better, and after a nice, long hour and 40+ minutes shower, he was so ready to see his sweet little angels ready for bed. It was when he re-dressed and exited the restroom that his mood was immediately wrecked.

“Michael Afton!” He shouted loudly, causing the boy to flinch harshly and look over, fear filling his features. “Why are you still seated?! Have you taken even one more bite?!”

“I- You said stay here ‘til I was done!..” The boy whimpered, tugging his bear closer as his father approached.

“Look at that plate! You haven’t even touched it!” He pointed down at the food, resting his other hand on the chair. “I gave you so much time just to eat! I slaved to make sure you were fed, and you-! Nnngggg!! MICHAEL! Eat!”

With the, currently, small outburst, Mike teared and quickly turned to grab the fork, his wrists shaking greatly while he scooped up the veggies and mac, shoveling it into his mouth. A noodle found its place down Michaels throat, tickling on the way down, making the child set his utensil down and begin coughing. Due to the pause, William’s anger only grew, making him boil over with a growl. He slammed his fist down onto the table, making Mike yipe frightfully.

“You don’t get to take your time anymore! Eat! Eat your food!” The consistent yelling made Michael begin to cry, emotionally retreating into himself. William tensed, clenching his fist tightly before, once more, slamming it down, hitting the edge of the plate this time, sending Mikes food all over the tables edge, and the floor. This completely busted Wills temper, making him fume. “FINE! Since you’re too incompetent for anything, I’ll do it for you!”

“Daddy-?!” Mike shouted worriedly, scooting back before getting grabbed. William, in a shocking act, force-fed his child, grabbing a handful of mushed, cold food and shoving it into Michaels mouth. The boy desperately tried pushing the others arm away, only to get it roughly shoved against his face. Eventually, Michael began kicking, being able to release himself from his fathers grip, and making the chair wobble and fall over, leaving the child gasping, crying, and crawling away. He then choked wetly, puking on the kitchen floor over the course of two cough-ups. Mike sobbed lightly with a shiver, carefully looking back to his father.

William was staring down at the mess he made with an expression of complete shock, and sorrow. Guilt washed over him like a thick blanket as a soft, barely audible breath left his throat. Listening to Mike whimper and cry drove him mad, causing his clean hand to rest over his own mouth, and making him step closer, kneeling down in a much softer, much less scary manner. “Michael, baby I’m sorry, I didn’t.. Mean t.. Mikey, come here, come here, my love..” He slowly motioned over, scooting closer to the other. Michael shivered as William got closer, scooping him up like a baby. With a nuzzle and a cuddle, William carried the child while pacing around the house, whispering soft, sweet words of comfort in an attempt to make up. The commotion certainly kept the other kids in their own rooms, at least..

...That sick never left him. Even now, all this time later, he still has to settle for good ole’ Spaghetti-O’s.

[dreamingofscully]

6x06. “How the Ghosts Stole Christmas” - X-Files Rewatch

I wrote a lot about this episode, I hope you enjoy! Really thought this one gave us a ton of insight into M&S.

Mulder’s excuse to invite Scully out with him - a haunted house. He just wants to spend time with her. He’s feeling lonely. For some reason he’s not spending Christmas with anyone - not his mom, not the Gunmen. Even if he was, she’s the person he most wants to spend it with.

Mulder does his very best to entertain Scully with a ghost story. He’s being very seductive, but I don’t think he’s too serious about it - just wants her to spend time with him desperately. 

When Mulder describes Maurice (“brooding but heroic”) and Lyda (“a sublime beauty with a light that seemed to follow her wherever she went”) - I mean, c’mon, he’s describing THEM. 

“Driven by a tragic fear of separation they forged a lovers' pact so that they might spend eternity together and not spend one precious Christmas apart.”

HELLO?!

Even though Scully has somewhere to be, Mulder’s pull on her is irresistible. She has a family, a gift-opening, many traditions that she loves to take part in, SOMEWHERE ELSE TO BE, but she comes to see Mulder anyway. She protests, tries to leave, but only because she thinks Mulder also has plans, has people to spend the holidays with. Scully loves a good story, and this one hits close to home - scary, romantic and tragic.

Scully’s long monologue about why fearing ghosts is irrational, what it represents. She’s thought about it a LOT. She enjoys the thrill she gets from fear but also enjoys being able to explain it, put it in a box, conquer it.

It appears on the outside that Mulder is being selfish on inviting her here, occupying her time on a date where she has places to be, that he’s being insensitive. But the opposite is actually true. How difficult is Christmas going to be for Scully this year? To be around her family and remember her loss. To spend time with her nephew and having to hide her sorrow at the child she barely knew that was taken from her. To be expected to be full of Christmas cheer when all she wants to do is hide from the world, to yell and cry with anger and sadness. Mulder knows this, but doesn’t acknowledge it. He distracts her with ghosts, and it is the most wonderful thing he could do.

I love the contrast between Mulder and Scully meeting the ghosts, on experiencing the scary haunted house. Mulder is fascinated, while Scully is terrified. An incredible parallel to their experiences with the paranormal - Mulder just wants to know more but Scully rationalizes it to try to dispel her fears.

“Alright, I’m afraid. But it’s an irrational fear.” - Scully (Her first of three admissions this episode.)

This is a wonderful season to explore Scully’s fears. She is terrified of the unknown, of what she can’t explain rationally, which drives her stubbornness all throughout the next few seasons. It’s frustrating for Mulder, he doesn’t understand why she’s so resistant to believe even if she’s seen things she can’t deny, but it all stems from this fear. She doesn’t fully overcome it until much, much later (“all things”, I believe).

Mulder’s “I got your back” when Scully’s about to check out something strange/scary. Hilarious, and a simple attempt at humour. An attempt to show that Scully is the braver one. He might be less scared, but he pushes her, wants her to explore, and while Scully is afraid SHE is the one to open the door because HE pushes her to do so, because she needs to explain things to conquer her fear. She likes that about him, about their relationship. He gives her strength and courage to overcome her fears.

Scully gets into the next room, is comforted by evidence of the mundane. The wound clock, the fire that just went out. This place isn’t haunted, it’s just occupied.

Mulder is such a goofball. Enjoying pranking/scaring Scully, teasing her. He touches her shoulder. He calls her on her fears - that “Rationally, you've been in much more dangerous situations”. In a horror movie, Mulder would be the one doing all the things that YOU SHOULD NOT DO. Scully realizes this, haha.

Scully’s hand on his arm when they realize that the corpses are themselves. It’s meant to scare them, to make them believe something will happen to them. So the things that come later will be more believable and they’ll be more susceptible to Maurice and Lyda’s manipulations.

The psychoanalysis of Mulder and Scully.

A lot of these insights are accurate, but some of them reflect only what they FEAR is the truth.

Maurice → Mulder

I’m just going to comment here that Mulder is wearing my favourite outfit. Leather jacket, t-shirt and jeans. Hnnnnnnnnng.

“Are you overcome by the impulse to make everyone believe you?”

The one person he wants to believe him the most is extremely resistant to it. She says she believes him, but she can’t quite admit it to herself. This hurts him. 

“Narcissistic, overzealous, self-righteous egomaniac.”

Overzealous, yes, and perhaps self-righteous but I don’t agree with the others. Mulder would be WORRIED about the other things though. That he is too self-centered, that his personal quest has taken so much from Scully. He views himself as selfish, and undeserving of love and companionship because of it.

“You kindly think of yourself as single-minded but you're prone to obsessive compulsiveness workaholism, antisocialism... Fertile fields for the descent into total wacko breakdown.”

Single-minded: YES

Obsessive: YES; compulsive to the extent that he is impulsive and spontaneous when it comes to his quest, but not OCD

Workaholism: YES - Mulder doesn’t ever NOT work, as long as it’s associated with his obsession. He’s always at the bureau, or working at home, or dragging Scully to investigate mysterious things on the weekend.

Antisocialism: YES - He doesn’t care what other people think, doesn’t have much of a social life outside of his carefully chosen friends

Total wacko breakdown: he jokes about his mental stability, that he belongs in a mental institution, that they’d lock him up if he went there, that Scully could see him tied down on a bed. But in reality he is very stable emotionally - with all of the trauma he encounters he is very resilient, bounces back, pursues his quest

“You probably consider yourself passionate, serious, misunderstood. Am I right?”

YES. He doesn’t mind that people don’t get him, because he knows he’s on the right path. His joking and humour only covers up his vulnerability, otherwise he is very serious about most things.

“Most people would rather stick their fingers in a wall socket than spend a minute with you.”

OOF. This hurts him, hits home, gets right down to the core of his greatest fear, of being alone.

He brings up Scully, that he’s not actually alone. He didn’t take her car keys, but the ONLY REASON SHE’S IN THE HOUSE IS BECAUSE THEY WERE TAKEN. 

And where is she? “BEHIND A BRICK WALL.” One of their own construction - mainly Mulder’s.

“You know why you do it-- listen endlessly to her droning rationalizations. 'Cause you're afraid. Afraid of the loneliness. Am I right?”

This is why Mulder, after his frustration in “The Beginning”, is more accepting of her disbelief. He makes very good points about why she can’t believe in that episode, but he doesn’t really push her on it afterwards - because the alternative is loneliness. (He DOES know that the debate is necessary for their process, but also that her denials are unreasonable at this point, after what they saw.)

If he pushes her too much, will she leave?

Lyda → Scully

Her hand shaking when holding her gun is just perfection. I love how she calms, her hand steadies, but then starts trembling again when Lyda starts making strange insights, knows things she shouldn’t.

“You must have an awful small life. Spending your Christmas Eve with him... Running around chasing things you don't even believe in.”

Again, Scully wants more out of life. She wants to “get out of the car”, wants to experience family, intimacy, have a partner to share her life with. That Mulder seems incompatible with those things, that he could never settle down and stop chasing things in the dark.

“I can see it in your face... The fear... The conflicted yearnings... A subconscious desire to find fulfillment through another. Intimacy through co-dependency.”

Feeling that she can’t obtain intimacy with Mulder, she finds satisfaction just being with him, working with him, being NEEDED.

“Maybe you repress the truth about why you're really here pretending it's out of duty or loyalty-- unable to admit your dirty little secret. Your only joy in life is proving him wrong.”

This isn’t true, she loves working with Mulder, and believes her rationalizations only serve to build him up (they do). Recent tension between them would make her fear that Mulder thinks this way - that she has no purpose in their quest. Her unwillingness to believe, that it’s only about wanting to be right, will only serve to drive him away.

I love that Scully faints from fear at seeing the holes in Lyda’s stomach and Maurice’s head. When confronted with something SO UNBELIEVABLE, something that cannot be denied or rationalized or put in a box she just shuts down.

Lyda → Mulder

“I was young and beautiful once, just like your partner.” Any acknowledgement of Scully’s beauty just makes me 😍

“Maybe you two should have discussed your real feelings before you came out here.”

Heck, yeah! But Mulder can’t let himself. Even if he knew Scully felt the same about him, he doesn’t deserve to be loved by her.

Comparing Mulder’s reaction to seeing the hole in Lyda’s stomach to Scully’s. He’s disgusted because he accepts it as reality as a matter of course, while Scully is (literally) scared out of her mind.

When Lyda suggests Scully would shoot herself, Mulder’s “I wouldn’t let her”. 😍

“We're not lovers.” - Mulder, said with a sigh “And this isn't a pure science. But you're both so attractive and there'll be a lot of time to work that out.” - Lyda

Ummmmmmmmmm… can we have ghost-Mulder and Scully AU fanfic please?

Maurice → Scully

Mulder as “dark and lonely” - suggesting that he took the car keys to keep her with him. The little nuggets of truth that Maurice and Lyda offer to Mulder and Scully make it easier to accept the other things - the fears that they have about each other.

He’s got no one this Christmas, and she had no idea. 😥

Maurice and Lyda trick Mulder and Scully

When she sees “Mulder”, she’s so relieved and happy.

When “Mulder” rants about loneliness. Scully doesn’t believe in it. She thinks they can change, that they can choose to not be lonely. (This comes up again in “Milagro”. A VERY SIGNIFICANT EPISODE. Hnnng.) 

“You’re scaring me.” - Scully (2)

Scully’s face when he’s about to shoot himself. 😥

Mulder finding “Scully” 😥

Crawling along the floor in their blood.

“Are you afraid, Mulder? I am.” - Scully (3)

They can’t shoot each other, even when thinking that the other did it to them.

Of course Mulder figures it out first. He’s more open to believing that this is an illusion, a trick. Something unreal and paranormal rather than the reality of them having shot each other. He reaches for her and helps her up, showing her the evidence in front of her face that this isn’t real. Touches her uninjured stomach, covered in blood.

Lily Tomlin as Lyda and Ed Asner as Maurice were amazing. I loved their playfulness. That this was a horror-comedy instead of just a tragic, scary story.

Back at Mulder’s apartment

“I don’t deserve to be so happy.” - on the television in Mulder’s apartment at the end. How sad. But it describes him so perfectly this season. He doesn’t believe he deserves happiness. That he got to spend some time with Scully was wonderful, but now he’s back in his lonely apartment wishing she was still there, but not thinking it should ever happen. He knows what makes him happy, sharing and spending time with Scully, but she has her own “normal” life that he can never be a part of, that he doesn’t DESERVE to be a part of no matter how desperately he craves it.

When she shows up, he’s delighted. That she wants to be there with him, enjoys spending time doing WHATEVER, even if she’s scared, or refuses to believe. She enjoys their connection just as much as him. She views him as an important person in her life, just as much as her family. He agrees with Scully that it didn’t happen, doesn’t push her on her stubbornness to not believe, because he’s just happy she’s here. He chooses the opposite of loneliness.

Their acknowledgement of the fears that they have. Mulder’s on being selfish, and Scully’s on her reasons for working with him. I love that they mention these things rather than the ones that are actually true.

They do some heavy gazing at each other when talking about their vulnerabilities. 😍

I love how bashful they are when giving each other presents. It’s so cute!

Scully loves presents. I just love that tidbit about her. I don’t think she’s materialistic, the present could be anything. She just loves that someone cares enough about her to get her something meaningful, she loves the anticipation of unwrapping and seeing what it is.

After they opened their gifts, I think Scully invited Mulder to her mom’s house. Knowing he has nowhere to be, no one to spend it with. I just can’t see her choosing to leave him alone, and she WANTS to be with him. WANTS to live a life where they are together for holidays and significant events, not just because of work.